The Innocent

Chapter 11

The winter passed quietly. There was more than enough food for the people of Ashlin and for their livestock. April flew by, and May first came again. On this birthday Elf was great with her child, and every little thing seemed to aggravate her. No one, even Ranulf, dared to forbid her when she decided to travel to St. Frideswide’s one mid-May afternoon.

"Do you think it wise?" the lord of Ashlin ventured in his only attempt to stop her.

Elf glared at him. "I have been cooped up here all winter, my lord. I have no one to talk to but Willa and old Ida, who fills my ears with dire predictions with every breath I draw. I will take Orva and Willa with me in case of any emergency, but there will be no emergency. I want to see my friends again!"

"The cart must be well padded," he insisted.

"Whatever will relieve your mind, my lord," she snapped.

"And you will have an escort of armed men, petite."

"Naturally."

"I am not happy that you go."

"It is unfortunate that my desire to see friends disturbs you so, my lord," she replied in acid tones.

Willa touched the lord’s arm gently and said, "Orva says a woman near her time can become cranky, my lord. The lady means no disrespect, I am certain."

"You will remember me to the abbess, petite," Ranulf said to his wife. "And to Sisters Winifred and Columba, too." He grinned at her.

"Of course," Elf said shortly.

The cart that Elf traveled in was well padded in thick wool upholstered with blue silk. It had a red-and-blue-striped silk awning over it with side curtains that would roll down in the event of a heavy rainstorm. The awning was waxed to prevent the rain’s penetration. Elf was most comfortable sitting with her legs up now. Orva and Willa rode next to the cart, which was surrounded by half-a-dozen men-at-arms. They departed Ashlin in the morning, arriving at the convent in late afternoon. The men-at-arms left them at St. Frideswide’s gate, returning home. A nun hurried forth to lead the cart horse into the cloister, its driver having departed in the company of the men-at-arms.

The cart came to a stop, its back gate was lowered, and Elf was helped down by her two women.

"Elf!" Sister Columba came running toward her friend, her dark robes flying. "Oh, Elf! It is so good to see you again!" the young nun exclaimed. She set Elf back, and looked at her. "Mary have mercy! You are huge! He'll be every bit as big as his father, I vow!"

"How I'm going to birth him, I do not know," Elf grumbled. Then she laughed. "It is good to be back," she said happily.

"Come along, and I'll take you to the guest house," Sister Columba said. "You will have it all to yourself."

"Most guests visiting St. Frideswide’s usually do." Elf chuckled. "These are my servants, Willa and Orva. Orva is the manor midwife. I thought it better I travel with her."

"Are you that near your time?" Sister Columba said, eyes wide.

"Aye," Elf told her. "I probably shouldn't have come, but I couldn't stand being boxed up at Ashlin one more moment. Then Ranulf attempted to play the lord and master. It was simply too much! Besides, I needed to see you and the others. I have not been back to St. Frideswide’s since we returned to Worcester. It’s been a year and a half!"

They reached the guest house, and Sister Columba ushered them inside. "What is it like being married, Elf?"

"Very nice," Elf told her, then turned to her servants. "Orva, Willa. Unpack my things, if you please. We will sleep in the dormitory through that door." She pointed. "Sister Columba and I are going to walk in the cloister garden. The bell will sound for the meal shortly. Listen for it." Then Elf hooked her arm through Sister Columba's, and the two young women walked outside of the guest house.

"You have grown so authoritative," the nun noted.

Elf laughed. "I have to be. I am the lady of the manor," she told her friend. "Now, let me tell you about being married. My husband is a kind man with a good heart. He is a fine lord, and our people respect him greatly. My life is a round of daily duties, very much like living here at St. Frideswide's. There is a time for planting and harvesting; for slaughtering and threshing; for making soaps and preserving foods. We have done much at Ashlin since I returned, not the least of which was restoring the manor church. We appealed to the bishop of a new priest, and Father Oswin was sent us in late autumn."

"Then, you are happy," Sister Columba said quietly.

"Aye," Elf told her best friend. "I am very happy, Matti. When I was torn from this life I believed I was to lead, and given to be Ranulf’s wife, I thought I should never be happy again, but I am. I am happier than I have ever been in my whole life."

"Do you love him?"

"Aye, I do, though I have never said it to him."

"Why in heaven’s name not?"

"Ranulf is a battle-hardened warrior, Matti. Sweet sentiment does not reside in his breast. I should embarrass him if I said I loved him," Elf said with a small smile. "What could he possibly say to me in return? We like each other, and I respect him. We have a good marriage."

"If you said you loved him, he might just return the sentiment," Sister Columba said hopefully.

"But what if he does not? I would discomfit him, and he would be abashed, for he would not harm me knowingly. Nay, it is better things remain as they are."

"I would want my husband to know I loved him," Sister Columba said firmly. "I tell our dear Lord each day of my love for him."

"But it is God you love, Matti. My love is all too human, and my husband would be quite confounded to hear me whispering sweet nothings into his ear." She chuckled.

"Eleanore."

The two young women looked up to see the abbess approaching, her hands outstretched in greeting. Elf took the Reverend Mother Eunice’s hands in hers. The abbess looked her former charge over carefully, and then she smiled warmly.

"It is as I said to you that day in Worcester, Eleanore. God has changed your fate. That you bloom with new life, and are so filled with smiles is proof in itself, although I never doubted."

"I'm afraid I did for a time," Elf replied with a wry grin, "but my fine husband won me over."

"The king, while not a wise man, is a good one. I knew he would not give you into rough hands," Reverend Mother Eunice said. "But, surely, my daughter, you are near your time."

"I am," Elf responded, "but I needed to come home again before my girlhood disappears entirely, and I find myself someone’s mother."

The two nuns laughed. "Isa did the same thing, although she was not near as far gone as you."

"Has Isa had her baby?" Elf asked. "I did not know."

"A little girl, last year, and she is again with child," Sister Columba replied.

Elf smiled.

For the next several days, Elf picked up her old life, attending the various religious services and helping old Sister Winifred. Her former mentor was teaching a young novice the duties of an infirmarian and herbalist.

"You have your own garden?" the elderly nun queried Elf.

"I do. I have been fortunate in that I have had only minor complaints, simple wounds, and a few broken bones to care for at Ashlin. I dread a full-blown epidemic."

"You are up to it," Sister Winifred said. "Ahh, child, how it does my heart good to see you again!"

Elf remained at St. Frideswide’s for over a week. The morning she was to depart for Ashlin, she arose, and no sooner had she done so when a sudden gush of water poured down her legs. Elf stared, shocked. "Orva!" she called in a strangely weak voice. "Orva!"

"Mary, Mother of God, protect us all," Orva said, coming and seeing her mistress standing stock-still amid a puddle of fluid. Then her common sense took hold. "Well, lady, there is no help for it. Your child will be born today, and here at St. Frideswide's, it would seem." She held up her hand, seeing the question in Elf’s eyes. "Nay, there is no time to return to Ashlin. Traveling when a woman is in labor is too dangerous. The lord would kill us all if anything happened to you or the child. This place is every bit as good as Ashlin for birthing your babe, perhaps even better. Willa! Come and help the mistress while I go and tell the abbess."

Orva trotted out of the convent guest house, and made her way across the cloister to the chapter house, where she knew the abbess could be found conducting convent business. The morning meeting was just coming to an end when she hurried to the abbess’s seat of office. She curtsied.

"Yes, Orva?" the abbess said.

" 'Tis my lady, Reverend Mother. She is going to have her baby. I should appreciate some assistance."

"Oh, dear," the abbess said, momentarily disconcerted. But then she smiled a broad smile that few within her world had ever seen. "My sisters," she called out to them. "A baby is to be born here within our convent this day. Sister Winifred, please give all aid and assistance to Orva. The rest of you pray for the safe delivery of Eleanore’s child, and her safety through the travails of childbirth as well. You are all dismissed now."

"Mother?" Sister Columba spoke hesitantly.

The abbess looked at the young nun, then patted her arm. "Go and be with your friend," she said in kindly tones. "Keep us informed, Columba."

"Yes, Reverend Mother."

"I will come to the guest house with what you need," old Sister Winifred said to Orva, and she moved off.

"I'll come back with you now," Elf’s best friend said.

"Birthing is bloody work," Orva said to the nun. "You don't go faint at the sight of blood, do you, sister?"

"I don't know. I've never seen a lot of blood."

Orva shrugged. "If you think you're going to faint, just get out of the way, sister. It’s not likely I'd have time for you if my mistress is in difficult straits."

"How long will it take for the baby to be born?"

"Some come quick. Others seem to take forever. We'll need your prayers, sister."

"The others are praying," Sister Columba said quickly. "I can do more than that surely. I want to help, not stand about wringing my hands at Elf’s every cry."

"Praise be to Mary," Orva said, pleased. "I can use all the help I can get, sister. Willa, my lady’s serving wench, is young, and while she’s seen two of her brothers and her baby sister born, I need more help than she can offer."

The two women entered the guest house. Willa had not been idle. She had gotten her mistress out of her wet chemise, and put a dry one on her. Elf was now back in her bed in the dormitory while Willa struggled to pull and push the refectory table in the guest hall over by the fireplace. It would be used as a birthing table, for the convent had no birthing chair, never having needed one. Sister Columba, seeing what Willa was doing, hurried to help.

" 'Twould be better if we had a birthing chair," Orva said despairingly, "but we'll take what we can and do as best as we can. Where is the lady, girl?"

"She is resting, Ma."

Orva cuffed her daughter lightly. "You know better than to let her lie down!" She stamped into the dormitory, where Elf lay pale and nervous. "Up with you, my lady," she said briskly, and helped Elf to her feet. "Lying about will not help your child to be born.

Have you any pains yet?"

"Nay," Elf said low.

"Well, they'll come soon enough now that your waters have broken," Orva said matter-of-factly. "You must walk, lady. The sooner this child is born, the better you'll be." Putting Elf’s cloak about her, she walked her out into the hall, through the door, and into the cloister. "We'll walk together, lady, about the quadrangle. Your pains will soon begin."

"Ranulf," Elf said. "We must send for my husband."

"A man’s no use, lady, at a time like this," Orva said in practical tones. "When the child is born, then we'll send for him."

"But what if I die?" Elf voiced her greatest fear.

"It happens," Orva said, "but I don't see it happening to you, lady. You are small, but you are very strong."

They walked… and they walked. The damask rosebushes about them were coming into full, profuse bloom. The air was spicy sweet with their fragrance. It was a sunny day, and a light breeze carried the perfume of the rose to them as they traveled about the cloister. Finally Orva allowed them a rest. They sat together upon a small stone bench.

"Have you any pain, lady?"

"Not real pain," Elf said, "but I suddenly feel very, very uncomfortable in my nether regions. I feel heavy there, as if something were about to burst forth from within me."

"Let us walk back to the guest house," Orva suggested. From Elf’s words she ascertained the baby’s birth might be sooner than later.

Elf stood up. "Owwwwwwwwww!" She doubled over.

Orva put an arm about her mistress, and half forced her to move forward toward the guest house. Once inside she signaled to Willa, and together they helped Elf to get upon the birthing table.

"Sister, come, and stand behind your friend. Brace her so she is sitting up," Orva instructed the nun. "Lady, put your legs up, and open them for me. I must examine you now." Orva bent down, and peered hard at her patient. It was exactly as she had thought. This child was going to come quickly, and be a very easy birth. The lady was fortunate. The child’s head was just barely visible. "Put my apron on, Willa," she told her daughter, "and then bring me a basin of water and a carafe of wine. You know what I will need." Orva looked at Elf. "Lady, the heaviness you sense is your child pushing its way from your body. It is coming quickly. Do not push yourself no matter how desperately you want to until I tell you to do so." Orva stood still a moment while Willa tied a large apron about her. Then she washed her hands thoroughly first with wine, and then soap and water. "Do you have a knife to cut the cord and swaddling for the child?" she inquired of Willa.

"Aye, Ma," the girl replied.

"I have brought Eleanore herbs to dull her pain during her travail," Sister Winifred said, bustling into the hall.

"We are not going to need the herbs, good sister," Orva told the elderly nun. "This child will be born quickly. Will you remain, and help me?"

Elf moaned.

Sister Winifred took up a clean cloth, and dipped it in the bucket of cool water. She wiped Elf’s beaded brow. "There, child, you are but suffering what our Blessed Mother suffered, and is that not true glory?"

Sister Joseph, the faint aroma of the stables about her, arrived lugging a small manger. "I have brought the smallest of the feeding troughs for the child," she said. "It is thoroughly scrubbed, and lined with clean straw strewn with sweet clover and grass. There is a linen cloth over it all. The baby will be quite safe in it as we have no cradle." She plunked the wooden manger down. "If it was good enough for the Christ Child, it is good enough for this child," she finished pithily "How is she doing?"

"Very well," Orva said.

"I will never do this again!" Elf said piteously. "Why did no one tell me it hurt so much to have a baby? Ohhhhhh!"

"Hush, lady, you are having a very easy time of it," Orva scolded her.

"I want to push!" Elf cried.

"Wait!" Orva told her. "Now! Push now, lady, as hard as you can! Brace her well, Sister Columba!"

Elf screamed, pushing hard, struggling to rid her body of this bulk that threatened to tear her asunder.

"Come on, Eleanore de Montfort, you can do it!" Sister Joseph encouraged the straining woman.

Sister Winifred slipped a small leaf into Elf’s mouth. "Chew on it, dear," she said. " It will give you strength."

"Ohhhhhh!" Elf wailed again. Then she looked back at her friend. "Be glad you are a nun, Matti!" she half sobbed. She could feel the mass inside her propelling itself forward. The pressure was fierce. She groaned again.

"Wait!" Orva commanded sternly. Then, "Now! Push, lady!"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" Elf’s beautiful face was concentrated in her great effort.

"The head! I see the head!" Orva said excitedly. "Just a few more pushes, and we will have the child, lady. Be brave! When the next pain comes bear down with all of your might."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Elf screamed, her face squeezing itself tightly again. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"

Orva’s face was now a mask of total attention as she went about her duties. The child’s shoulders and partial upper body slid forth. Gently she turned it, wiping its little face. Two blue eyes glared at her. The small mouth opened to draw its first breath.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!" Elf moaned, pushing again as hard as she might. She was so tired. She had never been so tired in all her life.

"Just one more time, lady!" Orva said.

"I don't think I can," Elf protested.

"You must. It is almost born. Just one big push, lady!"

Elf bore down with every bit of strength she had. She was rewarded by a blessed feeling of relief as the child slipped completely from her body, and howled mightily.

"It is a boy!" Orva crowed. "Ashlin has its next lord, praise be to God, our Father, His blessed son, Lord Jesu, and our Mother Mary!"

"Amen! Amen!" the nuns with them echoed, their faces wreathed in smiles of delight. Surely this child was a special child, having been born in their convent.

"This is a fine day for a boy to be born," Sister Joseph announced. "May thirtieth is St. Hubert’s feast day, and he is the patron of hunters. Eleanore de Montfort, your son must have Hubert as part of his name, eh? What will you call him?"

"Simon," Elf said. "Ranulf and I discussed it, and we decided to call our son Simon, after his father. He will be baptized Simon Hubert. Is Father Anselm here? Simon must be baptized immediately. Someone send for my husband. Ranulf must know he has a son. Ah! Orva, I yet have pain. What is it?"

"Just the afterbirth, lady. Willa, hand me that basin!"

About them everyone worked busily. Sister Winifred had cut the baby’s cord, and neatly knotted it. She and Sister Joseph gently bathed the infant first in wine, then warm water, and finally olive oil. She handed him off to Sister Columba, who swaddled the baby in soft linen cloth. Willa had taken the younger nun’s place, bracing Elf up while her mother saw to the afterbirth, which was set aside in its basin to be buried beneath an oak tree later. Elf was cleaned up, put into yet another clean chemise, and carried by the strong Orva to her bed. Sister Winifred brought the new mother a cup of strong wine with a raw egg beaten into it, and laced with herbs to help her sleep.

"I want to see Simon," Elf said. "Everyone has seen my son but me. Has Ranulf been sent for yet?" She gratefully sipped the wine.

"Willa will ride home," Orva said as she placed Elf’s son in her arms. The child, howling lustily, immediately ceased his wailing in the comfort of his mother’s arms. "It will be light enough for her to reach the manor before dark."

"Will she be safe?" Elf was concerned even as she turned her attention to her son. "He is beautiful," she said softly.

"Did I hear the cry of a child?" The abbess entered the hall.

"Elf has had a son, Reverend Mother," Sister Columba said excitedly.

"He must be baptized," Elf said sleepily. The herbs were beginning to do their job.

The abbess looked down at Simon Hubert de Glandeville. "He seems a healthy lad, praise God. I think tomorrow is soon enough, Eleanore. Besides, you will want his father here with you. Who are his godparents to be, my daughter?"

As tired as she was, Elf looked distressed at the question. "I want you all to be his godmothers," she said. "It seems appropriate, as you are all my family and Simon was born here."

"I do not believe little lord Simon can have that many godmothers, Eleanore," the abbess said. "I think Sister Columba should act for all of us. That will satisfy the church, and should satisfy you as well. But who will be his godfather?"

"That is my lord’s right," Elf told the abbess. "I like your idea, Reverend Mother. My son shall be a benefactor to St. Frideswide’s because of the many kindnesses you have rendered his mother, and because I shall teach him it is the right thing to do." This last speech took the remainder of Elf’s strength, and her eyes closed almost immediately thereafter, her arm still cradling her newborn son.

"Put him in his makeshift cradle," the abbess said with a small smile. "Then we must go and give thanks in the church for the safe delivery of this child, and for the well-being of his good mother." She turned and glided out, followed by Sister Joseph and Sister Winifred.

"But if Willa is to go for Lord Ranulf, who will watch over Elf?" Sister Columba said aloud.

"I will watch over my mistress, sister. You need have no fear," Orva assured her.

"But you must clean all of this up…"

"Go with your sisters and the abbess," Orva said in kindly tones, understanding the nun’s concern. After all, the lady was her oldest and dearest friend. "When you have completed your prayers, you can return and help me. I will be glad of your aid, good sister."

Sister Columba nodded. "You are right," she said, and hurried off to catch up with the others.

"You are capable of saddling a horse," Orva said to Willa. "Go now to the stables and do so. Tell the lord that his lady is well, and his son, praise God, is healthy. Return with him, for I will need your help-and do not let old Ida come along, Willa. Time enough for her to see this child when we return to Ashlin in a few days. Besides, I do not know that the lady should not choose a younger woman to care for her son. Old Ida is over seventy now. Why she will not simply accept her many years and sit in the sun, I do not know."

"Perhaps she feels that when she is dead is time enough to sit in the sun, Ma," Willa, sympathetic to her grandparent, dared to say. "She wants to be useful. If you were her age, would you give up all that is lively and of interest to you, and… and just sit?"

Orva stared hard at her daughter. Willa was usually a foolish creature. How surprising that she made such a clever observation. "Hurry along, girl," she answered her daughter, ignoring Willa’s astute question. No, she thought, she certainly wouldn't accept or be defeated by old age, but she was far different from her mother-in-law, old Ida.

As if she could read her mother’s thoughts, Willa gave her parent a saucy grin before running out of the guest house and across the cloister to the stable. Since Sister Joseph was nowhere to be found, Willa saddled her own horse, mounted, and with a wave to Sister Perpetua at the gate, cantered off toward Ashlin. Arriving, she called to Cedric, "Where is the lord? I bring news." She was swiftly led into the hall, barely curtsying as she hurried up to the high board. "My lord, you have a fine son, born this day at the convent of St. Frideswide's! The lady is also well. Oh!" It was then Willa saw the other lord. The man had visited the manor only a few weeks past. He was a grand one, he was. "Forgive me, my lord," she said, blushing. " I was so excited to bring you the lady’s news, I did not notice your guest."

Ranulf was grinning broadly. "You are forgiven, Willa. Tell me, girl, the boy is healthy? And my sweet wife as well?"

"Aye, my lord," Willa replied, and then went on to tell her master of the day’s events. "Will you come back to the convent with me, for I was sent to fetch you. The lady is eager to see you."

"Go to the kitchens and get something to eat, girl," Ranulf said. You will return to the convent with me. Be prepared to leave within the hour."

"Yes, my lord," Willa answered. Then she curtsied again and went off to be fed. She had not eaten this day, and she was starving.

"Congratulations, Ranulf," Sir Garrick Taliferro said. "A son is a good thing, and now you have an heir for your manor."

"The first of several, I hope." Ranulf could not stop smiling. Suddenly he sobered. "We will go on to Worcester from the convent. You say you do not know why it is Duke Henry wishes to see me?"

"Nay. All I can tell you is he came secretly, then sent me to fetch you. I know not what it is he wishes you to do. The sooner we get there, the sooner you will know."

"We will have to remain the night at the convent," Ranulf said. "We will reach it just before dark, but we can go no farther until the morning."

"I did not expect us to reach Worcester for at least a week," Sir Garrick said. "The duke will be pleased to see us so quickly."

The two knights and the serving girl departed shortly thereafter for St. Frideswide's. The sun had dipped behind the hills separating England from Wales when they arrived. Sister Perpetua opened the gates for them, smiling as they rode through. Dismounting before the stables, they gave their horses into Sister Joseph’s care.

"Praise God you have come, my lord," the abbess said, hurrying forward. "Eleanore is most eager to see you, and I imagine you are most eager to see your son, eh?" She smiled at him.

Everybody was smiling, it seemed, Ranulf thought. The introduction of his companion accomplished, the new father said, "Sir Garrick and I must beg a night’s hospitality of you, my lady abbess."

"It is granted, gladly."

"Where is Eleanore?" he asked.

"Willa will take you to the guest house, my lord," the abbess replied.

"We have few men as guests," the abbess told Sir Garrick. "The lady Eleanore’s serving woman will show you where you may lodge, sir. Food will be brought to you both." Then with a nod she left him.

The two men followed Willa into the guest house. Willa showed Sir Garrett where men guests were housed, as Orva had hurried forward to curtsy and claim Ranulf’s attention.

"Welcome, my lord. The mistress is eager for you to come to her and for you to see young lord Simon Hubert," she said.

"Was it difficult for her?" Ranulf asked the midwife.

Orva shook her head. "I would have thought such a little girl birthing such a fine strapping infant would have had a far harder time than she had, my lord. Her labor was but a few short hours, and she bore her child easily. It is rare to see such a simple birth. It was as if the angels were on her side, my lord."

"They surely were," he said softly, "for my Eleanore is the best of women, Orva."

"She is in there, my lord." Orva pointed to the door into the women’s dormitory, and her master hurried through it.

"Petite!" Ranulf knelt by Elf’s bedside, kissing her forehead.

Elf smiled up at her husband. Dear God, how she loved him! "You are here at last," she said. "I wanted them to send for you when I went into labor, Ranulf, but they said birthing was no place for a man. Look by the fire in the little manger. It is your son."

"You are all right, petite?"

She nodded. "Go, and see Simon Hubert! He is the most beautiful child, my lord."

He arose from her side and went over to the makeshift cradle. Kneeling, he gazed in rapt admiration at his son, lying upon his stomach, his perfectly round little head turned to one side. The head was topped with reddish fuzz. "He has your hair," Ranulf said softly as his finger gently touched the infant’s head. "He is beautiful." Standing again, he came back to her side, drawing up a stool so he might sit next to her. "Simon we agreed upon. Why Hubert?"

"It is St. Hubert’s feast day, Ranulf," she explained, "and St. Hubert is the patron saint of hunters. I thought it a manly name, but he cannot be baptized until the morrow, so if you do not Like it, we do not have to call him so."

"Nay, I think it a fine name, Eleanore."

"You were right, my lord," Elf said. "I should not have come visiting at St. Frideswide’s so near my time, but I never thought for a moment that I would have my child here."

He took her hand in his and kissed each finger in a now well-loved gesture. "While I would have preferred our firstborn birthed at Ashlin, petite, you were as safe here as you would have been there. I know your travail was made easier surrounded by the good nuns, whom you love so well and who love you. I am not angry at you."

"They were so sweet, Ranulf. The abbess was as calm as ever. Sister Winifred brought herbs to help my pains and relax me. Sister Joseph scoured a small manger, then filled it with sweet grasses, and covered it with a fine linen cloth so Simon would have a cradle. Matti stayed with me throughout it all. Whatever fears I harbored secretly, I lost encircled by their love and prayers."

"We shall make them a fine gift, Eleanore, to show our gratitude," Ranulf said quietly.

"Can we go home tomorrow?" She smiled hopefully up at him. How very handsome he was! How strong and yet tender, and she loved him even if she did not dare to say it. Her gaze strayed to their son. What a marvel the babe was! His voice cut into her thoughts.

"I believe you should rest for a few days before we attempt to bring you home," Ranulf said. "I am on my way to Worcester in the morning. When I return, I shall stop here, and we shall journey home together, petite. Orva says it was an easy birth, but it cannot harm you to rest for a few days. I have given orders that a dozen of our men-at-arms come here in a week’s time to act as our escort. You are not to attempt to leave without me, petite. Do I have your word on it?"

"Aye." She was puzzled. "Why are you going to Worcester?"

"I have been sent for by Duke Henry, who is there secretly. Do not ask me why, because I do not know myself the reasons behind it all. As Duke Henry knows, my allegiance is to King Stephen, but I am certain there is no plot afoot. Sir Garrick was sent to me, and I hold him to be an honorable man. If I can render our future king some small service without infringing upon my loyalty to King Stephen, then it cannot harm us, petite. Duke Henry’s reputation is also one of honor, so I doubt he has asked me to come to Worcester for any nefarious purpose."

"I wonder what he wants," Elf said slowly. "If it is something that no one else can do, and you do it well, Duke Henry will undoubtedly be grateful. That could bode well for our son." She had begun to think like an ambitious mother. "Do not the duke and his wife have a son who is but an infant? Maybe one day Simon could serve him at court! If they grew up together, they might become friends. Good friends. What an advantage for our heir, Ranulf. Our fortunes could be made if you serve Duke Henry well!"

Ranulf de Glandeville looked at his wife in amazement. Now, here was a side of Eleanore he would have never expected existed. She had but birthed their son a few hours ago, and already she was aspiring and envisioning a grand future for him. He did not know whether to be pleased or fearful of this new woman to whom he was wed. "Simple knights rarely, if ever, do great lords such great a service that they are rewarded so magnanimously, petite. My name is not so proud that our son would become a playmate of Prince William's." He smiled at her, and patted her hand.

"You cannot know that for certain, my lord," Elf said to him.

Ranulf chuckled. His wife was not about to give up her dreams simply at his say-so. "Duke Henry, being unfamiliar with the country, has probably been asking the men with holdings in the various regions who live upon those holdings, all about the areas. I was sent to Ashlin because it is on the border between England and Wales. Duke Henry is a great warlord, Eleanore. He may be deciding if he wants to attack the Welsh once England is his by inheritance. I can think of no other reason he might send for me, petite." He arose and, bending, kissed her lips lightly. "You have had a hard day, Eleanore. You must sleep now, and grow stronger. Tomorrow you will need to nurse our son."

"Will you come and see me before you depart in the morning?" she asked him anxiously. "Do not leave without saying adieu to us, Ranulf, and Simon must be baptized before you go."

"I won't leave beforehand," he promised, and then he left her.

Willa reentered the room softly and went to the makeshift cradle, picking up Simon and bringing him to his mother. "Ma says you must attempt to feed him now, lady. Your milk is not yet ready to flow, but the liquid that will come from your breasts is nourishing for the little lord."

Elf struggled to sit up in her cot. Finally comfortable, she unloosed the laces on her chemise and reached out for her son. "How do I do it?" she asked Willa as Simon began rooting about her breasts.

"Just put a teat in his mouth, lady. He'll do the rest," Willa told her mistress. "I seen Ma do it plenty of times."

Cradling her son with an arm, Elf rubbed her nipple against Simon’s small mouth. The mouth opened, and then clamped with surprising strength down upon the flesh. She gasped. "Holy Mother!" she exclaimed. "He is just like his father." Then Elf flushed, realizing what she had said aloud, but Willa just giggled. Fascinated, Elf watched as the infant suckled furiously and with great determination upon her. His blue eyes looked up at her, interested. "Aye," she told him. "I'm your mother, Simon Hubert. I never thought to be a mother, but here we are, my son."

Orva came into the dormitory chamber. "Ahh, you have begun to feed him. Good! He’s a big boy, lady. Move him to the other breast to encourage your milk to flow. Another day, two at the most, and you will be feeding him royally."

Elf switched the protesting baby from her right breast to her left. Simon suckled as strongly upon the second breast as he had upon the first, but eventually his eyes began to close. Suddenly his little head fell to one side, and he was sound asleep. Orva took the baby and restored him to his cradle, instructing her daughter to watch over the child until she was relieved by another.

"There are three postulants, and two novices within the convent now," Orva told her mistress. "The abbess says they will take turns watching over the baby during the niglittime hours so we may sleep. Are you hungry, lady?"

"I am tired," Elf said.

"Then, sleep," Orva instructed her. "You have done well, lady, and the world is at peace around us, praise be to God and His blessed Mother!"

Chapter 12

Sir Garrick Taliferro and Ranulf de Glandeville reached the town of Worcester two days later. Situated on the east bank of the Severn, Worcester was a beautiful little town with a long and proud history. To Ranulf’s surprise Duke Henry was staying with the bishop. Worcester had suffered at the Empress Matilda’s hand when her troops had fired the town fifteen years earlier. It had not been destroyed, however, and even when King Stephen’s men had attacked it five years ago, Worcester survived. Leveled buildings were rebuilt; the cathedral was restored, but for a fallen tower left to be repaired later.

As the duke’s visit was a secret one, there was no pomp or show, of course. Ranulf was led into a small, paneled room with a fireplace that burned brightly, taking the chill off the wet early June afternoon. Henry of Anjou greeted him with a small smile upon his lips.

"Welcome, Sir Ranulf."

Ranulf bowed low, becoming acutely aware as he arose of how he towered over the duke. Unconsciously he attempted to shrink himself, but the duke, seeing his efforts, just laughed.

"There is no way, my lord," he rasped in his strangely rough voice, "that you can make yourself any smaller. You are bigger than most men in length. While I am tall enough, I am cleverer than most men. If I were insulted by every man who was taller than I am, I should have no friends at all. Sit down, and we will talk."

The two men sat in high-backed wooden chairs with cushioned seats, facing each other.

"I need your help, Ranulf de Glandeville," the duke said. "King Stephen is not well at all. Losing his beloved wife and my wretched cousin, Eustace, in so short a period of time has made him disconsolate, dispirited. His interest in England, in the things about him have waned. He has lost his joy for living. It is unlikely that he will ever regain it. I am informed he is not expected to live for too much longer. I will be England’s king by year’s end, I am told. I believe it to be so.

"The line of descent is now clear, settled, established, and approved of by the church. Still, I worry the unruly English barons may seek to foment troubles, for they have very much had their own way during the years my mother and her cousin fought for supremacy here. I must return immediately to Normandy to oversee my estates, and those of my wife; to put in place the government that will rule in my name once I am England’s king, and must make my progress back and forth across the channel. When I return in the autumn, I would bring my wife and my son with me to show England my queen and my heir. I hope the sight of them will help prevent trouble. I want you to return to Normandy with me. No one is to know that Alienor and William will come to England when I return. This is a secret that you must keep, for it is you I have chosen to escort my wife and son."

"Me?" Ranulf was astounded. "My lord, should not this great honor go to a great lord? I am naught but a simple knight with a small holding. No matter Ashlin’s strategic location, I am still not an important man, and you already have my pledge of loyalty, my liege."

The bright gray eyes looked directly at Ranulf. "It is precisely for the reasons you think yourself unworthy for this task that I chose you, Ranulf de Glandeville. I want the queen and my son brought quietly to England without any fanfare. A great lord could not do that. A great lord might consider that by holding my wife and my son in their charge, that they would have power over me. I will not allow that to happen, and it will not with you. You are an honest man. I know that I can trust you, Ranulf de Glandeville. The queen must appear by my side. Once she and my son are here, I can protect them. It is the journey that is dangerous. You will travel in my train of knights when I return to Normandy in a few days' time. You will be one knight among many, and no one will think anything of it except that you are making your peace with me now that King Stephen is so obviously failing." Then the duke saw the stricken look upon Ranulf’s face. "What is it, my lord?" he asked, concerned.

"My wife, who is also Eleanore, has just two days ago delivered our first son. She was visiting friends at the convent of St. Frideswide’s when her time came upon her. I stopped there on my way to you, my liege, to see her, and our child. I promised her I would return to take them home to Ashlin. If I must go with you when you leave Worcester, how can I keep my promise to my wife?"

"Have you no squire or other knight on your estate who might escort the lady and child?" the duke, slightly annoyed, asked.

"My lord, I have told you, we are a small holding. I suppose I should have a squire, but until I married, I had not the means to support a squire. Would I not be less conspicuous if I came to Normandy alone, with no one to notice me? I should be just another knight, as you have said, coming to make my peace with you now that the lay of the land is clear."

"It is your first child? "

"Aye." Ranulf could not help but smile. "His name is Simon Hubert. He was born on St. Hubert’s feast day the good nuns informed my wife. Eleanore thought the name manly."

Duke Henry chuckled. "And do you love your wife, Ranulf de Glandeville? I am mad with love for my Alienor! She was France’s queen, but Louis, and his monkish ways, could get but two daughters on her. He had the marriage dissolved on the grounds of consanguinity, the fool! Not only did I gain my wife’s vast holdings, poor Louis’s second wife, Constance of Castile, has delivered him a third daughter, while Alienor has delivered a son to me! I adore her! Do you love your Eleanore?"

"I do, my lord," Ranulf said quietly, admitting aloud, albeit to the wrong person, what was in his heart. "She was to have been a nun, but that her brother died. She is everything that is good, my lord. I never thought a battle-scarred old warrior such as myself might have a wife, let alone such a sweet wife."

"Stephen will last the summer, I am assured," Duke Henry said. "Take a month to settle your affairs, but be on the road for Normandy by St. Swithen's. Take passage for Barfleur, and come to Rouen. I will be taking my wife and son to meet my mother for the first time. You will join the court there. It is a good thing that you love your wife, Ranulf. You will, therefore, be careful with mine and get her to England in safety. Once you are in Normandy, we will discuss my plans for her passage."

Ranulf de Glandeville arose from his seat, and bowed low to the king. "I am yours to command, my liege."

"You will speak with no one about this, except perhaps your wife, if she can be counted upon not to gossip," Duke Henry warned.

"I understand," Ranulf replied, and backed from the small chamber out into the corridor. There was no one waiting for him. He made his way to the courtyard and into the stables, where he found his horse in a wide stall. After unfastening his sword belt, Ranulf put the weapon aside and lay down on a large pile of fresh straw in the rear of the stall. He was awakened by a narrow beam of light coming in through a crack in the wall. Arising, he peed in a corner, then buckled his sword back on, and left.

"Have my beast saddled in half an hour’s time," he told a stable-boy mucking out the stall opposite his. He went outside, splashed water from the horse trough on his face, and slicked back his hair. Following a group of priests into the bishop’s palace, he found the great hall, where breakfast was already being served. Baskets of bread were placed on the trestles, and wooden cups for ale were filled by passing servants. There was a small wheel of cheese on each table. Ranulf reached into the basket, and pulled out a small cottage loaf. With his knife he cut a wedge of cheese.

He ate in silence as he did not recognize anyone at the tables around him. Garrick Taliferro was nowhere to be seen, but that was to the good. He did not have to explain what the duke wanted with him. He ate half the bread and cheese, stuffing the remainder in his purse for the road, for he couldn't be certain when he would have the opportunity to eat again. After draining his cup of ale, he arose and left the hall. His horse was saddled and tied outside the stable, but the stable lad was not in sight. Ranulf mounted and rode out.

The sun was just coming up as he passed through the gates of the town onto the road back to Ashlin. He rode until the sun was at its midday zenith, stopping beside a swiftly flowing stream to water his horse. He let the animal graze nearby while he sat beneath a tree and finished the remainder of his bread and cheese, slaking his thirst with the icy water. Refreshed, he remounted his horse and rode onward. It was June, and the daylight remained well into the early evening. Ranulf was relieved when the monastery he had stayed at on his ride into Worcester appeared over the crest of the hill. Reaching it, he begged shelter from the porter at the gate.

He was just in time for a small meal served to guests. He was given a little loaf of bread and a haunch of broiled rabbit with a small cup of ale. The monk in charge of the guest quarters, however, took pity on Ranulf, bringing him another piece of the rabbit, for he could see the knight was hungry, and he was, after all, a big man.

"Where are you bound for, lord?" he asked curiously.

"St. Frideswide's," Ranulf answered, bobbing his dark head in thanks for the additional food. "My wife was visiting when she delivered our son there." He chewed for a moment as he thought about his words, then lied. "I was in Worcester when word was brought me by a passing traveler. I am now going to fetch her and take her home to Ashlin."

"Ashlin? You are the lord of Ashlin?" the monk said.

"I am."

"You are very near the Welsh, and they are, I am told, growing restless of late."

"The manor is well defended, good brother. Our walls are high, and my men-at-arms well trained."

"That will not help if they burn your crops and steal your livestock," the monk replied. "They do it for the pure joy of destruction. The Welsh are godless creatures, my lord."

"Then, I will ask you to pray for Ashlin and its people." Ranulf grew concerned. "Have you heard something of late, good brother?"

"They are raiding again. Just little forays over the border, here and then there. One bandit in particular is known by name. He is called Merin ap Owen, and it is said he rides with a golden-haired witch who is as bloodthirsty as he. No one is safe from them. Several weeks ago they burned a small convent, St. Bride's, murdering the elder nuns and violating the younger women before they killed them. The carnage, it is said, was terrible, my lord." The monk shook his head sadly. "You should not travel alone."

"I am well armed," Ranulf said. "Besides, I do not look like a man worth robbing, good brother."

"There is your horse, my lord."

"True, but Shadow can outrun any bandit’s pony, I assure you."

"I will pray for you, my son," the monk said. "And for Ashlin."

Ranulf was relieved that he was, that night, the only guest at the monastery and did not have to share his pallet with anyone. He arose in the gray of predawn to attend Prime in the monk’s austere church. He was then given a surprisingly hearty breakfast of oat stirabout in a trencher of warm bread. He ate the cereal and half the bread, putting the other half into his purse for later. After draining his cup of cider, he arose, leaving a coin on the table and thanking the guest-house monk, then went to the stables to fetch his horse. The beast had been treated as well as he himself had, and so in a burst of generosity, he gave another coin to the monk who managed the stables.

He rode again until midday, stopping to water and graze his mount while he devoured the remaining trencher of bread he had carried with him. He would be at St. Frideswide’s tonight, and the meal would be another simple one. He longed for home and a hearty supper of a steamy rabbit stew with a wined gravy, a plate of juicy prawns, and a sweet pudding. Cheese. As much as he wanted. Butter. A fresh crock of it for his warm bread. Ranulf laughed as he remounted his horse and continued on his journey. He had become quite used to the soft life of a landowner. Having to take to the road again as a simple knight would be quite a hardship.

Was he being disloyal to King Stephen, he questioned himself? Yet Duke Henry had asked no great task of him, and that task certainly did not conflict with his loyalty to his king. He had, after all, pledged his fealty to Duke Henry once he became king, Ranulf reasoned. Bring the future queen to England with her child in safety, and he would have done Henry of Anjou a valuable service. What would Henry do for him? Kings were known to reward their faithful servants. What did he want? The question would be asked of him.

Ranulf considered. Suddenly he knew. He wanted the king’s permission to build a castle. To seriously help in protecting the border between England and Wales, Ashlin needed to become a castle. He could not build that castle without the king’s express permission. He would ingratiate himself with the future queen in order to gain her support as well. Ranulf smiled a wry smile. His wife would be proud of him, he thought, for he was at last thinking like a husband, a father, a lord of the manor. He chuckled, and his horse’s ears twitched back for an instant at the sound.

He rode until almost dusk, finally coming into sight of the convent. With a sigh he kicked his mount into a loping canter and eagerly gained his objective. Sister Perpetua was standing at the gates, one side of which were open and the other closed. He rode through and heard the open gate slam shut behind him with a noisy thunk. Sliding from his horse, he helped her lift the heavy wooden bar into place.

"Thank you, my lord," the portress said. "We waited for you. Eleanore was certain you would arrive before dark."

"I did promise her I would not linger in Worcester," Ranulf replied. "Have my men arrived, sister?"

"Late this afternoon, my lord. We have housed them with their animals in the stables. Reverend Mother thought it best."

"Thank you," he said. "Where is the abbess? I would pay her my respects before I go to my wife and child."

"You will find her in the chapter house."

He hurried to the directed spot and found Reverend Mother Eunice in the chamber, where she oversaw the business of the convent. The door to the room was open, and the abbess looked up from behind the long oak table where she was working.

"Come in, Sir Ranulf," she said. "Sit down."

He took the chair that was set before the table. "I have things I would impart to you that must remain a secret, my lady abbess," he began. "It is nothing traitorous, but you will understand the need for secrecy once I have spoken."

"Go on, Sir Ranulf."

"The king is dying," he began. "I have been asked by Duke Henry, who has my loyalty once King Stephen is gone, to go to Normandy in order to bring his wife and son back to England. I have been chosen by the duke to do this deed discreetly and in secrecy. It is unlikely that anyone, particularly the great lords, will ever know how the future queen came to England. The duke is returning to Normandy immediately. I will follow in a month. This should be a simple task, but if anything happens to me, I want you to know in order that you may aid my wife."

"I understand, my lord. Will you tell Eleanore where you are going and why?"

"I will. We do not keep secrets from each other, she and I."

"What will you ask the king in return for your service, Sir Ranulf?" the abbess queried him astutely.

"If I succeed in my mission for the duke, I shall ask his permission to build a castle at Ashlin."

The abbess nodded. "You are wise," she said. "We can use a castle nearby to defend our wee bit of the border."

"That is something else I wish to speak to you about. I am told that the Welsh are raiding again this year. There is a particularly vicious bandit among them called Merin ap Owen. He burned a convent recently and slaughtered the inhabitants of it. He rides with a woman, they say. Be on your guard. Make certain St. Frideswide’s is secure both day and night."

"We have generally been left in peace, as we are known to be a simple house with nothing of value. We have no silver or gold candlesticks, no reliquaries."

"You have sheep and cattle."

"That is true," the abbess said thoughtfully, "but if the Welsh come, they will more than likely drive off the animals and leave us in peace, Sir Ranulf."

"This Merin ap Owen is a man of no conscience. The younger nuns at the convent he destroyed were violated, Reverend Mother. He did not simply steal. He murdered, and he ravaged." Ranulf arose. "I will go and see my wife and son now. They continue well?"

"Aye," the abbess replied, her mind more on what he had told her than on her guest. A man who ravaged nuns was to be feared. They must pray that this Merin ap Owen not seek out St. Frideswide's.

Ranulf left the chapter house, and walked across the cloister to the guest house. Entering, he was greeted by Orva and Willa. Then his eyes moved past them to where Eleanore sat by the fireplace, nursing Simon. "Petite!" he called to her, and she looked up, her eyes alight, a smile upon her face.

"You are returned," she said. "Welcome, my lord. Come and see Simon. I swear he has grown already."

He rushed to sit by her. God, he thought, how I love her! Why can I not tell her? But he knew the answer to his question. Eleanore had wanted to be a nun with every fiber of her being. Their marriage had been forced. While women always had their marriages arranged by guardians, most had the opportunity to meet and know something about their bridegrooms before the wedding-and they had not been raised to be nuns. How could Eleanore love him when she had been made to marry him? When her whole life had been turned upside down? Still, she had been a good wife to him, but she certainly could not love the man who had been forced upon her. And he could not bear it if she rejected his love. It was far better to remain silent.

"When can we go home?" she asked.

"If you are well enough, tomorrow, petite. The men-at-arms arrived today to escort us. The Welsh are raiding again, I have been informed. I want you and Simon safe at Ashlin. I must go away in a month on Duke Henry’s business, Eleanore."

She looked puzzled and hurt, and he hastened to explain. Orva and Willa had left the hall to give them privacy. "I have entrusted this knowledge only to the abbess and to you. No one else must know why I have gone. You can say nothing, petite. We will arrange an excuse should anyone ask about my absence, particularly if Baron Hugh comes calling and snooping about while I am gone."

Elf had finished feeding her son. "Here," she said, handing the infant to his startled father. "Hold him a moment while I lace up my chemise." Then she laughed at the horrified look on her husband’s face as the baby rested in his two big hands. "Cradle him against your chest, Ranulf. He won't break." Elf laughed.

"He’s looking at me," her husband said, awed.

"Of course he is," she answered. "Your voice is new to him. He wants to know who you are. This is your father, Simon," Elf cooed. "When you are bigger, he will teach you how to use a sword and a lance, and to ride your own pony. I will teach you to read, and to write, and to have manners. And we will both love you, Simon Hubert de Glandeville, my adorable little son. And we will give you brothers to play with and sisters to tease," Elf promised.

"You want more children? But you have just had a child!" He was surprised and secretly delighted.

"Certainly I want more children! Ashlin will be a castle one day, and the de Glandevilles an important family in this region, Ranulf. Aye, we need more children. Besides," she purred into his ear, "we had so much fun making this one." Before he dropped their son, she took the baby back, laughing softly.

Ranulf swallowed hard. "Eleanore, you make it difficult for me to leave you," he said softly.

"Then, I have achieved my purpose, my lord, and you will hurry home to us." She chuckled.

Willa reentered the chamber carrying a tray. "My lord, we thought that you might not have eaten," she said, putting the tray upon the trestle in the hall.

Ranulf’s nose twitched at the fragrant smells coming from the tray, and his eyes widened at the bounty. There was a bowl of lamb stew in a thick gravy with carrots and leeks, a small broiled trout on a bed of green cress, fresh bread, cheese, and a carafe of wine. "This is convent fare?" he asked, surprised.

"The nuns eat simply, their students more heartily. You are a special guest, however, my lord," Elf said. Rising, she handed the baby to Willa, and began to serve the meal. She heaped the food generously into a bowl and onto a polished wooden plate, setting it in front of Ranulf on a small table she had pulled up.

Ranulf ate vigorously, finishing everything that he had been brought. When Elf placed a little dish of wild strawberries swimming in thick cream before him, he grinned happily. Finally, the food all eaten and the carafe drained, he pushed himself away from the little table with a contented sigh. "I have been dreaming for a week of a good meal such as you have just served me, petite."

"I want to leave after Prime," she said. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we will get home. I have been away from Ashlin for a month, Ranulf. I want to go home!"

"You are certain you are strong enough, petite?"

"I am not some delicate flower, my lord. I am strong, thank God! On the morrow we will take our son and go home," she said firmly.

"I can remember a time when you wept at not being able to remain here at St. Frideswide's," he teased her gently, leaning over to kiss her as she sat by his side. "You are not so much the little nun anymore, Eleanore. You are a woman, Simon’s mother, and my good wife."

"I am grateful for my years here. And I should have been happy to remain, devoting my life to God, but I am more than content to be your wife and a mother, Ranulf." And besides, I love you more than my own life now, she thought. If only you would love me, but I know that can never be. I must be content that you consider me a good wife and look upon me with favor. I must be satisfied that we are friends.

The women slept in a dormitory assigned, while Ranulf slept in the men’s section of the guest house. In the morning Ranulf and Elf attended Prime in the nun’s church, joining their servants afterward for breakfast. Elf’s cart was packed, and when she was settled in it with her son, the abbess and the other sisters came to bid them a farewell.

"We have made you a gift for your church at Ashlin," the abbess said. She handed Elf a lovely woven willow basket that held a beautiful embroidered altar cloth.

"We will treasure it," Elf told the abbess, but her smile encompassed them all.

"Take good care of our godson," the abbess ordered her with a rare smile. "We expect to see him as often as you can manage to bring him for visits, Eleanore."

"Good-bye, my dear," Sister Winifred said. "Here is a bit of angelica root for your garden."

Elf kissed the withered cheek of the elderly nun. "Thank you, sister." There were tears in her eyes.

"Now, now," Sister Winifred chided her gently. "Young Sister Mary Gabriel is working out, even if she has not your instincts." She stepped away from the cart.

"I will not say good-bye, Elf, but only farewell until we meet again," Sister Columba said. "Having you here these last weeks has been a blessing, and it has made me realize that as much as you belong at Ashlin in your capacity as a wife and mother, I belong here within the convent. God bless you, my dear friend." She hugged Elf.

The little train moved from the cloister courtyard out onto the road. The nuns all clustered at the open gate, surrounding the abbess like ducklings surrounding the mother duck.

"Remember fennel water if he grows colicky," Sister Cuthbert called. Being in charge of the children at St. Frideswide's, she knew all such remedies.

They waved. The abbess, Sister Agnes, Sister Hilda, Sister Mary Gabriel, Sister Phillipa, Sister Mary Basil, Sister Anne, Sister Winifred, Sister Columba, Sister Perpetua, and the others.

"Do not forget to keep the gates secure," Ranulf called to the abbess, and she nodded her understanding of his warning.

Elf had not missed the byplay. "Do you think the Welsh will attack the convent?" she asked. In all her years there St. Frideswide’s had been a place of peace and safety.

"It is possible," Ranulf said. "I see no reason why the abbess should take chances, petite. If the Welsh come, there is the possibility they will simply steal the livestock outside the gates and leave the nuns alone. St. Frideswide’s is not known to have rich accoutrements or a store of coin. They have a fine flock of sheep and a small herd of cattle, which might prove tempting to marauders. Still, there is the incident of that convent burned recently."

They traveled the whole day along the easy road back to Ashlin. Now and then Ranulf noticed a lone horseman on the hills above them, but the rider never came close, so he was not particularly threatening. The cart caused them to move slowly, and Ranulf wished he had twice the number of men-at-arms that were accompanying them. But he had not known of the Welsh threat before he departed for Worcester. Finally, however, they reached Ashlin in late afternoon. The serfs in the fields waved to their master and mistress, laying aside their farm tools to come and see Ashlin’s new heir.

"Show them the little lord, lady," Orva said softly.

Elf ordered the cart stopped, and displayed her son to her serfs. There were cries of joy, and many compliments at the healthy little boy. "Here is the line of Strongbow for yet another generation," Elf told her people. "With God’s blessing, he will have brothers and sisters in the years to come."

Father Oswin, the new priest of the manor, came forward. "He has been baptized, of course."

Elf nodded. "By Father Anselm, with Sir Garrick as his godfather and all the nuns his godmothers, represented by my friend, Sister Columba. Simon Hubert de Glandeville will be a patron to St. Frideswide’s where he was born," she told the priest.

"Amen!" Father Oswin said enthusiastically. He was a pleasant-faced young man with warm brown eyes and straight brown hair.

The cart moved through the gates of the demesne, and up to the manor house. Old Ida and Cedric were both waiting to greet their lord and lady.

"Let me have my child," the elderly nursemaid said excitedly.

Elf laughed. "Oh, no, Ida," she told the woman, "this child will have another to watch over him. I cannot get along without you. Willa cannot serve me as well as you serve me. She needs you to teach her. I will not let you go, though you may take my son for now."

Old Ida did not know whether to be disappointed or flattered. She thought a moment as she took the baby into her arms, then decided that she was indeed too ancient to begin with another infant. An infant required a much younger woman. She realized that she far preferred serving her mistress. "I will help you choose the right woman to care for the young lord. He will be her life, as you and your brother were mine."

Behind Elf, Orva smiled a secret smile. The lady had heeded her advice, but done so in such a way as not to offend Ida. Indeed she had made her old nursemaid feel important and indispensable. The lady was wise for one so very young.

They entered the house, and Elf was pleased to see that in her absence all had been well cared for by Cedric and the servants. Seating herself by the fireplace, she took her son from old Ida and began to nurse him, while preparations for the evening meal went on about her.

"I must find Fulk and speak with him," Ranulf said.

Elf nodded, her concentration upon Simon.

Outside the hall Ranulf found his sergeant at arms drilling a troop of men in archery. "Fulk," he said, drawing the grizzled soldier aside.

"My lord?"

"I am going to need a squire to serve me. Have you among your men one who is suitable for such a position? You know the duties required of a squire. Is there a lad here worthy of advancement?"

"My nephew, my lord. He is nineteen years of age and very strong. I have taught him myself how to use a sword, a lan:e, and a battle-ax. When I was a young man, I squired Lord Robert. I will teach the lad how to care for your armor and your horse. His name is Pax, and he will be loyal to you, I vow it, my lord."

"I thought you meant your nephew for your place one day," Ranulf noted.

"There is time for that, my lord," Fulk replied, "and there are others, like Sim, who might replace me one day. Pax will need the experience only being squire to the lord can give him. I have taught him everything I could, my lord. He needs the kind of seasoning that he can only gain being by your side now."

"Which one is he?" Ranulf asked the sergeant at arms.

"Pax, come forward," Fulk called, and a young man stepped from among the cluster of men on the archery green.

"Yes, Uncle?" He was of medium height and stockily built. He had a round head and face, brown hair, brown eyes, and an earnest-looking expression. He bowed nervously to Ranulf. "My lord."

"Fulk says you have the capability to be a squire. Do you want to be one? You know the duties involved, but you will also have to go with me whenever I depart Ashlin. Are you willing?"

Pax smiled a smile that rendered his face almost handsome. "Aye, my lord!" he said enthusiastically.

"You have a month to learn your duties well," Ranulf said. "We leave on a journey for Normandy then."

"I will be ready!" the young man said.

"Can you speak any tongue but your own?" Ranulf asked, and was very surprised by the answer.

"I can speak the Norman tongue some, my lord. Enough to get about, and be of use to you. Actually, I understand it far better than I speak it," Pax answered. "My uncle taught me," he said, replying to the unasked questions he saw on his master’s lips.

Ranulf smiled a slow smile. "Understanding it better than you speak it will be of great use to me, Pax," he told his new squire. "You will, of course, gain a facility for the language when you must speak it daily, but no one need know that."

"Aye, my lord."

"You will serve me in the hall tonight," Ranulf said, then turned and walked away.

"Be loyal and suit him well, and your fortune is made, lad!" the sergeant at arms said, well pleased. "He’s a fair master."

"What am I to do in the hall to serve him?" Pax asked.

"You'll stand behind his chair, see that his cup and the cup of his lady is kept filled. In large households a page would do such work, but we are a small manor," Fulk said. "You'll have to eat early. Go to the kitchens, and the cook will feed you when you explain. Ah, lad, Ashlin is becoming a fine place. We'll be a castle someday. I hope I live to see it."

"Ashlin, a castle?" Pax was astounded. "How do you know such a thing, Uncle? Ashlin is just a little place."

"The lord was summoned to Worcester, lad," Fulk began. "He returns, decides he needs a squire, and says he’s going to Normandy in a month’s time. The lord does not need to go to Normandy on Ashlin’s business. He goes on the business of some great lord, and he goes very discreetly, for our master is certainly of no importance. If he is successful, he will be rewarded. If it were I, I would ask permission from the king to build a castl here at Ashlin to help defend the border. Now remember, Pax, I know none of this to be fact; but certain things happen in a certain order. You have but to keep your eyes and your ears wide open, boy, and your mouth shut. Do you understand?"

"Aye, Uncle. I'll not gossip."

"Not even to impress those wenches you're always chasing," Fulk warned him. "Your bright smile and your strong cock will keep the lasses content enough."

"Aye, Uncle," Pax said. His brown eyes twinkled, and Fulk laughed.

Pax served his master and mistress in the hall that night for the first time. His big hands were damp with his nervousness, but Ranulf praised him, and the lady Eleanore looked upon him favorably.

"Send your mother to me tomorrow," she told the young man. "You will need more clothing than I'll warrant you now possess. I will see she has what she needs to fashion what you will need."

"Thank you, lady," Pax replied.

"Serve my husband well," Elf told him, "and I will see your serfdom is lifted from you, Pax."

He knelt and kissed the hem of her gown. "Thank you, lady!"

"He is a good lad, I can see," Elf told her husband as they at last lay in their bed that night. "Fulk dotes on him, for he has no children of his own. He has seen that Pax and his other nephew, Sim, have been raised well."

"I'll want to see an example of his skills," Ranulf replied, nuzzling her neck. She smelled so sweet. It was a pity they could not cohabit until he was almost ready to leave for Normandy, but old Sister Winifred had come to him just before they departed the convent, and told him that Eleanore must have time to heal from the birth.

"Certain men, I am told, do not care if they harm their wives, poor ladies," the gentle nun said. "If you would have Eleanore healthy for many years, my lord, you will temper your lustful appetites." She looked at him with a stern eye, and he had actually felt himself blush. The elderly nun chuckled. "For just three more weeks," she amended.

His wife turned in his arms and kissed him slowly, pressing her body, more lush now than ever, against him. "My dear lord," she murmured in his ear.

"We cannot," he replied.

"Why not?" Elf demanded, quite outraged. She had been longing for his passion for several months now, and was eager.

"Sister Winifred says you must heal from the birth," he told her firmly. "I would take her advice and not injure you, petite."

"By the rood!" Elf swore, surprising him. "I am not in the convent any longer!"

He chuckled wickedly. "Do you want me as much as I want you, petite? It is torture knowing I must wait." He caressed her hair.

"But you will be gone in a month’s time!" Elf wailed.

"We may cohabit the week before I go."

"And then you will ride off to Normandy, my lord, and I am left behind longing for you," Elf said half angry. "You cannot even say how long you will be gone!"

"Would you rather we did not-"

"Nay!" she said furiously.

"Would you prefer that I sleep elsewhere until we may be together again, petite?"

"Nay!" She burrowed herself against his broad shoulder.

"I thought you had been taught self-denial as a nun," he teased her, tipping her face up. "It is much easier to be good when you don't know how much fun being bad is, isn't it, petite?"

"I hate you," Elf muttered, smacking him lightly on his cheek.

Ranulf laughed and caught her hand, kissing the palm. "Have you any idea of how jealous I am of our son?"

"Why would you be jealous of Simon?" she asked, then she blushed. "Ohh!"

"Go to sleep now, petite," he told her. "And be satisfied in knowing the waiting is no easier for me than it is for you."

"Good!" Elf told him, caressing him in a delicate spot before rolling over and turning her back to him.

Ranulf laughed again. "Witch," he said softly, and moving onto his side he drew her back against him, his big hand clamped firmly about one of her breasts.

"That’s not fair!" Elf protested.

"What?" He feigned innocence.

In reply Elf ground her buttocks into his groin suggestively.

He groaned as he felt himself beginning to seethe with desire. "That’s not fair!" he complained.

"Two can play at the same game, my lord," she replied dulcetly.

"Go to sleep, Eleanore," he said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, my lord," Elf replied sweetly. His hand upon her breast was both taunting and comforting. She longed for their bodies to be joined, but she knew Sister Winifred was right. Her body was still weak and sore from Simon’s birth. Where was the patience she had always prided herself upon in her convent days? She must surely regain it quickly or she would expire from her own desire. She felt Ranulf’s soft kiss upon the nape of her neck and, sighing, closed her eyes.

Chapter 13

During the next few weeks, their lives returned to a semblance of normalcy. Ranulf rode out daily to survey the manor. His great concern was for Ashlin’s safety, and in this he became more and more convinced that his lands would not be totally safe until Ashlin possessed a strong castle. The walls that surrounded the demesne were high, but they encompassed too open an area-his own house, the church, the huts of his serfs, and the cottages of his freedmen and upper servants. The assemblage was, in truth, a sprawling village. His walls could be breached by anyone with serious intent to do so, leaving his people wide open to the attackers.

The house offered little more protection for his family. It sat upon the flat earth, and once its door was broken in, its inhabitants were vulnerable. Still, Ashlin was better defended now than it had been. The walls were higher, the men-at-arms better trained. He must trust Fulk and his agreement with the Welsh to leave the manor in peace.

As he considered all of this, Ranulf realized that his mission for Duke Henry was of vast importance to his future, and that of his family. Perhaps he might even foster out Simon one day to the new queen’s household, as Elf had suggested when their son was born. The lord of a castle had more social standing than the lord of a simple manor. He laughed, knowing that he was aiming very, very high in his ambitions. First they needed permission for a castle to be built at Ashlin. To that end he would strive.

The growing season was proving to be a good one so far. The rains had been plentiful, but gentle. The days warm, the nights cool, yet not cold. The grain was growing well. They waited eagerly for dry weather during which they could cut the hay that would be used for the next twelve months. Elf’s garden of herbs flourished by her herbarium. The sheep and the cattle grew fat on the sweet grass.

Midsummer’s Eve was upon them before they knew it. There would be a fine celebration, of course. The lord of the manor declared a holiday, as was customary. Many at Ashlin rose early to view the sunrise. As it was a fair day, the sight was glorious. The sky lightened slowly, the deep blue of night growing to a brighter shade, the horizon warming: lemon at first, then gold, purple, and orange. The birds began to sing and chirp even as the sun pushed itself above the border between earth and sky, blazing fiery and red. It was going to be the perfect summer’s day.

Already from the bake house the scent of St. John’s bread baking wafted on the soft breeze. Made from locust seedpods, it was a delicacy served only at the Midsummer’s Eve feast, which would be hosted for the entire manor by the lord and lady of Ashlin. The sheep selected for the feast were driven from the near meadow close to two pits, dug out of the meadow grass, where they would be roasted. Meat was not an everyday occurrence for the serfs. Piglings, stuffed with cheese, bread, nuts, and spices would be served along with a roe deer. Entrayale, a sheep’s stomach filled with eggs, cheese, vegetables, bread, and pork was baking, along with Black-manger, a dish of chicken, rice, almonds, and sugar. There would be spiced lamprey eels, creamed cod, and salmon. There would be a special Frumenty pudding of apples and spices added to wheat, sugar, and milk. There was cheese and butter and curd cheese. And special Destiny Cakes, shaped like common items such as birds, beasts, houses, ships, and household items. There was mead flavored with honey and mint; Cuckoo-foot ale, a sparkling beverage made with ginger, basil, and anise.

Some wandering musicians had come to the manor the evening before asking for shelter. Now they set themselves up to entertain for the lord and lady. They played upon a rebec, drums, frestelles, which were panpipes, a pibgorn, a reed instrument, bells, and a tambourine. Their tunes were lively, and dancers pranced gaily upon the green. Archery butts were set up for shooting contests. Footraces were run. The young girls played Saint-John's-Wort, using sprigs of the plant and its deep yellow flowers to determine if they would have true love or no love at all. There was a great deal of giggling when Willa’s flowers ended with a loves me, and glances were cast in the direction of the young squire, Pax, followed by more giggles while Willa blushed red. A hunt was held for St. John’s fern, which was said to render its finder invisible at will, but sadly none was found.

"Come to the wet fire ceremony," Arthur cried to them as the early evening came.

The manor’s inhabitants hurried to the millpond, where small wooden boats were already prepared, a wish previously carved on each boat by its owner. Lighted candles were carefully placed in the miniature vessels, which were then set afloat upon the waters of the millpond. The mill wheel turned, ruffling the surface of the pond and its adjacent stream. The tiny ships bobbed across their tiny sea, some sinking when they found themselves too near the wheel, others having their candles blown out. But those boats that safely gained the other side of the millpond with their candles still alight guaranteed their owners that their wishes would be fulfilled.

"Both of our boats have arrived safely," Elf said, smiling. "What did you wish for?"

"To come quickly back to you," he said. "What did you wish for, petite?"

"The same thing," she said softly, reaching for his hand.

"The bonfires are being lit!" came a cry, and hand in hand the lord and lady of the manor walked back to the meadow.

The fires sprang up around them as they seated themselves at their trestle again. The long day was finally waning. The last of the feast was consumed along with ale and mead. The sunset blazed pink, purple, orange, green, and gold beyond the western hills. The musicians began to play again, even as Cedric nodded a signal to his lord and lady. Elf and Ranulf stood up. With Ranulf leading, Elf took his hand and that of Willa, who took the hand of Ranulf’s squire, Pax, who took another hand which took another, and another. Together they all danced in a line, weaving about and among the several fires in an ancient dance called "Threading the Needle." The sun sank away. The sky above them grew dark. The music grew wilder, more primitive until suddenly without warning it stopped. About them was silence. There was not a single sound. Then the fires were quickly doused, and Ashlin’s people moved off silently into the night. Some returned to their homes. Young lovers simply slipped off into the darkness. The lord took his lady’s hand, and led her indoors. Midsummer’s Eve was over, and tomorrow was a working day.

"Willa has gone off," Ida muttered disapprovingly. "I will see to your needs, my lady."

"Nay, find your bed, old woman," Ranulf said quietly. "I can help my wife undress as well as you can."

"And have more fun doing it, too, lord" came the ribald answer. "Heh! Heh!"

He chuckled, then still hand in hand they entered the solar, leaving the rest of the world behind them.

Elf turned and slipped her arms about her husband’s neck, looking up into his face. "Soon you will be gone from me to Normandy," she said softly. "I know not how long you will be gone. I am bold, I know, Ranulf, but I would have you make love to me. It has been so long since our bodies were last joined in passion." Her sweet glance was warm, and her silvery gray eyes shone with her open desire for him.

"I would not hurt you," he replied.

Elf laughed softly. "I vow, my lord, you are the kindest man I have ever known, which, of course, is not saying a great deal as I have known no other but you. If I did not know better, I would be certain that you had a lover among the serfs. But I do know better," she hastily amended seeing his startled look. "Ranulf, my lord, my good husband, I have from the beginning enjoyed the pleasures our bodies give us. We have not had that pleasure in months now, and you are about to go off in a few days to Normandy for an indeterminate length of time. Do you not think we might indulge ourselves until then? I have healed quickly, thanks to my herbs and teas." She smiled winningly up at him, and her hand caressed his cheek. "Do you not want to make love to me? Perhaps it is not as difficult for a man as it is for a woman. I must by my own honor and nature remain chaste while you are gone; but perhaps that is not the case with you. Perhaps when you reach Duke Henry’s court, you will indulge your lusts with some beautiful and elegant woman of the court!" Her eyes suddenly flashed, and Elf stamped her foot angrily. "By the rood, I will not have it!" She began to pound upon his chest with her small, balled-up fists.

He laughed aloud. He couldn't help it. She had gone from being alluring and seductive in one moment to being furiously jealous the next. Was it possible that she cared for him? Ranulf’s heart beat faster as he caught her wrists in a gentle, but firm grip.

"Petite," he said, "I will never betray you no matter my own hungers, for there is but one woman I desire in all the world, and that woman is you, Eleanore." Pulling her against his broad chest, he nuzzled her soft hair. "You, petite, are my wife. I need no other." His lips brushed hers.

Somewhat mollified, she kissed him back, her fingers all the while fumbling to loosen the girdle about his tunic.

His laughter was now lower and more intimate. "You are quite shameless, petite," he teased her. "I can see you will have your way with me, Eleanore." He helped her to draw the tunic over his head. Then, reaching out, he loosed her girdle, his fingers pulling her tunic off. Her skirt fell quickly to the floor, puddling about her ankles.

Elf unlaced his chemise, opening it so it might slide over his shoulders, then his torso, his hips, and finally to the floor. Reaching out, he returned the favor, then drew her to him, her full, naked breasts pressing against his bare chest, her sweetly rounded belly against his belly, her love mound pushing against his burning lance, still held captive within his remaining clothing.

"Ohhh!" Elf gasped as he knelt before her and rolled down her stockings, then removed them from her feet. He kissed each knee as he did so. Then he stood again, drawing his braies off.

Elf went to mimic him, kneeling to roll down his hose. She gasped, startled, upon coming face-to-face as it were, with his burgeoning manhood. She had never before seen it quite that close up. Captivated, she stared at it, fascinated to view the source of her pleasure. Other than its size, it had little to recommend it, she decided, yet, oh, what delights she gained when it fitted itself within her sheath. Hesitantly she broke her gaze and drew his hose off. When she again stood up, he looked questioningly at her. "It is not particularly pretty, my lord, but I enjoy the dance it performs with me," she said.

He pulled her against him again, reveling in the warmth of their bodies. "There is so much I want to teach you, petite, now that we are so well acquainted." His mouth brushed against her brow.

"Could I kiss it?"

"Aye," he said shortly.

"What else?"

"You could nurse upon it as I do your breasts," he replied. Dear God, he was going to burst, she excited him so greatly with her talk. The thought of her mouth against him was almost too much.

"If I swallowed your seed, could I become with child?" she inquired, curious.

"Nay," he told her, "but I should not let my seed loose within your mouth. I would save it for your sweet sheath. I do not wish to waste it, petite."

"Would it give you pleasure?"

"Aye!" He squeezed the word out of his throat.

Without a moment’s hesitation Elf fell to her knees before him, and taking him in her mouth began to nurse upon him vigorously.

Ranulf thought his head would burst. "Gently, petite," he groaned. By the rood she was such a different woman from the innocent he had married less than two years ago. "Enough!" he said sharply.

Elf stood, her cheeks pink, and he kissed her passionately, his manhood pushing against her. Unable to help himself he lifted her up, cupping her buttocks in his big hands as she instinctively wrapped her legs about him, and he slowly pushed himself deep within her eager body. Her arms enclosed him, and she sighed deeply, a sound of complete and utter contentment. Does she care? he asked himself again. Or is it simply that she enjoys the privileges of marriage? He walked through the solar into their small bedchamber, never allowing their bodies to unlock, and laid her back upon the bed. Gently he pistoned her, anxious for any sign of distress on her part, but Elf was plainly enjoying her husband’s tender ardor.

"Ahhhh!" she cried softly. How he filled her! How she had missed his passion! Would he ever love her, or must she be content forever with only these wonderful moments between them? Her nails dug into the muscles of his back as her crisis approached, and when hot pleasure rained down upon her, she heard him cry out, too, as his juices flooded her.

He collapsed atop her, and after a moment she pushed at him. His eyes met hers, and the warm smile she gave him almost broke his heart in its sweetness. He loved her, and he wanted her to love him! How did a man go about making a woman love him. The emotion was surely a different feeling than passion, for he, himself, felt differently toward her when they were not making love. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to share his thoughts with her, and have her share hers with him. He wanted to tell her how much her approval meant to him, and how just holding her hand in his caused his heart to sing. He felt vaguely embarrassed by these feelings, for, after all, he was a man. Should a man be so very tenderly inclined toward a woman? Toward a wife?

And what if he shared these emotions with her, and she did not reciprocate? Would that not spoil the rapport they now had together? But was it possible that she might care? Eleanore was not a woman to feign sentiments she did not feel. She was honest and unspoiled. In that she had not changed. If he told her he loved her and she could not return his love, she would say so. The thought that she might not love him was the one thing that kept him from declaring himself. For the first time in his entire life, Ranulf de Glandeville realized that he was truly afraid. Oh, he had been fearful of going into battle, but that was a different kind of fear altogether.

His own mother had rejected him in favor of her new husband. He had been astounded that she could do such a thing, for he was her son. Her firstborn, and yet she had put him aside with apparent ease. When the pain and the shock had drained away, he had come to realize his mother was only doing what was best for her, and the children she had borne her second mate. Though she had stood by while her husband stole her eldest son’s patrimony, she had loved Ranulf in her own way; and she had known that he could forge a new life for himself with King Stephen. He had forgiven her, but he had never quite rid himself of the pain of that rejection. Now he knew that his mother’s denial of him would be naught compared to the pain and sorrow he would feel if Eleanore rejected his love. Better to remain silent. At least for now.

She lay cradled in his arms, her head upon his chest. Men are different in so many ways from women, Elf thought. She remembered the girls at the convent saying that all that men could feel was lust and passion. She had since learned that those qualities were not necessarily a bad thing; yet, how her heart yearned for more! She did not know if this love was a particularly good thing. Her brother loved his wife, Isleen, and that turned out badly. For love, Dickon had rejected his own flesh and blood and had put her in St. Frideswide's. He did not come to see her but once in those nine years. How fortunate that she was happy there, for her brother would neither have known nor cared if it were otherwise, just as long as Isleen was content. And in the end she killed him because she loved her cousin, Saer de Bude, and he was willing to abet her in her evil perfidy.

Does love render men foolish and weak? Elf wondered. How I should like to tell Ranulf that he owns not just my body, but my heart as well. She wanted to be with him all the time and fretted when he was not with her. She could not bear the thought that he was to go to Normandy, not knowing when he would return. For all those years she slept alone on her convent cot, yet now she could not even bear to think of how awful it would be when his broad back would not be there for her to cuddle against. That was not lust, she knew. When he smiled at her, her heart grew tight within her. The sound of his voice made her happy. How will I bear it when he is not here for me to share my day with, and he, his, with me?

She would tell him of her feelings, but she suspected it would just embarrass him. He was so much older than she, and wiser. He would surely think her foolish, and she could not bear it if the respect he seemed to hold for her were damaged by her girlish emotions. Ranulf was a sophisticated man, having been raised at the court. He might not be a man of great family or wealth, but even Duke Henry recognized his worth and chose him for this mission. A man like that would certainly be discomfited and abashed by love. Better that she remain silent. He was good to her, and what more could she possibly desire?

July came, and it was time for Ranulf to depart for Normandy. He did so reluctantly. Although Ashlin had been left in peace, the Welsh had been raiding. A serf sent to St. Frideswide’s with several baskets of plums, a gift from Simon to his godmothers, returned to tell them that a small flock of the nuns' sheep had been driven off from a near meadow. It had happened in the night, which made it more frightening. The nuns had awakened in the morning and discovered the loss. The sheepdog who stayed with the flock had been slaughtered, and it was the crows feasting on its carcass that had first drawn their attention.

"Keep one side of the gates closed even during the day," Ranulf told Elf. "If the Welsh come, the serfs in the fields can run for the enclosure, but remember to be certain the gates are firmly barred before the Welsh ponies even get near the drawbridge. Raise it if you can in the event of an attack. It will make it more difficult for the enemy. If anyone mounts a serious full-scale attack, it is possible to breach our walls, for they are still too low. I do not believe, however, the Welsh have that capability. You should be safe if you take precautions. Be very careful, petite."

"But what if some of our people are caught in the open?" she asked.

"They must then take their chances, and God help them," he told her. "The safety of all of Ashlin’s people rests with your decisions, petite. Fulk will be here to marshal our men, but you are the lady of the manor, and it is your word that is law."

"I do not wish to sound like a child, but I am truly uncomfortable with so great a responsibility."

"If I were killed in battle," he replied, "you would have to hold this manor for our Simon, Eleanore, even as your mother did for your brother. She was, I am told, a gentle soul as you are, but she had strength aplenty for her son’s inheritance, unlike my mother who allowed my stepfather to steal my lands for their sons. You have the courage, petite. I will be back as quickly as I can." He put a comforting arm about her, and Elf could feel his strength flowing into her as he embraced her.

"Forgive my lapse," she said softly. "I will do my duty."

"I know you will," Ranulf replied. "Keep a watch on the walls both day and night. Tell the shepherds that if the Welsh come in the night as they did at St. Frideswide's, to take their dogs, and disappear into the gorse. They would be helpless against an armed band, and unable to prevent the sheep from being stolen. The sheep can be replaced. Their lives cannot. I need loyal serfs about us."

"Will you send me word when you can return?"

"I do not think I can, as my mission is to be a discreet one. I will try, however, petite. When you hear that King Stephen has died, know that I will be on my way home," he advised her. "It is then the queen will come to England with her son."

Elf had packed her husband’s baggage, which would be transported upon a mule. There were two good tunics for the court, and two for everyday wear. She had made him several fine new linen chemises. There were newly sewn hose and braies, chausses, and undertunics. There was a beautiful surcoat to be worn over his armor at court, a fine girdle studded with garnets and pearls, and a pair of fur-lined gloves as well as a light wool mantle lined in lynx.

"I wonder if it is enough," she fretted.

He laughed. "It will have to be. I am but a simple knight. I do not wish to attract attention, petite. I am to be an English sparrow amid all the fine peacocks of Duke Henry’s court. Besides, the mule must carry my armor with him as well. I may be invited to join in a tournament."

She paled. "What if you are injured?!" she exclaimed. "And who will wash your garments for you if you are forced to stay more than a month or two? Did Duke Henry think of that when he ordered you to Normandy? No! Of course not! He is to be a king and is used to ordering others about without a care for their welfare."

Ranulf laughed again at his wife’s outrage. "Pax will do the laundry," he told her. "It is part of his duties as my squire. He promises to care for me every bit as well as a wife," he teased her.

"Humph!" Elf snorted derisively.

The day was new, the mule packed. Pax had thanked his uncle for the hundredth time for the opportunity he had been given. He kissed his proud mother farewell, and mounted his new horse. Ranulf smiled at the young man’s excitement. He knew that Pax had never been off Ashlin lands in his whole life, and for him a grand adventure awaited.

Elf forced back her tears. She would not behave like a silly fool. Ranulf was not going to war, just to Normandy. "I will pray you have a safe journey, my lord," she told him quietly. "I will pray you are successful, and return home safely to us as quickly as possible."

"The hour of my departure but means I am closer to returning home to you, petite," he told her. Then his arms enfolded her, and he kissed her with tender passion. "Keep Simon and Ashlin safe for me, Eleanore," he said, releasing her from his embrace.

"I will, Ranulf," she promised him. Was there something different in his look than had been there before? She had begun to sense of late that perhaps love was not an emotion foreign to him. If only she could tell him what was in her own heart! She watched him as he mounted his great warhorse. He reached down and lifted her up for a final kiss.

Their eyes met, and for a moment Elf thought she was floating. "Farewell, petite," he said setting her back upon her feet. By the rood, her look had been more than just responsive! Was it possible she might harbor warmhearted feelings for him? Did he dare to hope? He sighed as he kicked his mount into a walk. It would simply have to wait until he returned. Besides, he wanted to be absolutely certain of his position in her life. If she loved him, he wanted to hear it from her lips. He needed to know for sure else he make a fool of himself. He wanted her love, not her pity.

Elf watched until her husband and his squire were no more than a speck upon the road. Then, with a shake of her head, she returned through the gates of Ashlin to her daily round of duties. She had to speak with Fulk, John, and Cedric this morning. There would be crops to harvest in the coming month, and the fields to be tilled and planted with the winter crops. The sheep needed to be shorn if they were to have new coats for the winter and Ashlin have wool to sell at the Lammas Fair. There was so much to do.

On the edge of a wood bordering Ashlin, Merin ap Owen lurked. He did not trust any of his men to scout a possible target for him. This was something he always did himself. It was the secret of his success as a raider. He looked up the hill and saw Ashlin’s walls. They were far higher than Isleen had told him. Had she lied? Was she stupid-or had the walls been rebuilt? He opted for the latter explanation, for Isleen was many things, but she was not stupid. He needed to get closer. Isleen had said there was a shallow moat, but if the walls had been elevated, then surely the moat had been deepened.

He moved from the wood onto the narrow path leading up to the walled enclosure. He was dressed simply in greens and browns, the better to blend in with his surroundings. On his back he carried a knife-sharpener’s wheel. It was a disguise he used often. There were always knives to be sharpened on any estate, although one such as this one probably had its own wheel. Still, Merin ap Owen did not appear to be a suspicious character and would be granted a night’s lodging if he asked, which he would. It was the best way to gain the lay of the land. Servants gossiped, and a woman servant well pleasured talked the most of all. He smiled wolfishly, his step firm.

He was, as he had expected, welcomed to Ashlin. His sharp eye determined that the moat was indeed deeper. Not only that but the earthen bridge across it had been dug away to be replaced by a thick oak drawbridge. There was a platform around the inner walls where the men-at-arms stood on watch, and there were certainly more armed men than he had anticipated. Further, they seemed well trained. Ashlin would be a far greater challenge than he had thought. It would take careful planning to gain hostile entry here. Was it worth it, he wondered?

As he sat in the hall that evening looking about him, he thoughtfully considered the risks, weighing them against the profits of such a venture. The sheep and the cattle were pastured outside the walls. They would appear to be Ashlin’s greatest assets, and they could easily be stolen with probably no loss of life. While the hall was comfortable, there was no silver plate displayed, or anything else of great enough value to warrant taking. Isleen’s passion for vengeance was what drove her, but his whore did not ever overrule his common sense.

The lady of the manor had married a good man. He divined that by the well-trained men-at-arms and the additional precautions that had been taken to evade raiders such as himself. He smiled. They were the exact foresights he would have taken under such circumstances. The lord, however, was away, he learned from the chatter about him. It would appear to be as good a time as any to raid Ashlin’s livestock.

His eye went to the lady of the manor. The little nun, as Isleen called her, was probably one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her pale red-gold hair was neatly braided, and contained beneath a modest veil. There was a serenity about her that he had never known to encompass a woman. His eyes narrowed. He could see her servants both loved and respected her by the way in which they served her. He realized he was, for the first time in his life, in the presence of a good woman. He had not thought such a creature existed. It gave rise to another question. What was a good woman like in bed? Did that cool elegance extend to her lord’s bed, or was she both passionate and hot in her husband’s arms? He was not likely to know, he considered wryly.

Merin ap Owen was given a sleeping place by the fire, and some bread and cheese when the morning came. As they did not need a knife sharpener’s service, he took his leave of Ashlin, making his way for the next few days over the hills back into Wales and to Gwynfr. Arriving at his small castle, he went to Isleen’s chambers and sent for her to come to him immediately.

"So, you are back, my lord," she said, entering her private apartment. She was garbed in a blue silk gown that favored her eyes, and her golden hair was loose.

"Get on your back, and raise your skirts," he commanded her. "I have missed your hot and eager sheath, Isleen. When you have pleasured me we will talk, my pretty bitch." He fell upon her immediately and used her lustily. She was not as eager as he, although she pretended to be. He knew then she had been betraying him with one or more of his men. He said nothing. Let her believe she could hoodwink him. While he enjoyed her wantonness, he knew that one day he would send her back to Clud, for he could not allow her to make a fool of him, lest his men believe him weak. Finished with her, he arose and straightened out his clothing. "Get up," he told her. "Now we will talk."

"You will attack Ashlin?" she asked avidly.

"Much has changed since you held sway there as Richard de Montfort’s wife, Isleen." He went on to explain to her, then said, "The sheep and the cattle we will steal, but there is nothing in the hall worth risking the lives of my men."

"What?" she shrieked angrily. "Did I not make it clear to you before you went on your ridiculous scouting mission that I wanted Eleanore de Montfort dead? I will settle for no less than her life, as she has wronged me! And I want the little nun to suffer as I have suffered. I want her used by each man in your garrison before you kill her for me. If you love me, you will do it."

Merin ap Owen laughed. "But I don't love you, Isleen," he said. "What ever made you think I did? Because I took you for my whore? You are as dangerous as a rabid cat, my pretty bitch. I re-connoiter my target personally because only I can be the judge of its worth. Cattle and sheep are all Ashlin possesses that interest me. There is no value in anything else there. The lady Eleanore’s lord is away right now, and so the time is most auspicious to raid their livestock."

"You fool!" she screamed, and began to pound upon his broad chest. "You thickheaded Welsh fool! Of course there is more to Ashlin than just cattle and sheep. Can you not see it?"

He caught her wrists in a cruel grasp. "What?" he demanded of her, and then he cuffed her. "What do I not see at Ashlin that has value, Isleen? What do I overlook?" He gave her a shake.

"Eleanore de Montfort!" Isleen cried. "Let me go, you brute! You are bruising me badly." She rubbed the wrists he released. "Is not the lady worth a ransom, Merin ap Owen? Cattle and sheep that are stolen rarely earn their value when sold, and everyone knows the livestock you take for sale are stolen. Leave Ashlin’s beasts in their meadows, and take the lady of the manor instead. Her husband must sell them all if he is to pay the ransom you will ask. You will gain double what you would have if you stole the creatures yourself. Is that not a better plan than yours, Merin ap Owen?"

"Aye, it is," he agreed thoughtfully, "but do not think I don't understand your motives, Isleen. You wish to gain custody of Ashlin’s mistress so you may wreak your vengeance upon her while she is in my parole. I will not allow you to do it, Isleen. I want the full measure of gold that Ashlin’s lord will bring me in exchange for his wife’s safety. If the lady Eleanore is harmed in any way, my pretty bitch, not only will I lose a golden ransom, I could quite easily lose my life when her angry husband slays me. You wouldn't want that, Isleen, would you?" He grinned down into her face. "You do want me to love you, don't you? I do not know, but if your facile little mind continues to aid me so well, I might learn to love you one day." He pulled her into his embrace, and kissed her hard.

Isleen reached down as she returned his kiss, and fondled his manhood until it was stiff again. Then she pulled him to the bed and, shedding her gown, cupped her big breasts in her hands to tease him. He lifted her up onto the bed, and, standing above him, she spread her legs so that he could scent her musk. Bending down, she rubbed her nipples across his lips. He licked eagerly at them, and she backed away.

"Bitch!" he growled, reaching out and yanking her by the ankles onto her back. Fumbling with his garments, he loosed his lance and couched it securely within her sheath. "Bitch!" he repeated as she attempted to dislodge him.

Isleen pulled him down into an embrace and sunk her teeth into his shoulder, biting until she tasted blood. "Now I have infected you with my rabidity." She laughed.

He slapped her several times, but the blows were not hard, merely a warning. "You are clever," he told her, "but not indispensable, my pretty bitch. I may have to kill you one day."

"Perhaps," Isleen told him, "I will kill you first," and she laughed at the surprised look on his face.

He thrust into her again, using her cruelly, forcing her near the peak, holding her back again and again until she began to scream vile curses at him, and he at last gave her her release, mocking her as he did. "You are only a woman, Isleen, and a weak woman at that." Then he laughed, and withdrew from her. "Remember that, my pretty bitch. I must think on what you have suggested." He pulled his clothes back into order and walked out of her room even as she cursed him again.

Isleen, he considered as he entered his own private apartment, was becoming a very annoying encumbrance. Still, she had the same ferocious appetites that he himself possessed. He had to admit to himself that he gained more satisfaction from her than any other woman he had ever known. Still, she was not to be trusted, he reminded himself. She wanted to be rich, and she wanted to be independent. Perhaps he would help her to attain those goals, provided she behaved herself. She would certainly make a better ally than enemy.

Her proposal to kidnap the lady Eleanore was clever. Isleen was right when she said he could gain double in ransom than he would simply by stealing and selling Ashlin’s livestock. But if he was able to get custody of the lady and bring her to Gwynfr Castle, could he keep her safe from his wild whore? A dead or injured mistress of Ashlin would gain him nothing. Isleen’s grievance with Eleanore de Montfort was not justified. Isleen herself had told him how she had managed to get Eleanore as a young child banished to the convent before she married Richard, and how she had seen her but once before her dying husband sent for his sister nine years later.

Isleen’s partner in crime, her cousin, had obviously been a stupid man. He had chosen both the wrong time, and certainly the wrong place, to attempt his debauchment of the lady Eleanore. He would have been wiser to come in the night with the aid of Isleen and take the girl where her servants could not have heard her cries. It was his fault that Isleen’s plan had failed. Eleanore de Montfort could scarcely be blamed for defending herself from the unwanted advances of Saer de Bude, nor could her serf be faulted for protecting his mistress.

Isleen’s complaint had no basis, in fact. She was, Merin ap Owen concluded, jealous of her former sister-in-law. Aye, that was the crux of the matter. The lady Eleanore was every bit as beautiful as was Isleen de Warenne. And she was respected and loved by her people, which Isleen certainly had not been. How often his whore had complained to him about Ashlin’s people. The lady Eleanore was everything that Isleen was not, and Isleen hated her for it. Not that Isleen would have changed given the opportunity. She wanted everything her way, and when she could not have it, she cried foul.

How to keep his hostage safe from her was the problem. Once he had solved the conundrum, he would move on to the issue of how to kidnap her. The lady Eleanore was not worth the loss of life it would take to battle through Ashlin’s walls, although once inside the compound, gaining entry to the house was a simple enough matter, he decided. But if he could not get inside the walls, he would have to get his victim outside, where he might capture her more easily.

Merin ap Owen poured himself a goblet of the fine wine he kept here in his own private domain. Then he sat down by his fire to consider the matter more carefully. The lady was close to the nuns who had raised her. Could she be lured outside her walls by an attack upon St. Frideswide's? Possibly, but not certainly. There was that grizzled and battle-hardened sergeant at arms who served her. He was in charge of the safety of Ashlin, and would certainly know better than to allow his mistress to go to the convent to help her nuns after an attack. He would send his own men to help. Still, such an attack could prove a successful diversion.

Stroking his chin slowly and thoughtfully, he narrowed his eyes in contemplation. If he could get someone into Ashlin’s manor house, someone who could drug the gatekeeper, the men on the walls, the household servants, and then open the gates for him… now that was the perfect plan! But who? Who would the manor folk take in? Not be suspicious of? He needed some helpless creature he could bully, and whose loyalty was unquestioning. Who? Then a slow smile lit his handsome features as he realized the perfect pawn for his endeavor. Isleen’s servant. Clud’s niece. Arwydd!

Arwydd was not a stupid girl. She had been clever enough to gain an exit from her uncle’s brothel, where she had been naught but an unpaid slave. Isleen never complained about her, which meant the girl was also clever enough to serve a difficult mistress. Could she also serve her master? Aye! She could, and she would or he would kill her himself. He had no use for disobedient servants. And while he thought on it, he decided he would learn who had been futtering his whore while he had been in England. He had warned his men that she was his personal possession, but obviously someone had succumbed to Isleen’s bounteous charms. The man would die for it when he learned his name. He would say nothing to Isleen, but she would understand, and more important, so would his men. No one would ever use Isleen again unless he gave them permission to do so.

He smiled grimly, then considered how to infiltrate Arwydd into Ashlin. She would be a runaway slave, of course, whose master had attempted to sell her as a whore, or some such tale. That was a story sure to gain sympathy from the gentle lady Eleanore. He chuckled. It was clever, and Arwydd was just the right lass to carry it off. He would have to think on a series of signals she could use to alert him and his men, but with his decision, success was a foregone conclusion. Merin ap Owen chuckled, well pleased with himself- and even with Isleen.

Chapter 14

Pax of Ashlin was astounded by all he had seen of the world so far. What stories he would have to tell Willa! His lord and he had departed home and ridden for over a week before they reached the sea. It seemed that England was quite a large country, Pax decided. Finally they came to a town his master called Portsmouth, where they set about arranging for passage across to Barfleur. Pax had never seen such a big place as Portsmouth, and the salty smell of the sea was strange to his nostrils. Only by listening carefully could he make out what was being said most of the time, for the English spoken here was different from that spoken at Ashlin. Fortunately his Norman-speak improved quickly as his lord spoke it with him every day.

"Remember," Ranulf warned him, "to pretend you understand just basic orders and unimportant phrases. That way the others about you will speak freely, and I may gain information that may be of use to me."

"I will, my lord," Pax replied.

"You have done well so far, boy," Ranulf praised him, and Pax was pleased, for he truly wanted to better himself and be worthy of Willa’s hand when he returned. If the lord was satisfied with his service, then he would certainly give permission for Willa and Pax to wed.

They crossed to Normandy on a fair summer’s day. The sea was pleasant, the sun warm, the winds brisk without being harsh.

"We are fortunate," Ranulf told him as they debarked the next afternoon at the Norman port of Barfleur. "We have crossed quickly and without difficulty. I take it as a good omen."

"Will we sleep tonight in Rouen, my lord?" Pax asked.

"Nay. Tomorrow, perhaps, but then again mayhap not until the night after depending upon the weather and the roads."

They led their horses and the pack mule from their ship.

"Let us find a market, Pax," Ranulf said. "I would purchase us some food, for I know not if we will espy a safe place to stay, and we may find ourselves in a wilderness without inn or abbey. We had best prepare for it, eh?" He mounted his horse, then turning said, "The animals will need a bit of water before we leave the town."

"Aye, my lord! I will see to it," Pax replied.

They found the market first, and Ranulf purchased two long loaves of bread, a small wheel of cheese, a fat sausage, some peaches, and a heavy skin of wine, which he tasted first to be certain it was not sour.

"You are English?" the wine merchant asked.

"Aye," Ranulf acknowledged. "I am but a humble knight and have come to pledge my loyalty to Duke Henry, for our king lies ill."

The wine merchant nodded with understanding. "Better to do it before the fact rather than after," he opined. "You are a wise man, my lord. You obviously have a care for your family, and that is good. Duke Henry is a generous lord, and the Duchess Alienor the most beautiful and accomplished of women. I saw her once when I was visiting my sister in Rouen. She is a glorious lady, if I may be forgiven for saying so."

Ranulf thanked the wine merchant for his courtesy and his directions to the public trough. They moved on to water the horses, then they set out on the road to Rouen. As darkness approached, Ranulf realized his precautions had been wise. There was neither a religious house, or any other civilized place to lay their heads. When he saw a small spot near a running stream, and sheltered from the view of the road, he ordered a halt to their journey.

"I want no fire tonight to draw bandits," he said to Pax. "We will eat before the light is gone. There is plenty of water and grazing for our animals."

"Will we not be attacked by wild beasts without a fire?" young Pax ventured.

Ranulf smiled. "We are more likely to be attacked by two-footed wild beasts if we have a fire to lead them to us, lad," he said, dismounting. "Look in yonder field at those fat cattle grazing. They would not be left out the night were there beasts about to menace them. Come, let us eat, and then get a good night’s rest. I did not sleep well last night upon the open deck of our vessel, for fear someone would cut our throats for the horses and the mule." He chuckled, noting how pale his squire had become at his words. "You can trust no one here, lad," he said quietly. "I am the only person in whom you may put your faith, Pax."

They unsaddled the horses and left them to graze. The young squire then carefully cut two large chunks of bread, cheese, and sausage, handing a portion to his master. They settled down to eat, passing the wineskin back and forth as they needed it. They decided to save the peaches for the morrow. The day had been long, and they were both tired. The sun had set now, and the twilight was deepening into night. It was clear, and, lying upon his back gazing up at the sky, Pax thought the stars different. A quarter moon rose, faintly brightening the landscape about them as the two men fell into a sound sleep.

Ranulf awoke to the sound of a bird calling. Opening his eyes, he could see the sky lightening beyond the horizon. Arising, he went to pee, then gently kicked his squire. "Wake up, lad, 'tis almost dawn," he said. "I want to eat and be on our way. I'd just as soon sleep in Rouen tonight as in another damp field. My bones are getting too old for it."

Pax scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry, my lord. I did not mean to oversleep."

"Go relieve yourself, then let us eat," Ranulf said.

They left a third of the bread, the remainder of the sausage, and the peaches for a midday meal, eating only bread and cheese with their wine. The wine sent a bit of fire through their veins, warming them. The morning was faintly humid, and the day promised to be hot. When they had finished, they watered the horses, saddled them, and were on their way once again. The countryside about them was a fairly flat valley enclosed by rolling hills. Their path ran beside the river Seine. By very late afternoon the roofs of the town were well in view. The knight and his squire crossed the large humpbacked stone bridge with its thirteen great arches that spanned the river.

Rouen was a very old city. It had been a provincial capital in the time of the great Roman Empire, Ranulf told Pax. Pax nodded, but he had no idea who the Romans were and would not ask for fear of appearing ignorant. Normandy had been a part of a province called Gaul, Ranulf concluded. Even England had been a province of the Romans, who called it Britannia. Pax nodded again, but his eyes were darting about with curiosity as they traversed the narrow streets, which were lined with tall half-timbered houses of four and five stories. Pax had never seen anything like these houses.

"We must find a place to stay," Ranulf said, "and as near to the castle as possible."

"We are not to stay in the castle?" Pax was surprised.

"Not unless we are invited. Remember that I am here merely to pay my respects to Duke Henry, who will be our next king. Greater lords than I are sharing sleeping places, crowded together with their servants like cattle. Perhaps, though, I might beg a place for us in the duke’s stables. It depends on how many men are with him right now. Let us go to the castle first, Pax. On reflection an inn could prove too costly for my small purse." He had not told his squire the truth about his visit to Normandy. The lad was green yet, and Ranulf could not be certain if Pax could be relied upon not to gossip.

The Empress Matilda’s castl was easy to find. The largest building in Rouen, it had both a great hall and a donjon. They rode across the castle’s drawbridge and into the bustling courtyard. Ranulf’s eyes scanned the area, and at last he spotted the stables. He turned his horse toward it, and Pax followed. He sought out and found the stablemaster, importuning him for shelter.

"I am Sir Ranulf de Glandeville, lord of Ashlin. I have come from England to pay my respects to Duke Henry. Is there a place, perhaps in your lofts, for my squire and myself?"

The stablemaster looked the two men over carefully. Their clothing was respectable and of good quality, if a bit travel stained. Their mounts were good. "Do you know anyone here?" the stable-master asked.

"Sir Garrick Taliferro, who serves as one of Duke Henry’s knights," Ranulf said. "He will vouch for my identity and my honesty."

"You understand," the stablemaster replied, "that I must assure myself you are who you say, my lord. So many of the English, and their great trains of knights are now coming here to make their peace with the duke. Space is tight."

"I understand," Ranulf answered the stablemaster politely.

"I will send one of my men for Sir Garrick, whom I also know. If he approves, then I will give you and your squire shelter for as long as you need it."

"I'm no great lord, and I will be grateful," Ranulf replied.

"Here, you, page!" The stablemaster’s hand reached out, grasping the thin neck of a young boy. "Go and find Sir Garrick Taliferro, and tell him that Conan, the stablemaster, would speak with him." Then giving the lad a gentle kick, he sent him off.

They had not bothered to stop upon the road and eat during the day. Now Ranulf ordered Pax to get out the remainder of their food, and the two men sat companionably upon a bench by the stable doors eating, and sharing the remaining wine from the skin. They sat for some time, the day sliding into evening and growing dark about them. Finally a shadow loomed up through the gloaming, and Sir Garrick appeared.

"Ranulf! What are you doing here in Rouen? How is my godson?" The knight held out his hand in a warm greeting.

Ranulf arose, taking the offered hand. "I thought perhaps it was time I came to pay my proper respects to Duke Henry. My lady thought it wise also, and Simon thrives."

"Stephen?"

"Failing, but still alive," Ranulf replied. Then he smiled. "If you can convince Master Conan that we are respectable, he will give us shelter here in his stables, Garrick. Can you do so?"

"Aye! I will gladly. The castle is full to overflowing as the duchess has arrived with all her court to visit her mother-in-law. Come, and I'll take you and your young squire to the great hall. It is time for the evening meal. 'Tis not as substantial as the midday meal, for the empress keeps her household on short rations, but it will be filling." Garrick Taliferro chuckled. Then he turned to the stable-master and said, "The duke would be grateful if you would give this man and his squire and their animals proper shelter, Master Conan."

" 'Tis done, my lord," the stablemaster answered. "Come, my lord, and I'll show you where you'll sleep. Bring your beasts with you, if you please." He moved into the stable, and they followed him deep into the bowels of the building. At its far end he stopped, and pointed to a group of empty stalls filled with fresh straw. "You can stable your animals there, my lord. You and your squire can sleep in one of the stalls, too. 'Tis out of the way, and no one is likely to notice you there. I will ask you to have your squire care for your horses and the mule himself. That way no one will come back into this section of the stables, and your armor will be safe," he said with a wink.

"Thank you, Master Conan," Ranulf said, pressing a small silver coin into the man’s hand. "I am grateful."

The stablemaster nodded, and moved off.

"I've had enough to eat, my lord," Pax said. "I'll remain here, unsaddle the horses, and see to their care. You go along."

"You're certain?"

"Aye, my lord!"

Ranulf walked with Sir Garrick to the great hall of Rouen Cas-de, where the evening meal was just beginning. They found places at one of the trestles directly below the salt. Flat trenchers were placed on the table, one to every two guests. Sir Garrick cut the trencher with his knife, and passed Ranulf a half. The pewter cups were filled with a passable wine. There was a small wheel of cheese on the table. A platter was passed that held what appeared to be joints of roasted rabbit. Spearing one with his knife, Ranulf laid it on his trencher and cut himself a generous wedge of cheese. The priest at the high board stood and said the blessing, then they began to eat.

When he had filled his stomach, Ranulf looked about him. The hall was huge and well filled, mostly with knights and their retainers, although, near the high board there was a trestle lined with lovely women. At the high board sat Duke Henry, his mother, Empress Matilda on his right, his wife, Alienor of Aquitaine on his left. Ranulf had once seen the Empress Matilda. While she had grown older, she had not changed a great deal. Her expression was still one of arrogance and disdain. She had never forgotten her royal heritage. She was the daughter of King Henry I and his queen, who had been the daughter of Scotland’s King Malcolm. The Empress Matilda’s mother had been a descendant of the last Saxon kings of England. Her blood was bluer than most.

The young duchess, however, was probably the most beautiful woman Ranulf had ever seen. His own Eleanore was a great beauty, but Alienor of Aquitaine’s beauty was incredible. She had truly golden hair, and even from where he was sitting Ranulf could tell her eyes were a bright and vibrant blue. Her features were perfect: flawless skin, a straight nose, and a generous mouth that he saw laughed easily.

"Don't fall in love with her," Garrick Taliferro said softly. "Most men do. She enjoys the attention, but she is loyal to her husband."

"As she should be," Ranulf replied, a trifle shocked that his companion should even say such a thing.

"You have not heard the gossip then about her troubadours?"

"Nay. What is said?" Ranulf was frankly curious.

"The duchess’s court is the gayest and brightest in all of the world," Garrick Taliferro began. "She loves music, literature, and poetry, and those who make it. Her court is called the Court of Love. It is the troubadours' habit to choose a noble lady, married, of course, for she must truly be unobtainable, fall in love with her, and then write exquisite poetry and song about his unrequited love for the lady of his choice."

"And what does the unobtainable lady do when she is singled out like this?" Ranulf asked, amused by such affectation.

"She alternately encourages her troubadour, then disdains him on other occasions."

"How futile," Ranulf said, "and perhaps a bit ridiculous to my mind. Besides, what right have these gypsies to choose a chaste woman and make her an object of their unrequited desires?"

Garrick Taliferro laughed heartily. "You are too practical, my friend," he said. "The ladies love it, and it does their husbands honor that these great troubadours chose their wives to court. There is no evil intended, although in the case of the duchess, there are some who want to believe these young men are her lovers. It is not so, of course. The duchess is far too clever, and too honorable a lady to indulge herself with troubadours. She adores her duke."

"I would not allow such men about my Eleanore," Ranulf responded darkly "Such creatures have no place at a humble manor like Ashlin." Then he changed the subject entirely. "When do you think I can pay my compliments to Duke Henry, Garrick? I do not like leaving my wife and child for too long. The Welsh are raiding this year along the border. I have raised my walls higher, and I have a good captain who has trained more men in the arts of defense, but still, I dislike leaving them for too long."

"I will speak with the duke when I have the opportunity," his companion said. "In the meantime I hope you will join me and the other knights in the hunt, and on the jousting field."

"I have my armor with me," Ranulf said. "While I hoped my journey would be a brief one, I have spent enough time in a king’s court to know it would probably not be. They say Stephen will not last a good deal longer, so I suppose I can expect to be home sometime before Christmastide. I can only pray the Welsh will keep from my gates."

"You may lose livestock, but little else," Garrick Taliferro said smoothly. "Tell me of my godson."

"He is clever," Ranulf said. "I vow he recognizes my voice when I enter the solar, but my good wife says he is too young yet."

"I suppose I should marry one of these days," Sir Garrick said. "I have a small holding to the west of London. My mother lives upon it, and she is forever importuning me to take a wife. Perhaps when Duke Henry becomes England’s king, I shall ask her to find me a nubile young lass to wed, bed, and give me heirs. A man needs sons. The king has one, and it is said the duchess is breeding once again."

"Another reason I am anxious to return home." Ranulf smiled. "Both Eleanore and I want more children, but I cannot get them on her if I am in Normandy, and she is at Ashlin."

The evening was a pleasant one. There were jugglers to entertain the guests in the hall, and the duchess’s favorite troubadour of the moment, a slender young man with dark curly locks and melting amber eyes, sang a beautiful song of his unrequited love for the fairest flower in Aquitaine. Ranulf had to admit the music was sweet even if he thought the song insipid. The men at his table began to dice, and, not having the coin to waste, he excused himself.

He found his way back to the stables, joining his squire in a large and comfortable stall that Pax had made quite habitable. The horses had been unsaddled, the pack mule unloaded. The animals had been fed, watered, and brushed. Their saddles were set upon the broad carrier between the stalls. His armor was set neatly in a corner with his small trunk. Pax had added more hay to the stall in order to make two comfortable piles that he had covered with their cloaks to make beds.

"You'll have to wash in the horse trough outside, my lord," the squire told his master.

"In the morning," Ranulf said, laying himself down.

The next few weeks passed surprisingly quickly. They ate in the Empress Matilda’s great hall. They hunted with the duke and his companions. They jousted, and here Ranulf began to gain a small reputation among the court, for he was unbeatable and had yet to be unhorsed by any opponent. When he one day unhorsed the Empress Matilda’s champion, he accepted the laurel wreath of victory from the duke’s hands, then presented it to the empress, bowing graciously.

"Who is that?" the duchess asked one of her ladies.

"I do not know, my lady. He cannot be important," she replied.

Alienor of Aquitaine smiled thoughtfully. "He may not be important, Adela, but he is clever, and he has exquisite manners." She turned to her husband. "Who is he, Henry?"

"Ranulf of Ashlin" came the immediate reply. "He has come to pay me his respects. Perhaps now I shall let him." The duke beckoned the knight forward. "We welcome you to Normandy, Sir Ranulf," he said.

Ranulf knelt before Duke Henry. Placing his hands in those of England’s next king, he pledged him his fealty.

"Rise, Sir Ranulf," the duke said when the oath had been given and received. "We are grateful for loyal knights such as yourself. Your honest fidelity and faithfulness to King Stephen throughout his reign has not gone unnoticed."

"I will give you that same allegiance, my liege," Ranulf replied.

"We believe that you will," the duke replied. "Now, we present you to your future queen, my duchess Alienor."

Ranulf bowed low to the beauteous woman who was even lovelier close up. "My lady, I pledge to you my loyalty as well," he said.

"We thank you, Sir Ranulf," the duchess said. Her voice held a hint of music and was very sweet. "We have noticed that you have yet to be unhorsed in the joust. You are a fine knight."

"I am but fortunate, lady," Ranulf replied. Bowing, he backed away.

"We invite you to remain with us awhile, Sir Ranulf," the duke said. "Unless, of course, you are needed at home."

"I am honored, my liege," Ranulf replied. "While the Welsh have been restless this summer, Ashlin is in good hands with my wife and is well fortified."

"You have built a keep?" the duke said, his brow darkening.

"Nay, my liege! It is forbidden except with royal permission," Ranulf quickly answered. "I have but raised the height of the walls about my demesne to protect my family and my serfs. I hope I have not offended you in that."

"Nay," the duke replied, mollified, and pleased to see the level of obedience rendered by Ranulf de Glandeville. If only all of England’s lords were so amenable, but they were not. They were a greedy, grasping lot, and he would rule them with an iron hand. "Return to your friends, Sir Ranulf, and know that we are pleased with you," the duke told the knight. Their eyes met but for a moment in complete understanding.

Ranulf bowed to the duke, the duchess, and finally to the Empress Matilda. Then he moved away.

"Men like him kept my cousin Stephen in power all these years," the empress said, almost grimly, "but he'll render you the same loyalty, Henry. They are honorable these simple knights: Cultivate as many of them as you can. They will keep you in power when your great lords seek to quarrel with you, my son. When did you meet him?"

"What makes you think I have met him before?"

The empress snorted. "My eyes are not so weak they did not see the look that passed between you," she said low. "This simple knight of yours is here for a purpose. What purpose?"

"I promise you we will discuss it, Mother, but not in so public a venue," the duke said, and the empress nodded, pursuing the issue no further. She was her son’s chief adviser, and they had no secrets from each other. He had learned the art of governance at her knee, but he had also seen how her arrogance had been her downfall, so he had cultivated a softer manner that, while firm, was less dismissive and overbearing. Such an attitude served him well.

Ranulf, in the meantime, returned to the tents where his squire was waiting. Sir Garrick joined them, and the two men talked as Pax disarmed his master.

"That was a clever move on your part," Sir Garrick said. "You have caused a great deal of envy among the other knights."

"I do not mean any offense."

"None is taken." Garrick laughed. "We are all most admiring of what you did in having unhorsed the empress’s champion, presenting the old dragon with your wreath of honor. It was well-done."

"Better not to make enemies of ladies in high places, I have learned over the years." Ranulf smiled. "The duke recognized me, and I was able to pledge him my fealty. He introduced me to the duchess. She spoke kindly to me. I have been invited to remain with the court, and, of course, I could not refuse the invitation."

"Your wife will understand, I am certain."

"Aye, she is a good wife and chatelaine," Ranulf replied, but secretly he worried about his petite. Rouen seemed so far from Ashlin. A small sea and a great deal of land separated them. He wondered if the Welsh had raided them, or if, as had happened in past years, Ashlin and its folk had been left in peace. There was no way to get a message to his wife. Ashlin was out of the way. No one from this court, even a knight returning to England, which none was at the moment, would go their way. No merchant train would, either. Ashlin saw an occasional peddler, but no great train ever passed by. He had to put his family in God’s hands now.

After the tournament in which he had overcome the empress’s champion, Ranulf began to reahze he was being favored by the Duchess Alienor. That same evening in the hall she beckoned him, asking, "Are you a man of the gentle arts, Sir Ranulf?"

He grinned rather wryly, and replied, "My lady, I am naught but a simple knight. While I read, and I can write, I use these talents only as lord of my manor."

"Do you know Latin?"

"Church Latin, my lady," he answered her.

"No poetry?" She cocked her head to one side.

"Nay, lady. What use would I have for poetry?"

The duchess laughed. "Poetry is very useful for wooing a lady, sir. Are there none among my ladies who might take your fancy, Sir Ranulf? If there are, you must learn poetry."

"I am a married man, my lady," he told her. "I came to Rouen but to pledge my loyalty to your husband, and offer whatever small services he would desire of me. While I find the ladies surrounding you as fair as summer flowers, they are but pale stars in comparison to your brilliant and radiant moon, my lady duchess."

Alienor of Aquitaine smiled, both surprised and flattered by his speech. "I think we may make a poet of you yet, Sir Ranulf. Tell me, if you did not use poetry, how then did you woo your wife?"

"The lady of Ashlin was chosen by King Stephen to be my wife. The holding sits near to the Welsh border, and the king sought a loyal man to hold it. My wife had been in the convent of St. Frideswide’s since she was five, lady, and was within just a few weeks of taking her final vows. Instead she was married to me."

"Ah," the duchess said, understanding perfectly.

"We have a newborn son. His name is Simon, after my father," Ranulf said, "and Hubert, for he was born on St. Hubert’s Day."

"Perhaps one day your son may come to court to serve my little William," the duchess said. She liked this simple man with his honest answers. There was nothing at all complex about Ranulf de Glandeville. He was a refreshing change. She turned the conversation back to the arts.

"Can you sing perhaps, Sir Ranulf?"

"Sing?" He thought it an odd question. Men did not sing. "Nay, my lady, I do not sing."

One of the duchess’s ladies leaned over and whispered in her mistress’s ear. Alienor of Aquitaine smiled mischievously. "The lady Elise wishes to know, if since you do not write or recite poetry, or sing, how you make your wife happy, Sir Ranulf?"

"By making her sing, my lady," Ranulf answered quickly, eliciting a burst of laughter from the duchess and her ladies.

"You are quick of wit by far, my lord," the duchess said, her blue eyes twinkling and her musical voice tinkling with mirth. "There may be hope for you after all."

He bowed. "I am but an honest man." He smiled.

He was included in the royal circle more often than not now, although the great lords considered him of little import. The duchess entrusted him with her younger ladies in the evening, and he chaperoned them, keeping them from the more unruly lords and knights who might compromise the reputations of the naive maidens. He did not flirt as others might have done, for he considered how hurt his innocent Eleanore would be if she knew it. The younger girls in the duchess’s train took to calling him Sir Uncle, which Garrick Taliferro found very amusing.

"What a reputation you are gaining," he teased his friend.

"I should rather be called uncle than have my wife learn one day that I had conducted myself in a lewd and lecherous manner," Ranulf replied. "Eleanore still retains an innocence due to her convent upbringing."

"I believe you love her," Sir Garrick said.

"I do, although I have never said it to her. When I go home, however, I shall. It is past time Eleanore knew it. I have always been fearful that she would reject me, for I am older, and I was forced upon her. Still, before I left I thought perhaps that her manner toward me was softer, that she might have similar feelings for me. I can be silent no longer."

"Of course you must tell her," his friend agreed. "Although I do not understand it, women seem to like to hear the words, Je t'aime."

August passed, and September. In early October the duke mounted an expedition against one of his vassals, Robert de Torigny, a troublesome man who had suddenly refused to render the duke his due. Ranulf was invited to join the siege at the castle of Torigny. He was glad to go, for the gay life of the court and his duties shepherding young ladies was not really to his taste. An invitation to the siege cheered him immensely, and he fought with vigor, earning the respect of those great lords who had previously been dismissive of him. He was quickly considered a good man to have by your side, or at your back.

At the very end of October, word was brought to the duke that King Stephen had died on the twenty-fifth day of October at Dover Castle. King Henry accepted the news calmly, then continued his siege until the castle of Torigny was reduced to rubble, and its lord chastised, humbled. The new king returned home to celebrate his elevation with his joyful mother and his wife, who was great with her second child. Te Deums were sung, Masses of thanksgiving and for the soul of King Stephen were offered in all of Rouen’s churches. Though it had an archbishop, Rouen had not yet a cathedral.

Ranulf was roused from his bed in the stables one night by the king’s page, and without question followed the boy to Henry’s privy chamber, forcing himself awake as they went. The king was a man who needed little sleep, and usually made do with no more than four hours. Ranulf bowed as he was ushered into the royal presence, and the page quickly disappeared. The king sat behind a long table covered in parchment.

"Help yourself to wine if you wish," he said, waving the knight to a chair before the table. "By the rood I have never had so much work! My affairs here in Normandy must be in order before I can cross to England. Besides, I am told between the wind and the rain the damned sea is all a rage right now. I'd go myself, but my wife’s belly makes me more cautious. The queen will now travel with me, de Glandeville. There is no longer a need for secrecy, but you will have the care of Prince William. It is a great responsibility, for who knows that the queen does not carry a daughter this time. It is thought that I mean to leave my son behind in Normandy, for such a journey is considered too dangerous for a boy of tender years. What fools they take me for, my loyal knights! As if I would leave my only heir here to be preyed upon by that pack of wolves! Still, it will be believed the lad stays behind because his household will remain. You must take the prince, and one of his wet nurses, and travel with them to England. You will appear to be a knight with his wife and son. You will leave for Barfleur two days before we do. The details will be worked out in a few days' time."

"Who will know that I escort the prince besides ourselves, my liege?"

"My mother, my wife, and my confessor only," Henry said.

Ranulf nodded.

"Did we awaken you?" the king suddenly asked.

Flushing, Ranulf nodded. He hadn't been aware his sleepiness was that obvious. "Your pardon, my liege."

Henry chuckled. "We need little sleep. We are sure you have heard the complaints. We called you to us now so our meeting would not be noticed and wondered upon. From now on the queen, my mother, or my confessor will speak with you on this matter. When the day comes for your departure, you will be given a purse for expenses."

"What am I to do when we reach England?"

"You will join my progress to London, and it is then that knowledge of Prince William’s presence with us will be made known. We will form an English household for him. There will be plenty of eager souls willing to serve my son," the king said almost grimly. Then he chuckled. "You will have your hands full with Willie, de Glandeville. He is just past two years, and an imp. Don't let the little devil intimidate you, for he already knows his place as a royal prince. Be as tough with him as you would your own son. He must obey you, else he endanger you and himself. Be firm!" the king concluded. "You have our permission to do what must be done to ensure the prince’s safety."

"I will, my liege, for I wish to get home safely to my own wife and child. I swear I will guard the prince as I would my own son’s life, my liege."

"Good!" the king said. "Now, you may go back to bed." He lowered his head again to the papers on his table.

Ranulf bowed himself from the room. The page was gone, and so he found his own way back to the stables. When the king had first told him why he wanted him in Normandy, Ranulf had assumed he would travel in grand style. To learn only he and Pax would be escorting the prince and his nurse was startling. Still, the road from Rouen to Barfleur was not a dangerous road. The child, however, was young. It would almost have been better if he were an infant. Ranulf did not have a great deal of experience with two-year-olds, but as he remembered, they were mobile. He would have to ride with the boy ahead of his saddle. They could not move swiftly. It would not be a simple trip.

Pax was going to have to know. His young squire had proved himself most trustworthy these past months. Still, he would not tell him until he knew when they were going. He made his way to his bed and lay down again. He was going home! Soon he would be with his Eleanore and his son. Simon would be a half year old by the time he returned to Ashlin. He hoped the harvest had gone well, and that the flocks and cattle were safe. Pray God the Welsh had left them in peace. Pray God if they had not, that everyone was safe and the damage slight. With that thought Ranulf de Glandeville finally fell asleep again.

Chapter 15

The men on the walls at Ashlin manor watched with careful interest, then amazement as the ragged figure stumbled across the fields, scattering the sheep. It clambered its way up the hill to the walled manor, hands outstretched in apparent supplication. As it crossed the lowered drawbridge, it became obvious the creature was a female.

"Help me!" she rasped, and collapsed just short of the raised portcullis.

For a moment the men-at-arms at the entry hesitated. Was this some clever Welsh trick? Realizing, however, that there was absolutely no one else in sight and the men on the walls had a clear view of the surrounding countryside, they ran to help the woman.

"Jesu! Mary!" the first man to reach her said. He looked down at the poor creature, who was scrawny to the point of being starved, and black-and-blue with many a severe beating. The man-at-arms didn't know what to do, and stood helplessly looking down at the woman.

"I'll go for Fulk," his companion said, and ran off leaving the first man with the woman.

"Help me," the woman said piteously, reaching out for the man-at-arms, who jumped back nervously.

"Sim’s gone for the captain," he managed to say. "He'll help."

The woman nodded weakly, and laid her head upon the ground.

Fulk came running with the other man-at-arms. Looking down at the woman, he shook his head. "An escaped slave," he said wearily. Bending, he lifted the woman’s head. "You're a slave?"

"No more," the woman said with distinct meaning.

Fulk shook his head despairingly "Will they come after you?"

"I don't know," the woman answered. "I think I killed him."

"Well, let’s hope you did, lass," Fulk said, "or if they think it’s worth their while, they'll be after you soon enough. What’s your name?" Reaching down, he helped the frail woman to her feet.

"Arwydd" came the reply.

"Welsh? You speak good English for a Welsh girl," Fulk noted.

"My mother was English, from Hereford" was the answer.

"How did you end up a slave?" Fulk began to walk the girl slowly through the portcullis into the manor enclosure.

"My mother was taken years ago. Her captors raped her, and I was born. The man whose slave she became named me. She be dead many years now. He killed her when she objected to his interest in me. I was eleven when he first used me, the pig!" Arwydd spat weakly.

"Is he the one you killed?"

"Aye," the girl replied. "He thought it would be amusing to share me with his friends. They did everything to me that a man can do to a woman. So when he was drunk several days ago, I slit his throat and ran away. I haven't eaten in three days, sir, but what berries I could find, and I was afraid to eat most of them, for fear I'd get poisoned. Please, help me!"

"I'll take you to my mistress," Fulk said. He didn't know if the girl was to be believed or not. She was battered and bruised enough to be sure. She looked as if she had been starved for years, and she probably had been. Her story had a certain ring of truth to it, yet she worried him. She did not quite meet his eye when he looked at her. Was her sudden arrival some clever Welsh trick? He would advise the lady, and he would watch this wench carefully.

He brought her to the lady Eleanore, where Arwydd told her story again. Fulk took his mistress aside while old Ida and Willa took Arwydd off to bathe her. "I don't entirely trust this wench, my lady," he sad quietly. "There is something about her that doesn't seem quite right. I cannot help but wonder how she ended up here at Ashlin when we are so far off the beaten track."

"Perhaps God directed her to us, Fulk," Elf said quietly. "She is fearfully wounded. God knew I could help her regain her health."

"Perhaps, lady," Fulk answered. He always wanted to shout with despair when the lady spoke so sweetly. She still did not fully realize how cruel and fierce a world it was beyond the boundaries of Ashlin and St. Frideswide’s Convent. "Heed my words, however, lady," he pleaded with her. "Listen to all the girl says, but do not trust her, I beg you. It is too dangerous to trust a stranger in these times."

"While I prefer to look on the brighter side of life," Elf told her captain, "I am not quite the simpleton you believe me to be, Fulk." She laughed when he flushed. "I will heed your words, I promise," she attempted to reassure him.

He bowed to her, then went about his duties.

"She’s thin as a sapling, lady," Willa said coming back into the hall. "Old Ida has bathed her, gotten the nits from her hair. She’s black-and-blue all over, though. How anyone could be so cruel to so frail a lass, I do not know."

"Has she said any more?"

Willa shook her head. "Naught, but to thank us for our kindness."

"We'll keep her with us until she heals," Elf decided.

"I agree," Willa said. "Poor lass has never known kindness."

Arwydd was settled into the household. Within a few weeks she had lost her pallor and showed signs of gaining weight. Her bruises were beginning to heal, fading from black to purple to yellow, brown, and green, to finally just the faintest shadow before they were completely gone. While Arwydd’s face was round and plain, there was a certain prettiness to it. Her blue eyes grew lively with her returning health. She was set to doing light tasks after a few days, and she did them well. Her greatest talent, however, seemed to be in the arranging of flowers. She loved them, and filled every container she could with the blooms from garden and field, which she mixed freely. Elf encouraged her, for the truth was, she liked Arwydd’s flowers and told her so.

Fulk found it interesting that no one came looking for the wench. Surely her murdered master had someone who cared, yet no one arrived at Ashlin in search of Arwydd. This concerned Fulk greatly. He became convinced she was a spy, probably for the Welsh, yet the girl did nothing that he could deem suspicious. Still, instinct nagged at him, so he kept on his guard. He asked Arwydd once who her mother’s people had been in Hereford, but Arwydd claimed not to know, so he couldn't send the wench along to blood kin, and thus be rid of her.

August came, but they did not go to the Lammastide Fair this year, for with the Welsh raiding, it was considered too dangerous. September came, and by month’s end the harvest was almost all in, but for the orchards, which would take several weeks of picking. On Michaelmas roast goose was served to everyone on the manor, serf and freeborn alike. The servants were paid their wage for the coming year. Several days afterward, however, a man dressed in servant’s garments arrived at Ashlin to tell them that the convent of St. Frideswide’s was under siege from the Welsh bandit, Merin ap Owen. The abbess had sent him to Ashlin to beg for their help before they were all killed.

Elf was horrified. "You must take a troupe of men and go at once to help them," she said to Fulk.

"Do you know this fellow?" he demanded of her suspiciously.

Elf shook her head. "But it does not matter," she said. "He wears the abbess’s badge, and many of the servants were old at St. Frideswide's. He may have replaced one."

"Aye, lady, I did," the man quickly spoke up. "I am the son of Walter, who tended the pigs."

Elf could not remember the swineherd’s name, but he had been an old man and this man could indeed be his son. Besides, the convent was being attacked, and they had to help him. She fixed a challenging look on her captain. "There is no reason for this man to come here and claim the convent is under siege if it isn't. You will take a troupe of men, and go to St. Frideswide’s now, Fulk. Drive the Welsh off, and secure the convent for the abbess. If necessary pursue the enemy, and destroy as many of them as possible. May God have mercy on their wicked souls! You have your orders. Go, now!

Something was wrong. Fulk sensed it strongly, but she was the lady, and he could not defy her. He had to obey. He bowed. "Aye, my lady," he told her, "but keep the gates locked both day and night until I return. You must promise me you will do it, my lady. You must promise!"

"I will do it, Fulk. Have no fear, for we will be safe," she reassured him gently. She understood his dilemma, but they had to help St. Frideswide's. There was no choice in the matter.

"You will come with me," Fulk told the messenger.

"Aye," the man agreed calmly, but his demeanor did nothing to restore Fulk’s confidence in the matter. Something was wrong!

Fulk and his men rode posthaste the miles separating Ashlin from the convent. Reaching St. Frideswide's, they discovered its outbuildings burning, its flocks and cattle gone from its fields. They banged upon the gates, and a voice called to them, "Depart you godless Welsh! In the name of Christ, depart!"

"It is Fulk from Ashlin come to help, Sister Perpetua," the captain called in a strong voice.

A small square of the gate opened like a tiny window, and the nun’s face shone in it. "Praise be to God!" she cried. The square closed with a slam, and a few moments later one side of the gate opened to admit him.

"Remain on guard here and chase off any Welsh you find," he told his men, then entered into the convent courtyard. "Where is the abbess?" he asked the portress.

"In the church with the others, praying."

Fulk refrained from a pithy reply, instead nodding and thanking the nun. He headed directly for the convent church, crossing himself reverently as he entered, his boots thumping noisily. "Reverend Mother," he said. "The lady Eleanore has sent me from Ashlin to help you."

The abbess arose from her knees, and turned to face the captain, relief showing plainly on her usually composed features. "Captain Fulk, you are most welcome," she told him, and together they walked from the church, leaving the others behind to continue with their prayers.

"Tell me what happened?" he asked her as they traversed the cloister slowly, rain just beginning to fall.

"It is the Welsh, of course," the abbess said wearily. "They have been taking our flocks and herds by bits and pieces for the past few weeks. Today, however, they fired the buildings outside our walls and slew whoever of our serfs they could find. Those poor souls who had remained at their posts to see the cows were milked and the harvest brought in on time… although I am certain it has gone off with the Welsh, if they didn't burn it, too. What we will feed ourselves, our remaining people, and our animals with this winter, I do not know. Then the Welsh were as suddenly gone as they had come. There isn't a sign of them anywhere, as you can see."

Fulk’s mind was contemplating the situation. If the Welsh had been outside the convent’s walls for several weeks, why did the abbess wait until today to ask for help? He began to consider if he might connect Arwydd’s arrival at Ashlin with the Welsh marauders' arrival at St. Frideswide's. "When did the Welsh come, Reverend Mother?" he asked.

The abbess thought a long moment, and then she said, "It was about six weeks ago. They came over the hills without any warning one afternoon. The gates were open, and several of our maidens and younger nuns were outside the gates. Sister Perpetua saw them first, and rang our alarm bell. Those outside the gates barely made it back into the safety of our walls, but praise be to God, and His blessed Mother, they returned unscathed. The Welsh made no attempt to break in then. They spent their time driving away our livestock in small groups and taking everything that wasn't nailed down. Only in the last few days did they make what to me seemed to be but a halfhearted attempt to batter in our gates, but our gates are extremely strong, being reinforced with iron straps. Today they fired the buildings outside, and departed," the abbess concluded.

Fulk’s brain was beginning to throb with apprehension and foreboding. He knew the answer to his question even as he asked it. "Then, why, my lady abbess, did you send your swineherd to Ashlin asking for the lady Eleanore’s aid?"

The abbess looked at him, surprised. "I did not send my swineherd to Ashlin, Captain Fulk. I sent no one to Ashlin. The danger was over, and other than the loss of our livestock, some serfs, and some buildings, the convent and its residents were safe, praise be to God. While I am relieved by your arrival, I did not send for you. Captain! Are you all right?"

The color had drained from his face. "A man came to Ashlin claiming to be the son of Walter, the swineherd here at the convent. He said he had escaped with your contrivance, and the convent needed our help. The lady did not recognize him, but she sent us anyway, against my better judgment. She feared for you all, and now I fear for her, as I know the man who came to Ashlin was a Welsh agent."

"God have mercy!" the nun exclaimed, her distress obvious.

"I must return to Ashlin immediately," Fulk said.

"Night is falling, and there is no moon," the abbess said. "You will need torches by which to light your path, Captain. I will have them prepared right away, but you must wait for them. To go without light could endanger you and your men, and then you will be of no help at all to Eleanore. Be patient. We will hurry."

"I will wait outside the gates with my men," Fulk said. "They will need to know what has happened." He bowed to her, then turned to go.

Fulk explained the situation to his men. "Where is the man who came for us?" he asked his second in command.

"He went to check the pigpens to see if any of his beasts had escaped the conflagration," the second replied.

"How long ago?" Fulk demanded.

The second shrugged helplessly.

"He was one of them for certain, and we will not see him again, for he has surely gone to rejoin his master," Fulk said.

They waited impatiently for almost an hour while the torches were prepared. About them the twilight deepened into night. Without a moon it would be as black as the inside of an empty wineskin. Finally the abbess came through the open half gate, followed by six or so nuns, their arms filled with torches. They passed them out among the men, lighting them from the torch that the abbess carried. Each man was given two extra unlit torches, which they stowed behind their saddles.

"Thank you," Fulk said. After turning his mount, he led his troupe slowly away from the convent. Above them the sky was a gray-black. The earlier rain had subsided, but the dampness made the night even darker than usual on a moonless night. The flaming torches flickered in the light breeze, dancing eerily as the men moved along. There was no choice but to go slowly, for the track was narrow and the night murky. Fulk was frothing with impatience. He had been gulled as neatly as any country lad in the city for the first time.

If anything happened to the lady Eleanore or the little lordling, what was he to tell his master when he returned from Normandy? He had failed in his duty to protect them, and his heart was sore weary with the knowledge. Instinct had warned him that something was wrong, but he had hesitated to question his mistress. He should have. She was young and inexperienced. Her convent upbringing caused her to look at the world with an especially kind eye. She trusted too easily. It could be the death of her, he feared. By the rood! A turtle could move faster than they were going! How far had they come? A mile? Three? He would wager that they weren't even halfway there.

The bell tolling from the manor church alerted them to the fact that they were practically at Ashlin. It was as if they were being guided home. But why was the bell pealing? Fulk stopped his troupe to consider a moment. Without the torches, they couldn't see their own hands outstretched before them. That meant that neither could the enemy. No one could be lying in wait for them under these circumstances. Had the Welsh broken into the manor enclosure itself? Anything was possible, but something told him this had not happened. He signaled his men forward. The bell was tolling an alarm, he decided. Now suddenly he could see the lights upon the walls of Ashlin. He hurried his troupe a bit faster. He could see the shadowed outlines of the walls and sheep in the fields and meadows on either side of the track. This was odd. If the Welsh had come, why hadn't they taken the livestock?

Fulk moved his companions up the hill to the manor enclosure. The drawbridge was lowered, and the portcullis raised. He stopped again, cautious and confused. What was going on? Then he heard Sim calling to him. Signaling his men to remain where they were, he moved his mount forward to meet his second in command.

"Captain Fulk! Is that you? They have taken the lady!" Sim cried. "They have taken the lady!"

Fulk waved his men forward. "How?" He snapped the question as he rode into the enclosure. "Lower the portcullis, and raise the drawbridge when all have entered," he said. Dismounting, he flung his reins to a young stableboy. "How?" he repeated.

"We are not certain." Sim’s voice quavered.

"Who was on the gate, and what of the men on the walls?" Fulk asked, manfully keeping his temper in check.

"Alfred was on the gate. He and the men on the walls were drugged, Captain. They slept for no more than an hour, and naught was believed to be amiss. Then old Ida come screeching from the house, crying the lady was gone. Willa had taken the little lordling to Lady Eleanor to be fed, and she was not in her bed. They searched the house, but she could not be found. The women are hysterical, and the little lordling cries for his supper," Sim concluded.

"Go to Orva, and tell her we need a wet nurse immediately for the little lord. Then come to the house. I am going to search it myself," Fulk told the man-at-arms. By the rood! By the holy rood! He had known that something was wrong! Why hadn't he listened to his voice within instead of blindly obeying the wishes of a sweet, but very naive, young woman? His search of the house would be futile, he knew, from the raised portcullis, the lowered drawbridge, and the open gates, but he had to satisfy himself that she really was gone. His grizzled features grim, Fulk entered the house and was immediately surrounded by howling women. "Be silent!" he roared at them, and they ceased their wails. His glance lit on Willa, dry-eyed and looking calmer than any. "What happened?" he asked her, "and the rest of you keep your mouths shut!"

"We went to bed shortly after the sun had set as we usually do unless there are guests. Shortly before midnight the little lord became restless, and Alyce, his nurse, brought him to the lady to be fed, but the lady was not there. We searched for her, but could not find her, and it was then we raised the alarm."

"Were you all in the hall tonight?" Fulk asked Willa.

"All but Alyce."

"Arwydd?"

"Nay, Arwydd ate in the kitchens earlier, for she was working in the lady’s herbal gardens," Willa replied. "She has spent the last few days carefully digging and covering the plants for winter."

A brief grim smile touched Fulk’s lips. They had all been given some sort of mild sleeping draught, all but for Alyce, who had been tending her little charge, and Arwydd, who had probably administered the potion into the food and drink that was served; her presence in the kitchens earlier being the key to the puzzle. "Where is Arwydd?" he asked. "When was the last time you saw her?"

Willa thought hard, and then she said, "I have not seen Arwydd since yesterday afternoon when she told me she was going to work in the gardens, and asked the lady’s permission to eat early in the kitchens."

"Christ’s bloody bones!" The fierce oath burst forth from Fulk’s mouth with such violence that the women jumped back, whimpering. "I knew that wench was false, but I could not prove it, worse luck!" His balled fist drove into his palm. "Jesu! Who would want so badly to kidnap the lady that they would plan so cunningly? Who? And why?" His brow was contorted as he struggled for an answer. The lady surely had no enemies. Did the lord? They knew little about his life before he had come to Ashlin, save that he was a loyal knight of King Stephen and had once had family in Normandy. In Fulk’s mind it was unlikely that Ranulf de Glandeville would have an enemy this vengeful. He was simply not that kind of man. Who, then?

"It is that witch that killed our lord Richard," old Ida suddenly said.

"Why do you say that?" Fulk asked her, dismissive of the elderly woman, but nonetheless curious.

"Has there not been a Welsh bandit riding with a golden-haired woman these many months?" Ida demanded. "Did not the bitch escape from her father’s custody as she was about to be clapped into a nunnery? Did she not intend to wed our sweet lady to her cousin then kill her as she had killed her husband? And all so she could have the cousin and Ashlin for herself? But our lady was saved from the bitch’s evil plotting, and the lady Isleen"-Ida spat upon the floor-"given punishment by the king himself. A punishment which she escaped. She is the only person I can imagine who would hold such a hard grudge against our sweet lady."

"What you say holds a possibility of truth in it," Fulk replied thoughtfully. The old woman could have hit upon something, he considered. "But why take the lady? Why not steal the livestock instead?"

"The lady will bring a ransom from her husband," Ida replied scathingly, as if he should have realized that himself. "As for the rest, how am I expected to know the workings of a bandit’s mind? You are a man. You are the soldier. It is up to you to learn the rest!"

Orva entered the hall just then, bringing with her a young woman. "Maris can feed the little lordling. Her son is ready to be weaned. She is healthy, and her milk rich," Orva said.

"Thank God," Alyce said, handing her charge to the wet nurse. "Poor mite’s been whimpering for hours now. I give him a sugar teat, but he needed milk."

As if to give her words truth, Simon Hubert’s mouth clamped itself about Maris’s quickly bared nipple, causing her to start, and he began sucking noisily, his small hands moving up to knead the woman’s breast. His bright blue eyes slowly closed with his ecstasy, and he relaxed in Maris’s cradling arms. The women all smiled with relief, and Fulk nodded. At least here was one problem that had been easily solved.

"What are you going to do to find the lady Eleanore?" Willa asked boldly. "She has been gone for several hours now, and you can already see the dawn beginning to stain the skies."

"It is the false dawn," he told her, "but the real one will not be far behind, lass. You women must keep to your daily schedule as if all were well. You will do this for the little lord’s sake. It must not be known that Ashlin is without both its lord and its lady, lest the child be thought vulnerable by ambitious men Like Baron Hugh." Although at this point, Fulk thought to himself, I'd follow my instincts and fight the king himself to protect the child. "My men have been riding all night, and without proper nourishment," he told the women clustered about him. "See they are fed as quickly as possible, for we shall have to go after the lady as soon as it is Light."

Fulk left the hall then to see to his men and the horses. It was beginning to rain again, he noted with displeasure. He sought out Father Oswin, whom he found praying in the church. The young priest arose from his knees, his brown robes swirling about his bony ankles.

"Good morrow, Father. You pray for the lady, I assume.".

"I do, Captain."

"She has been kidnapped, I am certain," Fulk said. "We must keep this occurrence secret for the sake of the little lord. Do you understand me, Father?"

"Aye," the priest agreed. "With the lord away and the lady gone, we need no other difficulties, eh, Fulk? Do you know who has taken the lady? And what will you do about it?"

"I do not know who, but I suspect the Welshman called Merin ap Owen who has been raiding hereabouts. We rode all night using torches to Light our path, but it was slow going. As soon as my men are fed, we will take up the pursuit. I shall leave Sim in charge of defense when I am gone, and you in charge of the rest until the lady is brought home or the lord returns."

"Do you expect it, then, to take time?"

Fulk shook his head. "I do not know, Father. I honestly do not know. First I must find out for certain who has the lady. Only then can I move on to the problem of how to get her safely home."

"I know you to be a man of action with little tolerance for fools, my friend. And I know you believe in action more than you do in prayer, but, believe me, I shall be praying for your success and the safety of the lady nonetheless," the priest finished with a small smile at the soldier.

"She would want your prayers," Fulk said quietly, "so therefore I will want them, too." With a nod to the priest he hurried off again.

The dawn came in gray and chill. The rain began in earnest, and grew into a steady downpour by the time Fulk and his men were ready to set forth in search of Elf. Fulk cursed the skies angrily. Whatever trail had been left by the kidnappers would be washed out. It was useless even to consider starting out until the rains stopped. He dismissed the men and stomped into the hall, grumbling beneath his breath and wondering why God was testing his patience in this manner when the lady’s very life might be in danger.

With no trail to follow he would have to rely on his instincts. The first thing he must do is learn where Merin ap Owen had his lair. The next step would be to ascertain if the lady Eleanore was actually being held by the bandit. If he had taken her, he would want her for ransom. What kind of a ransom? And how the hell were they supposed to pay a ransom when the lord was away? Fulk rubbed his brow. It hurt with all his cogitation, but without the lord to make these decisions, it was up to him to do so.

He groaned with frustration. He didn't even know where the lord was, or why he had truly gone, for he didn't really believe that tale the lord had told of going to Normandy to render his fealty to Duke Henry. Ashlin was no great holding. Ranulf de Glandeville could have rendered a new king his loyalty when that king came to England, and not a moment before. No offense would have been taken at all by such action. There was something else, but the lady had confided in no one, or else she herself did not know. Being such an innocent, she would accept her husband’s word in the matter. So, Fulk realized, he would not be able to send a messenger to his master telling him of what has transpired. They were on their own in this matter. Fulk rubbed his brow again. Being in charge was a very difficult thing, and he would never again envy his betters.

The autumn rains did not let up for three long days and nights. The morning of the fourth day dawned cloudy, but dry. Whatever chance they might have had of following the kidnappers' tracks was long gone, the trail having been washed away over the previous few days. Fulk prepared to go in search of Merin ap Owen’s hidey-hole, but Sim, his second in command, would not be content unless he himself went.

"You insisted upon leading the troupe to St. Frideswide's," he reminded his captain, "and look what happened in your absence. This time I will go. Besides, I am not as well-known as you are, Fulk."

"I did not insist, the lady sent me," Fulk protested.

"You could have sent me in your stead and remained at Ashlin," Sim rejoined. "You are the lord’s chosen man to defend Ashlin and the little lord. If you were lost to us, what would happen? I am at least expendable, although I assure you I intend returning home in one piece."

"It would have made no difference if I were here or not," Fulk said stubbornly. "The food, the drink, something was drugged with a sleeping potion. I would have slept as soundly as you did, Sim. Still, there is merit in your argument. I have the most experience of any here in matters of warfare and defense. When the time comes to rescue the lady, I will lead our men forth, but for now you are better suited than I to seek out Merin ap Owen and to see if it is he who holds the lady his prisoner. If he does not, I do not know where to look. All we can do is wait for a ransom demand."

"Which you could read, but I cannot!" Sim said triumphantly.

"The priest could read it for you," Fulk replied with a small smile. Sim was anxious to prove his mettle, and so he should have the opportunity. "If you think to have my place one day, Sim," he told the young man, "you will have to learn how to read and write. A man advances farther when he is educated and can be of more use to his master. A man without knowledge is but fit to work the fields or die in the first charge, lad."

"I thought you meant for Pax to have your place one day," Sim said bluntly. "Will you forsake him for me?"

"You are both my blood kin," Fulk replied, "but Pax will be the lord’s squire, and if, as I hope, he does well, he might even be knighted one day. One does not need to be of noble birth to be knighted. Only brave and freeborn. He will earn his freedom, and then, who knows."

Sim nodded, satisfied. "I had best get going," he said.

"God go with you, lad, and be careful," Fulk cautioned him. "Remember, you are not expected to rescue the lady. Only find Merin ap Owen’s place, and ascertain that the lady is in his custody. Then you must return to Ashlin, and tell me all you have learned."

"I understand," Sim said, "and I promise to be cautious." He mounted his horse, and moved out of the stable yard toward the gates.

Fulk watched him go, half regretting he had agreed to Sim’s suggestion, but more than aware that the lad was right. His experience was of more value here at Ashlin right now than on the trail in search of Lady Eleanore. He went off to find the priest to tell him of the change of. plan. Father Oswin was openly relieved to learn the captain was remaining.

"The men are not as certain of Sim as they are of you, my friend. He needs a bit more seasoning as does any young man," Father Oswin said. "You will be happy to learn I have seen the young lordling, and he is thriving with his new wet nurse. Maris is a good woman. She and Alyce will see the child is well cared for, and old Ida will watch over both of those two young women," he concluded with a chuckle.

"That is one less worry, praise God," Fulk said, relieved. "Now all I must do is wait for Sim to seek the answers we need, and then decide how to go about retrieving the lady."

"With God’s help we will succeed," the priest said firmly.

"In the meantime I worry how my lady has fared these past few days," Fulk replied. "It has been so wet."

Wet. She had never been so wet in all her life, even in a bath, Elf thought. Her mind was as clear as a cloudless sky on a summer’s day now, but it hadn't been at first. She had been so tired when she had gone to bed that night. Four days back? Her dreams, at least she had thought them dreams, had been a jumble of confusion. Whispers in the darkness. She was lifted up. She floated away again, only rousing slightly when she felt the cold air on her face, but it was daylight then. Arwydd brought her a warm drink, and then she slept again, and again, and again.

She realized now that her mind was fresh, that she had been carried through the rain in a litter. Where she was she hadn't the faintest idea, but she knew her captors were Welsh by their language. She also realized that Fulk had been wise in being suspicious of Arwydd. The girl had ingratiated herself into the household at Ashlin for the sole purpose of betraying them. And yet, Arwydd remained kind. Today she had spoken softly to Elf so that no one could hear her, pushing a small bag into her hand.

"Hide this, lady," she whispered, "and for mercy’s sake, take it to stop your milk. If my mistress learns you have a child, nothing will suit her but that the child be brought to her. You were good to me, but this is all I can do for you. We will be at Gwynfr Castle in a few hours, and after that I am her obedient servant once again."

Elf sniffed the bag. It was sage. "Have you been feeding me this in my drink?" she asked.

Arwydd nodded. "Like you, lady, I know how to heal," she said simply. "My mother taught me before she died."

"Was she really English?"

"Aye, she was, poor woman," Arwydd said. "She wasn't a captive who was enslaved, though. She ran away with my father against her family’s wishes. My English grandfather was a wool merchant, she once told me. I was told to tell you that terrible story, although my life after she died has not been a happy one. My father drank himself into the grave, and then his brother, who is a whoremonger, took me in, but only to be a servant in his whorehouse. My mistress rescued me, and so I owe her my loyalty, but, as you were good to me, I have done what I could for you. From now on, however, we are even, lady," Arwydd finished.

Elf nodded, understanding the girl’s reasoning. "Tell me just one thing, Arwydd. Who is my captor?"

"Merin ap Owen, lady" came the answer, and then Arwydd moved away from Elf.

She looked about the encampment for its leader. She spotted him immediately, a tall dark-haired man with a decided air of command. No sooner had she set eyes upon him, then he turned and pierced her with a fierce look. Elf flushed, but she did not look away.

Merin ap Owen crossed his camp to where Elf sat. "How do you feel, lady?"

"How much ransom do you want?" Elf replied quietly, then added, "As to how I feel, wet. Could you have not sought shelter during these rains, Merin ap Owen? My husband will not pay you for a corpse."

"Your husband is in Normandy, lady, and until he returns to pay me a fine ransom for you, you will remain my guest," he told her. "Be grateful I dressed you before I stole you away," he said with a leer. Then reaching down he pulled Elf to her feet. "You are well enough to ride with me today," he said brusquely. "Come!"

Elf did not bother resisting him. It would have been an exercise in futility. He brought her over to a large dappled horse and lifted her up onto the saddle, swung himself up behind her, one arm going tightly about her waist, the other gathering the reins into his big hand. The men with him, a scruffy-looking lot, were scrambling to gain their own mounts and follow after their master. Arwydd, she saw, had her own shaggy little Welsh pony to ride. The girl no longer even looked in Elf’s direction.

Elf said nothing as they rode. Merin ap Owen was quite conversational for a time. "You may not be as comfortable at Gwynfr as you are in your own home, my lady, but you will not be badly treated. And you will have my whore for company. She says she is a nobleman’s daughter, although she is such a deceptive bitch, I cannot be certain she speaks the truth to me all the time. I believe you may know her. She claims she was your sister-in-law at one time." Merin ap Owen felt his captive stiffen within his grip. "Isleen? Isleen de Warenne," he said softly, whispering the name in her ear. "Ah, then, you do know her. So the bitch did not lie to me in this instance. That is good."

Elf could not contain her anger any longer. "That creature killed my brother! She poisoned him. You had best beware, Merin ap Owen."

"Why did she kill him?"

"She was in love with her cousin, a knight, Saer de Bude. They devised a plan between them to kill Richard. Then de Bude was to violate me so I could not take my final vows. He would, of course, do the honorable thing then and marry me. After a time, I suspect, I would have been poisoned so that vile creature could have her lover and my family’s lands as well, which was what she wanted all along," Elf said angrily. "I could not believe such wickedness existed, but it did. God protected me, however, and her plans were foiled."

"How?" he asked. Having heard Isleen’s version of these events, he was eager to hear the lady Eleanore’s account, which he suspected would be closer to the truth.

"De Bude moved too quickly. He tried to force me in my herbarium. One of my serfs came to my aid. My brother was dead and buried, so I escaped back to St. Frideswide's."

"But you did not take your vows," Merin ap Owen said.

"Nay. De Bude claimed he had dishonored me before the king. I was brought from my convent. The abbess and others went with me. We were able to prove that de Bude lied. The king, however, felt that Ashlin needed me more than the convent did. He also felt I needed a strong lord to hold the land. He married me to Ranulf de Glandeville. De Bude was sent to the Count of Blois’s court, and Isleen de Warenne was to be confined for the rest of her life in a nunnery."

Merin ap Owen burst out laughing. "Isleen in a nunnery? The king obviously did not know the bitch at all."

"Nay," Elf agreed, "he did not. None of us could have conceived the evil nature of that woman. It is hard to believe. And now to learn she may be at the center of this plot to steal and ransom me! It is too much to bear! I was taught to love my neighbor, to be gentle, and to be obedient, but Isleen de Warenne destroys all my good intentions, and I want nothing more than to scratch her eyes out right now!"

Merin ap Owen laughed harder. "Wonderful," he said. "You two should provide me with a constant source of amusement this winter, my lady Eleanore. Ah, look. There is Gwynfr Castl just up ahead. May I bid you welcome to my house, lady?" He mocked her.

"Go to hell!" Elf said, for the first time in her life, swearing a wicked oath, and yet strangely she felt quite good about it.

"A bitch and a firebrand," her captor said with a deep chuckle. "This is far better than I had ever anticipated."