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

and swung away, loathing him for his bold reminder. She waited for him to dismiss her and the room grew silent. She could hear him moving about, poking at the fire and slamming the lid of a chest. Suddenly his voice rang loud and harsh.
    “What is that man to you?”
    Aislinn whirled and stared at him confused for a moment.
    “Kerwick. What is he to you?” he repeated.
    “Nothing.” She managed to gasp.
    “But you know him and he knows you!”
    Aislinn regained some of her poise. “Of course. He is the Lord of Cregan and we bartered much with his family.”
    “He has nothing left to barter. He is lord no more.” Wulfgar watched her closely. “He came late, after the village surrendered. When I bade him yield he cast down his sword and made himself my slave.” He almost sneered the words as if demeaning Kerwick.
    Aislinn replied in a softer tone, more sure of herself now. “Kerwick is more of a scholar than a warrior. His father trained him as a knight, and he fought bravely with Harold.”
    “He left his spleen on the sod over a few slain. No Norman respects him.”
    Aislinn lowered her eyes and hid her own pity for Kerwick. “He is a gentle person and those out yonder were his friends. He talked with them and set down verses of their toils. He has seen too much of death since the Normans came to our land.”
    Wulfgar clasped his hands behind his back and stood huge and imposing before her. His face was shadowed by the light from the window, and Aislinn could see only those gray eyes calmly gazing at her.
    “And what of those who did not die?” he questioned. “How many have fled and hid in the forest?”
    “I know of none,” she replied and it was only half a lie. She had seen some reach the edge of the swamp when her father fell but could not name them or say whether they were still free.
    Wulfgar reached out and lifted a tress of her hair and felt its rich, silken texture. Those eyes would not free her from their intensity. Aislinn could feel her will weaken, and the slow smile that spread across his face told her she had played no deep game with him. He nodded.
    “You know of none?” His voice was heavy with satire. “No matter. They will soon come to serve their master as will you.”
    Wulfgar’s hand fell to her shoulder and he pulled her near him. The tray rattled in her hands.
    “Please—,” Aislinn whispered hoarsely, afraid of the lips that stirred her so. “Please.” The word came in a half sob.
    His hand slid down her arm in a gentle caress then dropped from her.
    “See to the rooms,” he commanded softly, still holding her with his gaze. “And if the people come to you, treat them as well as you have me. They are mine, too, and precious few.”
    Outside the chamber Aislinn nearly collided with Kerwick in her haste to leave. He bore in his arms more baggage for the lord, but she hurried by him, knowing her flushed face would betray her. She flew to her own room and as she gathered her belongings fought to control the trembling that beset her fingers. She was in a rage that the Norman could so upset her. What strange power burned in those cold gray eyes that sneered at her.
    Aislinn came from the hall to watch with dismay as some dozen serfs were led into the yard. With their ankles tethered they could only hobble along together beside the mounted horsemen. On his great war horse Wulfgar looked all the more fearsome to these simple folk who trembled for their lives. Aislinn bit her lip as one lad, seeking to escape, broke from the rest and hopped away as fast as his bonds would allow, but he was no great test for Wulfgar’s stallion. Riding up behind the boy, Wulfgar caught him by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him across the front of the saddle. The youth, yelping for all he was worth, received a silencing blow across his buttocks and rode back grimacing in pain but silent. Wulfgar discarded his load in the midst of the peasants who scrambled frantically to get out of the way of