The Wolf and the Dove by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss Read Free Book Online Page A

other people would cower before him in what seemed mortal fear for their lives. Yet Aislinn knew when she wanted her way that gentleness and pliancy would soften his ageing heart and turn it toward her will. Now she would turn that same guile upon this Norman, and she spoke in measured tone.
    “My lord, a priest I pray. A small thing to ask—but for these men who died—”
    Wulfgar nodded his consent. “It shall be attended to.”
    Aislinn sank to her knees before him, humbling herself for this brief moment. It was the least she could do to insure a proper burial.
    With a growl Wulfgar reached down and yanked her to her feet. Aislinn stared up at him in surprise, her eyes wide and searching his.
    “Stand upright, wench. I respect your hatred more,” he said and turning, strode into the hall without another word.
    Serfs from Cregan, well guarded by a handful of Wulfgar’s men, came to bury the men of Darkenwald. To her amazement Aislinn recognized Kerwick among them as they trudged closer, following behind a huge, mounted Viking. Overcome with her relief at seeing him alive, Aislinn would have run to him, but Maida caught her gunna and clung to it.
    “They will slay him—those two who fight over you.”
    Aislinn saw the wisdom of this and was thankful to her mother for this small bit of sense. She relaxed and watched him furtively as he neared. There was some difficulty with language as the guards tried to show the serfs what they were to do. Equally confused, Aislinn wondered at Kerwick’s game for she had taught him the French tongue herself and he had been an apt student. Finally the peasants understood and began to sort and prepare the bodies for burial, all except Kerwick who stood as if dazed, gaping with horror at the terrible sight of the slaughtered men. Suddenly he turned away and was sick. There was laughter from Wulfgar’s men, and Aislinn silently cursed them. Her heart went out to Kerwick; he had seen so much war of late. Yet she wanted him to rise and show these Normans dignity and strength. Instead he was letting himself be the object of their ridicule. The mirth gnawed at her and she whirled away and fled into the hall. She felt shame for him and for those who abased themselves so before
the enemy. With her head lowered, oblivious to the men who leered at her, she walked straight into the arms of Wulfgar. He had removed his hauberk, leaving the leather tunic in place and now stood with Ragnor, Vachel and the Norseman who had arrived with Kerwick. Wulfgar’s hands swept her back as he lightly held her.
    “Fair damsel, do I dare hope that you are impatient for my bed?” he mocked, lifting a tawny brow.
    It was only the Viking who guffawed his delight, for Ragnor’s face darkened, and he glared at Wulfgar with jealousy and loathing. But it was enough to spur Aislinn’s temper, already seething beyond caution. Her humiliation was past bearing. Her pride burned like a flame, engulfing her, goading her to unreasonable action. With a flare of white rage burning within her, she drew back her arm and struck a stinging blow across Wulfgar’s scarred cheek.
    The men in the room held their breaths in stunned surprise. They full expected Wulfgar to lay this saucy wench on her back with his fist. They all knew his manner with women. Generally he had little use for them and at times showed his complete contempt by turning and striding away when one had attempted to draw him into conversation. No woman had ever dared strike him before. Damsels feared his dark moods. When he bent his cold, ruthless gaze upon them, they fled out of his way to safety. Yet this damsel, with so much to lose, had braved far more than any other.
    In the brief moment Wulfgar stared at her, Aislinn regained her senses and knew a sudden prickling of fear. Violet eyes met gray. She was as horrified by her action as he was astonished. Ragnor appeared pleased, not knowing his man. Without word or warning Wulfgar’s hands were upon her