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With The Wolf and the Dove the tension-filled excitement continues as two age-old enemies, a Norman and a Saxon, discover that love is an even more exhilarating emotion than hate. And as the tumultuous pair find their equally turbulent path to each other's arms, passion and tenderness flares.
"For once, Wulfgar, my Norman knight," she breathed, her violet eyes glowing with the warmth. " 'Tis what the slave wills—"
She danced away as his hands fell from her and curtseyed prettily for him. Her eyes swept him from toe to head and knew his desires had not cooled.
"Mind your dress, lord. These days would chill even the stoutest of men."
Grabbing up a pelt she pulled it close about her and gave him a impishly wicked look. Turning on her heels with a low laugh, she went to the hearth, there to lay small logs upon the still-warm coals. She blew upon them but drew back in haste as the ashes flew up and sat back upon her heels rubbing her reddened eyes while Wulfgar' s amused chuckles filled the room. She made a face at his mirth and swung the kettle of water on its hook over the building heat as he cmssed to the warmth of the fire beside her and began to dress.
The water steamed and she went to where his sword and belt hung and there found his scabbard knife and returning with it, began to whet it on the stone of the fireplace. He raised his brow in wonder at her actions.
"My flesh is much more tender than yours, Wulfgar," she explained. "And if you would go about barefaced you should keep it so. The burr upon your chin does sorely chasten me and since I've seen this shaving done so well upon my people, I would think it not unseemly that You would allow me the single honor toreturn the favor."
Wulfgar glanced at her small dagger Iying atop her gunna, remem bering his thoughts of the day before. Was his death warranted now when he must go and fight her people? Should he tell her he was not one to waste lives needlessly? By Heavens, he would know the truth now. He nodded.
"Perhaps your hand is gentler than most, Aislinn,'' he replied. He took up a linen and dipped it into the kettle. Wringing it out, he shook the piece free to cool the steam and leaning back in a chair, laid it several folds across his face.
"Ah, Wulfgar, what a tempting pose you make,'' Aislinn quipped, considering him. "Would that it had been a moon ago that a Norman throat be laid bare before me—"
She rose and stood over him fingering the blade. Wulfgar removed the towel and their eyes met as he lifted a brow. Her mouth curved and she grinned devilishly, tossing her long hair with a shake of her head. Her tone became quite casual.
"Ah, but were I not so afraid of my next master the temptation might be far greater."
She slowly plied the well-honed blade along his cheeks until the same had lost their bristles and were again smooth. When she was done he rubbed a hand across his face, marveling at the fact she had not cut him once.
"A better manservant a knight could never have." He reached be neath the pelt and pulled her down onto his lap. His gaze burned deeply into hers as he murmured hoarsely, "Remember that you are mine, Aislinn, and I will not share you."
"Do you treasure me after all, m'lord?" she murmured softly, tracing her finger lightly over the scar on his cheek.
He did not answer her inquiry but said, "Remember.''
It was with a definite hunger he pulled her against him and kissed her, this time tasting the warmth and passion he knew her capable of.
