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

breathed. “I think not.”
    “You are not afraid of me?” Wulfgar inquired.
    Aislinn shook her head bravely, setting the brilliant tresses astir. “I fear no man, only God.”
    “Is He your foe?” the Norman pressed.
    She swallowed and glanced away. What manner God would let these men of Normandy invade their homes? But it was not for her to question a reasoning so great as His.
    “I pray not,” Aislinn replied. “For He is my only hope. All others fail me.” She raised her chin haughtily. “ ’Tis said your duke is a devout man. Having the same God as we, why has he killed so many of us to achieve the throne?”
    “Edward and Harold both gave their vows ‘twould belong to him. ‘Twas only when Harold closeted himself with the dying king that he saw a chance for his own and proclaimed Edward’s last word was that he should have the crown. There was no proof he lied, but—” Wulfgar shrugged. “By right of birth, ‘tis William’s crown.”
    Aislinn turned sharply to stare at him. “The grandson of a common tanner? A—”
    She stopped aghast, realizing what she had almost said.
    “Bastard, damoiselle?” Wulfgar finished for her, peering at her questioningly. He smiled wryly. “A misfortune that befalls many of us, I am sorry to say.”
    Her cheeks flushed with color, Aislinn wisely lowered her gaze from his all too perceiving eyes. He straightened back in his chair.
    “Even bastards are human, Aislinn. Their needs and desires are like those of other men. A throne is as appealing to an illegimate son as one that’s proper born, perhaps more so.”
    He rose from his seat and taking her arm, drew her up to him. He raised a taunting brow and there was an odd gleam of amusement in his eyes as his hands slipped about her narrow waist, pulling her supple body against his much harder, much larger one.
    “We even yearn for our comforts to be eased some small whit. Come, lover, I’ve a need to tame a shrew. I am weary of men and fighting. I seek gentler sport this night.”
    Her glaring eyes gave venomous retort to his jibe and before her lips could follow up the assault, an enraged, bellowing cry rent the hall. Aislinn started around to see Kerwick charging toward them with a dagger in his hand. Her heart leaped and she could only stand frozen, waiting for his attack. Whether it was herself Kerwick sought to slay or Wulfgar she could not say. She cried out as Wulfgar thrust her behind him, and prepared to meet Kerwick’s attack barehanded. But Sweyn, never trusting anyone too fully, had been watching the young Saxon closely and thought his regard of the maid more than a bit harrowed, and now acted swiftly. With a backward motion he flung a mighty arm against Kerwick that sent him sprawling to the floor. With a heavy foot the Viking ground the younger man’s face into the rushes as he easily wrested the dagger from him and threw it clattering against the wall. The Norseman raised his battle axe to sever his head, and Aislinn screamed in horror.
    “No! God’s mercy, no!”
    Sweyn looked at her and every eye in the hall was turned to them. Aislinn struggled up, sobbing in hysteria as she clung to Wulfgar. She clutched his leather jerkin.
    “No! No! You must not do him harm! Spare him, I beg you!”
    Maida crept forward and stroked her daughter’s back, whining her fear. “ ’Tis sire first slain, then betrothed. They leave you no one.”
    Wulfgar whirled on the woman and Maida screeched, falling back under his fierce gaze.
    “What say you, hag? Is he her betrothed?” he demanded.
    Maida nodded, terrified. “Yea. Soon they were to wed.”
    Wulfgar glanced from Aislinn to the young Saxon and settled an accusing glare upon the girl. Finally he turned to Sweyn who waited.
    “Take him to the dogs and chain him there,” he barked. “I will deal with him on the morrow.”
    The Viking nodded and jerked Kerwick to his feet by the back of his tunic, lifting him for a moment completely off the