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

where the herbs were kept, then turned with the tray in her hands. The men were again preoccupied with the bandage, and drawing closer, Aislinn could see the dried blood that stained the cloth and the angry red swelling that had begun to creep from beneath the bandage.
    “Take your clumsy hands away, Viking,” she commanded. “Unless ‘tis your wont to play wet nurse to a one-legged beggar. Move aside.”
    The Norseman lifted questioning eyes to her, but he rose and stepped away just the same. Setting her tray aside, Aislinn knelt between Wulfgar’s spread knees and carefully lifted the edges of the cloth, peering under and testing it gently. It was stuck to a long gash on his leg and the whole oozed with a yellow fluid.
    “It festers,” she mused aloud. “You would have torn it anew.”
    Aislinn rose and went to the fireplace where she dipped a linen cloth into the steaming kettle of water that hung over the glowing coals, then drew it out with a stick. With a crooked smile she dropped the hot wet cloth over the bandage, causing Wulfgar to rise halfway out of his chair. He tightened his jaw and forced himself to relax. He’d be damned if he’d let this Saxon wench see his pain. He stared up at her as she stood with arms akimbo and some doubt of her skill showed in his eyes, but she gestured to his leg.
    “ ’Twill loosen the crust and draw the wound.” She gave a short, satirical laugh. “You treat your horses better than yourself.”
    Whirling, Aislinn went to where his belt and sword lay and drew the short knife from its sheath. At her movement Sweyn eyed her closely and moved nearer his huge war ax, but she only went to lay the blade in the coals of the fireplace. On rising from the task she found both men watching her with something less than complete trust.
    “Do the gallant Norman knight and the fierce Viking fear a simple Saxon maid?” she inquired.
    “ ’Tis not fear I feel,” Wulfgar replied. “But your tender arts are ill laid on Normans. Why do you minister to me?”
    Aislinn turned away from him and bringing her mother’s tray of potions, began to crumble a dried leaf into goose grease. As she stirred the mixture into a yellow salve, she answered.
    “My Mother and I have long been the healers of this burh. So do not fear that I will maim you with lack of skill. If I would betray you, Ragnor would place himself in your stead and there are those who would suffer beneath his rule, not least of all myself. Thus for a time I will wait on my vengeance.”
    “A good thing.” Wulfgar nodded slowly as he met her gaze. “If your vengeance was out, I fear Sweyn would not take kindly to it. He has wasted much of his life trying to teach me the ways of women.”
    “That great hulk!” she scoffed. “What can he do that has not been done to me, other than end my slavery?”
    Wulfgar leaned forward and spoke evenly. “His people have long studied ways of slaying and what they do not know they are very wise at guessing.”
    “Do you threaten me, my lord?” Aislinn asked, raising her eyes to him and pausing in her stirring.
    “Nay. I would never threaten you. Betimes I promise but never threaten.” He gave her a long look then leaned back in his chair. “If you lay me low, I would have a name to place to you.”
    “Aislinn, my lord. Aislinn, late of Darkenwald.”
    “Well, do your worst, Aislinn, while you have me at your mercy.” He smiled. “My time will come soon enough.”
    Aislinn straightened, sorely nettled that he should remind her of what was to come. Sitting the bowl of salve on the hearth beside his chair, she knelt and braced her side against his knee to hold it steady, feeling the iron-thewed hardness of his leg against her breast. Lifting the dampened cloth, she neatly peeled away the bandage, baring a long, red, oozing gash that ran from just above his knee almost to his groin.
    “An English blade?” she inquired.
    “A token of Senlac,” he shrugged.
    “The man’s aim was