The Innocent

Chapter 6

“You honor my shop, Reverend Mother," the clothier said ashe ushered the nuns onto his premises. "How may I be of service to you? I have some fine black wool just in from France."

"Do you have a gown that might serve for a bride, Master Albert?" the abbess asked. "My young novice recently became an heiress on her brother’s death. The king and the bishop prefer that she wed one of King Stephen’s knights, rather than take her final vows. The king and the bishop desire the wedding be celebrated on the morrow. As you will understand, the lady has nothing but her habit. She cannot be wed in that now, can she?" Mother Eunice smiled hopefully.

"Oh, dear," the clothier replied, his brow furrowing in distress. Then he brightened. "My daughter is being wed in two months' time. Let me call my wife and see if we might not take something from among Cecily’s wardrobe that might suit your young lady." He went to the stairs of his shop, and called up, "Martha, come down, for I need your help."

The lady in question descended and, when told of the problem, was immediately sympathetic. "Of course we can help," she noted. "No lady should be wed looking like a little gray dove."

"I have funds from the bishop to pay you," the abbess said.

Mistress Martha smiled. Coin in hand, and not a year trying to obtain the monies owed. Excellent! Her mood brightened even more. "Come here, child, and let me look at you," she said to Eleanore. "Well, you're shorter than our Cecily, but there is little to raising a hem. The top of you looks about the same size." She turned to the abbess. "We can make good use of both her tunica and her skirts by matching them to the other, more colorful pieces. A nice yellow tunica for the gray skirts," she considered thoughtfully. "It will complement her pretty hair. Now, what to put with that gray tunica." She thought carefully. "Ah, yes, rose-and-light-blue-striped skirts. That will give the lass two changes of clothing. Now, for her marriage day gown. A particolored bliaut in forest green, the front embroidered in gold, to be worn with green skirts. It will be perfect on you, my dear, but my daughter hated it on sight, so it is certainly no loss to her. I do not understand, for I think it beautiful, but I believe she found it too fine a gown for a clothier’s daughter who is marrying a member of the carpenter’s guild-although I believe Peter will one day be a Master in his guild," the clothier’s wife said proudly. "Still, there is no arguing with a lass with bridal nerves. Come upstairs with me now, child, and we will see what needs to be done to make your clothing fit."

"Go with Eleanore, Sister Columba," the abbess said. "Sister Winifred and I will remain down here."

The two girls followed the clothier’s wife up the staircase, and into a large, bright room. Going to a wooden chest, Mistress Martha opened it and lifted out a yellow tunica. Instructing Elf to remove her own gray garment, she slipped the top over the girl’s head. Next she fastened a pretty girdle of deeper yellow with copper threads about Elf’s hips. She stepped back, then nodded.

"Our Cecily is taller and a bit broader, but you are both slender."

Elf let her fingers touch the soft silk fabric. Since her arrival at the convent, she had never worn anything but cotton or wool. "How do I look?" she asked Sister Columba shyly.

"Perfect. Oh, Elf, I wish you could see yourself. That yellow tunica makes your lovely hair even lovelier."

"The tunica is just right but for a nip or two in the shoulders. Cecily’s height is in her legs." The clothier’s wife smiled at Elf. "The young sister is right. The yellow is a good color for you. Now, child, off with both your tunica and skirts. We shall try the rose-and-blue-striped skirt, and see how much must be taken up."

When Elf had done as she was bid, Mistress Martha knelt, first pinning up the skirts, then pinning the waist to make it smaller. Then she suggested Elf put her gray tunica back on, and when she had, Mistress Martha fastened another girdle, rose silk with silver threads, about the garment. Elf looked to her friend, and Sister Columba nodded with a smile. Now it was time to try on the wedding finery. Mistress Martha lifted the garment from the chest.

"You will wear a camisa with an embroidered neckline, my dear, beneath this," she explained. "I just want you to try it for size." She held the bliaut out for Elf to put her arms into. The bliaut had a corsetlike bodice with long sleeves that were both wide and embroidered. The waistline was low, and attached to a pleated skirt. The low and slit ornamented neckline would allow the decorated neckline of the camisa to show. Mistress Martha laced the garment tightly up the back, clucking as she realized the bliaut would have to be taken in. The tunica tops had been loose, and belted with their own girdles, but the fitted bliaut was too wide for the petite Elf. "It can be done," she muttered beneath her breath. "A seam tightened here, another there. What do you think of the color on your friend, good sister?"

"You are beautiful, Elf," the young nun said. "The dark green and gold of the fabric sets off your delicate coloring, and your hair, perfectly. I wish Isa could see you now. She would be so jealous!"

Elf could not help but giggle. "Shame on you," she scolded her friend. She fingered the beautiful fabric. "I do like the color, but must it be laced so tightly? I find the outline of my body very immodest."

"All the fine ladies are wearing the bliaut, my lady," Mistress Martha said. "Surely if you are being wed by the bishop before King Stephen, you will want to look your best. It will do honor to your new husband as well that you are so fashionable."

"Isa’s mother sent her one to wear home," Elf’s best friend said. "It certainly wasn't as fine as this one."

Mistress Martha knelt, and pinned the hem of the pleated skirt as well as the waist. "You will be a lovely bride, my dear," she said when she had finished. "Now, get dressed in your own clothing again. We shall return downstairs to the abbess. I shall be up all night sewing to get your garments ready."

"We can help," Elf said.

Her companion nodded. "I am certain the Reverend Mother will agree. We are skilled needlewomen. Your kindness should not be taken advantage of, Mistress Martha."

They returned to the shop, where the clothier’s wife explained everything to the abbess, concluding, "And the yellow tunica can also be matched with the green skirt, giving the lady a fourth costume."

"Excellent," the abbess said. "The lady Eleanore will have a suitable wardrobe without too great an extravagance." She turned to Elf. "I have purchased a few bolts of fabric for you, my daughter. You will want to make yourself several more gowns when you return home to Ashlin. And I have taken the liberty of obtaining some veils for your head, as well as ribbons you can use as fillets, since you will no longer wear your wimple."

"I shall need a small bolt of linen, Reverend Mother, for undergarments," Elf said softly. "I have but one camisa as you will recall. I shall want to make others when I return to Ashlin."

The abbess nodded in agreement. Then, turning to the clothier, she said, "What will we owe you for all of this, bearing in mind that the lady and Sister Columba will remain with your wife to do the alterations?"

Master Albert named a sum as his wife nodded in agreement.

The abbess smiled. "You are too generous, I think," she told him, counting out the required coin, and adding two additional silver marks. "One for you, Master Albert, and one for your good-wife for her great kindness toward the lady Eleanore."

The clothier bowed, nodding his thanks, and the abbess in the company of Sister Winifred departed the shop leaving the two younger women behind. Mistress Martha pocketed her silver mark with a pleased smile, then signaled to Eleanore and her companion to follow along back up the stairs. The three settled themselves to begin the task of making the alterations. Elf was silent as she sewed, carefully keeping her eye on her work, but Sister Columba chattered away with the clothier’s wife as they hemmed and stitched. Soon Mistress Martha knew a very great deal about the two young women. She was quite fascinated that a novice, within days of her final vows, had been plucked from the convent to marry a knight.

"I do not wish to seem rude," the older woman whispered to the young nun, in whom she recognized a friendly soul, "but does the young lady know about men’s needs? I hope I do not shock you."

"You are a mother," Sister Columba said. "Mayhap you should attempt to enlighten Elf."

She looked up at the sound of her name. "What is it?"

"Mistress Martha, realizing your ignorance in matters of the flesh, was asking me if she should speak to you as your own mother would were she alive to do so. I think it a good idea, Elf. You would never come with us when we went to the barn, and that was all right then, but tomorrow you are to be married, and as the goodwife says, men expect certain favors of their wives. You must know what will be required of you."

Elf blushed deeply. "I know… but I am frankly fearful."

"The natural reaction of a proper virgin," Mistress Martha said, "but, my child, there is really nothing to fear. While a woman’s body is a pretty thing, a man’s while not ugly, is quite ordinary. While a woman has titties to be stroked and a bottom to be fondled, men have naught but one item of interest. Their manhood. They put a great deal of store by it, however. Boys compare them for size. Men brag on them, and the amorous conquests they have made with them. It’s all quite silly considering a manhood is naught but a length of limp flesh most of the time." And then the good woman proceeded to explain as if Elf were her own dear daughter, Cecily. At length Mistress Martha finished, asking, "Now, is there anything you would ask me?"

Elf shook her head.

"You are free, you realize, to ask your husband questions. Oh, yes! Men like to be petted, too. Do not feel shy of touching your husband. And do you know, although of course you must, about preventing conception?"

"But that is wrong."

"Not always," Mistress Martha replied, "leastwise, not to my mind. Not if a woman has had too many babes in a row and her body needs to rest, or if a woman imperils her life by being with child. These dangers must be addressed. Oh, I know the church says that under such circumstances a man and his wife must cease marital relations, but more often than not they do not want to do so. Then, too, if they do, the man’s natural lusts will lead him to other women, and no wife wants that. The church, God bless it, does not comprehend these things, and asks too much of us in these cases. Better a wife take a spoonful of wild carrot seeds daily to prevent conception. That way she may keep her husband content in her bed and free from the greater sin of adultery," the goodwife concluded happily.

"I see," Elf said. Although it went against all she had been taught, there was a practical logic to it. "Thank you, Mistress Martha."

It was well past dark when the trio finished the alterations for Elf’s clothing. Two men-at-arms from the bishop’s staff had arrived to escort the young women back to the guest house. Master Albert accompanied them, drawing a small cart. It held a small wooden chest that had arrived during the afternoon from the furniture maker, whose shop was located just a few doors down from the clothier. Mistress Martha herself had packed Elf’s clothes, and she would not let them leave until she had fed them a hot supper of rabbit stew, fresh bread, and newly pressed cider.

They left the clothier’s shop, two of Master Albert’s own apprentices going ahead with torches, the clothier himself following his lads with the cart, the women behind him followed by the two men-at-arms. They had almost reached the bishop’s guest house when a door opened onto the narrow street, light breaking out to brighten the cobbles as some half-a-dozen men spilled from the building. It was obvious they were well filled with wine.

"Aha!" one of the men said, stepping forward to block Elf’s path. " 'Tis the lady Eleanore de Montfort, who might have been my bride, but instead is to marry an old man tomorrow." Saer de Bude’s face, now dissolute with too much wine and other debauchery, leered down into hers. His breath was foul with sour drink.

"Let me pass!" Elf snapped. It was this man, she decided, who was responsible for all that had happened. Had there been no dispute over Ashlin, the king would never have known of her, and her life would have gone on as she had planned. Angry, she stamped her shoe down upon his booted foot as hard as she could.

With a surprised yelp he fell backward. "Bitch!" he snarled as Elf pushed past him, and the bishop’s men-at-arms now stepped quickly into his path to prevent any further encounter between the two.

The porter at the guest house gate greeted them as they arrived, letting Master Albert carry Elf’s new chest into the building, where a servant accepted it. Both Elf and Sister Columba thanked the clothier for his kindness before he left. They quickly found their pallets in the dormitory and lay down. Elf was so exhausted by the day’s events that she never even heard the nuns arise before midnight to go to the adjoining church to say Matins and Lauds. They did, however, awaken her for Prime, and afterward a bath was brought for the bride while she broke her fast with hot oat stirabout, and bread with honey.

Then it was time for Elf to be dressed for her wedding. As there were no other visitors to the guest house now, they had privacy in which to attire the bride. The abbess admired the beautiful deep green and gold silk brocade bliaut. First Elf was given a clean camisa to put on, and over it a somewhat more elegant camisa, called a sherte, with a neckline embroidered in a band of gold, and long sleeves that had been dyed a green to match the rest of the costume. The abbess laced the bliaut tightly while Sister Winifred attached wide, pleated green sleeves to the brocade sleeves that extended to the elbow. Sister Columba fastened the long, pleated green skirt to the bliaut, then fixed a green and gold brocade girdle with a polished brass clasp about Elf’s hips. The bride had previously put on her stockings, and gartered them at the knee; and then put on her leather shoes, which Sister Columba had carefully cleaned.

The abbess took up a small hairbrush, and began to brush Elf’s long hair, which had never been cut, and now extended to her knees. When the lovely pale red-gold hair was shining, it was left loose in tribute to her virtue. A sheer golden silk veil was set atop her head, and held in place with a green ribbon. "There," the abbess said with a small smile. "You are ready, my daughter."

"Oh, Elf, you are really beautiful!" her best friend said.

"I feel so strange. I have never worn anything but my simple convent garb. This garment is so rich. I fear I am most out of place in it.

"Nay," the abbess responded. "It is a costume for a special occasion. For a wedding, or a festival, or if you should go to court. It is perfectly suitable for your station. But come, now. We are expected in the bishop’s private chapel before the Mass. It is almost time, and we must hurry."

Escorted by the three nuns, the bride was brought to the place of worship where the Bishop of Worcester made his personal devotions. It was a small chamber. A simple oak altar, a fine white linen cloth covering it, bore a beautiful gold cross with matching candlesticks burning pure beeswax candles. There were no windows in the room, but hung about the walls were the stations of the cross, represented in simple paintings in arched frames. The bishop in his fine robes was awaiting them, as was the bridegroom.

For the first time since they had met, Elf studied this man she was about to wed. He was at least a foot taller than she was. His chestnut brown hair was cropped short in defiance of fashion, and he was clean-shaven unlike many of his peers. His face was long rather than round, and he had a squared chin. His nose was prominent, although not out of proportion with the rest of his face; his hazel eyes oval in shape; his mouth big; his cheekbones chiseled. His brows were thick and dark, and Elf could not help but notice he had very long eyelashes. His skin tone seemed fair, but weathered. He did not appear too old.

Ranulf de Glandeville was aware of Lady Eleanore’s close scrutiny. He was garbed in his finest dalmatica, a rather extravagant scarlet silk with bands of embroidery on the sleeves, and about the neckline. His dark blue chausses-long, tight-fitting hose-showed in the area between the hem of his dalmatica, and his cuffed, soft leather boots. An embroidered blue and gold girdle encased his body. He wore no sword within the holy place, and his head was bare.

The bishop looked for a moment on the couple before him. How suited to marriage was the girl, he decided. Her face, even surrounded by the simple wimple of a nun, was so lovely it would tempt a man far more chivalrous than Saer de Bude. Aye, the girl was not meant for the cloister. This faithful knight of the king's, Ranulf de Glandeville, would master her, and keep both her and her lands safe. His conscience quite clear, he began the marriage ceremony.

Elf listened to the drone of the bishop’s Latin. Her fate was sealed. She had been taught all these years to be obedient, yet she felt the flames of rebellion within her heart. She almost jumped with surprise as Ranulf de Grandeville reached out to take her little hand in his big paw. She glanced quickly up at him, but his eyes were focused straight ahead upon the bishop even as he gave her fingers a little squeeze. A terrifying thought leapt into her brain. Could he read her mind? Did he know what she had been thinking? No! He could not have known-or could he?

Gently prompted by the abbess, who stood by her side, Elf made her responses, agreeing to her marriage vows before God and this small company of witnesses. To her surprise her bridegroom placed a small, delicately made gold ring studded with rubies upon her finger… and it fit perfectly! When the bishop finally pronounced them husband and wife, she turned with Ranulf de Glandeville to find that King Stephen had slipped quietly into the bishop’s chapel to observe the ceremony. Now he came forward, and Elf knelt before him, placing her hand in his to give him her fealty, for she had not previously done so.

The king raised the bride up, and smilingly claimed his right as monarch to kiss the bride on both her blushing cheeks.

"I have brought you a wedding gift, Lady Eleanore," the king said. Then he handed her a lovely brooch with a fine green stone in its center. "This belonged to my late wife, Queen Matilda, who like you was the heiress to her family’s lands. If she were with us now, may God assoil her good soul, she would give you this gift herself, for my Tilda loved nothing better than giving presents. Wear it in memory of her." He pinned the brooch to the neckline of Elf’s dress, and she kissed his hand.

"I am honored, my liege, by your kindness. Mine is not an important family, and yet you have treated me as if I were one of your own. I shall remember both you and the queen, may God assoil her good soul, always in my prayers," Elf said sincerely.

King Stephen nodded. "We will be late for the Mass if we do not go now, eh, Bishop?" He moved off.

"That was well done, Eleanore," Ranulf said.

"I am not without manners, my lord," she told him a trifle sharply.

"I did not think you were, lady."

As Ranulf led Elf out of the bishop’s chapel, she saw her steward, Cedric, at the very rear of the holy chamber. "Were you here for the ceremony?" she asked him.

"I was, lady," he told her with a broad smile. "Your old Ida would not forgive me if I could not tell her every detail when we return home." He bowed to the man by her side. "Everything stands in readiness for our departure, my lord," Cedric said. It was obvious he already accepted his new master.

"Good!" Ranulf said. "Attend us at the Mass, Cedric." He turned to Elf. "I realize you will not wish to travel in your wedding garments, and neither do I. After the Mass, we will change and depart immediately for Ashlin. We will travel in the company of the good sisters, and their men-at-arms, as far as St. Frideswide's."

"You have no squire?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I could not afford one, Eleanore. While my bloodline is good, I have naught but my horse, my armor, my weapons, my clothing, and a few coins I have managed to set aside over the years. Our marriage is a blessing for me in many ways. I have been given a virtuous woman to wife. I now possess a manor, which means I may have legitimate sons and daughters. I will have a home in which to grow old."

"How old are you?" she ventured, remembering Saer de Bude’s nasty words of the previous evening.

"I am thirty," he said. "It is not too old, I promise you, to father children, lady. How old are you?"

"Fourteen and a half, my lord," Elf answered. Mary’s blood! He was old!

They entered the church following in the wake of the bishop and the king. The Mass was sung. Afterward they bid the king farewell, and Ranulf de Glandeville escorted his wife back to the bishop’s guest house, where she changed from her bridal finery into her gray skirts and yellow tunica, packing up the green bliaut and its skirts with the rest of her garments in the wooden chest. The bishop’s servants carried the chest to the cart where Sister Winifred was already seated, her hands firmly in control of the reins harnessed to Sister Joseph’s favorite mule.

The little party set off, leaving the town of Worcester quickly behind. The day was cold, for it was December first, but at least it was clear and bright. Ranulf set a quicker pace than the one that had brought them to Worcester. He and Cedric led the way, followed by the two nuns and Elf, the cart, and the four men-at-arms. Even the mule, sensing its direction was toward home, trotted briskly along to the women’s astonishment. Whereas it had taken four days to reach Worcester, it took just three to reach St. Frideswide's, and half the day was yet remaining for their journey to Ashlin.

The first night they had stayed at an abbey guest house, with the men in quarters segregated from the women. The second night they sheltered at a convent, again in separate quarters. When they finally reached St. Frideswide's, Elf found it both difficult and strange to part from the nuns who had been her family since she was five.

"You are welcome to visit whenever you can," the abbess said, and she hugged Elf warmly. "God bless you, my daughter."

"It will not be easy to find another assistant like you, my child," old Sister Winifred said, "but God obviously had other plans for you. I could have wished he had let me know sooner." She, too, hugged Elf. "Come, and visit me, my child."

As Sister Columba looked at her friend, her big blue eyes filled with tears that spilled down her rosy cheeks. "Oh, Elf, I thought we would always be together! I shall miss you so very much."

Elf put comforting arms about her. "Don't weep. I'll visit often, I promise." She hugged the young nun.

"Come now, my sisters," the abbess said, "we must go in, and give God His thanks for a safe journey" She turned to the knight. "Return the mare your lady is riding when you can, sir."

"You may have her now," Ranulf said, and reaching out he lifted his startled wife up onto his saddle. "It is not far, and my lady can ride with me," he told them.

"Go with God, then, Sir Ranulf," the abbess said, and she gave them her blessing. Then she led her little party and the riderless horse through the gates of the convent.

"The mare could have been returned tomorrow," Elf said, somewhat irritated by his actions.

"There is a storm coming, lady," he told her. "Surely you can feel it in the air. It is December. If you are truly that uncomfortable riding with me, Cedric can walk, and you may have his mount."

"I would certainly not ask a man of Cedric’s years to walk the distance from here back to Ashlin on a cold day," Elf spat at him. "How can you even consider such a thing?"

"Then, you are content to ride with me?"

"It would seem I have no other choice," she grumbled.

"You could walk," he suggested. Unable to stop himself, he chuckled at the outraged look upon her face. "It would seem, my lady wife, that your convent modesty is fast wearing away, and you are quickly becoming a mere woman. I can see you have a red-haired temper," he teased.

Ave Maria, gratia plenia, Elf began silently. She had indeed allowed her temper to get the best of her. She would silence her voice, and pray all the way back to Ashlin. While no longer a member of a religious order, she nonetheless must behave with gentle decorum. There was no excuse for shrewish behavior, but were all men so irritating? Did all behave in such wretchedly superior fashion? Elf was suddenly very aware of his great masculine presence. His heavy woolen cloak was the same one he had worn when he had first come to Ashlin. It looked as if it had not been properly brushed since then. It felt rough against her cheek. His arm encircled her, provoking an odd feeling in her.

She sneaked a look up at his face. His was a pleasant face, a very masculine face. There were tiny lines at the edges of his eyes. And in his favor was the fact that he smelled quite clean. A snowflake caught in his thick, dark eyelashes, and Elf realized her husband had been right. There was a storm brewing, and it had already begun. "You were correct about my temper," she told him. "How far do you think we are from Ashlin?"

Cedric, riding next to them, replied, "We are halfway there, my lady. May I ride ahead, my lord, and tell them we are coming? The cook will need to know you are arriving."

"Go," Ranulf instructed. "The path is clearly marked for me to see. Have a hot bath ready for my lady. She is cold and will need its warmth."

Cedric rode off.

"How did you know I was cold?" Elf asked him. "I have not complained, my lord."

"Nay, you have not, but I can feel you trembling against me, Eleanore."

Here was another side of his character, she thought. He was observant of her needs. Interesting. Her brother had loved her as a brother should, but he had given no thought to her at all once she was safely at St. Frideswide's. Father Anselm, while a good priest, was nonetheless a lustful man eager for a quick tumble with the more-than-willing dairymaid, or any other servant girl, if Matti and Isa were to be believed. She had never had any reason to doubt either of them. Her serfs were deferential and kind to her as Cedric, Arthur, and his father, John, had demonstrated, but they belonged to her as lady of Ashlin. The king and the bishop, both figures of power and authority, had rearranged her life without so much as a by your leave, but that was their right, she realized.

So that was all she knew of men until Ranulf de Glandeville. Her husband. Her lord. She remembered back to several months ago when he passed through Ashlin and stayed the night. He had been quiet-spoken and grateful for her hospitality, unlike others who had come, accepted the best bed space as their right and gone on their way without so much as a merci. On their wedding day he had been aware that she would not want to travel in her best clothing, and had given her time to change without impatience. On the road he had been thoughtful of the nuns, hurrying them, while not driving them, for he knew that winter weather could turn dangerous on a moment’s notice even as it was doing now. And she had yet to hear him raise his voice in anger, although she thought him capable of it.

She had heard the girls at the convent speak of the men they knew. Men were figures of authority, sometimes kind, mostly to be feared, they had always said. One girl they knew had voiced the opinion that she would rather be a simple free woman who might be apprenticed, and follow a trade, or craft, than be the daughter of a baron. Several of the guilds were female dominated: the spinners, the weavers, and the brewers, in particular. At least, the girl, had continued, an apprenticed girl was able to follow her trade after serving seven years and could hope to become a master crafts-woman. Most of the other girls had laughed, saying that even the female guilds were headed by men. There was no escaping male authority and domination. Even the final authority in certain convent matters had to be referred to the bishop for his decision. Men ruled. Women obeyed.

She was the heiress to Ashlin, but it was now her husband who was in charge. But did she still have any control, or influence, over her lands and her people? Or had her value been only in her lands? How was she to learn these things? Who could tell her? Mary’s blood!

She felt so terribly ill prepared in every way to be a wife and chatelaine. Did the king not consider this when he made his decision? No. He did not. Elf sighed deeply and instinctively snuggled closer to her husband’s warmth. Opening his cloak on one side, he wrapped it about her gently, surprising her. Who is this man I have married? she considered once again. What was he? She would spend the rest of her life finding out.

Chapter 7

The snow was falling heavily as darkness descended. The track would have been impossible to find had not men come from the manor, torches in hand, to guide them home. He had paid little attention to the design of the manor when he had passed through last summer. Now he noted the stone wall about the demesne. It would need to be built higher if the house was to be seriously protected from the Welsh. When they stopped before the house, Ranulf slipped easily from his saddle, turned, and lifted Elf down. Turning again, he walked directly through the open door of the house with her in his arms.

"Cedric has told me," he said to her, "that it is an old custom to carry the bride across the threshold of her home."

"It is?" She had not known, but then what would she know of such things? She shivered.

"Where is the solar?" he asked.

"Follow me, my lord, my lady, and welcome home," Cedric said.

"Put me down," Elf said softly. The solar? Why was he taking her to the solar? Did he mean to immediately consummate their marriage? He had certainly not been able to do so before due to the sleeping arrangements in the religious guest houses.

"You are cold, and tired," he said quietly. "Do you have a woman to take care of you, Eleanore?" God’s blood! She was the sweetest armful he had ever carried. Lighter than a feather and so precious. From the moment he had seen her, he had been attracted to her, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought to possess her. The king, he knew, had considered giving her to Jean de Burgonne, another of his loyal knights, but Geoffrey de Bohun had noted that de Burgonne was not really a man with a need for a wife. De Burgonne had laughed heartily and agreed.

"An almost nun?" he said with a rough chortle. "God save me, my liege, but I should rather not, given the choice. I like my women saucier than sweeter, and very experienced. Give me a wicked wench who knows how to please a man, and the saints protect me from a shrinking virgin."

King Stephen looked to Ranulf. "And do you feel the same way, Ranulf?"

"Nay, my lord, I should be happy for a wife, especially a propertied one as the lady Eleanore of Ashlin. I have reached the age where I am beginning to feel my old wounds each time the rain threatens, my liege. A snug home and a wife will suit me well."

"She probably has a face like a horse," de Burgonne teased. "All these nuns in training do, it has been my experience."

Ranulf had said nothing.

A tiny smile touched King Stephen’s lips, for he knew that his knight had passed through Ashlin only recently. The girl was surely pretty. He realized in retrospect that she was probably better off with the quieter knight than she would have been with the rowdy Jean de Burgonne. "Very well, Ranulf de Glandeville, you shall have Eleanore of Ashlin for your wife, with all her property and possessions. You will, of course, renew your oath of fealty to me as the new lord of Ashlin. I am relieved to have a man of your abilities on the border."

"God’s mercy!" A voice cut into his thoughts, and he focused his eyes to see an old lady hurrying forward. "My baby! Is she hurt?"

"She is cold and tired," Ranulf answered.

"This is Ida, my lord," Cedric said. "She is the lady Eleanore’s old nursemaid."

"Put me down, my lord, I can stand, I assure you," Elf told him. Again she noted his concern for her and was touched.

Ida pulled Elf’s gloves from her hands. "Your fingers are like ice!" she said, then glared at her new master. "Could you not have kept her warmer?" Without waiting for an answer, she took Elf’s cloak and drew her to the fireplace. "Come, my child, and let me warm you. Cedric, why do you stand there? Bring my lady some mulled wine. We must heat her blood."

"I will leave you, lady," the new lord of Ashlin said, and after bowing, departed the solar with the steward.

"The old woman is too protective," Cedric grumbled. "She thinks my lady still a child, for she lost care of her when the lady Eleanore was only five. Now she will be in her glory again."

"Is there a young woman among the serfs who would suit my lady as a maid? I can see Ida’s heart is good, but the work of caring for my wife may prove too great for her. She does not appear to be the sort of female who would ask for aid," Ranulf said.

"You mark the old woman well," Cedric noted. "Aye, I will seek among the girls to see who will best suit Ida’s temperament. I will tell her now that my lady is grown and wed, she must have at least two servants, Ida having the senior rank. That will please her vanity."

"The hall is well kept," the lord noted. His gaze swept about the polished stone floors, the blazing fireplace, the shining candlesticks upon the high board.

"The servents know their duty, my lord," Cedric answered, "but they will be better for the lady’s fine hand now that she is home."

Ranulf drew a bench near the roaring fire and, taking a cup of mulled wine from the steward, cradled the silver goblet between his big hands. He sipped the hot brew. The storm outside the house was a fierce one, and he would be confined indoors until it was over. Only then could he inspect his new holding. He had seen the shadowed buildings as they had ridden into the demesne. Barns, a church, huts. The livestock would surely be safe and sheltered. He was not the only one who sensed the storm. The serfs were men of the earth and would have known. Still. "Cedric," he called, and then he asked his questions.

The steward smiled reassuringly. "The cattle and the sheep were brought in from their pasturage yesterday, my lord. All is well."

He nodded, relieved, and concentrated upon his cup, looking into the dancing flames, feeling warm again for the first time in days.

Cedric came to him some time later. "The food is served, my lord. The lady has asked to be excused tonight as she is quite exhausted. Old Ida brought her a small meal on a tray."

"Of course," he said, and went to sit at the high board. The trestles below were empty but for Fulk, the manor’s sergeant at arms and his few men. Coining forward before sitting down, Fulk introduced himself, bowing to his new lord, and promising a report on the manor’s defenses in the morning.

"Are you free, or serf?" Ranulf asked.

"Free, my lord, although I was born a serf here. The lord Robert set me free when he saw where my talents lay. He said I would fight better if I was free. That was over thirty years ago, my lord."

"The lord Robert was obviously correct, Fulk, as I am told the Welsh have never distressed this manor as they have others."

"The nearby Welsh and I have an agreement, my lord. I don't take liberties with their daughters, leaving them with half-English babes, and they don't attack Ashlin, forcing me to kill them, thus leaving their wives and daughters helpless to me." He grinned in a congenial manner.

Ranulf chuckled appreciatively. "Sit down, Fulk of Ashlin, and do not give these young men of yours bad ideas. From the look of them, they have enough of their own."

The men-at-arms laughed, and raised their cups to the new lord of Ashlin, wishing him a long life and many sons.

The younger of the serving girls in the hall wondered if Ranulf de Glandeville would be a kind master, or if he would rampage among them as Saer de Bude had done. The serfs were mostly Saxon and old English. They did not like these Normans in general, but the de Montforts had been good masters. Hopefully the de Glandevilles would also be.

After the meal Ranulf joined Fulk and his men by the fire. They drank and spoke on the things men are wont to speak of when they are without women. The new lord told them that they must build the wall surrounding the demesne higher. That they must train more men to protect Ashlin, as the Welsh were growing restless again. They must be able to resist any attack come the spring, for the king desired that Ashlin be kept safe. The men nodded, pleased.

"We would have done this long ago, my lord, except that poor lord Richard had but one interest from the day he wed with his wife. She consumed him, and then when he grew ill, he could not be bothered. We were fortunate not to look prosperous. Raiding parties have passed us by many times, but taken only a few sheep or cattle. We have let them, and they have left us in peace."

"We will not let them steal from us in the future, Fulk," Ranulf said. "Nor will we allow them to succeed in any attack they make, for attack they will in time."

The hour grew late. Outside the snow fell silently, for there was no wind. Fulk and his men wrapped themselves in their blankets upon their pallets. Ranulf arose from his place by the fire, and made his way into the solar. A fire burned low in the fireplace. The old woman, Ida, was snoring loudly on her pallet by the hearth. He walked past her and into the small bedchamber, closed the door, and gazed about. The fire here was also the only light. He added a few more sticks of wood to the hearth, and the flame sprang up again.

The curtained oak bedstead took up most of the room, he noted. There was a small square table with a basin upon it, and a three-legged stool near the fireplace. He washed his face and hands, drying them on the little square of linen by the brass ewer. Then sitting upon the stool, Ranulf drew off his boots and set them neatly beneath the table. Standing, he pulled off his tunic first, then his two undertunics, his drawers, and his chausses. He laid his clothing upon the stool, and stretched his big frame. Finally walking across the room, he drew back the curtains on one side of the bed. Elf lay sleeping. He dropped the curtain and walked about to the other side of the big bed, climbing in, and settling himself.

She had heard him come into the chamber, and could not believe he would dare to get into bed with her. He would surely sleep upon the trundle. She had wanted to, but had been embarrassed to let Ida know she would do such a thing. Then she had been so sleepy she had dozed off until she heard him come into the chamber. Now Elf heard Ranulf making his small noises as he prepared for bed. She had almost shrieked aloud when he had pulled the curtain back on her side of the bed, but he had let the curtain drop. She was about to heave a great sigh of relief when she felt the draft from the open curtain on the other side of the bed, and his great weight caused the bed to sag. "W-what are you d-doing?" she squeaked nervously.

"I am coming to bed," his deep voice answered her.

"Then, I shall sleep upon the trundle," she said, moving to exit the bed.

His hand caught at her arm. "You will not sleep upon the trundle, my Eleanore, nor will I. It is too cold a night."

She gasped. "We cannot share a bed!"

"Why not?" he asked her. "We are husband and wife, Eleanore."

"But… but…" she struggled to answer him.

"Turn about and face me," he said, and pulled her over when she proved reluctant.

Now they were suddenly face-to-face, and Elf blushed a beet red as her heart beat a wild tattoo.

"Now, listen to me, my young wife. You are no longer a nun. As virgins go you are surely the most innocent of the innocent, and so you shall remain for a short time longer. I realize you know nothing of men except what you have heard in gossip from others, and God knows what that was. I am not some ravening beast, drooling lust, who must violate your virtue. How little you must think of me that you believe I would force you."

"I don't know what to believe, or even who you really are, my lord," Elf managed to say. "I am apprehensive."

His glance softened. "You need not be, Eleanore. I pride myself upon my self-control. I will not have to amuse myself among the serf women to slack my burning desires, I promise you. We will learn to know one another. And eventually we will conjoin our bodies for the pure pleasure of it, and also in order to gain heirs. My destiny is to serve the king by watching over Ashlin and managing it well. Your duty is to be a good chatelaine and a good mother. You are no longer a nun."

"How long will you give me?" she whispered.

"We will know when the time is right," he reassured her. "Now, go to sleep, wife. God give you a good rest."

"And you also, my lord," Elf told him, turning onto her side again. Her heart was still beating furiously. It was so odd being in bed with someone, let alone a man. She vaguely recalled sleeping with her mother. Was it in this bed? But in all her days at St. Frideswide's, she had slept alone upon her cot. She was used to sleeping alone. Unconsciously she edged away from him. Then his foot touched her in an innocent gesture. She moved farther toward the edge of the bed. "Wh-what are you doing?"

His arm had reached out, wrapping itself about her, and drawing her back against him. The heat of his body through his knee-length chemise was very disconcerting. "You will never get to know me, Eleanore, if you insist upon running away from me," he told her, and she could have sworn there was a hint of laughter in his deep voice. "Good night, again, petite."

She lay stiffly against him at first, but then the warmth of him seemed to coax her into relaxation. He was already asleep, and his breath ruffled the hairs on the nape of her neck as his rhythmic breathing rose and fell. She thought of Isa and Matti, and all their ribald speech. She thought of Mistress Martha, the clothier’s wife in Worcester, and the careful, practical talk she had given Elf explaining the activity between a husband and a wife. It had been very enlightening, but she was not quite ready to put into practice what she had been told. However, she had to admit this man now holding her was not at all what she had expected. He could have had by force what he desired, and consummated their marriage. He chose to wait. To give her time to become used to this great change in her life. Perhaps, Elf thought, marriage will not be so bad after all.

When she awoke in the morning, he was gone. It was daylight, and therefore late. Elf jumped from the bed, wincing at the cold stone beneath her feet. On the table by the blazing fire was a fresh basin of water. She bathed, and then pulled on her clothing and house shoes. Hurrying from the bedchamber and through the solar, she entered into the hall. Ranulf was at the high board eating his morning meal.

"You should have awakened me," she gently scolded him, crossing herself as she sat to be served. A small trencher of oat stirabout was put before her. She began to spoon it down.

"I thought you needed the sleep, Eleanore, and your old Ida agreed," he said. "We traveled quickly from Worcester, and you are not used to such journeying, petite." He reached out and took her free hand in his. "Did you sleep well?"

"Aye," she said, her cheeks growing warm.

He raised the little hand to his lips, kissing each fingertip in its turn. " I am glad," he replied, then released the hand.

Her breath had caught in her chest, and she couldn't breathe, but she kept on doggedly eating her cereal. Eventually she would be able to draw the breath he had just taken away. She felt so awkward, for she didn't know what to do when he behaved so toward her.

"Drink some cider," he said, shoving the cup into her hand.

Elf drew a gulp of air into her lungs, and swallowed down the cider, coughing when it went down too far.

Ranulf patted her on the back. He so desperately wanted to gather her into his arms, and tell her that everything was going to be all right. She was the most fascinating mixture of shyness and competence. And how feisty she had been before the king. She had spirit, Eleanore of Ashlin, but she had, by nature of her calling, held that spirit in check until recently. Even now she struggled to restrain it; he didn't want her to restrain herself in any manner.

She had finally stopped coughing, looking up at him with watery eyes. "I don't know what happened."

"You ceased to breathe when I kissed your fingers," he replied bluntly. "You must not flatter me so, Eleanore. While I will admit to having a reputation as a good knight, I have but little reputation where the ladies are concerned. You will turn my head if you behave so each time I approach you tenderly, petite." His hazel eyes twinkled at her.

"I am, as you are well aware, not used to being addressed tenderly, my lord," she said. "You did indeed take my breath away, but not unpleasantly so." His hazel eyes were like forest pools in autumn. Was it possible to drown in another’s eyes? she wondered.

"Would you swoon if I touched you again?" he asked.

"Nay, my lord."

"Nay, Ranulf." His knuckles gently grazed her cheekbone. "It would give me pleasure to hear you call me by name."

"Ranulf," she whispered breathily. "My lord Ranulf."

His head spun at the sound of her voice speaking his name. "Now it is you, petite, who quite take my breath away," he murmured low.

A discreet cough ended their interlude. "Good morrow, my lord, my lady," Cedric said. "If you have finished your meal, we have certain manor business to attend to that I would have settled today."

Ranulf took Elf’s hand in his, his thick fingers closing over her dainty fingers. "Speak, Cedric," he said. "My lady and I will hear you out."

"We are in need of a bailiff, my lord. We have not had one since the last bailiff died. Lord Richard was so involved with his lady wife, your pardon, my lady, he had no time to decide upon another man to fill the position. John, Ida’s son, was the previous bailiff’s nephew. He has overseen his uncle’s duties since his death, although he has not the true authority. He is a good man, my lord. Honest and diligent in his duties. I would recommend him to you."

"Can he read or write?" Ranulf asked.

"Lord Robert saw that those who sought knowledge were given it, my lord," Cedric said. "John, like myself, can both read and write. We were taught by old Father Martin, who has since died."

"Is John in the hall?" Ranulf asked.

"I am here, my lord," John said, coming forward.

"You are hereby appointed to the post of bailiff of Ashlin. Bring your records to the lady so she may see them," Ranulf said.

"Thank you, my lord," John said, bowing and stepping back.

"What is next?" the lord of the manor asked.

"The miller and his wife have no children, nor the hope of any, for they are growing old. They ask your lordship for permission to take an apprentice from among the serfs."

Elf touched her husband’s sleeve. "Appoint Arthur," she said low. "He is deserving, and will work hard for the miller."

"The lady suggests that Arthur be apprenticed to the miller," Ranulf said. "Is Arthur in the hall?"

Arthur stepped forward. "Aye, my lord." While Elf had been in Worcester, he had slipped home from his sanctuary at the convent. Learning that Saer de Bude also was to be in Worcester, he knew he was safe. He bowed.

"Will you be apprenticed to the miller, Arthur?"

He was being asked what he wanted. Arthur was astounded. This new lord was like none he had ever known. "Aye, my lord, I should not be unhappy to be apprenticed to the miller. It is a good trade, and perhaps one day I may earn enough to obtain my freedom," Arthur said enthusiastically.

"You obtained it the day I became Ashlin’s lord, Arthur," Ranulf said. "When you saved my wife from the lecherous advances of Saer de Bude, heedless of the danger to your own life, you proved you were worthy of your freedom. The papers will be drawn up."

"My lord!" Arthur fell to his knees, took Ranulf’s hand, and kissed it. "I can never thank you enough!" he exclaimed.

"Ah, my young friend, your seven years' apprenticeship to the miller will make serfdom seem easy," the lord said. "But when those seven years are up, if you have done well…" He shrugged. "The miller cannot live forever. See you are a worthy successor to him."

"Thank you, my lord," Arthur said rising. He moved back into the hall among his envious friends. In these last few minutes his status had been raised, his entire life changed.

"Is there any other business we need attend to, Cedric?" Ranulf asked.

"Nay, my lord, that is all this day." He bowed.

Ranulf spoke again. "We will need stone to build the demesne walls higher. Can it be easily found?"

"Yes, my lord. The stone was quarried nearby on the manor lands. More can be obtained. Shall I instruct the bailiff to assign workers to that task?"

"Aye. They are not to work in the snow, however," Ranulf said. "When the storm stops, I will want to inspect the manor."

"Very good, my lord," the steward replied, bowing again.

Ranulf turned to Elf. "You must inspect the bailiff’s records this morning, petite. A good chatelaine knows everything about her manor. Should I have to go to war for the king, you will have to manage all of it. So it is wise that you familiarize yourself with all aspects of Ashlin’s life, and not just those things that usually concern a woman."

"Can you read?" she asked him. She knew many men, including knights, could not. It was not considered important for a man.

"I was raised at the court of King Henry, a most educated man, petite. Like your father, he gave any who wished to learn the means of doing so. Most of my companions thought learning to read and to write was a waste of time. What need for a simple knight, they would say to me, but one never knows where fate will take us. I thought it worth the time to sit with one of the king’s chaplains, and learn my letters, and how to write them. My hand is not fine, but I can do it. Are you surprised? Would you have thought less of me had I not been able to read and to write?"

"Had you been ill educated, my lord Ranulf, I should have taught you myself," she said, surprising him. "I should not have thought any the less of you. Many men have not the time, but the abbess always said it was a great pity, for an ill-educated lord but tempted his servants to steal from him. We will go over John’s records together so he can see that you know how to read and to write, too. He will tell the others, and thus prevent anyone foolish enough from believing they might gull you. Now, on another matter, my lord Ranulf, if you are quarrying stone for the walls, then quarry some for the church. It lays half ruined. Until it is repaired, I cannot petition the bishop for another priest."

"Have you any idea of how absolutely adorable you are, my Eleanore?"

She blushed. "My lord!" she scolded him. "What of my stone?"

"You have the sweetest mouth. I should give you the moon and the stars were they mine to give," he murmured.

"But they are not yours to give," she said, "and I just want some stone." He was so outrageous. Her heart had begun to beat faster.

He laughed softly. "The stone is yours, petite."

Fulk came up to them, and almost immediately he and Ranulf became engaged in deep conversation about the manor’s defenses. Elf arose and returned to the solar where Ida was awaiting her with a young girl.

"This is Willa. That Cedric," Ida grumbled, "says the lady of a manor needs two serving women. He seems to think I need help taking care of you, my lady."

"I think Cedric was concerned for you, rather than me," Elf soothed her old nursemaid. "You are not young, dearest Ida. It cannot harm you to have a strong young helper." Elf smiled at Willa, a pretty girl with long flaxen braids and bright blue eyes.

"Well, I suppose I can find a use for the girl," Ida admitted. "We've unpacked your trunk, lady. What wonderful materials you have brought back with you. There is even a bolt of fine linen for your undergarments."

"The king and the bishop were most kind to me," Elf said. "Now that I am no longer a nun, I must have some new clothing."

"Lady," Willa said, "what is that beautiful green and gold garment? I have never seen its like before."

"It is called a bliaut, and is very fashionable," Elf told her. "I have not the courage to attempt to make one, however. We shall make just simple tunic tops and skirts. One bliaut is more than enough for a country wife, I think."

The women worked together the rest of the day cutting and sewing in the cozy warmth of the solar. The cook came and made suggestions for dinner. Venison stew, he told Elf, for men liked a good hearty meal on a cold day. And he had several plump ducks, well hung now, that would be perfect with a sweet fruit sauce, a Mortrew-a meat dish made with eggs and bread crumbs-a Col-cannon made with cabbage, turnips, and carrots, and a nice Frumenty pudding of wheat and milk with honey.

"Is it enough?" Elf asked the cook.

"Aye, lady, there will be cheese, bread, and butter, too," the cook answered her, and she nodded her approval.

Cedric came and suggested she add several young girls to the staff for cleaning and polishing. "Now that you are home, lady, and a married woman, it is meet that you keep a proper household."

"Do you have any girls in mind?" she asked.

He nodded, and she told him to make it so.

The day waned, and the snow finally stopped. It had not been a hard storm, just a long one. Elf ordered a bath, for she had not had one since her wedding day. On the previous night she had been too exhausted.

"The lord should have a bath, too," Ida said. "He will go first, and you will wash him."

"Me?" Elf looked horrified.

"Of course, lady. It is a wife’s duty to wash her husband. Who else would do it?" Ida demanded to know.

"But I have never washed a man, or anyone else but myself, for that matter," Elf protested nervously. "Why can he not wash himself?"

"Lady!" Ida was scandalized.

"I have never seen a naked man," Elf said frankly.

Willa giggled, and Ida turned on her fiercely. "Speak a word, any word, that is ever spoken in this chamber, and I will personally cut out your gossiping tongue, girl! Do you understand me?"

Willa paled and nodded.

"Good!" Ida snapped.

"I never knew a wife had to bathe her husband," Elf said.

"And her guests, too, sometimes," Ida told her.

"Ohh!" Elf paled.

"Willa," Ida said, "go and tell Cedric that the lady would like the tub taken from its storage place, and filled with hot water. Then go to the linen cupboard, and bring drying cloths and soap." And when the girl had gone, Ida turned to her mistress. "I know you've never seen a naked man, but you're a married woman now. There is nothing terrible about a naked man. I'll help you, my chick. I'll tell you just what you need to do, my little lady, and your lord will be pleased. Now go and tell Cedric to serve up the evening meal. The bath won't be ready until after you have eaten. We'll set it right up here in the solar by the fireplace, and clear it away directly afterward."

Elf did as old Ida suggested, ordering Cedric to have the evening meal served. The men ate with unfeigned and vigorous appetites. The cook had been right, and this was something she would remember. In cold weather the appetite increased. She ate a bit of venison stew, mopping up the winey brown gravy with her bread. Afterward she told her husband that there was a bath prepared for him in the solar.

His face lit in a smile. "Good! I stink of the road. Unlike some, I like to bathe." Then his hazel eyes twinkled. "Will you bathe me, my lady wife?"

Elf nodded. "I don't know how, but Ida will be there to instruct me, my lord. I have not before had the opportunity to bathe a man. It is not a duty called upon in the convent, I fear." She was nervous, but she teased him back nonetheless. "I hope I shall be able to master the technique as quickly as possible."

In response he took up her hand, and began to nibble upon her fingertips. "So do I, petite," he said.

"What is this fascination you seem to have with my fingers, my lord Ranulf?" she asked, but this time she did not draw away.

"It is because you are so delicious, and I knew it the first time I saw you, Eleanore."

"I wore robes of a religious when you first saw me," she said, slightly scandalized.

"It did not prevent me from thinking you were the loveliest maid I had ever seen," he said honestly. "I thought it sad that one so fair should spend the rest of her days a virgin."

"I thought my fate no hardship," Elf told him, equally candid.

He bent his chestnut brown head close to hers, and said low, "There will come a night, Eleanore, when I shall make love to you. Only then will you understand that I was right. You were not meant for the convent. You were meant for my bed and my heart." He kissed her palm.

She arose, wondering if anyone noticed the heat in her cheeks. "Come, Ranulf, and let me bathe you." Her fingers wrapped about his, and she led him from the hall into the solar where the bath awaited them, the great tub steaming with the heat of the water that filled it.

Ida awaited them, an apron about her stout figure. "Come, lord," she beckoned him. "Sit down, and I will have your boots. The mistress has undoubtedly explained to you that I will instruct her in the art of bathing, as it was not something taught her at her convent." She pulled his boots from his feet with an expert twist, then quickly rolled down his chausses.

He stood, and Ida took his tunic, and his two undertunics, his drawers. He stood in his knee-length chemise, which was cut to his waist on either side of the garment. He looked searchingly at the old woman.

She nodded her understanding and turned to Willa, handing her the garments already removed. "Here, girl, see the lord’s boots are cleaned, his tunic’s brushed, and his chausses and drawers washed and dried for the morning. You're much too young for such a fine sight yet," she cackled wickedly. "Go along, now! Lady, please take your husband’s chemise, and lay it aside. Then we will take up our brushes," Ida instructed Elf. She whisked the chemise from her master, handing it to Elf while Ranulf descended into the tub quickly so that his wife got no more than a glimpse of his bare buttocks.

"Hellfire! 'Tis hot," he yelped as his naked body made contact with the water. "Do you mean to boil me, then, old woman?"

"The lady must have her bath after you," Ida explained. "If the water is not hot to begin with, it will be cold when she enters it. Besides, men have tougher hides than we women. Come, lady, and take up your brush. The jar with the soap is there."

He stood in the water while the two women plied their brushes, and scrubbed him clean. Elf delicately averted her eyes as he stepped upon a stool within the tub so he might lift a leg up for washing. He smiled at Ida. There would come a time when Elf would not be shy of him, and indeed, the tub was big enough for two. He longed for the day when they would bathe together, and in doing so aroused himself to an upstanding state. The old lady chuckled conspiratorily at him, her eyes dancing with mirth. Gritting his teeth, Ranulf thought of his last jousting tournament before King Stephen, who had brought the sport to England despite the objections of the clergy. In remembering, his shoulder began to ache where he had been bruised by his opponent-and his immediate purpose was served: his lust was defused.

"Lady," Ida said, "wash your husband’s hair, being certain to pick out the nits first."

"I have no lice," he said indignantly. "I keep myself clean, old woman."

Ida ruffled her stubby fingers through his head, pushing the hair aside here and there. Finally she said, "He does not lie, lady."

Elf giggled. Looking at her, Ranulf laughed, too. "The king need not have bothered to send me to Ashlin, Eleanore," he said. "You already have a dragon to guard it."

"If he hadn't sent you," Ida snapped quickly, "this fair maid would have pledged herself to God. We are all lucky, but especially you, my lord."

Smiling, Elf lathered his hair with the thick soap, scrubbing it clean-for this was something she had done with the younger girls at the convent to help Sister Cuthbert-and then ducked his head beneath the water to rinse it. "You're done," she told him.

"Hold up his toweling, lady, and wrap him in it," Ida instructed as Ranulf arose up from the tub. "That’s right, now sit him by the fire, and dry him off while I get him a clean chemise. Then it is into bed with you, my lord, before you catch an ague!"

Shyly, Elf knelt and dried her husband’s legs and feet. Standing, she dried his back, his arms, his shoulders, his chest, his torso. He was such a big man; his muscled body scarred here and there.

"I'll do the hard part," he murmured to her, and she smiled up at him gratefully as he stood up and walked toward the bedchamber, where Ida was fetching the chemise for him. A moment later the old lady bustled out.

"You did well, lady," she said. "Now, let me help you."

Elf undressed slowly, handing Ida her garments until she wore nothing but her chemise. Boldly she pulled it off, pinning her braid up, and climbed into the tub. The water came up to her neck and shoulders. She sighed with pleasure, for it was still quite warm. After a few minutes of pure bliss, Ida broke into her reverie, telling her to stand upon the bath stool, and handing her a washing cloth and the soap.

"What of your hair?" her nursemaid asked when she saw Elf had finished washing herself.

"It was washed before my wedding," Elf said. "It will do for a few more days, Ida. Besides, it is late, and I cannot go to bed with long wet hair, can I?"

The old woman let out a rough laugh. "If I were wife to that big, warm-eyed man, I should want to hurry to my bed, too. Heh! Heh!"

"Fetch me a clean chemise," Elf said, feeling the heat come into her face with Ida’s ribald remark.

"What? You would sleep in a chemise next to that fine husband?" She sighed. "Well, I suppose it will take awhile to breed that convent prudery out of you, lady." She shuffled off into the bedchamber to fetch the requested garment. By the time she returned, Elf had exited the tub and was drying herself vigorously, for the air in the solar was cold after the warmth of the water in the tub.

Elf slipped her chemise on. "God give you a good rest, Ida," she told her old servant. "Tell Willa she may sleep here with you." Then she went into the bedchamber, closing the door behind her. Seating herself on the stool by the fire, Elf unpinned her hair and undid her thick plait. She took up the boar’s bristle brush Ida had placed upon the little table, and then his hand closed over hers.

"Let me," Ranulf said.

"I thought you asleep," Elf said softly.

"I was just keeping warm in the bed waiting for you," he said. Then he drew the brush through her long hair over and over and over again until the thick tresses were free of tangles and as smooth as a length of Byzantine silk. His hand followed each sweep of the brush into a rhythmic movement that she found very relaxing. "Your hair is so beautiful," he said. "You are beautiful, petite."

Turning slightly, she moved to take the brush from him. Their lips were so very close, and Elf’s heart beat a wild tattoo. For a moment their eyes locked, and she thought in that moment that she would melt, for the heat of his gaze was that strong. Then her fingers closed about the pear-wood handle of the brush, and she took it from him, looking away as she did so. "I must braid my hair now," she said low.

"Yes," he said, standing up. Outside the sounds of the serfs struggling to empty the tub and return it to its place could be heard. "I have had a thought," Ranulf began. "What if we cut a drain into the stone of the solar floor, and installed a spigot at the bottom of the tub? The tub can be placed, when in use, with its spigot over the drain, effortlessly emptied, and easily restored to its storage place."

"That’s a wonderful idea!" Elf said. She had finished restoring her hair to an orderly state. "How clever you are, Ranulf!" Going to her side of the bed, she knelt down. To her delight he joined her on his side of the bed, and together they said their prayers. Then they climbed into bed.

Immediately he took her hand in his, but tonight she was neither fearful nor afraid of him. She was beginning to believe that perhaps the abbess had been correct when she said God’s plans for Eleanore de Montfort had changed. It was obvious that God had sent her a good man and she must do her best to be a good wife to him. "I know nothing about you, Ranulf," she said to him, "while you know all there is to know of me. Will you tell me of yourself?"

"There is little to tell," he said. "My father, Simon de Glandeville, had lands in Normandy. He was killed in the Holy Land. My mother sent me to King Henry’s court to be raised. Then she remarried. My lands in Normandy were somehow absorbed into my stepfather’s holdings. When I was old enough to understand what had happened, I went to Normandy with the intent of reclaiming what was mine. I was sixteen at the time. My stepfather claimed that my mother’s marriage to my father had not been a legal union. As there were no other male heirs among the de Glandevilles, the lands dissolved upon my mother, and then to him upon their marriage. I had no power to refute his claim."

"But what did your mother say?" Elf wanted to know. "By saying such a thing, he defamed her character and that of her family."

"My mother had been the only child of elderly parents who were now dead. She had no one to defend her, and begged me to keep silent. Her husband, she promised, had sworn to keep her shame and my ill-born status a secret if I would simply accept what had happened. None of it was true, of course.

"My maternal grandmother had been alive before I was sent to King Henry’s court at the age of seven. My mother’s family was an ancient one, but poor. My father had been honored to have my mother as his wife. He took her without a dower just for her name, my grandmother always told me with pride. Our neighbors, the church, all treated my parents with great respect. This would not have happened had my mother been only my father’s leman and I born on the wrong side of the blanket. As a child my father had carried me on his saddle, introducing me to his villagers as le petit monseigneur, the little lord. They would always cheer. I was just five, and it was before my father departed for the Holy Land, but I remember it well.

"Still, I was only sixteen, and newly knighted by the king. I had neither wealth nor power with which to challenge my mother’s husband. If I allowed him to destroy my good name, I should have had nothing. What little I had would have been stripped from me, Eleanore. I told my mother that I should leave her in peace, but that I would pray for her. I thanked her husband for his generosity in protecting my mother’s reputation and my good name. He blustered and blew of how much he loved her, that she had been a good wife, that she had given him heirs, that she was deserving of his generosity. I had been raised well by King Henry’s court, he pompously told me, and, should anyone ever ask, he would be proud to call me his stepson.

"It was all I could do not to slay him where he stood, but I did not. I departed Normandy, returned to England, and pledged myself to the king’s service. I did tell King Henry the truth of my adventure. He complimented me on my wisdom, and advised me to make my home in England. When he died, and the quarrel between King Stephen and the Empress Matilda erupted, I did what any knight in my position would do. I chose a side, and I stuck with it. Men of power have, of course, changed sides in this dispute as frequently as the wind has changed directions, but knights like me cannot afford to do so unless the odds are so overwhelming that to stay with one’s choice would be foolish."

"I do not think you foolish," Elf said. "I think you are quickwitted and resourceful, Ranulf. You did the right thing to protect your mother from a husband who would steal from her child, and then threaten to destroy both her good name and his to keep the ill-gotten gains. He must be a very wicked man, for your mother is the mother of his own heirs, and her shame would reflect on them as well."

"Greed, my innocent little wife, does not know shame," he told her. "Your brother’s wife was surely proof of that. Our people have little good to say of her. Fulk tells me before her cousin arrived, she would often flirt with the men-at-arms. The king was right to order her put away where she can do no harm."

"I do not see Isleen going meekly into the confinement of a convent for the rest of her life," Elf said. "But let us not speak of her, Ranulf. It pains me to think she poisoned my poor brother. He was a good and gentle man."

"Good men are often the unfortunate prey of evil women," he answered her. "These are things you cannot have known, petite, but they are lessons you must learn. If the king should call me back into his service, I must go without question, and you must look over Ashlin. You must be aware that there is much wickedness in the world, and guard yourself against being deceived by it. Evil often wears a pretty face." He had turned onto his side now, and was looking down upon her.

Elf felt breathless. His was a strong face, and she had already come to love his hazel eyes. "You will guide me, my lord Ranulf," she said in whispery tones, "will you not?"

"Aye, petite," he answered, then dropped a quick kiss upon her forehead before turning away from her. "God give you good rest, Eleanore," he told her, then was silent.

It had been but a swift brush of his lips, but the kiss seemed to burn like a brand upon her skin. She realized she was possibly a little disappointed that he had not kissed her lips. She knew instinctively that his kiss would be sweet, and not filled with violence as Saer de Bude’s had been several months back. Was she ready to be a wife in the fullest sense? She was not certain. I will pray on it, Elf thought as she drifted off into sleep.

Chapter 8

The weather remained cold, but relatively dry. Stones were cut and brought from the quarry to increase the height of the walls surrounding the demesne. The days took on a comfortable cadence. Ranulf oversaw the walls and trained the young men to properly defend Ashlin. Elf spent her days learning those things necessary to being a good chatelaine. She was surprised by how many of them she already knew. How to clean a house, for at the convent they had learned to clean. Now she worked with and oversaw her maidservants. She had learned at the convent how to make soaps. Come the summer she would learn how to make preserves and candied fruits, how to salt meats and fish. Even now she was learning the rudiments of cooking, although Ashlin had an excellent cook. Still, she should know what he did if she was to oversee the ordering of those supplies that they could not grow or harvest themselves.

Once each week Elf was brought the scrolls containing the steward and bailiff’s reports. She would go over them carefully, returning them afterward, sometimes with questions. January passed, then February. March was almost gone when one day Elf walked out-of-doors and suddenly realized she was happy. She liked her life here at Ashlin. And her husband… a good man… a just lord as their people were discovering… but… but he had not yet consummated their marriage, and surely it was up to him! Did he find her unattractive? She was not a nun any longer as he so often teased her. Then what was the matter?

Rambling, she suddenly discovered that she was at the manor church. True to his word, Ranulf had had stones brought to make the repairs, but the walls came first, of course. She stepped inside the church. The roof would need re-thatching. That could be done this summer. Actually she coveted a slate roof for her church, but there was no hope of that. One day, however, she would have glass for the windows, she promised herself. Nothing fancy like the bishop’s church in Worcester, but glass. She walked up the single aisle. The stone altar was bare. She wondered where the candlesticks and crucifix were, or if there had ever been any. The church had been in ill repair since before her birth, although the priest had remained until his death. Turning about, she sighed. There was so much to be done before the church could be reconsecrated, but she would do it.

She walked back to the open door and stood there for a moment surveying the manor. Ashlin was a good place, she thought. Then her eye caught a small clump of bright daffodils by the edge of the wide church steps. She smiled. It was as if she were being told where there is life, there is the hope of better days to come. She started at the sound of Ranulf’s voice.

"We will get it done," he said as if reading her thoughts. He put his arm about her, giving her a small squeeze.

"I know the walls must come first," she said. "Look, spring is coming, my lord. The lambs are being born, and there have been no wolves this year so far. We are fortunate."

He followed the line of her finger to the daffodils, and smiled down at her as she looked up at him. Her mouth tempted him. He swallowed hard, and closed his eyes a brief moment, but when he opened them again, her lips were dangerously near his. Helpless to stem the passion surging through his veins, Ranulf kissed Elf, a fierce yet tender embrace. Then, breaking away, he gulped an apology. "Eleanore, forgive me!"

"As you so frequently remind me, Ranulf, I am no longer a nun," Elf murmured, her glance melting. She held her head up in a very clear indication that she expected him to kiss her again.

"Eleanore!" His arms wrapped tightly about her, his mouth found hers.

Her head was spinning. Her heart was pounding. Her belly knotted and unknotted itself in a repetitive rhythm. She slipped her arms about his neck, and for the first time felt the length of him as he lifted her up. His lips were sending her a dozen messages. He was tender, yet savage. She could sense a deeper longing that he sought to mask. He doesn't want to frighten me, she thought, but he wasn't frightening her. There was a feeling, deep within her, that was beginning to bubble and well up. The feeling grew with the incredible touch of his mouth on her mouth. Pressure. Sweetness. A sudden longing she could not understand.

Finally he broke away, setting her down upon the stone steps. "The serfs will talk," he said softly, but the reality was that if he did not release her, he was going to carry her into the house to their little bedchamber, and ravish her. He had never imagined that this innocent little girl could arouse him so deeply. There was a new hunger gnawing at him, and only her fair body could satisfy that hunger. But was she ready? The one thing he feared above all was that he should harm her, or cause her to hate him. He loved her. He had almost since the beginning, but until this moment he had not been able to admit it to himself. He loved her!

"The serfs will talk anyhow," Elf said, a hint of mischief in her voice. "I have discovered, Ranulf, that I like kissing. Do you like kissing? Or is it boring to you as I imagine you have been kissing women for many years?"

"It is not boring with you, petite," he reassured her.

"I am glad, for I should like to do a great deal more kissing, Ranulf. May we tonight, when we lie abed?"

Again he closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opening them he looked directly at her. "Eleanore, it is said that women are weak, but I do not believe it is so. It is men who are weak, for they cannot control their baser natures. As long as we have lain together, only holding hands until sleep has overtaken us, I have been able to retain a mastery over myself. I swear to you, however, that if you climb into our bed tonight and want to play kissing games, I will lose my vaunted control! You are a sweet innocent, who having finally been kissed, desires to be kissed more. But I am a man. I will want more!" His voice was anguished, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You will want to touch me," she said softly. She reached up and stroked his face with her slim fingers.

"Yes!" he said, catching her hand and kissing first the palm, then the wrist. He clasped her fingers and stayed them over his heart.

"And it is surely past time we consummated our union, Ranulf. Would you like it if we did?" she said ingenuously. She felt his heart leap beneath her palm, and knew the answer before he even spoke it.

"Aye," he murmured, "it is past time, but I wanted you to be the one to say it, petite. I do not want us to hate each other."

"Give me back my hand, my lord," she said softly.

Smiling at her, he released her, but not before kissing the palm of it once again. "You are sure?"

"I am told the first time hurts," she replied. "It will hurt no less if the first time is months from now, I am thinking, my lord Ranulf."

"I will be as gentle as I can," he promised her.

"I know," she said, before turning to leave him standing upon the church steps, his mind awhirl, his heart thumping with anticipation.

On the high board at dinnertime was a slender silver holder containing two bright yellow daffodils. It was a secret signal between them, a reminder of the night to come. She smiled at him, and, he believed, there was something seductive in her smile. Something he had never seen before. He felt a tightness in his nether region, and recognized the stirrings of serious lust. By the holy rood, he wanted her! How sweet her lips had been this, afternoon. She was fresh and innocent, yet alluring. Aye! He wanted her very much!

What had she done, Elf asked herself, in the brief madness that had enveloped her when he kissed her? She had committed herself quite boldly to an irreversible course of action. Was she really ready? Would she ever be ready? She was a wife by a twist of fate. A wife in all ways but one. And tomorrow? Tomorrow she would be a wife in every sense of the word. She sneaked a look at this man to whom she would be so irrevocably bound. Though he was twice her age, he did not really seem old. Certainly he could father children on her.

What was she thinking, Ranulf wondered, knowing he was being perused. Would she ever love him? Should he tell her that he loved her? Nay, that would not be wise. What if she did not believe him? They had, after all, been married for only four months. Besides, love was not necessary to a good Christian marriage. She should respect him, and how could she if he admitted to such a weakness as love? He had been patient and kind with her, and she had responded by not keeping him waiting forever. That indicated that she respected him. Best not to ruin a good relationship. He picked up the haunch of a broiled rabbit and began to eat it.

Elf cudgled her brain. What had the clothier’s wife said? Ranulf would kiss her, and caress her breasts and other body parts. What body parts? He seemed to enjoy kissing her hand and fingers, Elf thought. Was there anything else? Well, she would certainly know soon enough. And the touching, Mistress Martha had said, would arouse his manhood, and then… She couldn't believe what she had said to him this afternoon. How brazen she had been. What on earth had possessed her?

He leaned his head, his mouth close to her ear. "If you have changed your mind, Eleanore, I will understand," he said so only she might hear him.

"No!" Dear heaven! She had just given up the only opportunity she would get to stop this madness. Why had she said no?

A minstrel had asked shelter of them this night. Now he took up his small harp and began to play for the small company in the hall. The firelight played brightly against the stone walls. The flames of the candles flickered and danced. Ranulf took her hand in his as the bard sang of unrequited love and passion. When he had finished and been shown appreciation by the clapping of his small audience, Elf rose and slipped from the hall.

The tub had been set up that night, and she quickly bathed before Ranulf might come into the solar. "Leave the tub for my lord if he so desires," she told Willa. "Go into the hall and ask him."

When Willa returned she told her mistress, "The lord says he will bathe himself this night, lady. He says he will not be long."

Elf went into the bedchamber, where old Ida was plumping the pillows upon the bed. "Go and find your pallet," Elf said. "The sun has long ago set, and you are not as young as you once were."

"I've put a knife beneath the bed to cut the pain," Ida told her mistress.

"What?" Elf looked puzzled.

"Lady, I am not so old that I do not know what has been going on these few months. You are still a virgin, but you decided today to remedy that sad state tonight. The knife will cut your pain when he enters into you the first time. It is a well-known fact."

Elf flushed. "Is it?"

"Well, lady, you would not be knowing such things being in the convent since you were scarce little more than a babe, but it is so. You are not afraid, are you? There is no need to be afraid."

"I am not afraid," Elf said calmly, but she would be if she didn't get her old nursemaid to leave the bedchamber. This was certainly not a subject she was comfortable discussing with Ida.

"Good," the old woman said. "Then, I shall leave you. Willa and I will sleep in the hall tonight, and every night from now on, lady. You will want your privacy, and that door scarce allows it." She shuffled from the bedchamber, leaving Elf quite astounded.

Did everyone at Ashlin know the state of her marriage, Elf wondered as she unbraided her hair and brushed it out? Was nothing a secret? But she did realize that in any small community, there were no real secrets. There had certainly been none at St. Frideswide's. Slowly she brushed her long red-gold hair, rebraiding it into a single plait, then climbing into bed. Where was Ranulf? Ah, she realized, Ranulf might not know that everyone at Ashlin was aware of their marital matters, and so he had probably remained in the hall with Fulk and his men, as was his custom each evening. Elf smiled and stretched her limbs beneath the coverlet. The room was dim, not overly cold this night. Her eyes grew heavy, and soon she fell asleep.

Looking down on her, Ranulf thought Elf was surely the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her thick dark lashes grazed her pale cheeks. Her sensuous little mouth was the most tempting mouth he had known. He had bathed and entered their chamber as quietly as he could. Now he raised the coverlet to slip into bed. Should he awaken her… or should he allow nature to take its course when she finally awoke? Unable to help himself, he leaned over and lightly kissed her mouth.

Elf opened her gray-blue eyes and looked into his hazel ones. "You need not have stayed so long in the hall, my lord. It seems the entire manor knows of our private matters," she told him. "Did you not see that Ida and Willa have gone to sleep in the hall? Ida says the door does not give us the privacy we need."

He laughed softly. "So, we are the talk of Ashlin, petite. How did all this come about?" Pulling up his pillows so he might sit, he drew her onto his lap.

Her heart had jumped when he moved her into his arms, but Elf managed not to show any nerves. "Ida told me she put a knife beneath the bed to cut the pain of my defloration," Elf told him.

"Why do women who should know better believe that old wives' tale?" He chuckled. "Mary’s honor, petite, you are not fearful, are you? I will not allow you to be afraid of making love!"

"Why does everyone ask me if I am afraid?" Her heart-shaped face was the picture of annoyance, and he almost laughed aloud. "If a husband and wife’s coming together in carnal fashion is pleasant, then why should I be afraid? Oh, I know, the first time will be strange, and yes, I know it will hurt when you pierce my maidenhead, but frankly I am more curious as to where everything goes than I am concerned about a brief pain. No, Ranulf, I am not afraid!"

"You are adorable," he said with a sigh. "Now I know why no woman has ever attracted me enough to induce me into offering marriage. It was obviously God’s plan that you be my wife, Eleanore."

To his surprise and delight, she gave him a quick kiss upon his lips. "Are you wooing me, my lord Ranulf? If you are, I like it very much." She snuggled against his chest.

"Dear Lord, help me not to hurry her," he prayed silently. Then his hand reached out to stroke her head. "Your hair is the most beautiful color. It is not a fiery red-gold, but rather a soft red-gold. Have you ever cut it, Eleanore?" His fingers pulled the ribbon holding her plait, and undid it. Then they began to unbraid her long hair. "I want to see you naked with only your lovely tresses for adornment, petite." He took up a thick handful of the hair, and pressed it to his lips. "Ummm, you smell of lavender."

Naked? He wanted to see her naked? Now, here was something she hadn't considered. "Is it fitting that you see me… naked? I did not know that husbands saw their wives naked, Ranulf."

"But they do," he assured her. "Did not God send you into this world unclothed, Eleanore? We are taught to be ashamed of our bodies, but why should we? God gave us those bodies."

"Oh." Her voice had gotten very small.

Ranulf tipped her face up to his. "You are beautiful, petite, and I want to see you as God fashioned you. I am pleased you are so chaste, but there is little need for modesty with your husband."

Her cheeks were warm with her blushes at his frankness, but she did not look away from him. "There is so much I do not know, Ranulf. I must rely upon you to guide me."

His arm cradled her. Now the fingers of the hand of his other arm began to unlace the ribbons that closed the front of her chemise. Elf’s eyes grew wide as her bosom was slowly revealed. She wasn't certain at all that she was even breathing, but she seemed to be. The long fingers pushed aside the fabric slowly, slowly, until the chemise slid from her shoulders, pooling just below her waist to rest upon her hips.

Ranulf let his eye roam deliberately and carefully over her perfect form. Round little breasts, no bigger than small apples, and a waist he could span with his two big hands. "Mon Dieu," he said breathlessly. "You are without flaw, petite."

Never taking her eyes from him, Elf unfastened the laces on his chemise, pulling it open and pushing it down to rest below his waist. Breaking the glance between them, she just as exactingly examined him. She remembered the first time she had seen him in the bath, but this was different. Her two small hands smoothed themselves over the broad expanse of his chest, then his shoulders. Running down his muscled arms, her fingers touched and stopped on a short, but thick scar upon his upper arm.

"The bite of a lance during a jousting tournament," he told her, catching her hand up to kiss the palm.

"Did you win?" she asked, taking her hand back.

"Aye," he said softly.

"And this one?" The pad of her forefinger rested at the crest of a longer, narrower scar upon his shoulder. "How did you come by this wound, my lord?"

"In a battle between the king’s and the empress’s forces, petite."

"You need more practice," she told him. "Both wounds are on the same side. You leave yourself open there. If you do not change your habits, you could lose your life through such carelessness one day."

"And how, Eleanore, has my little nun divined such an opinion?" he asked, quite amazed by her astuteness.

"It is not obvious, my lord?" was her quick reply.

"Your eye is sharp, lady," he said softly. His loins were beginning to burn with his longing for her.

"You have an improper look in your eyes, Ranulf. I think you should kiss me." Elf realized he was beginning to lust after her. Just looking at her was stirring his desires. His arm wrapped about her again, and his mouth came fiercely down on hers. He was dangerous! Then she gasped, quite unprepared for the feel of the hand that cupped her breast, fondled it gently, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing against her nipple until it was stiff and hard.

"Ranulf!" she squeaked, trembling.

"Eleanore."

"Oh!" But Mistress Martha had said men like to touch women’s breasts. She had not said, however, that when they did you would feel both hot and cold at the same time, and that your heart would threaten to burst through your chest. No. She had not said that!

"You are exquisite, petite," Ranulf said, his voice thick with an emotion she couldn't fathom. His hand moved to her other breast.

Fascinated, she watched the big hand cup her, the very repetitive motion of his thumb as it rubbed, and rubbed, and rubbed until it achieved the required result, and her nipple stood rigid. His fingers tenderly brushed her flesh until it was so sensitive that she actually moaned with his touch. "Stop," she finally whispered. "I shall die! I know I will!"

In response he kissed her again, his mouth playing over hers like a wildfire, brushing, lightly touching, nibbling upon her lips. She sighed with unfeigned pleasure, and he laughed softly. His hands encircled her waist, and he lifted her up, pressing his face into the shadowed valley between her delightful little breasts.

Elf reached out, using her hands to brace herself upon his shoulders as he held her up. It seemed to her that she was but a feather to him. The feel of his face against her flesh was exciting. Then suddenly she gasped as his tongue swept slowly up between her breasts. "Ohhhhhh!" The tongue moved on to lick at her nipples. Ripples of pure excitement raced up and down her spine. But he had not yet finished. His lips had closed over one of her nipples, and he began tugging hard upon it. "Ohhhhhh!" Elf closed her eyes with the utter pleasure that was sweeping over her. His mouth moved to the other nipple, and she shuddered with the exquisite thrill of it.

Now he slowly lowered her again into his lap, cradling her in his arms. "You are not frightened," he said. It was a statement more than a question.

"No," she said. " 'Tis lovely. I never dreamed…"

He laughed softly. "Of course you didn't, my innocent petite. Little nuns don't know of carnal love, nor should they."

"Matti and Isa used to watch the priest with the dairymaid," Elf told him.

"But you did not, I am certain."

"No, I didn't," Elf answered him. She turned slightly in his arms so that she might touch him again, bending her head and licking at his broad chest. She heard his sharp intake of breath, but he said nothing that would indicate he was displeased by her actions. Indeed his arms fell away from her so she might move freely. The taste of him on her tongue was faintly salty, but the scent of him was more elusive. Soap, and… musk? Yes, there was a muskiness about him, and it excited her greatly.

He watched her innocent exploration of his body. Her head moved lower, then lower still, sweeping over his belly, which was knotting in excitement. He knew he had to stop her now, but it was with great effort he raised her back up so he might kiss her. She melted against him, her warm naked skin pressed to his. Their arms wrapped tightly about each other, their mouths fused in a long kiss. Then Elf pulled away and sighed deeply.

The time was almost right. He slowly drew her chemise off, dropping it by the side of their bed. His lips brushed over her face, her eyelids, her straining throat. One hand grasped her shoulder. The other moved over her body tenderly, exploring loveliness such as he had never known… or even imagined. She writhed like a flame in his arms. Her skin was as soft as the finest silk, and he could feel her quivering ever so slightly beneath his big palm. She was pure perfection with her sweetly rounded hips and her slender legs.

His fingers brushed over the warm, plump mound of her Venus mont, smooth and devoid of hair as a proper lady’s should be. The tightness in his groin was greater than he had ever known. He ceased exploration of her for a moment to pull his own chemise off. Then he began stroking her again. A single finger ran down the shadowed slit dividing her delicate nether lips. He saw the instinctive tightening of her thighs.

To be touched so intimately. She had never imagined she would be touched in such a manner. Only now did she realize how naked being naked was. She felt almost threatened, and yet he was not threatening her. The finger began to push into her flesh. She tensed, and he stopped, kissing her lips softly as if he were reassuring her. The finger moved again, deeper, deeper. Elf struggled not to cry out.

She did not need a knife beneath the bed to cut the pain, Ranulf thought. She needed to be well prepared to receive his manhood. His finger sought carefully for the tiny jewel of her womanhood. Finding it, he began to play with it, teasing it with an extremely delicate touch. His mouth kissed her lips, her face. His arm held her tightly. The relentless finger flicked back and forth over the sensitive little nub of flesh, and it began to swell and tingle with its new sensitivity.

What was happening? Elf felt her heart begin to beat faster. The hidden spot between her legs that he was even now taunting was growing tight, and it felt as if it might burst. She gasped for air as a wave of heat washed over her, and then suddenly she seemed to explode with intense feeling. "Ranulf!" she cried his name as she felt the finger leave its place, and push slowly into her. Her lithe body arched against him. The finger was gentle, but a distinct invasion.

Her little jewel had responded quickly to him, Ranulf thought, well pleased. Her body had released a flow of her juices, and his finger was sliding easily into her tight sheath. She winced when it touched her maidenhead, which was tightly lodged, but she did not struggle or beg him to stop. He moved the long finger back and forth within her love channel, and she began to whimper. "Are you ready to be a woman, Eleanore?" he asked her, looking deep into her silvery eyes.

"Yes!" she nodded. Relief! She wanted relief from this burning, overwhelming feeling that was threatening to kill her. Instinctively she knew that only Ranulf could offer her that surcease.

"You are dainty, and I am large," he told her. "I could crush you with my size. We must be extremely careful this first time." He lifted her from his lap, and laid her upon their bed. Then he knelt before her, leaning back upon his haunches.

Elf’s eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and shock as she viewed her husband’s manhood for the first time. This was no boy’s lance, but the full-grown weapon of a man. "You cannot put that in me," she gasped. "It is too big! You will kill me with it!"

"Nay, petite, it will fit nicely, I promise you," he said. "Now, open yourself to me, Eleanore, and trust me not to harm you."

Reluctantly she spread herself before him. Taking her gently by the ankles, he drew her forward until his manhood met her nether lips. He rubbed himself up and down her slit until it began to pout, and give off a moistness of its very own. The head of his lance slipped between those humid lips. He drew her even closer, and she felt him beginning to delve into her love channel. Elf shuddered, not from fear, but rather from anticipation of what was to come.

He felt the head of his manhood penetrate her gently, entering her, moving slowly forward. It was all he could do not to violate her and take his own pleasure, so great was his lust for her now. "When I press deep, petite, wrap your legs about me," he instructed her in a tight voice. He began to push forward into her, and to his delight her slender legs folded themselves about him. She was tight. She was hot and, oh, so very wet! He groaned with the pleasure of her. Her body filled his senses, setting his head awhirl.

Elf gasped as his thick and lengthy manhood thrust into her. She had never felt so invaded-and yet so complete. She understood now the need for their position. By coming to him rather than his coming to her, his large body did not crush her delicate one. She gasped again. The manhood was moving back and forth within her. The friction was exciting, and her head spun with excitement as she realized she was actually enjoying his amorous attentions. Suddenly he stopped. His mouth came down hard on hers. Then he drove himself deep into her, shattering her maidenhead as he went. Her cry was lost in his own mouth, but tears pearled her cheeks as the pain of her violation overwhelmed her.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he murmured, "Forgive me, petite. There was no other way, for your maidenhead was very tightly entrenched." He kissed the tears upon her cheeks as he began a rhythmic movement within her that set her senses quickly reeling. Faster and faster, and deeper and deeper he pumped his loins against hers.

The pain was gone. It was as if it had never existed. Pleasure, sweet, hot pleasure was beginning to flood her entire being. She struggled to open herself more to him. Little cries were emitted from her throat. "Ranulf! Ranulf! Ohhh, holy Mother, I never knew! It is wonderful! It is wonderful! Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhh!" Her body tensed, shuddered, exploded in a burst of delicious feelings. "Nooooo! I want more! Ohhhhhhhh!" Then she swooned, sliding away into a warm darkness.

He groaned as his love juices erupted to flood her secret garden. He pulsed with pleasure, until finally and reluctantly he withdrew from her and rested on his side.

How many women had he had in a lifetime? Enough to realize that what he had with this girl, this woman, was truly miraculous and special. How he loved her! And she, his sweet Eleanore, could not know. This was her first experience with passion. What if that passion died quickly? Then they would be like so many other married couples, living together with naught but children and hopefully respect in common. He realized he could not bear it if she rejected him. Better she never know he had lost his heart to her. He didn't want her telling him she loved him from pity or duty. If one day she admitted those feelings for him, then, and only then, would he admit his love for her.

Ranulf rose over the still unconscious girl and gathered her into his arms again. He saw the blood upon their sheets, staining her slim thighs. He smoothed her hair and held her tightly, kissing her brow. She stirred faintly, then opened her eyes. "Are you all right, petite?" he asked her.

She nodded, touching his face in a tender gesture. Was this feeling she felt love? Or was it merely lust? How could she tell? How could she know? She couldn't ask Ranulf. He would surely be embarrassed by her girlishness and naiveté. Besides, he certainly did not love her, and any declaration upon her part would only discomfit him. They seemed compatible, and they liked each other. If she gushed of love, he would only be put off. Better she say nothing at all. He was older, sophisticated. Battle-hardened knights such as Ranulf de Glandeville did not feel emotions like love. Best she remain silent, and keep his respect and friendship.

"You were very brave," he told her admiringly.

"You were very kind," she answered him. "When can we do it again, my lord? I must admit, I enjoyed making love with you."

He smiled, surprised, yet delighted. "Ahh, petite, I will need time to recover from your passion, but perhaps before the dawn we may join our bodies again if it would please you."

"Would it please you also?" she demanded.

"Aye, lady. You are a delicious and most satisfying armful. The king has done me a greater kindness than he can ever know," Ranulf said honestly.

"Let us not tell him," Elf said mischievously. Then she let her eyes wander to his groin. "Ah, it is as Mistress Martha said," she noted. "In verity her words have proved truth all around."

"Who is Mistress Martha?"

"The clothier’s wife in Worcester. While we altered the garments the bishop purchased for me, she explained the intricacies of lovemaking and the male body to me. I should not have known otherwise."

Ranulf laughed. "I am relieved you were well instructed, petite."

"Well, the abbess made no attempt to enlighten me, and I could not be certain of my friends and their prattling gossip."

He laughed again. She was so delightfully practical. He kissed her lips lightly. "Let us get some rest now, petite," he said, and he drew the coverlet over them.

When Elf awoke again the fire was low, but there was the faint light of the day just before the dawn beyond the cracks in the shutters. Looking down upon her husband, she was overwhelmed by a sudden and great desire to pleasure and to be pleasured. This was surely lust. She drew the coverlet back, silently examining him. Her hand smoothed lightly over his flat belly. Then boldly she bent down, and began to lick him. He moaned low, stirring. Elf lifted her head as a tiny movement caught her eye. It was his manhood, and it had stirred ever so slightly. Reaching out with brazen fingers, she touched the thick peg of flesh, brushing over it, and then as it began to truly awaken and elongate, she trailed her little fingers up and own its great length.

"Shameless wench," Ranulf murmured, not even opening his eyes. Reaching out, he lifted her up over his belly, then slowly lowered her until her sheath had fully encased his manhood.

"Ohhhhhh, yes!" Elf breathed. "Oh, yes, my Ranulf!" She clasped him between her thighs strongly.

"Ride me, petite," he instructed her, his voice tight.

Blushing at her own shamelessness, she moved on him, slowly at first, then faster and faster. He pulled her forward so that her small breasts were crushed against his chest. His mouth found hers, and he kissed her hungrily as they loved with fury until the pleasure was so great that it consumed them both as she collapsed atop him, sighing lustily. "Ahhhhh, Ranulf! That was wonderful!"

His heart felt as if it would burst with his delight. He laughed aloud. "Nay, Eleanore, you are wonderful! I adore you, petite! There is no other woman like you-and you are indeed every bit a woman now-my sweet wife." His arms wrapped about her.

She was damp with exertions, and so was he. There was something marvelous about lying atop him. She could feel his very strength pulsing beneath her. And he had said he adored her. She had pleased him. He had pleased her. Now that she knew what marital relations were all about, she understood the sacrifice she would have made had she taken her final vows. But without Ranulf, she would have known nothing. She would have gone through life innocent of the miraculous and astonishing passions a man and his wife could share. She began to cry.

Immediately he was concerned. He rolled her over into his arms, crooning at her. "Petite, do not weep. What is it? Have I harmed you in any way? Tell me, Eleanore, for you are breaking my heart!"

"I… I… I am so happy!” she sobbed. "Then, why are you crying?"

"Because I am happy! It is all right, Ranulf." She snuggled against him, and patted his cheek.

He was totally confused, but she did not seem in any pain. Was this, then, what men meant when they said that they did not understand women? Kissing the top of her head softly, he thought it must.

Chapter 9

The walls around the demesne now stood twelve feet in height. Inside of the walls, four feet below their top, ran a platform, three feet in width, and well braced. There the men-at-arms might stand on their patrol, having a good view of the surrounding countryside. A staircase was built at each corner of the walls to give quick access to its parapet in case of attack. Hefty new oaken doors, reinforced with iron, were hung on strong iron hinges. The shallow moat surrounding the walls was dug deeper. An earthen rim surrounded it, and its earthen crossover was replaced with a heavy oak drawbridge.

"It’s fine enough to withstand a siege," Fulk noted.

"Nay," Ranulf said. "The walls enclose too big a space. It’s breachable. Not easily, but breachable by a strong army, though not the Welsh rabble. We need a castle to make Ashlin stronger, but we have not the power, the wealth, or the king’s permission to build one. So, Fulk, we will consider how best to defend the manor house itself in the event of an attack. But first the church, lest my lady say I am not a man of my word."

" 'Tis time to plow the fields, my lord," Fulk pointed out.

"The serfs must give us three days a week of work. Those who give me a fourth day’s labor to rebuild the church will be paid in coin when the job is done," the lord of Ashlin said.

John, the bailiff, who had been walking with them, nodded. "I will tell all of your offer, my lord."

"I will expect one strong man from each household," Ranulf said sternly. "Tell them no permissions for marriages will be given until the church is repaired, and its roof thatched. The lady desires that a priest be called to Ashlin again. It cannot be done until the church is ready to receive the bishop’s man."

The fields were plowed, and the winter crops harvested. Every third field was left fallow in rotation. Of the two remaining fields, one was planted. The other arable field would not be planted until the late summer for harvest the following spring. The ewe sheep had birthed a bountiful number of lambs. They would have wool to sell at Hereford town come the summer fair. There were three new calves. Next to her herbarium Elf recultivated her garden, enlarging it so she would have plenty of medications for her store, with which to dose her people when necessary.

She was happy. Happier, she had to admit, than she had ever been. She had expected to feel a trifle guilty over her happiness, but she could muster no guilt. She liked her life, and she loved her husband, even if he should never know that. Now, she realized, she wanted a child of her love.

"You are too anxious," Ida told her. "Children come when they come, and not before. It is God’s way."

"Have you ever had any bastards, Ranulf?" she asked her husband one night as they lay abed. She trailed mischievous fingers over his belly.

The hazel eyes, closed with the pleasure her fingers wrought and anticipation of the delights to come, flew open. "What?" Surely he had not heard her aright.

"Have you ever had any bastards?" she repeated. The wicked little fingers tangled themselves in his thick dark bush.

"Why would you ask me such a question?" he demanded, pulling her hand away from his groin, and gently pinioning her beneath him so he might see her face.

"I want a baby," she said, "and I do not seem to conceive. I just wondered if you had ever had any bastards. Perhaps I am like Isleen and cannot have babes. What a tragedy for Ashlin."

"No offspring have been placed at my feet, Eleanore," he told her, struggling to hold his laughter in check. She was such an outrageous little minx. "I have been careful, however, not to allow my cock to outweigh my common sense. The women I enjoyed were wise enough to know how to prevent conception, for children would have been a burden to them, and they could never be certain of the fathers."

"Do you mean whores?" she asked him.

"What can my little convent-bred wife know of whores?" he responded, fascinated.

"The girls at the convent knew all manner of things, Ranulf. We were not all meant for the church. Bad women are rather intriguing when girls are young. The forbidden always has a certain appeal." She smiled seductively into his face. "Do you want to f-"

"Aye," he interrupted her, "I do, petite." Then a rather wicked light came into his eyes. "Do you still find the forbidden appealing, Eleanore? A lovely and skilled whore I knew long ago taught me a very naughty trick to please both a man and a woman. Are you brave enough? Or is it just the talk that you find pleasing?"

"Is it very wicked?" she asked him. Her gray eyes shown with interest. She contemplated his dare.

"There are some who say it is wicked, and others who say it is not wicked," he answered her. His little nun was becoming quite the delightful sybarite, he thought. The gray eyes locked onto his hazel ones. Taking her legs he drew them up, up, up, until they were well over his muscled shoulders.

Mesmerized Elf watched as her Venus mont was drawn within easy reach of his mouth. She started just slightly as his lips pressed a deep kiss upon her nether lips, and then his thumbs slowly opened her to his gaze. She felt her cheeks flush with the terrible intimacy of his action. Should she forbid him? Unable to tear her eyes away, however, she watched him as his tongue slipped from between his lips and touched her jewel, gently at first, and then with fierce vigor.

"Ohhhhhh, Ranulf!" The tongue nicked back and forth relendessly over her sentient flesh. She gasped with undisguised pleasure as strong ripples of wonderfully wild sensations began to engulf her. She couldn't watch any longer. "Ohhhhhh, Ranulf!" She abandoned herself to the erotic delights his marauding tongue was creating, mewling with her gratification. "Ohhhhhh, Ranulf! Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!" Her body stiffened, and relaxed as the intensity drained away.

He was hard as iron with her open desire. Lowering her legs just enough, he impaled her with his manhood, and she sighed so gustily that he could not help but laugh. "You are shameless," he said, groaning as he pistoned her writhing body. "Utterly shameless, petite!" By the rood, he could not get enough of her this night! She was hot, and despite the fact she was no longer a virgin, yet tight. He pushed himself as far as he could go, and then pulled her legs up higher to thrust farther. He needed to be deeper within her.

She clung to him. Her senses were completely awhirl. Her fingers clawed his back desperately as she sought the delicious and perfect bliss that the conjoining of their bodies brought her. I am greedy and selfish, she thought muzzily. I think only of my own pleasure. "I want to pleasure you, too," she gasped as he fiercely used her.

"You are!" he groaned through gritted teeth. "By Christ’s blood, you are!" Then together they found paradise, shuddering with mutual release; collapsing in happy contentment in each other’s arms.

"You would have been a terrible nun," he finally said when his heart had stopped hammering wildly.

"Nay," she protested. "Had I remained in ignorance of how sweet lovemaking can be, I should have been a very good nun."

Then they both laughed at the familiar badinage with which they always teased each other.

Ranulf declared a full day’s holiday on Mary’s Day, which was also Elf’s fifteenth birthday. A Maypole was raised, and the lord and lady danced about it with their people. Tables were set up in the near sunny meadow, and a feast served at the expense of the master and mistress. Barrels of cider and ale were rolled out for drinking. There were footraces and an archery contest with the winners receiving a young cock and two hens. The church had been finished, its walls repaired, its roof newly thatched. Ranulf gave his permission for half-a-dozen marriages to take place as soon as the priest was sent. Two of the brides-to-be were already with child, but there was no shame in it as it but proved their fertility, and their young men were true.

"There be a rider approaching," one of the girls cried out, pointing and excited, for visitors were a rarity at isolated manors like Ashlin.

The sun glinted off the riders sword hilt, Ranulf noted. A knight. Was he alone? A member of an advance party? But no. He would not come alone to scout for a larger, menacing group. Besides, the knight rode slowly, which meant his destination was in sight, and that destination could only be Ashlin. Ranulf stood up, and called to one of the house serfs. "Go inside, and bring me my sword. Hurry!" The man ran off, returning quickly with his lord’s sword and belt, which Ranulf buckled swiftly about him. Then he began to walk forward, distancing himself from the revelers, distinguishing himself so the strange knight would understand that Ranulf was lord of this manor.

Silently, Elf came and stood by her husband’s side. He looked down at her with a small smile.

The rider drew his great warhorse to a halt. "You are the lord of Ashlin manor?" he queried politely.

"I am. Ranulf de Glandeville is my name. How may I be of service to you, Sir Knight?"

The knight dismounted, and held out the hand of friendship to Ranulf, who accepted it. "I am Garrick Taliferro, and I have been sent by Duke Henry to speak with you, my lord."

"Duke Henry?" Ranulf was momentarily puzzled.

"The lord of Normandy, Anjou, Maine, Tourraine, and Aquitaine," Sir Garrick said quietly.

"Empress Matilda’s eldest son? I am King Stephen’s man, sir. I have always been, and will be until the king is no more," Ranulf replied.

"Sir Garrick," Elf interrupted. "You will be thirsty with your ride. Come, and let us bring you some wine. Rolph, take the knight’s horse, and see it is stabled properly, fed, and watered."

"This is my wife, the lady Eleanore," Ranulf said, "and she is correct. I have forgotten my manners. Come, sir. The manor is celebrating Mary’s Day as well as my wife’s natal day. Please join us, after which we will talk."

Sir Garrick was seated at the main trestle. A cup of wine was placed in his hand by Cedric himself, who had hurried into the house to bring out a decanter. A plate of food was set before the knight, who ate with gusto, quickly emptying the plate twice, and the goblet three times before he finally pushed himself away from the table, a smile of satisfaction upon his face. "Your hospitality is more than welcome," he told them, "and I thank you."

"You will remain the night with us, of course," Elf said.

"Gladly, lady."

"Will you tell us why you have come from Duke Henry?" Ranulf asked. "As I have said, I am King Stephen’s man."

"Duke Henry knows this, my lord. That is why I have been sent to you, and to many others like you. I am not here to suborn your loyalty to King Stephen. It is that very loyalty which attracts my master, the duke. Being so off the beaten track, you may not be aware of the events of recent months."

"I was wed to my wife last December first by the Bishop of Worcester, and in the king’s presence. Until then I was naught but a knight in the king’s service. We departed that same day to return to Ashlin, and have had no visitors at all since we arrived. What has happened? Is the king well?"

"King Stephen is well, and there is a truce now throughout all of the land. Duke Henry arrived in England in January."

"He crossed from Normandy in wintertime?" Ranulf was astounded. The channel in the best of weather was a rough passage, but in the depth of winter could be a raging tumult of a sea. The duke was either very brave, or a fortunate fool, Ranulf thought to himself.

"During his own lifetime King Stephen wishes to crown his eldest son, Eustace, as England’s king," Sir Garrick began. "As you know this is a custom practiced by the French kings. The Archbishop of Canterbury, however, on Pope Adrien’s command, refused. Prince Eustace is frankly as unpleasant a fellow as the Empress Matilda is an unpleasant lady."

"Yes," Ranulf said. "I have heard that he is nothing like either of his gentle parents."

"The church now attempts to mediate a solution to this long and dark crisis that has plagued England these many years. The church has suggested that King Stephen rule for his lifetime, but that when he dies, the crown go to Duke Henry, the empress’s eldest son." The knight paused, and took a swallow of his wine. "The king," he continued, "of course, resists this solution, but in the end he must come to accept it. Eustace is unfit to rule, and his young brother, William, has assured Duke Henry that he is content as Count of Bologne. William has no designs upon the English throne."

"But Duke Henry does," Ranulf said quietly.

"It is his by right, my lord," Sir Garrick replied. "My master wishes to know if you will support him over Prince Eustace once King Stephen is dead. Your manor, small as it may be, sits in a strategic area, near to the Welsh border." Sir Garrick gazed about him. "Are your walls new?"

"Nay," Ranulf responded. "We have simply strengthened them. Come, and I will show you, Sir Garrick."

The two men rose and walked toward the demesne.

Elf signaled to Willa and Ida. "Come," she said, "we must prepare the best bed space for this knight." The three women hurried into the house.

As they lay abed later, Elf asked her husband, "What will you do, Ranulf? Will you support Eustace or Duke Henry?"

"Duke Henry," her husband replied without hesitation.

"Why?"

"For several reasons, petite. Eustace, whom I have known all of his life, is a very unpleasant man lacking completely in his father’s charm or chivalry. I began my career when I was just seven at King Henry’s court. That king died when I was almost thirteen. I was Stephen of Blois’s page, whenever he was in England. He was his uncle, the king's, favorite. I learned to love him, although if the truth be known, he is not the best of kings, petite. He has charm, and he is a brave fighter, but he has not the other skills needed to be successful. Only the fact that the Empress Matilda is so arrogant, over-proud, and nasty a lady-coupled with the fact it suited the more powerful lords and barons to keep the country in chaos without a strong central government-has kept Stephen king in power. When he became king, I was made one of his squires, then knighted when I was sixteen. He was always kind to me, and generous as well. Had I been a boastful man, I should have been resented by those whose sons were of higher rank. My loyalty was always and openly to King Stephen. You understand why, don't you, Elf?"

She nodded.

He continued. "I knew his queen, the heiress of Eustace, the Count of Bologne, and his wife, Mary of Scotland, King Malcolm’s youngest child. She was called Matilda, and she loved King Stephen with all her heart as he loved her. There were three sons of the union. Baldwin, who died when he was nine. Eustace, and William, who is the Count of Bologne today. There were two daughters. The first died before she was two. The second, Mary, is unwed. Count William and his sister, Mary, are courteous and pleasant people. Eustace is violent, haughty, disdainful, and overbearing. Even his own wife, Constance of Toulouse, does not like him, and they have no children. She is the French king’s sister, and he hoped to regain Normandy through her. He did not, of course, for France didn't wish to engage the lords of Anjou over the matter. They had taken Normandy while Stephen and Matilda fought over England."

He paused, contemplative.

"I believe I understand, Ranulf, except perhaps for the particulars about Eustace."

"There is a slyness about him that troubles me, Elf. He is too quick-tempered. Frankly, petite, I do not trust him. While I love his father, I cannot support the son."

"But what do you know of Duke Henry?"

"Surprisingly, a great deal, for he has been considered Stephen’s rival for several years now since his mother gave up the fight. He is married to your namesake, Alienor, the great heiress of Aquitaine, whose marriage to King Louis VII was annulled on the basis of their consanguinity. She is ten years Duke Henry’s senior, but he is mad for her. His household is constantly on the move. He, himself, seems to need little sleep. It is said he can travel the day long and still remain up half the night drinking. His secretaries complain constantly of overwork. He exhausts everyone around him. He is educated and scholarly like his late grandfather, King Henry I. He loves hunting, feasting, and is said to enjoy the ladies prodigiously. He will be a young king, for he is but twenty, and wed only a year, but sired a son three months after his marriage to Alienor of Aquitaine. Some say she seduced him into marriage.

"Duke Henry is a good soldier. While his temper is said to be fierce-'tis said one of his ancestors wed with a daughter of the devil-he is a fair man, evenhanded in his rule. His kingdom is huge, yet well run. Other than his appetite for women, which has not, despite his love for his wife, abated, I can find no fault in him. He is more kingly than Prince Eustace will ever be. That is why I will support Duke Henry. England will be in better hands, certainly stronger hands, with Duke Henry."

"Perhaps the king will agree to the church’s compromise," Elf suggested hopefully.

Ranulf shook his head. "I doubt it," he said. "King Stephen is a stubborn man, and every bit as ambitious for his son as the Empress Matilda is for hers. At least when the time comes, my good lord will be dead and not know I cannot support his weakling offspring."

In the morning Ranulf de Glandeville and his guest walked out in the near meadow where the sheep grazed placidly. Elf watched them go, wishing she might hear the conversation, although she knew what her husband would say.

"You may tell your master, Duke Henry," Ranulf began, "that I will support his claim to England’s throne upon the death of King Stephen, but not before. I cannot afford to make enemies of Prince Eustace and his friends. None of them is above setting the Welsh upon me in revenge. Ashlin has had a bounteous crop of lambs and calves this season. My fields are green with healthy new growth. I want to be able to harvest those fields, and take a fine large load of wool to the fair in Hereford come Lammastide. If my manor is attacked in an effort to redress what Eustace considers a wrong done to him by me, I will not be able to feed my people this winter next, and Duke Henry certainly will not."

"Your walls look strong," Sir Garrick noted with a small smile.

"My walls enclose the demesne only. My fields and my meadows are all open and not defendable, particularly with the crop half grown. The Welsh have left Ashlin in peace because they do not believe it to be worth their time and effort. I prefer they continue to believe that. I prefer that no one offer them coin to come here and ravage my lands. Your duke with his vast lands and his castles already lives like a king. There are only great estates on the other side of the channel. Here in England, however, while we have some great lords, there are many more small manors like mine, with little lordlings like me who work side by side with their people in the fields. If we can raise enough wheat, barley, and oats, enough food from our kitchen gardens, a bountiful crop in the orchards, enough livestock and poultry to keep us through a long winter, we consider ourselves blessed. Your duke must understand this is the way in England.

"I wonder if he does? He is surrounded by those who would please him, who say what he would have them say. They have power and wealth, and they seek to gain even more. I am a simple knight with a small manor. It is all I desire. Duke Henry will have my undying loyalty when he comes into power. I give you my bond, Sir Garrick, and my word has always been known to be good."

"Your reputation precedes you, Ranulf de Glandeville. I will tell Duke Henry what you have told me. They are truly the first honest words I have heard in months. The lords in this land blow with the wind. Few are as pure of heart as you have shown me you are. Neither you and your fair wife, nor your people will suffer for your words. Continue in your loyalty to King Stephen until the day he dies. After that you will be expected to come to Westminster to swear your fealty to your new king, Henry of Anjou."

"It is agreed," Ranulf said, and the two men clasped forearms in acknowledgment of the pledge given by Ashlin’s lord, and accepted by Duke Henry’s representative.

Several days later, given directions to Baron Hugh de Warenne and supphed with a few provisions, Sir Garrick Taliferro departed Ashlin.

"What will happen to the king’s son?" Elf asked Ranulf. "Surely he will not simply give way to Duke Henry."

"Nay, he will not," Ranulf said. "He will fight, but he is no soldier as his father is. The duke will overcome him by force of arms. Then and only then will England have a king who has no rivals to breed up strife and warfare. Henry of Anjou will rule with an iron hand, petite, but we will finally have peace again in this land."

Shortly after Michaelmas came word that Prince Eustace had died suddenly-and quite unexpectedly. The word was brought to them by Hugh de Warenne himself, who rode over from his manor to tell Ranulf. Baron Hugh, a gossipy man, had heard the news from a passing peddler and hurried to inform his daughter’s former in-laws. The peddler didn't know the date, but Eustace had died in August. The king, preparing to fight Duke Henry at that time, was a broken man. He agreed to the church’s compromise. Henry of Anjou would be England’s next king.

"And how is Isleen?" Elf asked sweetly.

"The bitch has run off," Baron Hugh said sourly. "We were hard-pressed to find a convent for her, but we finally had located one in York that would take her, although the fee was outrageous. Still, the king had commanded it. We told her it would not be forever, that when Duke Henry became king she would be released, but you know how impetuous Isleen can be. The day we were to leave for York, she was found to be missing."

"Poor Isleen," Elf said with false sweetness.

Baron Hugh ignored the remark and turned to Ranulf. "Sir Garrick visited you first, he said. You have, of course, pledged yourself to Duke Henry."

"My loyalty is always with England’s king," Ranulf answered.

"But which king?" Hugh de Warenne pressed.

"God’s own anointed king, my lord," Ranulf replied.

Annoyed he would get nothing of value or interest from the lord of Ashlin, Baron Hugh’s gaze swung back to Elf. "You are not with child yet?" he asked boldly.

"I am young," Elf told him. "My children will come as God wills it, not a moment before."

"Still pious, I see," the baron said sneeringly.

"You will remember us to your good wife," Elf responded.

Dismissed, and with no further excuse to remain, Hugh de Warenne left.

"He is the most hateful man!" Elf said angrily the moment he rode through the gate.

Ranulf took her in his arms comfortingly. "The children will come, petite, and as you said, in God’s own time. We have not even been wed a full year yet." He smoothed her hair. "And we are certainly trying hard to fulfill God’s will of us, eh?"

She laughed weakly, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes. " I never thought of children while I was in the convent. There was no point to such thoughts, but now I am a wife, and it is a wife’s duty to conceive and bear young. Our pleasure in each other is so great that I sometimes feel guilty there is no fruit of our efforts. What if I am like Isleen, barren stock?"

"You are nothing like your brother’s selfish wife, Eleanore," he soothed her.

"Do you want a son, Ranulf?"

"Every man wants a son… and a daughter just like her sweet mother, petite," he said honestly. "But if God does not bless us, then I am content to spend the rest of my life with you alone."

Elf burst into tears. "Living with you is a thousand times better than living as a nun!" She sobbed, then turned and fled him.

What had he said to make her cry, he wondered, puzzled. He shrugged with his inability to solve the conundrum and took himself out into the fields to help with the threshing.

Their harvest had been good. The grain storehouses were filled to capacity. The entire manor picked the orchard clean of apples and pears to be put away for the winter. The serfs' huts were all repaired where needed, and fresh thatch put upon the roofs. Arthur and his master, the miller, were kept busy grinding flour for several weeks. The slaughtering was done, the meat salted for future use. Wood was chopped and piled high. Ranulf declared that twice a month, on a day to be named, his serfs could hunt for rabbits and fish in his streams. A deer hunt was planned, and everyone on the estate anticipated the merry feast it would provide Christmas tide.

In the manor court over which both the lord and lady presided each month, disputes were settled, fines levied, justice served. Ashlin prospered as it had never prospered before. There was even a stack of coins hidden in a sack behind a stone in the solar wall, for the Lammastide fair in Hereford had indeed proved profitable. The wool crop had been an excellent one.

Elf spent a good deal of time in her little herbarium making salves, lotions, ointments, and unguents for her infirmary. She dried flowers, bark, leaves, and roots that could later be brewed into healing teas, physics, and remedies for coughs and complaints of every nature. She harvested moss to dry and store for dressing wounds. Of late she had not felt particularly well herself. Everything the cook prepared seemed to disagree with her. She gained relief only by brewing up a mint tea, which she would sometimes sweeten with honey. She had six fine hives next to her herbarium, for honey was a wonderful healer when used in certain poultices and remedies.

Finally one rainy afternoon in October as Elf sat in the hall at her tapestry loom, Ida said sharply, "And just when do you intend to tell the master, lady?"

Elf looked up, her needle poised in midair. "Tell my lord what, old Ida?"

"Lady!" Ida was exasperated. "You are with child!"

“I am with child? Ida, how do you know this?" Her hand holding the needle fell on the tapestry.

"You have had no show of blood for two cycles now, lady. Have you not realized that? Certainly you are with child. A June baby, if I am not mistaken." The old woman cackled, delighted.

"Are you certain? This was not something that was spoken of at St. Frideswide's. The girls who were to wed were naturally instructed by their mothers before marriage. Ouch!" Elf popped a finger into her mouth, and sucked it for a moment. Innocence had its place in this world certainly, but hers was becoming a distinct and great disadvantage. How long would it have taken her to figure it out, she wondered, irritated. "Is there any other reason for my moon link to be unbroken?"

"Nay" came the answer. "Not until you are an old woman like me, and your flow ceases to be because you are no longer fertile. Such things do not happen to young girls like yourself, lady. Now, when will you tell the lord of this happy fortune?"

"Let us wait until a third cycle has passed me by," Elf said thoughtfully. "You will say nothing, old Ida. No broad hints, or knowing suggestive looks, either. I need more education in the matter."

"Then, speak with John’s wife, Orva, lady. She is a mother, and a grandmother several times over. It is she who delivers all the babies born on the manor. She will deliver yours."

The very next day Elf carried a basket of apples and pears to her bailiff’s cottage, which was a larger and better-built dwelling than an ordinary serf's. Seated outside her cottage sewing, Orva arose and curtsied.

"Good day, Orva," Elf said. "I have brought you a basket of fruit. I would speak with you."

"Come in, lady," the bailiff’s wife invited, and when her guest had entered the cottage, Orva led her to a stool by the fire. "How may I help you, lady?"

"Having spent most of my life at St. Frideswide's, I know very little of the things ordinary women know," Elf began.

"You think you are with child," Orva said quietly.

"I thought nothing," Elf admitted. "It was old Ida who brought it to my attention. I feel very foolish, I must tell you."

"Nay, lady, you must not. Your upbringing, and the vocation planned for you would hardly include knowledge of this kind. Besides, most young women are never certain the first time they bear young," Orva said in motherly tones. "Now, tell me, lady, when was your last flow of blood?"

"Two weeks after Lammastide," Elf said. "There has been nothing at all since."

"Has your flow ever ceased.since you began having a moon link?"

Elf shook her head in the negative.

"Have you noticed that perhaps your breasts are growing larger? Or that you suffer from nausea of late? Do certain foods repel you?"

"Yes! I noticed my breasts because when I wore my bliaut at Michaelmas, it was tight in the chest! I can hardly eat a thing these days. Only the mint tea I brew will bring me a measure of peace. And my nipples!" Here Elf blushed. "They have, of a sudden, become very, very sensitive."

Orva smiled wisely. "You are with child, lady. From the dates you give me, I would say the child is due at the very end of May, or in the first week of June. Your complaint of the belly will cease shortly, but your breasts will continue to grow larger as they prepare to nourish your child. Your belly will also swell as the child grows."

"What must I do?"

"Eat simply," Orva advised. "Avoid sauces and too much salt. And, lady, do not drink wine. Better you have beer to help enrich your milk, but only if it tastes good to you. I shall come to the manor house each morning, lady, to see how you are doing. Ask me any questions you desire, and do not fear to feel foolish. Only when you are my age with five living children, and seven grandchildren, can you claim to know a great deal, and even then"-she chuckled-"you discover each day how much you have left to learn."

"You will help me when my time comes?" Elf asked nervously.

"Lady, that is my responsibility here at Ashlin, to deliver the babies, but you would not know that having been away so long. I have delivered every child born here for the past twenty years, and before me, my mother did likewise. I delivered you, my lady."

"You did?" Elf’s gray eyes grew wide with the knowledge. It was, she realized, extremely comforting to know this fact. Orva had brought her into the world, and Orva would bring her baby into it.

"Aye, I did," Orva said. "You are much like your mother, you know, but far prettier. She had an easy time with her confinements and her births. She looked delicate, but she was strong."

"Yet she had but two children, and Dickon and I were separated by ten years," Elf noted.

"Nay, lady," Orva corrected her. "Your mother bore six children, with you, the youngest. The first was Robert, named for your father. He died of a chill within the year of his birth. Then came the lord Richard. He was followed by two wee laddies, stillbirths both, born in the years your father was at war. How his going frightened your mother. She was not a wife who could send her man off bravely. Your sister, Adela, was born two years before you were. She was just beginning to walk when she was struck down by a spring epidemic of spotting sickness. Your mother was heartbroken, but by autumn that same year she was with child again, and that child was you!"

"I never knew Mama bore all those babies," Elf said thoughtfully. And what else had she missed? "How sad she lost them."

" 'Tis the way of the world, lady," Orva said pragmatically. "She wept as we all weep when we lose a child. It happens."

"It frightens me to think I might lose my child."

"You must not be frightened, lady," Orva advised. "Your mother had bad luck, that is all. Look at me. I have birthed five, and all five are grown and healthy, praise God! You do what I tell you, lady, and you will have a strong babe come next summer."

"Shall I tell my husband, or shall I wait until I have passed my next moon cycle?"

"That is your decision, lady. Sometimes with the first a woman likes to hoard the wonderful secret to herself for a time and not share it," Orva told her.

"One thing," Elf ventured, and she blushed. "Must we cease lovemaking until after the babe is born?"

"He is a big man, the lord, and you are a dainty lady; but if he is very careful, and you are not uncomfortable, I see no reason why you cannot continue on together. Tell the lord to come to me, and I will instruct him in certain ways that are safe as your belly grows larger and more unwieldy," Orva said.

Elf arose, smiling at the older woman. "I thank you, Orva. I was frightened, but now I am not."

"You should not be, lady. Bearing a child is the most wonderful and the most natural thing in the world for a woman to do. You are a wholesome and healthy girl. You will be fine. Do not, however, and I mean no disrespect, listen to my husband’s mother. Old Ida means well, but her knowledge is not always sound."

Elf laughed. "She is very dour, filled with dire predictions, even if she doesn't utter most of them."

"How is Willa doing?" Orva asked. "She is my daughter, you know. Just a year younger than Arthur."

"Nay, I did not realize she was your daughter," Elf answered the older woman. "She is a good girl, and serves me well."

"I am glad of it, lady," Orva said, escorting her mistress outside again. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed, for about her cottage were a crowd of women, all anxiously looking toward them. "I should not have asked you inside, lady. We should have walked together in private. All these busybodies will have divined why you have come to see me. The manor will be rife with gossip by tonight, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. I think if you wish to tell your husband of his good fortune, you had best do it today. Do not be angry, lady, for these women mean well. They will rejoice with you that Ashlin is to have an heir of your body, that the line of Harold Strongbow, Rowena Strongbowsdatter, and her de Montfort lord continues through you."

Elf looked at all the anxious faces. They were kind faces, faces she knew. She began to laugh. "In June," she said, "but for sweet Mary’s sake, do not gossip until I have had the opportunity to tell my husband."

"But when will you tell him?" the miller’s wife asked boldly.

"I think it must be soon," Orva answered for Elf, "for here is the lord now, coming on the run. Someone has told him you were with me."

"Petite, are you all right?" Ranulf ran up to his wife, breathless.

"I am fine, my lord," Elf said calmly.

"But I was told you had come to see John’s wife," he said nervously.

"Who else would I come to see but the midwife when I am expecting our child," Elf replied sweetly. "And just who told you I was here? As if I don't already know!" She feigned outrage.

"You are having a baby? You are having a baby!" he shouted, a wide grin splitting his face. Then he picked her up in his arms. "You must put no strain upon yourself, petite."

The women about them burst out into unrestrained laughter.

"Put me down, Ranulf," Elf said, laughing herself. "I am having a baby, the most natural of female talents. I am not ill, nor am I injured. Put me down this instant!"

Reluctantly he complied. "But should you not rest, Eleanore?"

"When she is tired, my lord, absolutely," Orva said with a reassuring smile. "She may live her life as normally as if she were not with child. At least for now. And as you are here, my lord, will you come into my cottage, for I would speak with you privately."

Elf grinned, and the women about them hooted with laughter again, for their men had all received Orva’s lectures and instructions when they were first with child.

Still chuckling-and feeling infinitely better-Elf walked back to the house whistling happily. She was not barren stock. She was not like her brother’s wife. At the thought of Isleen de Warenne, a shiver ran down her spine. Elf shook it off quickly. Nothing could spoil her happiness. She was going to have a baby!

Chapter 10

Clud, the whoremonger, raised his hand and hit the woman a third blow. "You will do as you are told, you English bitch!" he snarled.

Isleen de Warenne struggled to her feet, and hit her attacker so hard with both fists that the lame man staggered. "I am no common whore," she screamed at him.

"Perhaps not a common whore," Clud said, grabbing the woman by her long blond braid, "but a whore nonetheless. I bought you fairly, and now I will have a return on my investment."

"I am the daughter of Baron Hugh de Warenne! I am the widow of the lord of Ashlin," Isleen shrieked furiously. "I was only traveling with that peddler for protection. He had no right to sell me to you!"

"But he did, and now I will have my own, plus a goodly interest back from you. You will make me a fine profit before your looks go, you nasty-tempered bitch. Now you will do as I tell you, or I shall have you tied down and offered to whoever wants you. Do you know what that means, bitch? Plowboys and wanderers passing through will labor over your fair white body without ceasing until your sheath is so wide an army could march through it. Now, get on your back, bitch. The lord Merin ap Owen and his men are here for an evening’s entertainment."

"Never!" Isleen shouted at Clud.

He raised his hand to her once again, but a voice stopped him.

"Nay, Clud, do not beat her senseless. You will spoil our enjoyment. We like a woman with spirit. Leave us now, and we will have our pleasure of the wench." The speaker was a tall, dark-haired man with a scar that ran from the corner of his left eye down to his chin. It spoiled his otherwise flawless features.

He smiled, and Isleen shivered. This, she sensed, was a very wicked man. "I am a nobleman’s daughter," she said defiantly.

"How long do you want her?" the whoremonger asked.

Merin ap Owen handed Clud a heavy silver coin. "We will keep her for the whole night," he said, "and do not argue with me, for I will wager I have just given you double what you paid for her. You already have your profit, Clud."

"Do you mean to kill her then?" the whoremonger wondered aloud.

Merin ap Owen laughed heartily. "Only with our kindness, Clud. Only with our kindness. Now, get out, but send some wine in here."

"Yes, my lord! At once!" Clud said, and he limped out.

Merin ap Owen looked Isleen up and down in a leisurely fashion. "So you say you are a nobleman’s daughter, wench. On the wrong side of the blanket, of course. Some serf’s get, eh?"

"I am rightfully born," Isleen responded. "What serf’s bastard would have my fine features, or my beautiful golden hair?"

"Remove your chemise," Merin ap Owen said.

"No!"

His hand shot out swiftly, hooking into the neckline of the garment and rending it quickly to the hem.

"It is my only chemise," she shouted.

"If you did not wish it destroyed, you should have obeyed me," he said quietly. "You can repair it, provided you remove it now before my men and I rip it to pieces entirely."

Isleen’s blue eyes were wide with shock. Looking into his face, she knew he would do exactly as he had said, and so without further argument, she eased carefully from the chemise, setting it aside in a corner of the room. She was totally naked now, for all of her clothing except the chemise had been previously taken from her.

"She has fine big tits, my lord," one of his companions said admiringly.

"That she does," Merin ap Owen agreed, and his hand closed about Isleen’s right breast, squeezing it hard. Then he looked directly at her. "But I am being discourteous, lady. I have not introduced myself. I am Merin ap Owen, the lord of this small region. These are three of my best men. Badan, whose name means boar. Gwyr, whose name means pure, and he is purely wicked, aren't you, Gwyr? And, last, but certainly not least, as you will soon discover, Siarl, whose name means manly. These three have pleased me greatly, and so we have come for a night’s entertainment, which you will provide, my pretty bitch."

"My name is Isleen de Warenne," she told him in an even voice. Her blue eyes locked onto Merin ap Owen’s darker blue eyes. Her first reaction was to be terrified, but these men, she sensed, would enjoy that. She would show no fear before them. What they wanted of her was nothing unusual, and she wasn't a virgin. Four men in a single evening. She had never imagined she would do such a thing, but why not? "If you squeeze my breast much harder, Merin ap Owen, my nipple will pop off. Release it. I can already feel the bruise starting," she said coldly.

"Ah," he said, now more interested in the woman than he had been before, "you are not afraid, my pretty bitch. That is good. We will have far more fun if you are willing, than unwilling. There is too much difficulty in restraining a woman while you're having at her."

At that point a frightened-looking girl lifted the curtain of the alcove and scurried in with a full skin of wine, which she hung on a nail protruding from the wall. Then she scampered out.

"I've never had more than one man," Isleen said bluntly.

"At a time, you mean," Merin ap Owen corrected her. She might indeed be a nobleman’s daughter, for all he knew, but she was also a born whore. Of that he was quite certain. She had the look. Lush and lewd. Releasing her breast he took the wineskin, and squirted the sour brew down his parched throat. "Who wants her first?" he asked, handing off the skin. "Can you agree, or shall you dice for her? I will have her last." He pulled Isleen into their midst. "Come on, my pretty bitch, and show my men what a good time they're going to have. Go on, laddies, she’s yours for the taking."

Caught between the three men Isleen swallowed back a moment of panic. Hands began to roam over her body. Her blond head was drawn back, and a mouth came down on hers; a tongue pushed between her lips. She felt fingers exploring her mont, pushing between her nether lips, and into her sheath. Isleen sighed with undisguised pleasure, and wiggled hard against the invading hand. If she could keep them all in check, and from being too rough with her, this could prove as diverting for her as it was going to be for them. Two hands slid about to fondle her breasts. Isleen pushed her rounded bottom back onto the groin belonging to the hands. "Ooooooo," she murmured pulling away from the kisser, "that’s a nice big one. Do you want to put it in me?"

"Aye," a voice growled in her ear. "Let’s dice, boys, before I explode. The bitch is hot, and so am I!"

A pair of dice and a cup dropped on the dirt floor, and the three men fell to their knees to play. Isleen smiled, and looked directly into the eyes of Merin ap Owen. He nodded slightly, a faint smile playing about his mouth. Isleen smiled back, her little pink tongue licking her lips slowly in a deliberate provocation. He laughed.

"I win!" came the shout, and Siarl scrambled to his feet only to be pulled back again.

"Not until we see who goes second, and then third," Badan said. "The bitch got me so hard, I'm all an ache with my lust."

The dice rattled in their cup again. The decision was finally made. Siarl would go first. Badan second, and Gwyr third. The men stood up, their hands loosening their clothing as they did. Isleen lay down upon the pallet on the floor, spreading herself wide.

"All right," she said bluntly, "let’s get to it, manly one, although I shall certainly be the judge of that."

"You'll not find me wanting," Siarl said, falling to his knees be-, tween her outstretched thighs, and he pulled out his manhood to show her.

"It’s a respectable cock," Isleen said in a slightly bored tone, "but 'tis how you use it, Siarl. Now, stuff me full, and make me sing!" she told him with unladylike indelicacy.

Siarl fell upon Isleen, ramming himself into her with a groan, and pumping her over, and over, and over again.

The other three men watched, Merin ap Owen impassively, Gwyr and Badan with increasing excitement, their manhoods exposed, hard, and throbbing. The lord caught the eye of his two men.

"She can take two," he said softly. "You are second, Badan, are you not? Go on."

Badan needed no further encouragement. Kneeling behind Isleen’s head, he rubbed his cock over her lips. Sloe-eyed, Isleen gazed up at him, then opening her mouth took him in and began to suck even as her hips met each downward thrust by Siarl. The two men sweated and groaned as their lusts rose, and rose, finally bursting almost simultaneously. Each man rolled away from her, panting with exhaustion as Gwyr fell upon the inviting woman. He was a small man, but he had boundless energy, and within minutes he had Isleen howling with pleasure. And when he had taken his own pleasure, Gwyr bounded up with a grin.

"Well, she is as good a mount as I ever rode, my lord. I wish you even better joy of her!"

"Give me some wine, you pigs," Isleen groaned, and they complied with her request. After all, the night was young yet, she thought, and it would be hours before the dawn. Isleen greedily swallowed the bitter brew. Then to their surprise she squirted the wine between her nether lips, put the skin snout into her sheath, and flushed out their seed. The three men watched her wide-eyed. "Well," she snapped at them, "I don't intend getting diseased, or having one of your bastards." Her gaze swung to Merin ap Owen. "Are you ready now?" she demanded boldly of him.

He nodded, unsmiling. "Bend over," he commanded, and then to his men, "Hold her down."

"What are you doing?" Isleen shrieked, struggling to conceal the terror that suddenly arose in her breast. With difficulty she turned her head to see him. He had in his hands a leather strap.

"Legs wide apart, Isleen," he commanded.

She quickly obeyed, realizing resistance in this case was futile and could bring out the coldness in him even further. This was a man, she thought, awed, and already half in love with him. The leather strap cracked and made contact with her buttocks. Isleen shrieked.

Merin ap Owen made a disparaging noise. "Come, now, my pretty bitch, you are stronger than that. I gave you but a love tap on your prettily rounded rump. Certainly you've been beaten before."

"Never!" she said. "Never!"

"Not your father, or your husband, or your lovers beat you?" he asked, disbelieving. "Well, my pretty bitch, I am going to beat you. Not to punish you, or break your will, but so you may better learn to enjoy pleasure through pain." He raised his arm, and brought it down again.

Isleen grit her teeth, stifling her cry. The strap didn't hurt so much as it burned. As he delivered blow after blow to her buttocks, she began to feel as if they were afire, and then the fire was banked, leaving just a wickedly delicious warmth to her bottom, but a raging inferno of lust elsewhere. She moaned, yet the sound was not one of pain. It was one of desire.

Merin ap Owen smiled, satisfied. "Release her. On your hands and knees, Isleen," he commanded her, and as she obeyed, he slid to his own knees directly behind her, his cock at the ready. He rubbed it between her nether lips, moistening it, then he placed it against the rosy aperture between her buttocks.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Isleen squeaked as his hands tightened about her hips.

"Has no man ever gone this way, Isleen?" he demanded. "Are you a virgin in your bottom hole?"

"Yes!" she gasped, feeling him pushing himself slowly into her body. "Yes, damn you!"

"How perfect," Merin ap Owen said, and then he thrust himself deep into her, smiling as she screeched her outrage. "Ahhh, you are delicious," he complimented, drawing himself out, then driving back in once again. "Cease your caterwauling, my pretty bitch, and let your body speak to your mind. There," he complimented her as she stopped her struggles. Then he began a rhythmic motion against her, and was pleased when within moments her bottom was pushing back against his groin. "Good! Good, my pretty bitch! You are enjoying this, aren't you, Isleen? This is wicked, and this is forbidden, and you like it!"

"Yes!" she half sobbed.

He laughed aloud, his cock flashing back and forth until his lust erupted, and he flooded her body. "You'll get no brats from me, Isleen," he said into her ear.

"You bastard!" she snarled at him angrily as he moved away from her, and she collapsed facedown upon the straw pallet. Her back channel ached with his unaccustomed invasion, but damn him, it had been exciting! Yet she was still boiling with a hunger that was going to consume her. She rolled over to glare up at him, and Badan fell upon her once again. She wrapped her legs about him, and encouraged him onward to his best efforts. He did not disappoint her.

"How fortuitous," Merin ap Owen purred as he watched the pair. "A bitch who cannot get enough cock, but the night is yet young, my friends."

Still, when the long night was over, Isleen had not been broken, nor was she apt to be, the lord of the region thought. While she slept surrounded by his three men, Merin ap Owen rearranged his clothing so that it had a semblance of order, and left the small chamber to seek Clud, the whoremonger. He found him seated outside of his house upon a bench, drinking, while he fondled a young whore who sat on his knee. Reaching into the purse that hung from his girdle, Merin ap Owen drew out two silver coins. He was not of a mind to argue or haggle with Clud. He held out the coins, and Clud’s grimy hand opened greedily.

Still retaining possession of the coins, Merin ap Owen said, "I am taking Isleen with me when I leave this morning." It was a statement of fact. He then dropped the two coins into Clud’s outstretched hand.

The whoremonger’s fingers closed swiftly about the silver. "She’s yours, lord. She would have been trouble for me. You, however, know how to tame a bitch."

"She is not tamed, nor ever likely to be," Merin ap Owen said. "That is why I want her. She’s greedy, venal, I suspect, and as dangerous as a mad dog. Yet she suits my fancy for now. Fetch a tub of hot water into her chamber, and bring her her own clothing and a new chemise. First tell my men to return to the castle, and then see to her."

Clud got to his feet, dumping the girl in his lap to the ground. "Aye, my lord, at once!"

"I'll be back at noon," Merin ap Owen said. "Let her sleep for a time, but see she is ready and waiting for me when I come."

"Yes, my lord!" Clud bowed obsequiously several times.

With a sardonic smile upon his lips, Merin ap Owen turned from the whoremonger and walked away. "At noon," he repeated.

"At noon, my lord," Clud called after him.

Isleen awoke as the tub was dragged into the chamber where she slept. She groaned, tired and sore. Lifting her head, she rolled over. The men were gone now, and only the frightened-looking little wench who was the servant girl in the brothel was there. "What is the hour?" she demanded of the girl.

"Almost two hours past Terce," the servant replied. "Master says you are to bathe. Lord Merin will return for you at noon. He bought you from the master. Your clothing is there. I repaired your chemise. Hurry, lady! You dare not keep the lord waiting."

Isleen smiled a feline smile. So the bastard had bought her from the whoremonger. Why? To be the castl whore for his men? That would be just like him, for Isleen had quickly learned Merin ap Owen was a cruel man. Or did he want her for himself? Pray God that was it. She had not given quarter last night. She would not give any now. The Welsh lordling was her chance to have her revenge upon her meek little sister-in-law, the holy Eleanore. If it hadn't been for the little nun, Saer de Bude would now be lord of Ashlin and she, waiting in the wings, would have soon again been Ashlin’s lady. She had wanted to be her cousin’s wife since she was a child. It was Eleanore de Montforts fault she was not, nor was ever likely to be now. So she would revenge herself upon the little bitch, and she would use this Merin ap Owen to accomplish her goal.

Isleen bathed herself carefully with the primitive accoutrements provided by Clud. She washed her long golden hair, drying it by the charcoal brazier the servant had brought her to warm the room. Slowly she combed through her hair, freeing it of tangles, combing, combing, combing until it was almost dry. Parting her hair in the center, she wound it into a thick coil at the base of her neck and affixed it with her hairpins. "Find me some scented oil," she told the servant.

"There is no such stuff in this place," the girl said.

"Your master does not know how to run a proper brothel," Isleen said irritably.

" 'Tis the finest brothel in Gwynfr."

" 'Tis the only brothel in Gwynfr," Isleen sneered. Then she dressed herself in her sky blue skirts and blue and gold tunic top.

"Ahhh," the girl said admiringly, "I have never seen anything so fine, lady. May I touch it?"

Isleen nodded, amused by the girl’s naivete.

The girl fingered the fine material, then she said, "You are surely the most beautiful lady I have ever seen. If you go with Lord Merin, you will need a serving woman. There are none at Gwynfr Castle, I swear it! I can sew, and do your hair." Her plain face was hopeful.

"Are you a whore?" Isleen asked.

"Nay!" the girl denied vehemently. "Clud is my uncle, and when my mother died, he took me in to serve, but I am no whore. I will swear it on the Blessed Virgins name!"

Isleen was thoughtful. The girl was plain enough to attract no attention. She was clever enough to want to advance herself, yet meek enough to be controlled easily. She was familiar with the region and all the people. She could prove a useful ally. "Are you freeborn or serf?" she asked the girl. If she was a serf, Isleen would have to wheedle Merin into purchasing her.

"I am freeborn," the girl said, "for all the good it has ever done me, lady. I will serve you well."

"What is your name?"

"Arwydd."

Isleen laughed. The wench was a sly thing. "Gather your things, Arwydd," she told the girl.

"I'm wearing them," Arwydd said wryly.

Isleen looked scornfully at the girl’s soiled and sweat-stained garments. "This will not do," she said. "Go and fetch your uncle."

Arwydd ran out, returning a few minutes later with Clud.

The whoremonger looked Isleen over appreciatively, licking his lips as he did so. "Perhaps I am selling you too cheap," he said.

"Whatever Merin ap Owen paid you was too much," Isleen said dryly. "Now, I am taking Arwydd with me, for I must have a servant. Get her some clean clothing, you tightfisted old bastard. She stinks of a year’s worth of slave labor, labor you have undoubtedly not paid her for at Michaelmas. Now you don't have to pay her. Just clothe her decently, and I will take her with me. It cannot hurt you to have your niece in service at Gwynfr Castle."

"I have fed her and housed her," Clud whined.

"Indeed. Now, do as I say. I shall also do something else for you, Clud, but first Arwydd’s garments. Hurry!" She turned to her servant as Clud hurried out. "Take those stinking rags off and get into the tub, girl. If you are going to serve me, you must be clean."

Arwydd didn't argue. She stripped off her filthy gown, and climbed into the tub to wash herself and her hair. Clud returned with a clean chemise, skirt, and tunic top. Isleen looked them over critically. They were lacking in style, but had one advantage. They were clean. The skirt and top were a medium blue. He laid them on the stool by the tub, leering at his niece’s naked bosom.

"Come outside with me," Isleen commanded him. "Arwydd, do not dally, or I will leave you behind." The curtain of the room flapped down, and they stood in the narrow hall of the building. "You have absolutely no idea of how to run a brothel," Isleen told him. "Once I have settled myself with Merin ap Owen, and my position is secure, I shall tell you what to do, and if you do what I tell you, you will be a rich man within a year, Clud."

"And what would a nobleman’s daughter know about such things?" He snarled at her. "If you are indeed who you say you are."

"Oh, I am," Isleen assured. "As for what I know, I am a woman. I know men. If all you ever hope to serve are serfs and poor freemen, then continue as you are. But if you wish to add the rich, both free and noble, to your clientele, then you will do what I tell you. Men like beautifully adorned women and sweet scents. They like soft beds and fine wine. Save the sour grape and the pallets for your poorer clients, but learn to service the rich, and your fortune is made."

"And what will you gain for your trouble?" he asked her.

"A small remuneration, Clud, but there is no need for us to discuss that now, is there? First you must see that I speak the truth. Then we will talk about what my aid is worth to you." She smiled sweetly.

Instinct told him not to trust her, yet he was intrigued by her words. He heard himself saying, "Very well, lady.”

"I am ready, mistress." Arwydd lifted the curtain separating the chamber from the hall, and stepped out. She was clean, her black hair braided into two plaits, her blue eyes alive with hope.

Isleen nodded approvingly. "Excellent," she said. "Now, let us go and await Merin ap Owen’s return."

They had hardly stepped outside the door when the lord of Gwynfr came down the street upon a large warhorse. Stopping before Clud’s house, he reached a hand down to Isleen and pulled her up onto his saddle.

"I am taking the girl, Arwydd, with me as my servant," Isleen told him.

Merin ap Owen looked down at the slight girl. "Go up to the castle, wench. Tell the steward you are her servant, and he will take you to her chamber."

"Yes, my lord." Arwydd curtsied.

Merin ap Owen turned his mount, and rode off with Isleen. "I was not wrong," he said. "You are a very beautiful woman."

"Am I your whore, or the castle whore?" she demanded of him.

The Welshman laughed heartily. "You do not dissemble daintily, Isleen, do you? You are my whore until I decide otherwise. Occasionally, however, I may loan you to an important visitor whom I wish to particularly please. When this happens, Isleen, you will give my guest a night of ecstasy such as he has never known, so that come the morning he will be amenable to whatever it is I desire. Do you understand?"

"Aye," she said. "It is a clear path you have laid out for me, but I want something in return."

"What?" His eyes were curious.

"The man who sold me to Clud had not the right to do so. I am freeborn. You know this to be so, don't you?".

He nodded.

"I will not grow rich in your service, Merin ap Owen, and I must be rich to be independent. I must have a means of earning monies."

He was absolutely fascinated. "Go on," he said, guiding his horse down the narrow street.

"Gwynfr is on the road to Hereford. An invasion road for both the Welsh and the English. Clud has the only brothel in Gwynfr, yet he knows not how to manage it. Only a lord as corrupt and debauched as you would inhabit such a place. But what if Clud’s brothel was elegant enough to serve the rich? Not only plowboys and men-at-arms, but men of substance, and lords. I have offered to aid Clud in attaining such a goal. It will not interfere with any of my duties for you, my lord, I promise. I will do all that you tell me, if I can but use my own time to help Clud."

"And what will you gain in return, Isleen?" She was delicious. She was as evil a woman as he had ever known.

"Nothing at first, my lord, for I must make Clud open his tight fist so we may improve his premises in order that important men seek it out. Then, too, we must find the best and most skilled of whores. And you, my lord"-she leaned against him, and purred in his ear-"you will personally examine each of our prospective jades, so we may be certain they are worthy." Her tongue dipped into his ear, and swirled about it for a moment. "Later, when I have proved to Clud that I can deliver on my promises, I shall take half of the brothel and its profits for myself."

"And eventually cheat the unsuspecting Clud out of his half," Merin ap Owen said, chuckling darkly.

"Of course, my lord," Isleen said in a hard voice. "You don't expect me to go to all that trouble just to enrich that creature?"

Merin ap Owen laughed heartily. "Evil!" he chortled. "You are pure evil, my beautiful Isleen. We shall make a perfect couple. I may even marry you someday."

"No, thank you," Isleen said. "I've had a father, a husband, and a lover or two along the way. I don't intend to be any man’s possession ever again, my lord! I shall, however, revenge myself upon my late husband’s family, and then settle down to being the richest whoremonger in Wales. And I shall not be unmindful of your help."

He laughed harder. Every word out of her mouth pleased him. As a rule he didn't like women. They were sly and deceitful creatures. Until today there had been no woman in his castle since his bitch of a mother had died. His first wife, a girl of fourteen, he had killed with his depravity. His second, seventeen the day she wed him, had fled to a convent a month after their wedding. He was notified that the marriage was legally dissolved by the church. Her family had not asked for her dower portion back. He later learned that his second wife had been pregnant with his child when she ran away. No sooner had she birthed his son, than she drowned him; but fortunately for her family, she killed herself also. No, women were not to be trusted.

And here was Isleen. Every bit as wicked as he was himself. She made no secret of it, either. She was, he decided, the first honest woman he had ever met, although he would not be fool enough to trust her, either.

"Do you like beating women?" she asked him frankly.

"Just enough to increase their pleasure… and mine," he admitted.

"Do you always use that strap?"

"I like a nice thin and whippy hazel switch, too," he replied. "It cuts sharply, but if plied carefully doesn't leave scars."

"Can a woman whip a man, my lord?"

"Yes. There are men who enjoy being beaten, but I am not one of them," he answered her.

Isleen nodded. "Could you teach me? That might prove an interesting diversion for my whores. It would give us a uniqueness."

"You have a head for business," he noted.

"I have an instinct for it, it is true, but no real head for it. I cannot read or write."

"Neither can I," he said quietly, "but I think you must learn, for it would not do to have some scribe cheat you. Or me."

"You want a part of my brothel?" she said, surprised.

"Of course, my pretty bitch," he told her. "If I help you, and I will if you continue to please me, then I must certainly have some part of the rewards. It is only fair."

Isleen pouted a moment, and then her common sense overcame her greed. "Very well," she agreed.

They had reached the castle now. The street had wound up a hill to where it was located. It was small and, from the look of it, not in particularly good condition. The drawbridge and the portcullis, however, were in excellent repair. Inside the courtyard he drew the horse to a halt, and dismounted, lifting Isleen down.

"I will take you to your chamber," he said.

Gwynfr Castle had but two towers. They were connected by the great hall. He led her into one of the towers, and up three flights of stairs. Her chamber, she discovered, was at the top of the tower. It was light, but scantily furnished. There was a fireplace for warmth.

"Where do you reside?" she asked him.

"In the apartment below you, my pretty bitch."

She nodded. She must remain faithful to him unless he chose otherwise, for to get to her, a man must go past his chambers. "If you desire me to entertain a favored gust, my lord, am I to bring him here or elsewhere?"

"I house my guests in the other tower. You will always be sent to await the visitor. You may explore tomorrow to your heart’s content, Isleen."

"And when you desire me?"

"I will come here, of course," he told her. "My chambers are for me alone, Isleen. No one enters them but me."

"Who cleans and changes the linen for you?" she demanded.

"It is taken care of. How, is not your concern."

"And what will my exact position here be? Am I your mistress? If so, what are my duties? Do you desire me to oversee your servants? Your cook? I want no misunderstanding between us."

"I have a steward, an old man, who has been in the castle all of his life. He oversees everything, and is quite capable. His name is Harry. You are to do nothing but keep yourself in readiness for my lust, and be an amusing and charming companion when I so desire you to be. Harry will give you whatever you desire to keep you content."

"I want a promise from you right now," Isleen said. "Arwydd is not to be accosted by you or your men. She is no good to me with a big belly. As Clud’s niece, she is invaluable to me in more ways than just that of a serving wench. I need her, my lord. She is a clever girl. Promise me she will be left alone."

"Lift your skirts," he commanded her in reply.

Isleen did not hesitate. She raised her skirts high, revealing her naked body beneath. He knelt before her, and using his fingers to open her, began making love to her with his tongue. Isleen closed her eyes, and breathed a deep sigh of pleasure. When he had brought her to a tingling peak, he stood up and pulled his manhood from his disarranged clothes. Isleen knew what was expected without any command being made. Dropping her skirts she knelt before him and, taking him in her mouth, roused him further with her lips and tongue until he commanded her to stop. Pulling her up, he pushed her back upon the bed and, thrusting her skirts up, drove himself into her. She wrapped her stockinged legs about him, her heels beating a tattoo upon his buttocks as he pistoned her. He was a tireless lover, slowly bringing her to her crisis. Then to her amazement, for he had done so last night to her surprise, though she thought it coincidence, peaking exactly as she did. Immediately, however, he arose from her, pulling her skirts down and offering her a hand to arise.

"Tell your wench not to flirt with my men. Not even to look them in the eye, for they are a randy bunch. If she obeys you, she will be safe from my men. The only man in the castle she may trust unwaveringly is old Harry, the steward. Remember that, my pretty bitch."

"What of the three who were with you last night, my lord?"

"They will never make eye contact with you, Isleen. They know if they do they will be killed. They spent a night in paradise. Now they must forget that paradise ever existed. Did any of them please you? Was there one who stood out among the trio?"

"Only you please me, my lord," Isleen murmured softly.

"Especially when I strapped you, and took your bottom," he said with a wicked smile.

"Yes," she admitted. "It was exciting. Will you do it again?"

"When it pleases me, Isleen. You must learn to give pleasure to a man in as many ways as you can. And you must be completely obedient to your lord’s wishes, but I think you already are dutiful in matters of the flesh. Are you not?"

"Aye," she said.

"Raise your skirts up again," he said.

She obeyed.

"Bend over," he commanded, and again she obeyed. Taking her beneath his arm, he spanked her bottom several hard, stinging blows. Then his fingers delved between her nether lips, and he smiled a wicked smile. "You are very dutiful," he murmured as his wet fingers came about and pushed into her fundament.

Isleen squealed, and wiggled her bottom lustfully. "Oh, yes!"

"I have always told myself there is no such thing as a perfect woman, my pretty bitch," Merin ap Owen said as the two fingers thrust back and forth within her narrow channel, "but I think you may actually be perfect, Isleen."

Her body shuddered with its new release, and she sagged against him, panting. "Ohhh, that was good, my lord, but tonight I want your hard cock there!" He was a wonderful lover, she thought. Much better than her cousin, Saer de Bude. Still, she would not give up her plans for revenge against Eleanore de Montfort. She would enslave Merin ap Owen with her body. Perhaps he would even fall in love with her. And then she would cajole him into attacking Ashlin, into destroying everything that the little nun and her knightly husband had built up. She knew of Ashlin’s prosperity. Her father had pointed it out enough to her.

"Ranulf de Glandeville has managed to make Ashlin thrive. If you had concerned yourself with helping Richard instead of lusting after your cousin, things might have been different," Baron Hugh had grumbled. "Why they actually made a profit on their wool at the Lammas Fair. But no! You could not be bothered to be a good wife. To give your husband children. Perhaps you are barren like Saer says, you useless bitch! Now you have brought shame upon the family, so much so, that the king has ordered you punished. Well, I've finally found a convent that will take you in York. They understand the situation. You will be locked in a chastity belt, you wretched bitch, and you will work and pray without ceasing for the rest of your life! They have brown woolen robes they wear year-round. Without chemises, Isleen, in order that the itching of the wool mortify the wickedness of the flesh. You will be fed but once a day, at noon. The food is simple and wholesome. There is no wine, and little meat or cheese. And once I have left you there, my daughter, I hope never to see you again!

"But you promised I should only be incarcerated until King Stephen died," Isleen wailed.

"I have changed my mind," Baron Hugh said.

Isleen had escaped from her father’s house that night. He probably thought her dead by now, but she was not dead. She was alive, and she intended on having her revenge, even if she had to give up her immortal soul to obtain her victory.