The Innocent

Chapter 16

“So," Isleen de Warenne said, "you have returned at last, and you have the little nun with you. Put her in the deepest and darkest of your dungeons! I have explored them, and they are deliciously rat-infested, my lord. Let her pray to God to keep from being eaten alive."

"Do not be absurd, my pretty bitch," Merin ap Owen said. He slid from his saddle, reached up, and lifted Elf down. "Our captive will be housed in my private apartments until her ransom is paid. That way I can be fairly certain you will not allow your evil nature to harm her and cost me a pretty penny."

"I should rather be in the dungeons," Elf snapped. She was cold. She was hungry. And she had had quite enough of Isleen. Holy Mother of God! Why had her brother not seen the creature for what she was?

"No!" Isleen’s voice had an edge to it. "You cannot keep her in your own apartments, my lord. You allow no one there, not even me, and I at least am your mistress."

"I cannot trust you, Isleen. Your desire for revenge is greater than your common sense," Merin ap Owen replied.

"Revenge?" Elf’s voice was tired, but outraged. "You want revenge upon me? For what cause, you murdering witch?"

Isleen was startled by both Elf’s tone and her attitude. This was not the meek and gentle little nun she remembered. "If," she began, "you had married Saer-"

Elf cut her short. "I should be as dead as my brother right now! Do you take me for a complete fool, Isleen, that you think I do not know what you planned in order to have your cousin and Ashlin?"

"My ladies, my ladies," Merin ap Owen said, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. They would come to blows if he did not stop them now. While eventually he might allow it for the amusement of those in the hall, this was not the time. "Cease your argument." He turned to Isleen, his fingers caressing her jawline. "I am master here, my pretty bitch. Remember it, or I will make certain that you do in a manner I promise you will not like. Do you understand me?" He smiled, then addressed Elf. "You cannot trust Isleen, my lady Eleanore. She will harm you given the chance, because she is basically ruled by her emotions. Do not allow yourself to be alone with her at any time. Do you understand?" He tipped Elf’s face up to his glance.

The silvery eyes glared back at him. "Do you think I do not know what she is, my lord?" Elf said coldly. "You may trust I will not seek her company or bear it willingly unless I must."

He laughed. His little captive was like a wet and spitting kitten, but he was wise enough to realize that the kitten had very sharp, claws, and would use them if provoked. "Let us go into the hall," he said. "Are you as hungry as I am, lady?"

Elf nodded.

"Good!" Merin ap Owen said, and taking her hand led her into the room and up to the high board, where he seated her on his right, much to Isleen’s outrage. His mistress took the place on his left, not at all pleased, which only increased his amusement. "Food!" the lord of Gwynfr Castle roared, and immediately a line of serving men hurried forth with platters and bowls. A young boy filled the goblets, which were set at each place.

Elf noticed that the goblets were of heavy silver, decorated with black onyx. There were silver plates and spoons at each place. She wondered from whom he had stolen them, for the castle itself was a half ruin. The meal was more than decent. There was fish, game, poultry, and lamb, accompanied with lettuces, bread, butter, and cheese. Elf did not stint herself. She was ravenous, and the food was good. She ate and drank until she was filled. When she had finished, she said bluntly, "I will want a bath, my lord. I am still badly chilled and have been traveling four days. Have someone take me to my apartments."

"By the rood, little nun, you have grown bold," Isleen said scathingly. "A bath? Do you think this is a palace?"

"Unlike some, I have been taught to bathe regularly. I do not cover my body in scents to disguise the odor of being unwashed," Elf said sharply. She was surprised at the fierceness in her breast against Isleen de Warenne, but she realized if she showed the slightest weakness, Isleen would be on her like a beast on its prey.

Merin ap Owen chuckled. "Can you care for yourself, my lady Eleanore? The only women here are you, my pretty bitch, and Arwydd."

"I am not some helpless creature, my lord. Remember, I was raised in a convent to do for myself. I had no servants until I returned home again to Ashlin. I can take care of myself, and I want neither Arwydd, nor that creature attending on me."

"Let Arwydd at least help you haul the water for this bath you so desperately desire, my lady Eleanore," he told her.

Surprised that he would expect her to carry her own bathwater, but refusing to give way in the face of Isleen’s smug glance, Elf said, "I should appreciate the help, my lord."

"Go along with the lady Eleanore, then, Arwydd. You know where the tub is. Set it up by the fire in my apartments," he instructed the servant calmly. "The lady Eleanore will sleep in the little chamber next to mine. While she is bathing, see the room is prepared."

"Yes, my lord," Arwydd said dutifully. Then she looked to Elf. "Will you come with me, my lady?" Her voice was devoid of any emotion.

Elf arose and followed Arwydd from the hall.

"Do you mean to spoil the bitch, then?" Isleen asked jealously.

"I hardly think making her bring enough water for her bath up two flights of stairs and then having to heat it herself is pampering the lady," he replied dryly. "Besides, it will give me a few moments' entertainment watching her bathe. I have never seen you bathe, my pretty bitch."

"Do you mean to have her, then?" Isleen demanded. Her tone was extremely pettish, and she glared at him.

Merin ap Owen smiled a slow smile, rendering the handsome side of his face even more handsome, but he did not answer her. Instead he said, "Stand up, Isleen, and place your palms flat upon the table, even as you bend your body well over."

Isleen stared at him. "You did not answer my question," she said harshly. "Do you mean to have the little nun?"

Merin ap Owen stood, yanking his mistress up by her long golden hair and forcing her body down into the required position. Leaning over her he said, "Shut your mouth, Isleen. If you refuse to obey me instantly again in front of my men, I will be forced to kill you!"

"Jesu!" she half whispered, "you do not mean to take me here before the entire hall, do you?"

In reply he lifted her skirts up slowly, tucking them into the back of her neckline. He had always thought Isleen had a particularly fine bottom. Now he viewed it at his leisure, running his hands over the smooth, round globes of flesh. When she shivered, he inclined himself again over her body and murmured softly in her ear, "Ah, you have been faithful to me this time, my pretty bitch, haven't you?"

"Did you think any of your men would service my needs after you hung those two fools before your little foray into England, my lord?" she returned scathingly.

"Are you ready for my pleasure?" he demanded.

"Nay," she said softly.

"Then, I must see you are prepared," he told her with a chuckle. He stood again, and raising his hand brought it down hard upon her buttocks.

Isleen squealed sharply, and the men at the trestls below the high board now looked up with interest, several of them grinning and making lewd gestures with their hands.

"For each time you cry out," he told her, "I shall add an additional two strokes. I shall now render you twelve instead of ten, my pretty bitch." His hand descended upon her hapless flesh again, smacking her until the correct number of blows had been properly delivered and her buttocks were a bright pink. "Are you ready for me now?" he said.

"Yes!" Isleen cried out, and then gasped as he thrust himself into her female channel. "Ahhhh!" She shuddered, feeling his thick manhood probing her lustily.

He laughed as she ground her hot bottom into his groin. "You are the perfect whore, Isleen," he told her as he eagerly pumped her. His fingers gripped her hips, leaving red marks on the white skin. He used her hard, making her cry aloud again and again as his men watched avidly, their mouths open in admiration, some of them even fondling themselves in their excitement. Finally Merin ap Owen was well satisfied, and he withdrew from her.

For a long moment Isleen lay prone over the table, and then with a deep sigh of satisfaction, she arose. "You are a fine lover, my lord," she told him, pulling her skirts down. "I will wager the little nun will not satisfy you as I can."

He sat back down again and drank deeply from his goblet. "Are you jealous, my pretty bitch?" he asked her mockingly.

"Why will you not imprison her?"

"Because she has done nothing to displease me," he replied. "She is a gentle and good lady. I have no quarrel with her. I simply want a ransom from her husband. It is a business transaction, my pretty bitch. Nothing more."

"Then, why not give her her own rooms?" Isleen persisted.

"Because, as I told you earlier, I do not trust you; and because there are no other rooms fit for a lady such as the lady Eleanore," he said. She was jealous, and it amused him to taunt her.

"Then, give her my apartment, and keep me with you," Isleen half pleaded. "I would be at your complete disposal, my lord, and eager to do whatever you wished me to do." She caught his hand in hers.

"Nay, my pretty bitch. It is better that the lady Eleanore is where I am, and where all know I permit no one else to enter," he replied. "My prisoner is very beautiful, and I would return her to her husband as I found her. Or almost," he mocked his mistress.

"You think her beautiful?" Isleen felt her temper rising. He had never called her beautiful, but he thought the little nun beautiful? "I never before heard it said that Eleanore de Montfort was beautiful, my lord Merin. It is I who am considered a beauty." Isleen preened at him, smiling winningly.

"You are pretty enough," Merin ap Owen told her, "but you are not as beautiful as the lady Eleanore. I know the English consider golden hair and blue eyes such as yours a standard of beauty, but I do not. I find the lady Eleanore with her silvery eyes and pale red-gold hair, her translucent skin, her sweetness of expression, far more beautiful than your common prettiness. Has no one ever told you that? Or have all the men in your life fallen at your feet in awe of your golden and sapphire coloring? You are as wicked as I am, Isleen. That evil is beginning to show through in your face. The lady Eleanore, however, has a good heart, and that is what shows in her fair face."

"You are falling in love with her," Isleen accused him.

He laughed harshly. "Nay," he said. Then he stood again. "I am going to my apartments now, my pretty bitch. Come, and I will see you to your chamber so I may be certain to know where you are." He pulled her up, and dragged her from the high board.

Isleen swore virulently at him as they went. "You are a dog, Merin ap Owen. I will not play your bitch for much longer if you do not treat me better. Have a care! You are bruising my wrist. Owwww! Do not pull me by my hair, you bastard!"

In the narrow stone hallway of the castle, he pushed her against the hard wall, banging her head as he did. "Listen to me. You belong to me and me alone. You are no better than a slave, Isleen. You will do what I say, when I say it, as long as it pleases me. I will tell you when I am through with you, and not you me." His fingers dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her shoulder. "Do you understand me, Isleen? " His dark eyes blazed at her.

Isleen was afraid in that single moment. This man was like no other she had ever known. He terrified her, and yet she adored him with every fiber of her being. She would not let Eleanore de Montfort steal him away and ruin her life yet a second time! She would make Merin ap Owen love her. She would! "I understand, my lord," she said low.

"Good," he said. "Very good, my pretty bitch." They ascended the staircase, passing his apartment, then moving into the even narrower staircase leading to her apartment in the tower. He opened the door and pushed her through. "Do not come out until the morning, Isleen. I will send Arwydd to you. Once she is inside, I will loose the mastiffs. They will tear you to pieces if you try to enter my apartments. Good night." He pulled the door shut and descended down to the next level, where his own rooms were located. Entering, he said to Arwydd, "Go to your mistress, and be warned, the mastiffs will be loosed shortly. Remain with your lady until the morning."

"Yes, my lord." Arwydd curtsied, and hurried out.

Merin ap Owen glanced about and saw the tub had already been taken from before the fire. Walking into his bedchamber, he looked through into the tiny interior chamber opposite his bed. "You have not prepared yourself for bed yet," he said to Elf, who was fully dressed. "Are your garments not damp from the rain?"

"There is no door, or curtain to provide me with privacy," Elf told him.

"It is better that you are where I can see you," he said. "Take off your gown, lady. As you so pithily reminded me earlier, your husband will not pay me for a corpse. I am certain your chemise is a modest enough garment, and my baser instincts can be kept in check. Besides, if I wanted your virtue, my lady Eleanore, I could take it no matter you were dressed in armor."

She stared at him, not certain if she was shocked or amused by his words. "Blow out the candles on the candle stand," she said finally.

"Very well," he replied, complying. Then watching her shadow, for the bedchamber fire gave some light, he drew his own garments off and climbed into his bed. "Sleep well, lady," he said.

Elf listened to his breathing; shortly he was snoring. She whispered her prayers and tried to sleep, but sleep would not come at first. Her mind was filled with questions for which she had no answers. How had Isleen de Warenne ended up here at Gwynfr Castle? And Merin ap Owen? What kind of a man was he really? While his tongue was rough with Isleen, he was courteous with her. Was she safe from his advances, if indeed he even made advances toward her? It was all very confusing. She was not worried about her son, for the Ashlin folk would care for Simon with singular devotion. A wet nurse would be easily found among her serfs. While he might miss her face, Simon would be oblivious to her absence, given a warm breast to nurse upon and sturdy arms to cuddle him. Elf, however, could not shake free from her desperate sense of loss of both the infant and Ranulf. Her breasts ached every bit as much as her heart, which she felt was near to breaking. But for Simon’s sake she had to mask her emotions. Her enemies must not know of his existence.

Ranulf. She sighed softly. He would be safe in Normandy, but when was he coming home? When you hear of King Stephen’s death, she reminded herself, but she had heard nothing of the king, and here it was October. But then Ashlin in its remote location was always last to hear any important news, Elf thought. And she was stuck here in Wales until her ransom was paid. It could not even be demanded, surely, until her husband came home, whenever that was.

Elf felt tears pricking against her eyelids, and blinked them back. She would not allow this Welsh bandit and his evil whore to know she was fearful. Ranulf. Her heart cried out for him. She could see his face in her mind’s eye. The dark bushy brows over his warm hazel eyes. His big mouth that could kiss her both tenderly and fiercely all at once. She could almost feel the softness of his chestnut hair between her fingers. How gently he had wooed her. How very much she loved him, and if she ever saw him again in this life, she intended telling him so even if it would abash him! Had anyone ever loved Ranulf de Glandeville? From what he had told her, the answer was no. Well, it was past time someone who loved Ranulf told him so. He would just have to get used to it, and even if he didn't love her because he didn't know how to love, it would make no difference. She loved him, and that was all there was to it!

When she awoke the following morning, Merin ap Owen had gone from the bedchamber. Elf arose and dressed. She walked into the dayroom of the apartment and tried the door into the hallway, but discovered it was locked. Still, a fire burned in the fireplace, and a tray with a carafe of liquid, a small fresh loaf of bread, an apple, and a honeycomb was set upon the table. She wondered if Isleen had poisoned the food and drink, but then decided she was being foolish. She could hear sounds in the tower apartment above her indicating that Isleen was still there. Besides, Isleen would not have a key to her prison.

Elf sat down and ate, prudently leaving half the food for later. When she had finished, she made up the bed in the lord’s chamber and her own little pallet, for lack of anything else to do. She next gazed out the window for a time. Gwynfr was set atop a craggy hillock. Below she could see a village. The hills about them were alive with autumn color. The day was gray and rainy. She had only just sat down by the fire when she heard the key in the lock, and leapt up.

Merin ap Owen came through the door. "Ah, you are awake, my lady Eleanore," he said. "Sit down, and we will speak on the matter that concerns us. Namely, your ransom."

Elf seated herself again. "My husband is in Normandy," she said. "You picked a rather bad time to kidnap me, my lord." He was a handsome man, she thought, but for that terrible thin scar running down the left side of his face. "There is no one at Ashlin who can pay you any ransom you are going to demand. No one has the authority."

"You speak as if you do not know when your husband will return."

"I do not know," Elf told him frankly.

"Why did he go to Normandy?"

"He did not confide in me, my lord, although it may have had something to do with his mother, who lives there with her second husband," Elf replied as naturally as if it were the purest truth.

"Or perhaps he went to make his peace with Duke Henry, for I hear the English king is ill," Merin ap Owen observed.

"Mayhap, but my husband has always been loyal to King Stephen, my lord. It was the king who arranged our marriage to reward Ranulf for his dedication and fealty."

"The why does not matter," Merin ap Owen observed. "If I must keep you for a time, I will, my lady Eleanore, but to be frank, I had not anticipated it," he told her. "The lady Isleen is a dangerous enemy to have, as you know. While I realize her grievance against you lacks substance, she nonetheless believes her cause is just and seeks her revenge."

"She is a stupid creature with the wit of a flea," Elf said irritably. "She kills my brother, then blames me because I will not allow myself to be killed by her so she may have my family’s lands! I once thought I had great patience, but Isleen de Warenne would try the patience of all the saints and angels in God’s heaven!"

He laughed aloud, suddenly realizing that he liked this young woman. Isleen had sneered at her goodness, and the truth was that Merin ap Owen could never remember having met a good woman. He was beginning to suspect that Eleanore de Montfort might really be one. "Isleen is indeed stupid," he agreed, "but do not underestimate her, my lady, for while a dullard and simpleton in most ways, she has incredible guile, which is what makes her a treacherous foe."

"It was her idea to kidnap me?"

His dark head nodded in the affirmative. "Frankly, my lady Eleanore, I would have been content to steal all your sheep and cattle, but as Isleen pointed out, I would gain but half their value as everyone knows that what I sell, I have stolen. By stealing you, I force your husband to sell the livestock himself, and gain twice what I would otherwise."

"She has put you to a great deal of trouble, Merin ap Owen," Elf said. "If you had taken the sheep and the cattle, you would now have your reward. Instead you must wait for my husband to return from Normandy, and while we wait, you must keep me safe from your whore. I wonder if you are up to such a task, my lord. It would seem for a stupid woman, Isleen has outmaneuvered us both."

He laughed again. "You are not at all as Isleen described you to me, lady."

"From the time I was five years old until the day I returned home to nurse my dying brother, I never saw Dickon or his wife, but once, shortly after they were wed. Within a convent you are protected from the realities of the world. It is a simple matter to cultivate holiness in a place where there is little temptation, Merin ap Owen. I probably seemed an innocent ninny to Isleen. She bases her impression of me on that brief acquaintance we shared. While I still surely possess a certain amount of naiveté, I am not quite the sweet and simple girl Isleen thinks I am. If she attempts me any harm, I will defend myself with every means at my disposal. The only thing I cannot prevent her from doing is poisoning me. You had best be certain that she does not, else you lose your ransom, my lord Merin."

He nodded, impressed by her astuteness. By the rood, she was a lovely woman! "I will keep you safe," he promised her.

"I believe that you will," Elf replied softly. Then she said, "Must I remain here, my lord, all the time?"

"Nay," he told her. "You are welcome in the hall, lady."

"I cannot simply sit and do nothing," Elf said. "If you have a tapestry frame, I could begin a tapestry; or if you have clothing that needs mending, I will do it for you. I dislike being idle, you will understand, my lord. If you have someone who could gather certain herbs and plants for me, I will make poultices, teas, and salves for your infirmary. Who cares for your sick and wounded?"

"There is no one," he said.

"No one?" She was surprised.

"This is a place of men, my lady Eleanore. Until I brought Isleen here, there were no women. We have relied upon ourselves for healing when it was necessary."

"Have you no wife?" She was curious as to why, but then considering the place, perhaps it was not surprising.

"I have no wife," he answered. For some reason he did not want to tell her he had had two, and neither could abide him.

"Perhaps there is one among your men whom I could teach my arts of healing. That way," Elf explained, "when I am gone back to Ashlin, you will have someone with the knowledge to cure. If an epidemic ever struck here, or in your village below, it could wipe everyone out, my lord Merin. That would be a great tragedy."

She spoke to him as if she were merely visiting as his guest. She was not judgmental of him, and it actually made Merin ap Owen uncomfortable. She should not be kind to him or offer to aid him, he thought. He was her kidnapper, not her host! Yet there was such a pure sweetness about her that he could not for the life of him be anything but pleased. "I will seek among my men for the proper person," he told her. "In the meantime I will choose someone trustworthy to escort you outside to seek what you need. I cannot give you a female companion. Arwydd belongs to Isleen body and soul. If you trusted her before, lady, do not do so now. She is back in Isleen’s power and will do whatever is asked of her. I will warn her, however, not to obey her mistress’s directives to harm you. Isleen must be constantly reminded that I am master here at Gwynfr. Come now." He arose and offered her his hand. "I will escort you into the hall, my lady Eleanore."

They descended the stairs and, entering the hall, found it empty but for a single servant.

"Gwyll," the lord of Gwynfr said. "The lady Eleanore is in your charge from now on. You are responsible for seeing no harm | comes to her. Only I will give you orders regarding her. No one else, and particularly not the lady Isleen, may do so. I will not send my orders by anyone else. I will come to you face-to-face when necessary"

“I understand, my lord," Gwyll replied.

Merin ap Owen turned to Elf. "I think there is a tapestry frame and a loom in the attics that used to belong to my grandmother. I will go and see if I can find it, my lady Eleanore. Gwyll, is there needle and thread to be had in this castle?"

"I do not think so, my lord," Gwyll said, surprised by such a request. "Perhaps in the attics with the loom?"

"Let Gwyll take me, my lord. Surely you must have more important things to do than seek for women’s toys."

"Very well, lady," Merin ap Owen responded. "Besides, I should not know what I was seeking. You will. Gwyll, take her, and remain by her side at all times."

"I understand, my lord," Gwyll said with meaning. He didn't like his master’s English mistress. She was a truly evil woman.

Elf had little hope of finding what she needed, but to her surprise she did. There was a loom and a frame both, along with a basket of colored wools. Then Gwyll discovered a smaller woven container with sewing materials.

"I wonder to whom these belonged," she said softly.

Gwyll did not answer her, but shrugged, apparently as mystified as she was, although he was not. The tapestry frame had belonged to the lord’s grandmother. The loom and its wools had belonged to his master’s first wife, who had come dreamy-eyed and full of hope to Gwynfr, only to discover her bridegroom was a monster. She, poor lass, had been so in love with Merin ap Owen, she could not bring herself to face the truth. She had died for her love; and there had been no one to revenge her, for she had been an orphan. The sewing basket he thought might have belonged to her, too. "If you have what you need, lady, we had best return to the hall," Gwyll said. "I'll set up the loom and the frame for you, if you wish it. Mayhap by the fire?"

"That would be perfect," Elf answered him, placing the sewing accoutrements atop the basket of wools, then stepping carefully down the narrow staircase of the half-ruined tower. Here and there a stone from the walls had fallen into the passageway. Elf was surprised that the roof in the attic had been in such good condition else her treasures would have been ruined. She really did need something to do if she was going to be here for even a short time.

Back in the hall Gwyll set up the equipment next to the fire as he had promised Elf. When he had finished, he set a chair by it, then turning to Elf asked her, "Will you weave now, lady, or would you like to go out-of-doors and seek for plants? There is but a light rain today."

"I think I shall remain indoors today, Gwyll. I am still damp from my long ride," she told him with a small smile.

"Do you think you will be with us long, lady?" he asked her politely as he seated her before the loom, setting the tall basket of wools by her side. "Perhaps I should spread them out on the floor for you to see, and then you can decide which colors to use," Gwyll offered helpfully, tipping the container and separating the hanks for her to view.

"Thank you," Elf answered him. "I don't know. It depends when my husband returns from Normandy." Bending, she began to separate the colors, filling her lap with those she wanted. "Put the others away now, Gwyll," she said as she started to string the loom.

"Ohhh! How sweet and how domestic" came a sneering comment.

"Good morning, Isleen," Elf replied dryly. "What do you do with your day? Gwynfr is hardly the most stimulating atmosphere I have ever been in, and I am used to using my time wisely."

"So pious. So good. My lord Merin coddles you. If you were my prisoner, I should chain you in the dungeons to be nibbled at by the rats. Your husband could have whatever was left when he paid the ransom! He'd probably be glad to be rid of you. You cannot be of any interest to him in his bed. Do you pray when he mounts you, and takes what small pleasure he can gain off your skinny body?" Isleen stood directly before Elf’s loom, glaring down at her, her bright blue eyes filled with her anger.

"But I am not your prisoner, Isleen, although I have been given to understand I have you to thank for my current predicament," Elf replied. There was, Gwyll noted, just the faintest hint of anger in her voice.

"So he told you it was my idea, did he? Well, it was!" Isleen crowed triumphantly. "If your husband is willing to ransom you, it will cost him everything. I wonder if he is willing to give up all he gained when he wed you just to have you back. I hope he won't pay the ransom. Then, I shall put you in my whorehouse to earn your keep!" She laughed when she saw how Elf paled.

"You make me ashamed of myself," Elf responded. "For the first time in my life, I feel an anger so deep that I want to kill you!" She arose from her chair, and glared furiously at her adversary. Her small fists were clenched into tight little balls. "You are a horrible creature, Isleen de Warenne! God forgive me, but I hate you!"

Isleen stepped back, surprised by the rage in Elf’s silvery eyes. Those eyes blazed, and Isleen had not a doubt that Elf would, if driven much further, attack her person. "So," she snarled, "you are human after all. Good! A weak enemy would offer me little amusement."

"I will offer you none," Elf said coldly. Then she sat back down again and continued stringing her loom.

Isleen looked to Gwyll. "Leave us!"

"I cannot," he said. "Master’s orders, lady. I am to remain with the lady Eleanore at all times and take my orders from no one but the lord hisself." There was a faint smile on Gwyll’s lips as he spoke, and a determination in his eyes Isleen knew could not be swayed.

Angrily she slapped him. "Impudent serf!" she shrieked, then fell back, her hands going to her face. Astounded she stared at Elf, who once more stood. "You… You hit me!" she screamed disbelievingly.

"Do not raise your hand again to the servants," Elf warned her. "Gwyll was but doing his master’s bidding. You are not lady here."

"Nor are you!" Isleen shot back. She frantically rubbed her cheek. "If you have marred my beauty, I will find a way to punish you no matter your faithful watchdog! I swear I will!"

"You are not injured fatally," Elf said dryly. "The mark of my hand and fingers will fade in a few hours' time, Isleen. As you warn me, however, I warn you. Do not mistreat the servants. Did your mother teach you no better? My Ashlin folk are well rid of you."

"Servants are servants," Isleen said with emphasis.

"They are God’s people even as we are," Elf said. "Even you, Isleen, for all your wickedness, are God’s creation."

"I hate you. I hate you!" Isleen shouted, and stamped from the hall.

"You have a bad enemy there, my lady," Gwyll noted.

"She was always my enemy even when she knew me not," Elf told the puzzled man. "Now, however, I am wise enough to be hers."

"I'll defend you," Gwyll said. He was still amazed that the lord’s gentle captive had defended him against the unjust anger of the lord’s mistress. There were none here at Gwynfr who would do the English bitch a good turn, and so he thought the lady Eleanore relatively safe. Ever since the lord had hanged those two men-at-arms for poaching on his preserve, the men could not be suborned by the whore. Only poor little Arwydd was loyal to her, but Arwydd had not the stomach for murder. Still, Gwyll thought, he saw he must guard his charge most carefully.

From the first Elf had seen that weeping and bemoaning her fate would do no good, so she had settled into life at Gwynfr Castle as best she could. While her thoughts were with Ranulf and their son, those two were safe. And, reassured by such thoughts, she spent hours weaving at the loom by the fire, and going out on the hillsides to search for medicinal plants with which to make a store of medicants.

One day when her gaze wandered to the hills about them and remained too long, she heard Gwyll’s voice say gently, "You don't even know which way is England, do you, lady? You are safer here. Do not think of escape."

Elf did not respond to him, pretending she had not heard. Instead, she dug her knife carefully into the soil about the roots of a plant she needed, loosening the earth and drawing the plant slowly forth. Gwyll was right. She didn't know which direction England was, and there was no way in which she could find out without arousing suspicion. She handed Gwyll the knife, and laid the plant in her basket.

Gwynfr provided primitive living quarters at best. Most of the castle was a ruin, and other than Arwydd, Isleen, and herself, there were no women, even servants, who came during the day. The life was even harder than the convent had been when it came to simple everyday things such as washing. In order to do that, she was forced to carry her own water to her chamber. Ever since the first night she had come, Arwydd had been forbidden by her mistress from helping Elf in any way, and Merin ap Owen did not interfere. Her clothing was in need of a good washing.

When he had stolen her, Elf had been in a drug-induced sleep. Merin ap Owen had put a tunic dress and a skirt on her, wrapping her in a cloak, before he had taken her away. She had kept these garments as clean as she could with brushing, and shaking, but she had been wearing the same clothes for two weeks now. Her chemise was filthy and needed to be washed, but she had no other to wear. Since there was no door to her little interior chamber, it presented a problem. Then it dawned on her to bathe as she had once bathed in her convent, wearing her chemise. She would do it in the evening before Merin ap Owen came to his apartments. Then she would wrap herself in her blanket, and dry the chemise by the fire in the dayroom. She would then find her bed, and it was unlikely he would ever reahze it.

But when he entered his apartment that night, he saw the delicate little garment spread over a chair back facing the fire. At first he was puzzled, then he realized her predicament. Had she been any other woman he would have taken advantage of the moment, but he could not with her. Never in his life had he encountered such a woman as Eleanore de Montfort. She had accepted her situation with a practical fortitude. She made herself useful without being asked to do so, and, for the first time in memory, his servants appeared actually happy.

Her attitude toward him was equally interesting. Isleen had been so scornful of the lady Eleanore, but the lady of Ashlin was no mealymouthed little saint. Indeed, she was quick of wit and quite able to defend herself from his whore, who took every opportunity to belittle or attack his captive. He was quite certain Eleanore did not approve of his ways, but not once, even subtly did she attempt to reprove him or reform him. Instead she went about his castle making herself useful and attempting to help where she could. She had already dressed several minor wounds among his people and cured his cook, who had had a dreadful cough.

Merin ap Owen, who had little use for the gentler sex but for the pleasure they could provide, had to admit that he was faced with a truly good woman. He felt a trifle guilty for having stolen her, but not so guilty that he would return her without a proper ransom. However, when he saw that fragile little chemise drying before his fire, he realized her predicament and was touched that she had not complained, but rather had attempted to solve her problem herself. This was something he could right.

When Elf awoke in the morning and saw that the lord of the castle was gone from his bedchamber, she crept out into the day-room to retrieve her chemise. It was nicely dry, and to her surprise upon the chair seat there was a small bolt of fine linen. She was both surprised and touched. After dressing herself, she went down into the hall, where he was already at the high board breaking his fast. Isleen was nowhere in sight as she rarely arose early.

Elf took her usual place. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"I did not realize you would be with us so long," he replied. "If I had, I should have stolen some of your clothing other than what I dressed you in, lady. You must not be shy to tell me when you need something. It is not my plan to mistreat you."

"I am not a woman to complain, my lord, but I shall make myself another chemise, and be glad I have it."

Nothing more was said about the matter until several mornings later when she handed him a portion of neatly folded linen with a smile.

"What is this?" he asked her.

"There was far too much linen for just one little chemise," Elf told him. "I made you one, too. I thought perhaps you could use a new undergarment, my lord. I have had to guess at the size, but I believe I am close. Try it on later, and I will make whatever alterations are necessary for the garment to fit you properly."

"Lady…" He was speechless. In his entire life no one had ever done anything gratuitously for him. She was his captive. He had stolen her away from her home and family, and would not allow her to return until her husband beggared himself to ransom her. Yet she had thought of his comfort as if they were old friends.

"I think I shall go out with Gwyll today, my lord, with your permission, of course. Soon it will be too cold to dig up the plants I need. I have managed to find quite a respectable stock of things with which to make my medicines." She had recognized his surprise, and sought to cover it over and make him comfortable again.

"Of course," he said. "Go with Gwyll." He cast a sidewise glance at her. God! She was so lovely. With a terrible sinking feeling Merin ap Owen realized that the impossible had happened. The heart he had firmly believed he did not possess had surfaced from deep inside of him. For the first time in his life, he was in love. He was in love with Eleanore de Montfort. How had it happened? Perhaps he should have done what Isleen had wanted to do when he brought his captive to Gwynfr. Perhaps he should have incarcerated her in his dungeons, where he would not have been exposed to her charm, her beauty, her wit, and her genuine goodness. But it was too late now. He was in love with the lady of Ashlin, and if he was to return her safely to her husband, he was going to have to be certain that Isleen never found out his secret.

Oh, God, he prayed silently for the first time in years, please help me! He wondered if God would hear the prayers of a man such as Merin ap Owen. For Eleanore de Montfort’s sake, he hoped He did.

Chapter 17

The weather in the Channel was foul, and had been for days. A hard cold wind blew from the north. The rain came in torrents, and the sea was all afroth, the waves crashing over the seawalls in Barfleur. The king, snugly housed, groused and grumbled with his impatience to begin his journey. He must be crowned soon. England had been without a king for over a month. Henry Plantagenet could only pray that there was peace there, no civil war. The line of succession, he kept reminding himself, was clear and undisputed, but, still, the English were a most unruly people.

Ranulf de Glandeville seethed with impatience, too. All he had wished was to complete his mission for the king, get the little prince to England, and then go home to Ashlin. It had been almost five months since he had seen his wife and child. Eleanore’s sweet face haunted his dreams, and he longed to tell her that he loved her. Soon. Soon. He could have howled with outrage when he learned his services to escort the little prince to England were not needed at all. He had been brought to Normandy on a fool’s errand.

Queen Alienor, heavy with her second child, had insisted she would not be parted from her little son. The court had moved almost immediately following the king’s campaign in the Vexin to Barfleur. The empress was to remain behind in Rouen to govern Normandy in her son’s absence. She had sided with her daughter-in-law. So the little prince would travel officially with his parents and his own household.

"I am overruled by my womenfolk," the king said by way of apology, with a wry smile, "but my mother points out, and wisely, too, that Alienor must not be upset this far along in her confinement. I cannot help but concur, and my Provençal rose will have her son by her side." He shrugged with apparent helplessness.

"Then, I am free to return home to Ashlin," Ranulf said.

"Nay, my good de Glandeville, I would have you attend our coronation," the king replied. "You will remain with the court and cross over to England with us. I am grateful for your loyalty, and would offer you this small reward."

Ranulf bowed. "I thank you, my liege, but serving you with fidelity is naught worthy of a reward."

"Nonetheless, you shall have it," the king said jovially.

He was dismissed, and he knew it. Ranulf bowed again, and moved back into the crowd of milling courtiers. He wanted to go home! He didn't want to travel with Henry Plantagenet’s great train from Normandy to England and see him coronated in Westminster. He wanted to go home! He had come here on Henry’s whim. His mission had come to nothing because of a woman’s whim. His reward was to watch these two high nobles crowned king and queen of England. He had wanted a castle, but he had done nothing to warrant such a reward, nor would his Simon ever serve a prince as companion. Ranulf de Glandeville faced the fact that he was not an important man, although for a few brief months he had dared to dream.

On the morning of December seventh, the weather cleared just slightly. The king ordered their immediate departure, despite the fact the harbor master warned the weather would turn foul again before the sunset, and they would be caught in midchannel.

"We go!"the king said, and personally oversaw the loading of the boats with his knights and horses. The queen and her serving women were the only females with the great train; but Alienor, used to hard travel having gone on the first crusade to Jerusalem when she was France’s queen, was not fazed at all. She jollied her frightened servants along, walking up the gangplank of her vessel with her small son at her side, holding his hand.

The skies were gray, and the winds were brisk as they made their way out of Barfleur harbor. The seas grew rougher, and then a fog set in separating the ships of the great fleet from one another. Ranulf, Garrick Taliferro, and their squires had taken passage aboard a small smack with one of the king’s chaplains. They had secured the horses and the mule, sheltering them from the waves as best as they could. Then they sat together as the captain and his two sailors sailed their vessel toward England. Night came, and the sound of trumpets echoing in the fog to indicate where the vessels were, was somehow comforting. They shared their wine, bread, cheese, and sausage. The priest was, afterward, lost in his prayers for their safety as the ship bounced and bounded across the choppy waters. Up, up, up went the bow of the boat, and Ranulf could hear the wind rushing past beneath it just before it crashed into the sea again. The two young squires fell into a fitful sleep, their nerves raw.

The two men could not make out one another in the darkness, and so Sir Garrick did not see the look on Ranulf’s face when he said, "Why were you really in Normandy, my friend?"

There was surely no need for secrecy now, he thought. So Ranulf told his companion the truth, admitting to his confusion when the plans changed not once, but twice. "It was a fool’s errand, but how could I refuse a king?"

"You couldn't," Garrick replied. "Men like Henry Plantagenet are not like the rest of us. It would never have occurred to him that he was badly inconveniencing you. And indeed he meant no harm. You know that I envy you, Ranulf? I envy your manor and wife and child. You will go home now, and not have to depend upon the vagaries of a king’s wishes in the future."

"But I will not get my castle."

"Your castle?" Garrick was puzzled.

"I hoped that in doing the king a great service, he would allow me to build a small keep at Ashlin. We are so close to the Welsh, and a little castle would help to better control the king’s borders."

"He'll eventually make some kind of arrangement with the Welsh princes," Garrick told his friend. "You may be certain of it."

"But a castle would reinforce that arrangement. I know I'm no great lord, but still I had hoped to better myself by doing this favor for the king. In the end it has come to nothing." Ranulf sighed. Then he asked, "Did you not tell me when the king was crowned, you would go home and find a wife? What is to prevent you from doing that, Garrick? You have land. Take a wife from among the merchant class, preferably one who has a rich father. There is no shame in that, my friend."

"I think I shall," Garrick Taliferro said. "I am growing weary of this single life. My mother is no longer a young woman. She would be happy for a daughter and grandchildren."

In the morning the fog finally lifted, and they found themselves just outside of Southampton harbor. Shortly after landing, they learned the king’s vessel had been sighted, coming aground just a few miles down the beach near New Forest. Taking their horses, the two knights hurried to find their master, their squires coming in their wake. Word that the king had ridden on the very back of the storm to reach England with his queen and his heir soon spread. The English were joyous.

The great fleet had been badly scattered in the storm, but no ships had been lost. The boats came ashore up and down the coast, debarking their inhabitants and their horses, all of whom met at the various crossroads from Southampton to Winchester, where the king was to go first to secure the royal treasury. Those men who had been King Stephen’s strongest adherents waited fearfully to see what would happen, but none dared to call for a rebellion against Henry Plantagenet, grandson of Henry I, and England’s soon-to-be anointed king.

Thibault, the Archbishop of Canterbury, had gathered together all the bishops of importance to await the king’s arrival in London. The coronation would take place in Westminster, although the great cathedral was in poor condition from long neglect. Still, it was the traditional crowning place of England’s kings, and on the Sunday before Christmas in 1154, Henry Plantagenet and Alienor of Aquitaine were crowned king and queen of England. He was twenty-one, and she thirty.

Afterward the king and queen rode through London, showing themselves to the people, magnificent in their coronation garb. The king’s white velvet tunic was embroidered with lions and lilies. He was young, handsome, healthy. His willingness to come to England despite the season and the hard crossing told his people that here was a man who would rule with vigor and enthusiasm. The beautiful queen was garbed also in white velvet, her gold and be-jeweled girdle glittering in the rare sunshine on this cold December day, her gold hair caught up in a golden and pearl caul, a bejeweled crown upon her head. She looked no older than her husband.

"Vivat rex!" cried the Normans.

"Waes hael!" shouted those English of Saxon descent.

The king and queen acknowledged the joyful greetings of their new subjects as they made their way through the city, and from there to Bermondsey, where they had taken up residence. The palace at Westminster, rebuilt on the original Saxon site by the king’s great-uncle, William Rufus, and made even more beautiful by his grandfather, Henry I, had, like the great cathedral, been despoiled and given over to neglect in the civil war between Stephen and Matilda. A feast was held that night, and bonfires blazed all over the city and surrounding countryside in celebration of the new king.

The following morning Ranulf took his leave of the court, along with his friend, Sir Garrick Taliferro. Together the two men rode for a time until finally Garrick turned onto the road west into Glouster and Ranulf headed northwest toward Ashlin. With luck, he would be home in time for Christmas. Home! His Eleanore! Their son!

"My lord! My lord!" Pax called shortly after Garrick had left them. "We must stop and rest the horses. They are sorely winded. I, too, am anxious to get home, but 'twill take far longer if the horses die under us, and we must walk."

Laughing at himself for his boyish impatience, Ranulf heeded his squire’s warning. They slowed their mounts to a walk and finally stopped at a small inn nearby to rest the night. The innkeeper’s wife fed them bread and stew. They slept with their animals, however, for the area was remote and poor. They could as easily awaken in the morning to find their beasts gone and Ranulf’s armor with them. The following day the lord of Ashlin manor kept a more reasonable pace. The weather, while cold, was at least dry. The next few nights they managed to find shelter at monastery guest houses, where there was at least some element of safety for them and their horses.

Finally on the afternoon of December twenty-fourth, they realized the landscape about them was familiar, and now they unconsciously hurried their horses. Coming over a hill, they saw Ashlin valley below them and the manor with its village just beyond its hill. Even the animals, sensing home, moved more quickly. Ranulf saw the sheep in the meadows and the cattle browsing in the pastures nearby. Relief swept over him. The Welsh had left them in peace despite their active raiding season of the summer past. He noted with pleasure that while the drawbridge was down, one side of the gates were firmly shut. His instructions had been followed to the letter.

There was no one in the fields at this time of day except two cowherds preparing to bring the cattle in for the night; and a few shepherds watching over the sheep. He waved to them. He could see the men-at-arms patrolling the walls, and then he heard the trumpet that was sounded to alert the gate that visitors were coming. He longed to push his mount into a gallop and race through his gates. Instead he held the warhorse to a sedate walk, clopping across the drawbridge and into the village.

"Welcome home, my lord," the man on the gate said, but there was no smile for him.

Ranulf and Pax rode down the village street to the manor house. It was growing dark, and he could barely see the smoke from the chimneys, the flickering light from the tiny windows of the cottages. A sheaf of light poured suddenly onto the ground before his home as the door was flung open. Ranulf dismounted and handed the reins of his mount to Pax.

"Take the horses to the stables," he said, and hurried inside.

"My lord, welcome home!" Cedric came forward, signaling a servant to take the master’s cloak.

Ranulf looked about the hall, recognizing the servants and Father Oswin, and saw a cradle by the fireplace that obviously contained his son. He walked over and was amazed at the child who stared back up at him. This could not possibly be his son. "Where is Simon?" he asked to no one in particular.

Alyce giggled, then reached into the cradle and picked up the child. "This is your son, my lord."

"But…"

"You have been gone five months, my lord," Alyce explained. "Babies grow quickly. Here." She thrust Simon into Ranulf’s arms.

Father and son stared at each other with the same eyes, the same expression. Ranulf was astounded, seeing himself mirrored so clearly in Simon’s face. "By the rood!" he exclaimed. "He surely is my spit!"

"He is, my lord," Alyce agreed, taking back her charge.

"Welcome home, my lord," Father Oswin said, coming to his side. "I am well pleased that the lord of the manor will be here to celebrate the first of Christ’s Mass tonight."

Ranulf nodded, looking about the hall, searching. "Where is my wife?"

"Come, my lord, and let us sit," the priest said.

He stood stock-still. "Where is Eleanore, good Father?"

"Kidnapped by the Welsh last autumn, my lord," the priest replied bluntly, then added quickly, "but she is alive."

Cedric pushed a goblet of wine into his master’s hand.

Ranulf drank deeply. "How do you know? And how did it happen that my wife was vulnerable to such an attack? Where was Fulk and the rest of you that my lady was stolen away so easily? Why have you not yet recovered her safely?" Ranulf’s voice was rising, as was his temper, which few had ever seen, and certainly not here at Ashlin. There was a red mist forming before his eyes as his rage rose.

"Sit down, my lord," the priest instructed, drawing his master to a chair by the fire. "I will explain it all if you will but sit."

Ranulf sank heavily into the carved armed chair.

"Shortly after you left, a girl, badly beaten and as thin as a willow wand, came to Ashlin and begged sanctuary. The lady gave it to her. We healed the girl’s wounds and fed her, and the lady included her among her women. Some weeks later a swineherd from the convent of St. Frideswide’s came to say the convent was under attack. The abbess had sent this man for our help. Nothing would do, my lord, but that the lady must send Fulk and enough men to drive off the Welsh."

"Had there been an attack on the convent?" Ranulf asked.

"Yes, and no," the priest said, and went on to explain the rest, concluding, "When we realized the lady was gone, we were frantic."

Fulk, who had hurried into the hall, took up the tale. "I rode with my men through the night to reach Ashlin when I realized we had been deliberately drawn away, and that the swineherd had been sent by the Welsh themselves to lure us off. It rained for the next three days, my lord, and we could not search because there was no trail to follow. Finally, when the weather cleared a bit, I sent Sim out to find the lair of the bandit, Merin ap Owen, for I was certain it was he who had stolen the lady. Sim was gone for almost three weeks, but when he returned we knew for certain that it was indeed Merin ap Owen who held the lady captive. Sim had seen her, well guarded, walking on a hillside by the bandit’s castle. It was much too dangerous for Sim to attempt to steal her back, so he returned to tell us what he had seen."

Ranulf nodded, the red mist was fading slightly, but now there was a fierce, burning anger centered in the middle of his broad chest.

"Soon then, a ransom demand was delivered by one of the Welshmen’s men. Merin ap Owen was aware that you were away. He says he will keep the lady safe until your return. You are then to sell all the cattle and the sheep that you possess to ransom her. When you have the monies, you will make a signal by lighting pitch torches all around the perimeter of the walls. Someone will always be watching, and when the signal is received, Merin ap Owen will come in several days' time to make the exchange with you. We were forced to allow his messenger to return to Wales to say that we understood his wishes, my lord."

"It was well thought out," Ranulf said slowly. " I would not have believed a bandit so clever."

"He is of noble blood, my lord, but wicked, rumor has it," Fulk replied. "I am so sorry, my lord! It is my fault! I should not have let the lady send me to St. Frideswide's!"

Ranulf shook his head. "Nay, Fulk. You obeyed your mistress as you should have done. Had the girl, Arwydd, not betrayed my wife, none of this would have happened. Even if you had been here, there would have been no help for it. You know how you like your food and drink, my friend. With your appetite, you might still be sleeping. Praise God you were not, and knew what to do afterward." Ranulf clapped his captain comfortingly on the shoulder.

"What are we to do now, my lord?" Fulk asked him.

"First we will keep Christ’s Mass," Ranulf said. "Then I must decide, after speaking with Sim, what our chances are for rescuing my lady wife. The better course might simply be to pay the ransom. I find it interesting that I am instructed to sell all my sheep and cattle in order to ransom my Eleanore. This was well planned, my friends. The Welsh could have stolen my flocks and herds. Instead they stole my wife, for they knew I would get more for my livestock than they would. Aye, this was no spur-of-the-moment decision on the part of Merin ap Owen. It was cleverly conceived and well executed."

"But if you sell the sheep and cattle, my lord," Father Oswin said, "how will the manor survive in the coming year?"

"Merin ap Owen may have set a watch on us," Ranulf said, "but that watch will only be near enough to see the signal on our walls, not near enough for us to discover and catch the watcher. Tomorrow is a feast day, but on the day after, we will move the sheep from the far meadows where they now are to the near meadow. While we are doing that, we will cut the ewes from the flocks that are close to lambing. We will hide them in the barnyards, where they are not easily seen. That way we will have the beginnings of a new flock of sheep. The Welsh will be none the wiser, for their interest in us will disappear with the gaining of the ransom. The harvest should have been good enough for us to feed the sheep over the winter months," Ranulf said.

"There are several cattle with calf," John the bailiff said, for he, too, was now in the hall.

"We'll keep them, too," the lord of the manor decided. "There is a quarter moon tonight. Have the cowherds take them from their pastures and put them in the barns. I will not lose my wife, but neither will I allow this bandit to beggar us, either."

"Will you kill him, my lord?" Fulk asked.

"Eventually, but first we must regain custody of the lady," Ranulf said quietly. "When we do, however, I shall do the king a service by ridding the border of this man and his rabble."

"Amen!" Father Oswin exclaimed.

"Come to the table, my lord," old Ida called. "The meal is here, and you have traveled far. My lady would want you well cared for, I know."

The elderly woman’s words pleased him, but Ranulf de Glandeville could not help but wonder if his wife was as snug this night in her captivity as he was. Seating himself at the high board, he thought how lonely it was without her. Eleanore! he cried in his heart. Ma petite, je t'aime avec toute ma coeur. Outside the hall the wind began to rise.

Elf started in her place by the fire as she wove. She could have sworn she had heard Ranulf’s voice. The wind moaned outside the shutters, and she shivered. It was the eve of Christ’s Mass, but there was nothing different here at Gwynfr Castle: no priest to celebrate the Mass. She had learned from Gwyll that the priests considered Gwynfr, its inhabitants, and its lord cursed and the devil’s own. On the solstice there had been much celebrating and drunkenness. Isleen had brought her whores into the castle to entertain the men.

"You must remain in my apartment," Merin ap Owen said, "and not come out lest you be harmed." Then he had locked Elf inside, pushing the key back beneath the door to her for safekeeping. That way, he had explained to her, no one could take the key off his person when he was drunk. They both knew he meant Isleen. "When I return here, I will be sober, and I will request the key from you," he said. Then he had gone.

Below in the hall she heard the shrieks and shouts of the drunken debacle. There was a tray upon the table with food and drink. Elf ate, then sat by the fire sewing. Once or twice she thought she heard footsteps in the passageway outside the apartments, and once the door handle was rattled strongly. Elf sewed on, a poker by her side. She did not expect anyone to be able to break in, but she would be able to defend herself if they did. Eventually the noise below died away, and fully dressed she lay down in her little chamber, the poker next to her pallet.

In the hall Isleen cajoled her lover. "Let us give her to the men tonight, my lord. I want to see her debauched."

"I shall give you to the men instead," he said. He was drunk, he knew, but not without his wits. Isleen might want revenge, but he wanted the ransom she would bring. Besides, if he could not have her, certainly no other man here would. The thought of anyone despoiling her exquisite beauty or breaking her brave spirit angered him. He stood up, dragging Isleen with him. He tore her gown from her, and hauled her up upon the high board, naked for all to see. "Here, lads, is my own private whore for your pleasure this night, but no other night, for I am a jealous man! Who will be the first to have her right here upon the high board? She'll make you a fine feast!"

"You devil!" Isleen spat at him as the men-at-arms crowded about the high board, leering up at her, their hands pulling her down upon her back so they might fondle her full breasts. They spread her wide, and then Isleen found herself mounted successively by a group of eager men who used her vigorously. She didn't really care. None could arouse her like Merin ap Owen. She responded to please them, and retain her reputation as a passionate woman. Turning her head, she saw Merin ap Owen with a red-haired wench in his lap. The girl was as naked as she was, and riding the lord energetically, her head thrown back, the muscles in her throat straining as she screamed her pleasure. Bitch, Isleen thought. Tomorrow she would have every peasant in Gwynfr humping the red-haired whore. She wouldn't enjoy that half as much as she was enjoying Merin ap Owen.

The night wore down, and eventually all in the hall, filled to capacity with food, drink, and pleasure, lay sprawled in sleep. Merin ap Owen looked about him and, standing up, sought for Isleen. She was asleep beneath the high board, two men sprawled over her. He reached down and pulled her out to her feet.

"Come on, my pretty bitch," he growled at her. "You are not done yet; and it would seem my randy cock cannot be truly satisfied until it has visited your hot and wicked sheath."

Fully aware now, Isleen smiled at him. "Bastard! I am used raw by your men thanks to you, and now you are ready for more? What’s the matter? Didn't your little red-haired whore please you? Or was it because she was not your little captive?" Then she laughed seeing the look of surprise upon his face. "Did you think I haven't noticed those languishing looks you give her when you think no one is observing you? You are like a cowherd with his first maid!" And she laughed scornfully, but in her heart Isleen was darkly jealous.

She had caught him off guard for a brief moment, but then he slapped her lightly as he drew her up the stairs. "If I treat the lady Eleanore differently than I do you, my pretty bitch, it is because she is a lady and a truly good woman. You are an evil whore with a soul as black as night. I fear you are the perfect match for me."

On Christmas morning, while the snow swirled outside Gwynfr Castle, Elf sat as usual weaving at her loom. After her morning prayers she softly had sung a little carol she remembered from St. Frideswide's. It saddened her that there was no Christmas here in this place. The tapestry was beginning to take shape. As this was no place for a religious theme, she had taken her inspiration from the hills about them, weaving a pattern of green mountains, a blue sky, and a field of flowers. She intended to set a pair of deer in the landscape as well.

Elf shivered with the cold. Her cloak was not enough over her simple tunic and skirts. Despite the fact she huddled by the fire, the chill always came through the stone walls whose mortar was either worn with age or gone entirely. She thought of her own warm hall at Ashlin. How was her little Simon? Had Ranulf returned yet from Normandy? When was she to be released from this terrible captivity? It was Christmastide, and yet there was no Yule log here as there would be at Ashlin. There were no scented beeswax candles, roast boar, or Ashlin folk singing carols in the newly restored church. It was Simon’s first Christmas, and she would not be there to see her baby wonder at it all. For a moment a black anger came over her, but she fought it off remembering that the Christ Child had come to bring peace on earth. She let her thoughts return to her home. She missed her querulous old Ida, Willa, faithful Cedric, stalwart Fulk. She missed her bed and the good food her cook prepared. Here at Gwynfr the meals were dull. There was hardly a green to be seen unless she asked.

Outside the wind howled mournfully. Elf shivered again, then started as a heavy fur cloak was dropped over her slender shoulders. Surprised, she looked up and found herself face-to-face with Merin ap Owen. Their lips were almost touching. Startled, she flushed and drew back, unable to speak. The look in his eyes! She had recognized that look. It was the same look that Ranulf had for her, and in a flash she realized what it was. Ranulf loved her! Her heart soared with the knowledge, then plummeted as quickly. Merin ap Owen loved her, too! He looked away.

"Gwyll has pointed out to me that you have few garments, and now that winter is here, you might be able to use a heavier cloak," he said in a quiet voice.

Elf swallowed hard. "Thank you, my lord," she answered, bending low over her weaving.

"It is wolf. The cloak. I hunted them down myself last winter," he continued.

I must look at him, or he will think something is wrong, Elf thought. She glanced up again. "I am grateful, my lord. I already feel warmer. I shall use it on my pallet at night as well."

"Why did you not say you were cold?" he demanded.

"It is not my habit to complain."

"Ask for what you need in future, my lady Eleanore. Granted our situation is unique, but it is not my intent to make you uncomfortable or harm you in any way. I am an honest man, and give value for the coin I gain. I would return you to your husband in good condition."

Elf giggled. She couldn't help it.

He smiled, for he had never heard the sound of laughter from her throat. "What amuses you, lady?"

"You are an honest man? You are a bandit, a thief, Merin ap Owen!" Elf chortled.

He laughed. "Aye, but I am a honest bandit, an honest thief."

"I wonder if the nuns at St. Bride’s thought that of you," she said softly.

He flushed at her words. "Blood lust is a difficult thing to control, lady. Never before had I ravished or murdered like that; but that day I was driven to it by a she-devil. I was weak. I am ashamed of it, but it is done and cannot be undone."

"You could pray for those you wronged, Merin ap Owen," Elf told him gently. "A wrong can be undone by a right. If you are truly contrite and ask God’s forgiveness, He will give it to you."

He smiled wearily at her. "I am past salvation, my lady Eleanore. Perhaps if I had met you earlier in my life, but I did not." Then with a small bow to her, he turned and walked away.

Elf’s hand returned to her loom, but she felt a great sadness for Merin ap Owen. What had he been before Isleen had come into his life? Gwyll said his master was a wicked man from birth, but had he really been wicked, she wondered? Probably yes, she admitted to herself, for Gwyll loved Merin ap Owen and was completely loyal to him. He but spoke the truth, as harsh as it was. What a world this was, Elf considered, and she should have known none of it had she remained in her convent. There would have been no Ranulf or Simon. In the world one had to take the good with the bad, she realized. The good, she thought hopefully, far outweighed the bad. The rising wind rattled the windowpanes.

Snow. This was bad, Ranulf thought irritably. He had wanted to send Sim to Gwynfr to tell Merin ap Owen that he had returned, and would comply with his demands as quickly as a buyer could be found for his livestock. There would be those who would wonder at his selling his flocks and his herd. Some might even take advantage of him. It was a difficult problem, but he would solve it. He wanted his wife home safe.

The storm finally stopped, and as it had not been a hard snow, Sim set out for Gwynfr. He arrived with the first day of January. He rode up the hill to the castle, his eye scornful of the ruin and the neglect he saw.

"What do you want?" the man behind the portcullis demanded.

"To see Merin ap Owen," Sim replied.

"He don't see strangers."

"I have come from Ranulf de Glandeville, the lord of the manor of Ashlin, and your master will indeed see me," Sim snapped.

"Wait." The gatekeeper disappeared, returning several long minutes later. Without a word he raised the portcullis halfway, allowing Sim to duck beneath it as he rode into the courtyard. "Through there," he said, pointing toward one of the two towers that still stood.

Dismounting, Sim did not bother to thank the porter. He headed straight for his destination. He came into an entry and was met by a villainous-looking fellow who signaled him to follow, leading him into the great hall. There at the high board sat Merin ap Owen himself, and on his right was the lady Eleanore, looking pale, but otherwise unharmed. On his left, sweet Jesu, was Isleen de Warenne! Now, Sim thought, there is the real cause of all our troubles. Sim bowed.

"My lord, I have been sent by my master to tell you he has returned to Ashlin. He will follow your instructions, but he would be certain that his lady wife is safe and will indeed be returned."

"You can see your lady for yourself," Merin ap Owen said. "I am an honorable man, even if my ways are a bit unorthodox. When may I expect the ransom for the lady Eleanore?"

"My master must be cautious in selling his livestock," Sim began. "If he appears anxious to do so and sells them all in the same place, there are apt to be questions. He would obtain the best price for his sheep and his cattle, for he holds his wife in the highest regard."

"What is this delay, and why do you prevaricate with us?" Isleen suddenly demanded. "Your mistress has been gently treated to date, but she could find herself in the dungeons if your master should make any attempt to trick us!"

"Be silent!" Merin ap Owen thundered. "You are not mistress here!" He turned his glance back to Sim. "A delay does seem odd to me. What is the reason for it other than what you have told me? Does the lord of Ashlin not want his wife back?"

"My lord, if my master appears to be in need or in distress, the merchants will take advantage of him. He will get no more for his cattle and sheep than you would have gotten if you had simply stolen them in the first place," Sim explained in practical tones. "You took the lady for ransom because she would bring you more, did you not?"

"This serf is too clever by far," Isleen said. "Kill him!"

"If you kill me, who will take your words back to my master?" Sim asked quietly. "Oh, you might bring my lifeless body back to Ashlin, but is that really the message you wish to deliver to my master, my lord? That will not tell him that his lady is well and safe, will it? Only my voice can speak the words that will reassure him, and keep him from coming down upon you with all the wrath of a wolf on the fold."

Merin ap Owen chuckled. "You are no simple serf, are you?"

"My name is Sim, my lord, and I am next in command after Captain Fulk" was the quiet reply. "My master would show you the respect of sending someone of stature from Ashlin, and not some widess clod. May I speak with my lady, please, my lord? A few words to reassure her husband?"

Merin ap Owen nodded. "But here, for all to hear, Sim."

"I bring you greetings from all at Ashlin, lady. We pray daily for your continued safety and for your return. Father Oswin said I was to tell you that everyone is well and thrives, and all who love you would have me speak their names. Cedric, old Ida, Willa, Simon, Orva, and Fulk. Your husband says he will secure your release as quickly as is humanly possible, my lady Eleanore. Have you a message for him?"

"Tell my lord," Elf said, "that I am safe, and have been well treated by Merin ap Owen. Tell my lord that I send him my love." She smiled broadly at him, nodding.

Sim bowed politely. He was pleased with himself for having been able to tell the lady her child was well without the Welsh lord and his whore understanding. He knew his lady would want to learn that her son was safe, but all at Ashlin believed that her captors did not know of the child, else they might have taken him, too.

"Go back to your master," Merin ap Owen said. "Tell him my patience is not endless, but I understand his caution. Return in a month with the time and place of the exchange. It must be a neutral spot, however. Tell your master that if he should attempt to betray me, or regain custody of his wife without paying the ransom, I shall kill her," Merin ap Owen said with emphasis. "Do you understand, Sim of Ashlin?"

"I do, my lord, but you need have no fear. The lord of Ashlin wants nothing more than the safe return of his wife, for he holds her in high regard and great esteem," Sim said quietly. Then he bowed first to the lord of Gwynfr Castl, then to Elf.

Merin ap Owen nodded. "Go, then," he said.

Sim bowed again, and departed the hall.

"Impudent bastard!" Isleen sniffed. "You should have killed him, and sent him back in pieces to his master."

"You are too quick to rash actions," Merin ap Owen said quietly. "There is no profit in killing an unimportant messenger. When I kill, it is for a good reason, not for the pure joy of it as it is with you, my pretty bitch." He turned to Elf. "You will be home by spring, my lady Eleanore. Will it please you?"

"Aye," she said honestly. How good it had been to see Sim. She had so very much desired to speak to him privately, but how clever he had been in allowing her to know that Simon was well. And Ranulf. He had returned safely. His return would mean that King Stephen was dead, and that England had a second Henry upon the throne. The word had yet to filter into Gwynfr, not that it made any difference.

"You must finish your tapestry before you leave us," Merin ap Owen said. "I shall hang it here in the great hall over the fireplace so all may see it, my lady Eleanore."

"It is a small enough price to pay for my keep, my lord," Elf answered him. How his eyes looked at her. He struggled hard to mask his longing, but she now knew it for what it really was. Dear God, she silently prayed, get me home safely! It had gotten to the point where she could hardly look at him, and she frankly feared the nights. She made it a point to hurry to bed immediately after the evening meal so that when he entered his bedchamber, she, in her little stone alcove, was long asleep. Although she really wasn't. She did not dare to sleep until she heard him snoring. His desire for her frightened Elf. Worse, she was curious of that desire. This was temptation such as no nun at St. Frideswide’s had ever faced, and she prayed to resist it daily.

And Isleen. She was no fool. Surely she saw where her lover's interest lay. If she became jealous, and she was easily jealous of Merin ap Owen, what course of action would she take? That thought in itself was frightening. Oh, Ranulf! she silently cried. Please hurry! I want to go home! I want to feel your strong arms about me, and taste your mouth upon mine. I want to hold our son in my arms. Oh, Ranulf! Hurry. Hurry!

Chapter 18

He had a heart as hard as flint, Isleen thought as she sat next to Merin ap Owen at the high board. He didn't love her. She had deluded herself into believing that he might one day, but that day was never going to come, Isleen had finally admitted to herself. Not that he was incapable of love. Oh, no! Where Eleanore de Montfort was concerned, Merin ap Owen had a heart that bloomed like a rose. The bastard! And her rival, who had developed a tongue as sharp as any thorn, sat meekly by the lord of Gwynfr Castle’s side, sipping delicately from her cup. I wish it were filled to the brim with poison, Isleen thought viciously. The pious little bitch!

She was, Isleen decided, going to have to begin to consider herself for a change. While she had to admit that the Welshman was the best damned lover she had ever had-and she knew that she was certainly the best lover he had ever had-it was simply not enough. For the first time in her life, Isleen knew she needed more than just a good lover. She was, it seemed, like other women after all. She needed to be loved, and if she could not be, then she needed to be in complete control of her own fate. Why was it that no man had ever loved her? She was beautiful.

Richard de Montfort had said that he loved her, but the truth of the matter was that he had only lusted after her like all men, and he had been in awe of her beauty. He became quite boring. After they had been married awhile his ardor had cooled. He had expected her to function as a housekeeper, to be someone who dressed the putrid sores, and dosed the disgusting coughs of his serfs. She shuddered with distaste at the memory. She was not that kind of a woman, and she had tried to explain it to him. She needed admiration, and she needed others to wait upon her. To take special care of her. The manor should have had servants to do the menial tasks that Richard expected her to do. Oh, her mother did them, it was true, but her mother was an old-fashioned woman.

And then there had been her cousin, Saer de Bude, who had seduced her first when she was a child; although, if the truth had been known, it had been she who had really seduced him. She well remembered when her father had made the match with Richard de Montfort. Saer had no lands, no home to take her to live in. Then there was that silly matter of consanguinity. At first she had been so upset by the thought of another match. But Saer had calmed her, promising no matter what happened, they would be together again one day. However, until she had taken matters into her own hands and begun to poison her husband, then called him to come, he had quite disappeared from her life.

When he finally came back into it, he claimed to have been off attempting to become more worthy of her. The liar! She and she alone had been his only means to gaining an estate and becoming respectable. From the way he had behaved at the end, she strongly suspected he wouldn't have killed Eleanore de Montfort at all, but rather kept her for his lawful wife and Isleen for his mistress. She was glad now their plot had failed. It would have been a terrible betrayal, too great for her to bear.

But it was nothing to the betrayal of Merin ap Owen. What did he see in Eleanore de Montfort? By the rood, he was actually pining over her like some lovesick boy. And he hadn't even had her! Or had he? Was he really telling Isleen the truth about that, she wondered? How could he be in love with a woman he had not joined his body to yet? She didn't understand it, and was seriously beginning to believe he was lying to her. As for her rival, she was a sly puss, Eleanore de Montfort! She wouldn't want anyone, least of all Isleen, to know of any adultery. She surely had to be Merin ap Owen’s lover! Why else did she always look so calm and serene, the little bitch! Well, Isleen would no longer be fooled!

Now, what was she to do about it? Merin ap Owen watched over his precious captive like a mother hen over her chicks. When he wasn't there, that damnable old serf, Gwyll, was at Eleanore’s elbow. As much as Isleen wanted to harm Elf, she faced the fact it was unlikely she would ever get the chance. So how was she to revenge herself on those who had hurt her so deeply? She knew very well that Merin ap Owen, while he enjoyed her sensual nature, was becoming bored with her. He would toss her aside as easily as he would any peasant wench. And then what was she to do?

She had only begun to organize and refine Clud’s whorehouse; she was in no position yet to push the whoremonger out and take it over. She had not the funds, nor did she think she could obtain the strong support of Merin ap Owen at this juncture. He would very much enjoy throwing her out and leaving her to fend for herself. Bastard! But a woman couldn't fend without gold, she knew.

And then she realized the solution to her problems was right before her very eyes. She would steal the ransom Ranulf de Glandeville was to pay for his wife before it even got to Gwynfr. With that ransom and a good horse, Isleen de Warenne could go wherever she chose, set up the finest whorehouse England had ever seen.

London. She would go to London! Merin ap Owen would never find her. He would think Ranulf de Glandeville had betrayed him. He would rape Eleanore de Montfort before he killed her so that in the end Isleen would indeed be revenged! It was a foolproof and a perfect plan! Isleen’s color was high, and her heart beat wildly with excitement as she considered her victory.

"You have the look of a cat that has just cornered its prey," Merin ap Owen said to her. "What are you thinking about, my pretty bitch?"

"Of how Ashlin, and all its people who were unkind to me will suffer and be destroyed when Ranulf de Glandeville must sell off all his livestock to regain custody of his wife," she lied, looking directly into his dark eyes. "They will starve without cattle to sell at the Lammastide Fair. There will be no wool, either, without sheep. How will they buy what they need for the coming years? How will they afford seed and other supplies that are not manufactured at Ashlin?"

She laughed meanly. "Ranulf de Glandeville will not think he has gotten such a bargain after all, and the serfs will curse his name. It is really quite delicious to contemplate," she finished, and the truth was it was a wonderful thought. A bit of a bonus, Isleen considered. She wondered if Ranulf de Glandeville would come to avenge his wife. Would he kill Merin ap Owen, or the other way around? Her thoughts kept getting better and better.

"You have such a black heart, my pretty bitch," he said. "I think I must have you before too much more time has passed. Your wickedness excites me very much, Isleen." He turned to Eleanore. "It is time for you to seek your chamber, lady. Do not wait up for me," he mocked her, knowing his words would cut into Isleen, "for I shall be very late."

"And should you hear noises coming from my apartments above you, lady," Isleen said, "do not be disturbed. My lord is most vigorous when he is in my bed." She smiled a feline smile.

"All men, I am told, are vigorous in your bed, lady," Elf replied sweetly She arose and curtsied to them, then left the hall.

Merin ap Owen laughed softly. "She is a true spitfire," he said admiringly. "By the rood, I'd like to get between her legs!"

"Do you expect me to believe that you haven't already?" Isleen snarled, all pretense of civility gone. "Do you think I believe for one moment that you haven't had her again and again since you brought her to Gwynfr, and ensconced her in your chambers? She may look like a little saint, but I doubt she is any longer, and you certainly are not!"

"You know me not at all, my pretty bitch," he said in a soft, deadly voice, "if you think I would dishonor myself by dishonoring my captive. All women are not like you, Isleen. Most may be to a certain extent, but not all. Eleanore de Montfort is a good woman."

"You love her!" Isleen accused.

For a long moment his dark eyes bored into hers, then he smiled an inscrutable smile at her. He would admit nothing to this bitch who railed at him. What he felt for Eleanore de Montfort was the purest feeling he had ever had. He would not spoil it by saying aloud what was in his heart to this harridan. He arose. "Come along, my pretty bitch. There are better ways to amuse me than you are now doing. I believe your bottom is in need of some correction. A good strapping to begin with, then I shall burnish you to a fine glow with a bunch of birch twigs. And then, my pretty bitch, you will take me into your hot, wet sheath, so we may truly pleasure each other," he said.

"She cannot give you what I give you," Isleen murmured breathlessly as she followed him from the hall.

"No," Merin ap Owen agreed with a smile. "She cannot."

Elf heard them passing by as they made their way down the narrow corridor and began to climb up to Isleen’s chamber. Isleen was giggling, and Merin ap Owen’s dark laughter followed her. It was at times like this, Elf realized how truly wicked her captor was. And yet he had never really been unkind to her. Indeed he was just the opposite with her as he was with Isleen. Why was that? Alas, she had no answers because of her inexperience. How much longer would it be before she saw her husband again?

It would not be long now, Ranulf thought, as he counted out the coins that John had brought back from Hereford, where he had sold off half of Ashlin’s cattle. The other half had been sold in Worcester. The sheep had gone to the bishop, who had been apprised of the situation and agreed to purchase them. He had been generous, much to Ranulf’s relief. A churchman was not above taking advantage of a desperate noble. Now, Ranulf realized, he must decide upon a time and a place for the ransom to be paid. Only when it was delivered would Merin ap Owen free Eleanore. God! It had been so long! Looking across the hall at his son, Simon, crawling about, pulling himself up whenever he could, he realized how much she had missed.

Sim departed for Gwynfr in a heavy winter rain. There was just enough time for him to reach Wales and offer a choice of meeting places. Merin ap Owen greeted him, Isleen de Warenne at his side and looking sour. There was no sign of the lady Eleanore.

"I'm to see the lady is safe still, my lord," Sim said politely.

"Gwyll," Merin ap Owen called. "Go and fetch the lady Eleanore so her man may see she is unscathed."

Gwyll moved quickly off.

"What suggestion does your master have for a meeting place?" the lord of Gwynfr asked.

"He offers you two choices, and if they do not suit, he will accept your choice, my lord. Just over the English side of the border are the ruins of an old hall. We call it Briarmere. Or we could meet atop the verge, on the border itself," Sim said.

Merin ap Owen thought for several minutes on the selection. He knew Briarmere well. The ruined stone hall was a place from which an ambush could easily be set. He had himself attacked hapless prey from there. If he could get there first… on the other hand, if the lord of Ashlin got there first… no. This time Briarmere would not suit. On the other hand, atop the verge was an excellent site. Out in the open there was no place for anyone to lay in wait. He smiled. Ranulf de Glandeville had thought the same thing, else he would not have offered so obvious a choice. "The verge, in ten days' time," he said.

"Agreed," Sim responded. "I will bring the gold, and you will bring my lady in exchange."

"Nay. You will bring the gold, and then you will wait until the gold has been brought back to me. I must ascertain that your master has been honest, and not filled the ransom bags with small stones topped by gold pieces. When the gold is all in my hands and counted out, then the lady will be brought to you. I will bring her myself to be certain she is delivered safely into your hands. The verge is but a few hours' ride from Gwynfr."

Sim’s instinct was to protest the method of exchange, but he knew he had not the authority, nor did he have any real choice in the matter. Merin ap Owen was absolutely in charge.

"In ten days' time my courier will be awaiting you" came the reply. "There will be no one with him. He will be alone as must you."

Sim nodded.

"Sim!"

He turned, and saw the lady Eleanore had entered the hall. "My lady!" He bowed to her, but she took his hand and asked, "How are all at Ashlin? My husband, old Ida, Fulk, Willa, and Simon?"

"They are all well, lady, and eager for your return home," he told her. She looked well, if pale, and perhaps a bit drawn.

"How long?" she said.

"I shall bring the ransom in ten days' time, my lady, and then once the lord Merin has satisfied himself that all is right, you will be brought to me, and I will escort you home."

Elf nodded. Then she sighed. "The end seems so much longer," she said, "now that I know the end."

"As you see, your lady is in good condition," Merin ap Owen said. "Now, go, and tell your master so you may return quickly with the ransom."

"Aye, my lord, I will," Sim replied, bowing. Then he quickly left the hall.

"So," Isleen sneered, "your husband was willing to give up what small wealth Ashlin had for your return. He must be in love, but he will not think so highly of you come next winter when you all starve."

"We will not starve, Isleen, although I will admit with our livestock gone, it will be harder for us; but God will provide," Elf responded. "I cannot help but wonder where you will be next winter."

"What does that mean?" Isleen snapped, her blue eyes blazing.

"I have not the experience, of course, but it does seem lord Merin might be growing bored with you. After all, what can you offer him that other women cannot?" Elf smiled tauntingly. What was it about Isleen that brought out the worst in her?

Isleen flew at Elf, her claws bared, but Merin ap Owen jumped between the two women, laughing.

"You hitch!" Isleen hissed.

"Whore!" Elf returned angrily. "Do you expect me ever to forget my brother, and what you did to him?"

"Had you cured Richard, you should be drying up in your convent now, a perfect fate for you!" Isleen shouted. "Instead you gained a husband who obviously loves you and a fine estate."

"But you murdered Dickon!" Elf shouted back.

"Aye, I did," Isleen said with devastating frankness. "He was a boring man who expected me to be his servant. He had no real manners, or delicacy of refinement in our bed. Not at first, but I will tell you that I soon grew to hate your brother! I enjoyed seeing him suffer! I was glad when he finally breathed his last!"

"God forgives you, I know," Elf said, "but I do not think I can, though it be a black mark on my immortal soul. You are the most evil creature I have ever met, Isleen. God help you."

"Save your pity!" Isleen snapped. "I do not need it. Pity yourself, for I will have succeeded in destroying Ashlin when that ransom is delivered. What will you go back to, sister? A ruin, and a host of hungry, whining serfs!" Then she laughed.

"I will go back to a husband who loves me, Isleen," Elf said, knowing that she spoke the truth. "Our love will survive even your wickedness, and Ashlin will survive because we will rebuild it together. I should rather be poor and in want with Ranulf, than be the whore that you have become, have always been!" She shook off Merin ap Owen’s restraining hand. "I am not afraid of her, my lord, nor can she harm me." Then Elf walked proudly from the hall, her head high.

"I want her dead!" Isleen said low through gritted teeth.

"Harm a hair on her head, my pretty bitch," he replied, "and I will kill you, but it will not be an easy death. You will suffer as no one has ever suffered before."

Now it was Isleen who shook him off. "You are a fool, my lord! You want her. You ache for her. You need to feel her fair white body beneath you to still the burning in your loins, but you will not take her. The ransom is practically yours! You do not mean to return her until it is safely in your hands. Why not have your pleasure, then, of this pale creature that you desire? Who is to know? And can her husband ask for the return of his gold because you have lain with his wife? Do you think she would even choose to tell him what you did to her?"

"You are jealous, my pretty bitch," he purred at her. "You think to tempt me into a dishonorable act to wreak your revenge on the lady Eleanore; but I am not a fool, Isleen. I am not like the other men who have passed through your miserable life. I see you for what you are." His hand stroked her jawline, moving to her throat, his slender fingers tightening just slightly about her neck. "You cannot entice me to injure the lady’s body… or her soul. You must surely understand by now that I am not a man who can gain pleasure as easily as other men. I need to inflict pain upon my bed partner, Isleen." His fingers tightened as he bent to brush his lips against hers lightly. Lifting his dark head he saw the fear in her eyes. Merin ap Owen smiled. " I think we understand each other, do we not?" He looked down into her face, releasing her, noting the marks of his fingers on her white neck. Brushing the skin lightly, he smiled again. "The lady Eleanore could not bear my passion, Isleen, but you can. You are mine, and I will keep you here with me unless you do something to displease me greatly, in which case I shall not return you to Clud the whoremonger, my pet. I shall give you to my garrison. They will, in a very short and unpleasant time, kill you."

"You are a monster."

"As are you, Isleen," he responded softly, "but I am the stronger of us. Be warned, and do not forget."

"I will not," she said. No. She would not forget. It would cause her to be more careful, but steal the ransom from under his nose she would.

"Lift up your skirts," Isleen heard her lover command.

She complied, laughing as she did so. "You are such a wicked devil, my lord," she told him. "Shall I pretend I am your innocent captive? Oh, help! Help! God and His saints save me from this big, randy cock! No! No! You shall not have me!"

He slapped her, and Isleen laughed the harder. "Bitch!"

"Admit it! You wish I were her," she taunted him, "but she could never please you as I will please you, my lord Merin!" Then Isleen pulled his dark head down, and kissed him fiercely.

In her little chamber Elf shuddered as if something had just trod upon her grave. It had become so difficult of late to be with Merin ap Owen, to look at him when she spoke to him. From the moment she had seen the secret in his eyes, and realized he was in love with her, she had been uncomfortable with him. He had, of course, said nothing. He was careful now so that they did not even accidentally touch. But now and again she would glance up from her weaving and see him gazing with heartbreaking longing at her. She sighed sadly. Even had she been free, she could never love him, Elf knew. The darkness that surrounded him was too great for her to overcome. He frightened her.

And she pitied him as well. That, she knew, would be the greater injury, for him to know that he was pitied. She had learned these past weeks from Gwyll of the lord of Gwynfr’s two unhappy marriages. Poor man. He really did not know how to love. But now that she realized, was almost certain, that Ranulf loved her, now that she could admit that she loved Ranulf, her world had changed. She longed to be in her husband’s arms once more. She instinctively knew that the joy they had shared before would be a thousandfold better once they admitted their love to each other. Soon, my darling, she thought happily. Soon!

Eleanore. Ma petite. His heart called out to her, and he could almost swear that she responded to his cry. I love you, my darling. I adore you! When I have you safe in my arms again, I shall never let you go.

Dear God, please bring her back to me.

Sim returned to Ashlin, and reported to his master. "She is well, my lord, if a trifle pale. She has not been mistreated, I would stake my life upon it. Merin ap Owen has chosen the verge for the payment of the ransom and the exchange. First, however, he must have the gold. Only then, when he is satisfied you have not cheated him, will he himself bring the lady to you," Sim explained.

"I do not like it," Fulk said. "He frets to Sim about you cheating him, but how do we know we can trust him to return our lady?"

"We do not, any more than he knows we will bring the gold," Ranulf answered. "There comes a time in such negotiations, Fulk, when one must trust because there is simply no other way. We have reached that point. Sim will deliver the gold, then wait for my wife. We shall, however, be at Briarmere in hiding. It is but several miles from the verge. Once my lady Eleanore is safe, we shall follow after this Merin ap Owen, slay him, and reclaim our gold. Then I shall be able to purchase our flocks back from the bishop, and a new herd of cattle. My wife’s safety, however, is paramount."

"If you're going to kill the lord of Gwynfr," Sim said, "then you had best kill his whore as well. The lady Isleen is the major cause of all this misery, and she hates my lady Eleanore. Merin ap Owen would have been content to take our livestock had it not been for the lady Isleen. Still, I will say, he is master in his own house. He has treated our lady well when, I suspect, if the lady Isleen had had her way, our good mistress would be dead or close to it now. If you leave this woman alive, my lord, she will seek again to harm Ashlin and the lady Eleanore. She must die even if it not be chivalrous, for she is very wicked. Baron Hugh does not know where she is, and so he need not know she is dead, not that he would care, I'm thinking."

Ranulf de Glandeville nodded thoughtfully. "I am loath to order the death of a woman," he said, "but I believe you are right, Sim. You and Pax will take care of the matter when we get to Gwynfr. Be merciful, and give her a quick death. I take no pleasure in her suffering. I will see that Father Oswin absolves you both afterward."

The gold was counted and carefully placed into two soft leather pouches. It was a goodly sum for the cattle had brought a particularly high price. Ranulf had to admit to himself, if he admitted to no one else, that he had considered holding back some of the gold. Would the bandit really know? But then he pushed the idea from his head, for he would not endanger his precious Eleanore for a few paltry coins. They had held back sheep and cattle. Not many to be certain, but enough to give them a new beginning.

Ranulf did not know if anyone was still watching, and so Sim set out with only two other men-at-arms to protect him and the ransom he carried. They would remain at Briarmere awaiting their lord while Sim rode on to meet the Welshman’s courier at the verge. Ranulf and his party would start out two hours later. Anyone watching would have long gone on to Gwynfr with the news that the English messenger was coming.

The early spring weather was gray and damp. On the morning of the fourth day, after leaving Ashlin, Sim rode up the verge to where a mounted and cloaked horseman was awaiting him. He could not see the fellow’s face clearly, but what did it matter, he thought as he handed over the two bags. Merin ap Owen’s courier weighed each bag in his gloved hands. Then he growled, "Master will be pleased." Turning, he rode off down the Welsh side of the verge, and disappeared into a thick copse. Sim settled down to wait. It would be anywhere between four and five hours. It began to rain, gently at first, and then hard. Sim cursed his luck, and huddled beneath his cloak next to his horse. He sneezed, feeling the water seeping into his boots, which were already leaking. Soon his feet were soaking wet, and worse, they were cold. He waited, and he waited. Finally the rain stopped. Perhaps they had been delayed by the weather, Sim thought. The sun began to peep from behind the clouds, and Sim smiled to see a small arc of a rainbow spring out between the hills. He thought it a good omen, yet Merin ap Owen still did not appear with his lady.

Then his brother, Pax, hailed him from below the hill. Sim walked halfway down to meet him.

"No one has come?" Pax asked.

"If they had, would I still be here, wet and cold?" Sim snapped.

"But you delivered the gold?"

"Several hours ago to the Welshman’s courier. I know it was he for he wore the badge of Gwynfr upon his cloak. After I gave it to him, he said his master would be pleased," Sim reported. "I thought perhaps the rain had delayed the lady."

"I will go back and tell our lord," Pax said, and hurried off on a run.

Sim shrugged, and climbed back up to the top of the verge. Scanning the landscape beyond him into Wales he could see nothing moving. What in the name of heaven could have happened, he wondered? Was Merin ap Owen not satisfied with the amount of the ransom? But it had been a most generous amount, twice what the bandit would have gotten for Ashlin’s livestock himself. Yet something was wrong. The sun was now beginning to dip lower on the horizon. Sim sneezed several times. I can't just stand here, he thought. Then going to his horse, he mounted it and rode off into Wales. When Pax found him gone, he would go back to the lord, and they would come after him to Gwynfr. There just wasn't any other choice in the matter, nor, he sensed, did he have much time.

It was just after dark when he finally made his way up the craggy hill into the courtyard of Gwynfr Castle. He was immediately surrounded and pulled from his horse. Then he was dragged into the hall and thrown on his knees before Merin ap Owen. Sim tried to stand, but was shoved to his knees again. He heard murmurs of, "Kill the English bastard!" in the background behind him. Raising his head, he looked questioningly up at the lord of the castl.

"You have nerve, Sim of Ashlin, I will grant you that," Merin ap Owen said. "Where is the ransom?"

"My lord," Sim said in as calm a tone as he could muster, "I met your courier atop the verge, and handed the two bags of gold coins over to him several hours ago. I have been waiting ever since for you to bring my lady Eleanore to me as had been agreed upon. When you did not come, I thought that possibly you had been delayed by the rains, but then when the rains stopped, and you still had not come, I knew something was wrong. So I came to Gwynfr myself. Why have I been treated so badly by your men?"

"You say you met my courier?" The Welsh lord looked down from his place at the high board.

"I did," Sim answered firmly.

"What did he look like?" Merin ap Owen demanded.

"I could not see his face, for it was hidden beneath his hood, but his cloak bore the badge of Gwynfr, my lord. When I had given over the ransom, he said you would be pleased. Then he departed," Sim replied.

"You saw not his face? Was he tall? What did his voice sound like? You say you have delivered the gold, and yet I do not have it," Merin ap Owen told the startled Sim.

"I did not see his face, for the hood," Sim repeated. "The day was dark, and the storm close. The courier never looked directly at me, now that I recall it, but kept his upper body in shadow. His height was shorter than taller. He said but four words to me. Master will be pleased. The voice was gruff, and I thought at the time that it was an odd voice, for you Welsh have voices that are usually more mellifluous, but, then, why would I be suspicious of a man wearing your badge who met me at the appointed hour and at the appointed place?" Sim concluded rather sarcastically.

"Why indeed," Merin ap Owen said, and suddenly he was thoughtful. Then he said, "The messenger I sent you was a tall man, and his voice was indeed soft and musical. His body was found a mile from Gwynfr a little while ago, Sim of Ashlin. He did not have the gold. The ground beneath him was dry, though the body itself was soaked with the rain. This tells me that he was killed before your alleged meeting on the verge. Is it possible you lay in wait for my man, murdered him, then returned to the verge to await whoever followed him? Has your master truly paid the ransom, or does he believe you can diddle me?"

"My lord," Sim said, horrified by this turn of events, "I swear to you upon my lady Eleanore’s life that I met your courier upon the verge and turned over the ransom payment to him. My master would not endanger his wife for any reason. I am telling you the truth. I murdered no one. I followed your instructions to the letter. If you have been betrayed, you had best look to your own house for the traitor."

Again the lord of Gwynfr was silent, his handsome face deep in concentration as he considered the Englishman’s words. He had to be telling the truth. Why else would he have taken his life in his hands to come to Gwynfr? His dark blue eyes narrowed in thought. There was only one person audacious enough to betray him in his own house. She should be by his side right now, but she had sent word by her servant that she was ill with a flux, and begged to be excused this evening.

"Get up," Merin ap Owen said to Sim. Then he turned to his man, Badan. "Go to the lady Isleen’s apartment in the top of the tower, and fetch her to me. If her servant girl says she is ill, insist in my name on seeing her yourself. And if she is not there, bring Arwydd to the hall to me. Do not mistreat her, however," he warned.

Badan ran off with a nod. Sim got to his feet and rubbed his knees. The stone had been hard, and he had been thrown none too gently upon it. He stood silent, waiting, wondering.

"Your lady is safe," Merin ap Owen said quietly, then nothing more.

After some minutes Badan returned to the hall, dragging a most reluctant Arwydd with him by her arm. The girl was crying and clearly very frightened.

"Where is your mistress?" Merin ap Owen demanded of her in a cold, hard voice. "Speak up, wench!"

"I… I do not know!" Arwydd sobbed.

"She told me the lady was sleeping, but when I pushed past her into the bedchamber, the bed was empty, my lord," Badan said.

"Where is your mistress?" Merin ap Owen asked a second rime.

Arwydd sobbed all the harder. "I swear on the Blessed Virgin’s name, my lord, that I do not know!"

"You knew enough about it to lie, wench," the lord of Gwynfr said. "You must know something even if you do not know where your mistress is."

"My lady went out early today," Arwydd said. "She did not say where she was going, nor when she would be back. It was not her habit to tell me these things. Usually she said nothing, but today she asked that if anyone sought her out, I was to say she was ill and sleeping. That is all I can tell you, I swear it!"

"Yet when it grew dark, you did not come to me and say she was missing," Merin ap Owen pointed out.

" 'Twere plenty of times she didn't come back until after dark, my lord," Arwydd told him. "If I had come to you and then she had returned, she would have beaten me black-and-blue. I was only her servant. I saw to her clothing and hair. I brought her whatever she asked of me. She never spoke with me but to give me an order or to complain about something. She was not an easy mistress, but it was better than serving in my uncle’s whorehouse."

"If I find that you are lying to me, Arwydd," the lord of Gwynfr said softly, "I shall give you to my men for their pleasure."

Arwydd threw herself down before the high board. "My lord! I swear to you that I know nothing more than I have told you! Do not give me to your men, I beg you!" She held out her hands to him, pleading.

"My lord," Sim said quietly, "I believe the girl speaks the truth. The lady Isleen has discarded her because she would have been a liabihty had she known the lady’s plans. Had Arwydd been gone from Gwynfr with her mistress, you would have discovered the lady Isleen’s perfidy all the sooner. Now she is long gone on whatever road and it is certain that she has taken the gold."

"And murdered my courier," Merin ap Owen said. "Isleen always liked poison, and there was not a mark of violence upon my man’s body. His lips were quite blue, and there was a bit of dried froth about his mouth. His horse was gone, and could not be found in the vicinity. My treacherous leman obviously took it. She planned this well, but I shall find her, and I shall show her no mercy! Get up, wench!" he snapped at Arwydd. "Go back to your mistress’s apartment while I consider exactly what I shall do."

Arwydd scrambled to her feet, and dashed out of the hall as if she were being pursued by all the devils in hell.

"My lord," Sim spoke. "What of my mistress? I paid the ransom you required in good faith. It is not the fault of any at Ashlin that the gold has gone astray."

Merin ap Owen looked down on the young Englishman. "I must have the night to reflect on all of this. You may sleep in my stables with your horse, Sim of Ashlin. Come back to the hall one hour after the sun has risen, and I will render my decision on this matter. You could not start back to Ashlin tonight in any event. Have you eaten? No? Then, go the kitchens, and you will be fed. My men will leave you in peace now, for you are as much of a foolish dupe as I have been."

Sim felt relief coursing through his body. He bowed, and hurried out of the hall. Watching him go, Merin ap Owen almost laughed aloud. The lad had shown courage, but his hasty retreat indicated his fear of the situation. Still, he had come to Gwynfr, and he had asked for his mistress’s release.

"What will you do, lord?" Badan asked him, and Merin ap Owen saw the curious faces turned up to him.

"I do not know yet," he answered.

"But you will seek out the bitch?" Badan persisted.

"Aye, I will," Merin ap Owen said, "but the rest I do not know. I will think on it, but be prepared to ride come the morning." He arose then and left the hall.

Elf sat by the fireplace, mending one of his tunics. She looked up, her lovely face serious. "What has happened? Was not this the day I was to be released, my lord? Yet it is already night, and I am still here at Gwynfr."

"My courier was murdered, and the gold stolen from him," he said. "Now I must decide what is to be done."

Her face grew paler than it normally was. "How did this happen, my lord?" Elf laid her sewing aside and arose to face him.

He explained to her exactly what he had determined based on the information Sim had brought, on Arwydd’s testimony, on the evidence of his own eyes and instincts. Then to his surprise Elf burst into tears, sobbing so piteously that his heart almost broke. He wrapped his arms about her in a gesture of comfort. Surprised, she looked up into his face, and Merin ap Owen was lost in the moment. Unable to restrain himself, his mouth took hers in a burning, fierce kiss.

Startled, Elf was not certain at first what to do. She had never been kissed so skillfully by anyone but her beloved Ranulf. Instinctively her lips softened, and she was only brought to her senses by the sudden realization of his hard body against hers, his lustful member throbbing against her belly. Still, for a brief moment she allowed herself to be swept away before marshaling her forces, her two small hands pushing against his broad chest. "My lord!" She pulled her head back. "Please, my lord, this is wrong, and you well know it!" She stepped away from him as if to put a safe distance between herself and his fiery heat of passion.

"How long have you known that I wanted you?" he asked her.

"Since Christmas morning when you put the wolf-skin cape about my shoulders," she answered.

"I love you, Eleanore," he said softly.

"I know, my lord Merin." There were tears in her silvery gray eyes.

"But you do not love me." He sighed sadly. "You love your Ranulf. Does he love you as I do? Totally, completely, and without reservations? Ah, I never knew that to love brought such pain!"

"Aye, he loves me, and I him," Elf said honestly. "And this you did not know. We have a son, my lord Merin. It is not just my land or my husband calling me back, it is my child. If Ranulf paid the ransom and was honest with you, how can you not allow me to return home on the morrow? No matter your reputation, no matter what I have heard said of you, no matter what you have done, I must judge you in light of how you have treated me. You have dealt with me fairly and with honor. That is how I shall always remember Merin ap Owen when I have returned to my husband, to my son, and to Ashlin."

"I could take you now, here, and show you no mercy!" he cried.

"And having tasted your kiss, my lord, I have no doubt that I should respond to your passion, but come the dawn I should be weighed down with a guilt so heavy it would never leave me," Elf told him. "Women are weak, it is said, but they, too, have their honor. If you dishonored me, you should dishonor yourself. I beg you not to do so, my lord Merin. Do not allow your lust to destroy the friendship that has grown between us. I have never known your like, nor will I ever again, I think." Her eyes met his, pleading, yet proud.

He could force this petite woman, so delicate of bone. She could not prevail against his strength, there was scarce a woman born who could. But he loved her. A man did not despoil and hurt something so fair, so innocent, so sweet. The Merin ap Owen that Isleen de Warenne knew might do such a thing and not have a care; but the Merin ap Owen that he was for Eleanore de Montfort would not act in so dishonorable a fashion. Reaching out, he took her two hands, raised them up, and kissed them.

"It would seem, Eleanore, that my love for you is stronger than my lust. Tomorrow I will set you free to return home to your most fortunate husband. And this promise I give you: The Welsh will not distress Ashlin again in my time." He released her hands. "Go to bed now, my love, resting safe in your goodness. Only you know the man I might have been. Tomorrow after you have left me, I will begin a hunt for a vixen. I will run her to ground, I promise you, and I will kill her. She will never trouble you again."

"Do not kill her on my account, my lord," Elf begged him.

He smiled. "Her death will not be on your conscience, my love, but on mine with many others; but your God will surely not punish me for ridding the world of the devil’s own daughter," Merin ap Owen said. "For that I must certainly be rewarded."

Chapter 19

“Give me Arwydd to take back with me," Elf said to Merin ap Owen the following morning as she prepared to leave his apartments for the last time. "You know what will happen to her if she is left here at Gwynfr or returned to her uncle’s establishment."

"You would have her despite what she did?" he asked, surprised.

"She did what she did to survive," Elf responded. "She is a good girl at heart. I cannot forget that she protected my son from Isleen by keeping the secret of his existence from her."

"If she will go with you, you may have her," he replied. "I will send her to you. Then come to the hall, so I may turn you over to the faithful Sim of Ashlin. I want him to take you from Gwynfr before your husband arrives to attack me, and lives are needlessly lost. I have no doubt that Ranulf de Glandeville is near. I know I would be if you were my wife." He smiled a wry smile at her, then made to leave her.

"My lord!" she called after him, and he returned to her side. Elf stood upon her tiptoes, and kissed his scarred cheek. "I would not embarrass you, or endanger my own reputation by doing this publicly in the hall," she told him. "I thank you. I believe there is much good in you, my lord, despite your evil reputation. Seek for that good for the sake of your immortal soul. I will pray for you, Merin ap Owen," she promised him.

"Then, I shall be as near to being saved from the devil’s hellfire as I have ever been," he told her softly. Raising her hand to his lips, he caught her gaze a moment. "We would have been magnificent together, my lady of Ashlin," he said. Then he was gone.

She felt the heat in her cheeks. She felt the tears slip down her face, and brushed them impatiently away. She did not love him, and yet the knowledge of his love for her was almost too heavy a burden for her to bear. Oh, Ranulf, she thought. I need your strong arms about me reassuring me that all will be well!

"Lady."

Elf looked up to see Arwydd standing hesitantly in the doorway. She motioned to the girl to come in, then said, "I believe you are a good girl no matter the bad mistress you served so faithfully. You are a free woman, Arwydd, and so you are free to make your own decisions. I offer you a place in my household if you will come with me. It will not be easy at first. You betrayed the Ashlin folk. They will not allow you to forget it, for they have long memories, especially my Ida. But I will intercede for you with them if you truly give me your loyalty. In time they will forgive you, for they are good folk at heart."

Arwydd fell to her knees and, lifting the hem of Elf’s skirt, kissed it fervently. "Lady, oh, lady! Your kindness has saved me! Gladly will I come. I will bear whatever I must, for in truth I did grievous wrong to the Ashlin folk. I will beg their forgiveness upon my knees! I swear upon the Blessed Virgin’s name to serve you honorably and faithfully all of my days!"

Elf raised the girl up. "Then it is settled," she said calmly. "Come, for we are due in the hall. The lord of Gwynfr is about to free me, and I am eager to begin our journey home."

They descended into the hall, where the morning meal was already in progress. Seating herself at the high board, Elf ate heartily of the hard-boiled eggs, cheese, butter, and bread she was served. She quenched her thirst with a watered wine. She saw Sim at a trestle below and, smiling, nodded to him. Then Merin ap Owen stood, and spoke.

"I am an honorable man, as you can all attest. The lord of Ashlin manor has delivered the ransom I requested for the return of his wife. The fact the ransom was stolen from me is not his fault. For me to continue to hold the lady Eleanore as my captive would be a dishonorable act. I will therefore release her into the custody of her man-at-arms, Sim of Ashlin. They will leave Gwynfr in peace. And when they have gone, we will depart to seek out the vicious vixen who has stolen my gold. Go, and prepare yourselves to leave. I know not how long we will be away, for I cannot even say in which direction the bitch has gone, but we will run her to the ground, lads. And after…" He laughed darkly.

The sound sent a chill up Elf’s spine. The man she knew had disappeared once again, even as the man they all feared returned in his place. She arose and, without another word, walked down from the high board to where Sim now stood anxiously waiting for her. "Let us go home, Sim," she said, and he nodded wordlessly.

Without a backward glance they departed the hall and walked out into the courtyard, where Arwydd stood holding the horses.

"She’s going with us?" a disbelieving Sim asked.

"She is a good girl, Sim," Elf said firmly. "Besides, I will not leave her here. She will serve me loyally. You will see."

Sim thought his mistress mad, but he would not question her, for it was not his place to do so. Besides, the lord would send the deceitful witch packing as soon as he laid eyes on her. He helped the two women to mount their beasts, then climbed atop his own horse, and they were off. They rode slowly down the hill away from Gwynfr and onto the narrow track that led them toward the verge, and England.

The day was unusually beautiful, the sky above them a clear blue, the sun shining brightly, the air warm with a definite feeling of spring. It was the first time in days that Elf could remember the sun shining. She considered it a wonderful omen, although perhaps not for Isleen de Warenne, who was to be hunted down. Where had she gone? Elf wondered. But no matter. If Merin ap Owen did not catch her and kill her, she would still have to face God’s judgment for her wickedness. She put Isleen from her mind.

"Merin ap Owen thought my lord might be near, Sim. Do you think it is so?" Elf asked her man.

"Aye, lady, he is. I am surprised we have not come upon him yet," Sim answered her. "I thought surely he would be at Gwynfr’s gates by dawn, but, perhaps finding me gone off the verge yesterday, he divined my purpose and is waiting a reasonable time for my return."

They rode on for a short time, and then over a hill they saw a party of riders coming. Elf strained to see, and then with a whoop she kicked her mare into a gallop, riding straight for the oncoming men. Sim immediately recognized his Ashlin companions and smiled. His lord moved out in front, pressing his own mount forward at a faster pace until the two parties came face-to-face, and the mingling horses skidded to a stop.

Ranulf de Glandeville was off his horse in a flash. Reaching up, he pulled his wife from her mare and wrapped her in a hard embrace. "I love you," he whispered fiercely into her ear. "I love you!" Then he kissed her hungrily, desperately drinking from her lips like a dying man wasting away from thirst.

Breathless, Elf finally pulled away from the kiss, looking up at him, her face filled with pure joy. "Why did you not tell me this before," she demanded. "I ached to hear you say those words, for I love you so damned desperately, I thought I would die from it!"

"You love me?" Now his look became one of surprise.

"Aye, I love you, you big oaf! How could I not love a man who treated me with such delicacy and gentleness?"

"Then, why did you not say it?"

"Because I thought a sophisticated man of the world such as yourself would scorn such words. I feared you would feel obligated by them, and despise me for a romantic fool. I had gained your respect and your trust. I did not want to lose them by softly prattling of love," Elf told him. "Why did you hesitate to say these words to me until now?"

"I did not think you could love a man who took you from the life you loved and had always thought you would live," he admitted. "But, Eleanore, I think I loved you from the first moment I saw you in the hall at Ashlin, so kind and so thoughtful, seeking so desperately to save your brother’s life. I never thought to have a real home or a sweet woman to care for me and bear my children. Then there was the king giving me this incredible gift of you. I feared if I told you of what was in my heart, you would not believe me. I feared you would disdain me, think me a fool who but attempted to gull you so I might more easily have your body. I feared the loss of your friendship, petite." His knuckles lightly grazed her cheek, brushing away the single crystal tear upon it. "Do not cry, petite. We are together once more. I shall never allow you to be in danger again. You will continue on to Ashlin while I go to Gwynfr to destroy it. Merin ap Owen shall not pillage the countryside this year, or in any other year to come."

"Nay," Elf told him, her hand on his arm.

"Have I cause for jealousy, then?"

"Walk with me, my lord, and allow me to explain," Elf said. "I am not certain whether I should be flattered by your jealousy, or offended that you would think me unfaithful to you, Ranulf. Come." She took his hand, and they moved off across the fields while she spoke earnestly to him, explaining that it had been Isleen de Warenne who had been the instigator of the plot to kidnap her. "Make no mistake, my lord, Merin ap Owen is deserving of his reputation, yet he treated me with courtesy, and aye, even kindness while I was in his charge. He protected me from Isleen’s attempts to harm me. In his own way he is an honorable man. Isleen, disguised as Merin ap Owen’s courier, yesterday took the ransom from Sim and has disappeared. That is why I was not returned to you then. Sim is very brave, Ranulf. As it grew near sunset, he rode on to Gwynfr. It was then the deception was discovered. Yet this morning Merin ap Owen freed me to return to you. He is not all wicked, and he has given me his word that Ashlin will not be disturbed again."

"You believe him?"

"Aye, I do," Elf said quietly. "You must trust me in this, Ranulf. I was Merin ap Owen’s captive for four months. There is a side to him he does not show to others, except perhaps his longtime servant, Gwyll, who looked after me. There is goodness in him, Ranulf. I slept in an alcove off his bedchamber all those months because he feared that Isleen would hurt me given the chance. His apartments, however, were not open to anyone but Gwyll. I was safe there. Not once did this man attempt to accost me in a lewd manner. I could have been back at St. Frideswide's, for that matter, I was so safe in his charge."

Her words troubled him, but Ranulf knew his wife would not lie to him. It simply was not in Eleanore’s nature to lie. "What did you do during the day?" he asked her, curious.

"Gwyll and I found an old loom and a tapestry frame. We put them by the fire, and I kept myself amused in that manner. Before the winter set in, I gathered roots and plants to make a store of salves, lotions, and medicines for the castle. They had none at all. I showed Gwyll what he is to do in the future," Elf finished.

Ranulf laughed. He simply couldn't help it. It was so very typical of his wife’s sweet nature and kind heart. "I suppose you mended the Welshman’s clothes for him, too," he half teased her.

"Aye, I did," she admitted. Then she giggled. "There are no women, even servants, at Gwynfr Castle, my love; and Isleen was certainly not about to repair the poor man’s tunics. I could hardly have my captor going about looking shabby."

He roared with laughter. "Petite," he told her, "I most certainly do love you with all my heart and soul. You are quite unique, my Eleanore."

"The lord Merin has gone after Isleen, Ranulf. He will, I suspect, have a difficult time finding her, for she could have gone in any direction. Gwynfr is already a half ruin. Leave it be, so that when, or if, he ever returns home again, what is left of Gwynfr will be there to shelter him. Let us go home and see our son, my lord. I think it is past time we gave him a brother." She smiled up at him.

Ranulf nodded in agreement. How could he refuse her request? He really could not. Merin ap Owen had almost beggared them, but he had his wife safely back.

They walked back to their horses, where the others awaited. Now the lord of Ashlin noticed Arwydd. "Who is she?" he asked.

"Her name is Arwydd," Elf began.

"The wench who betrayed Ashlin?" he demanded, his brow darkening.

"The very same," Elf replied calmly. "She is to be my new servant, my lord, and I will hear no more about it. Arwydd made a bad mistake. She was compelled to serve a wicked mistress. She repents of her own ill judgment, and she has done us both a great service. Arwydd knew about our son. Yet she helped me to dry up my milk before I reached Gwynff, and she never told either her mistress or the lord of the castle of our child. What do you think Isleen would have done if she had known we had a baby, Ranulf? All the devils in hell could not have prevented her from going to Ashlin and stealing our son away. Arwydd prevented this tragedy by remaining silent. She deserves a second chance, and I mean to see that she gets it. She is freeborn, and she has a good heart, Ranulf. She served Isleen faithfully, and her reward was to have her mistress desert her. She will be loyal to us, I guarantee it."

"It would seem I can deny you nothing, my lady wife," he answered her.

Elf stood upon her toes, and kissed him lightly upon the lips. "Thank you, my lord," she said as he then lifted her into the saddle.

Ranulf mounted his own horse.

"Are we going after the Welshman, my lord?" Sim asked him.

"Nay," Ranulf replied, and then briefly explained to his men the reason for his decision. "Ap Owen has gone after Isleen de Warenne. He is punished if he catches her, and he is punished if she eludes him, I am thinking," he concluded. "Let us go home!"

By late afternoon they were well over the border and into England again. The day remained fair, and the countryside about them empty but for their party. For the next three days they traveled back to Ashlin, camping at night in the open, for so desolate was the countryside that there was no religious house for them to shelter in, or even the rudest inn or manor house. Each night the horses were staked within a crude enclosure of brush, and a huge fire was built to keep away any predators. They were a large enough party to be safe from bandits. They ate what they could catch, and the bread they carried with them.

Finally in early afternoon of the fourth day, they topped a rise, and there below them was the manor of Ashlin on a near hill. Elf’s heart beat faster, and with great happiness, for sometimes in the darkest night she had wondered if ever she would see her home again. At the look upon her beautiful face, Ranulf reached out and took his wife’s hand in his for a moment, squeezing it gently. Their eyes met, and she smiled.

"Simon will not recognize me," she said.

"You will not recognize him," he told her. "When I left to go to Normandy, he was not even two months old. When I returned just at Christ’s Mass, he was seven months old. I was astounded. It was as if I were being shown a different child. It will affect you the same way, I am thinking, petite. He pulls himself up now, and stands. He crawls, and he says all manner of babble, which his nurses pretend to understand. Although, all I can ever make out clearly is the word Da, which he says when he sees me." He chuckled. "He is quite a child, petite. Do not fret if he is strange with you at first, for that is only to be expected. He has not seen you in several months, but he will soon warm to you again, and probably never know or even remember that he was once separated from you." He raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. "Tonight, petite, we will begin the arduous process of making a brother for Simon. Ashlin must have more than one son." He released her small hand from his, and smiled into her eyes.

"I need a daughter," she said boldly.

"We will do our best to arrange for that, too," he assured her with a broad grin.

Elf laughed, and together, their men behind them, they came down from the hills to Ashlin. Their serfs were plowing in the fields, but once they saw the lady of Ashlin, they cried joyously and came running to greet her. Those who recognized Arwydd, however, glared darkly in her direction. They knew well the part she had played in Elf’s abduction, for old Ida’s tongue had not been idle, and the elderly woman was respected among her peers. Arwydd shivered at the black looks being sent her way, instinctively pressing her mount closer to Sim's.

"Don't look to me for protection," he said to her. "I agree with them. If I were the lord, I should have sent you packing."

"You know nothing of me," Arwydd snapped at him. "You have lived your whole life safe and secure here at Ashlin. You know little of true evil or wickedness. I do. I will never betray our lady Eleanore again. It broke my heart to do so before, but I was afraid of what they would do to me if I did not obey them. Now I am free of the lady Isleen and the lord Merin. I will endeavor to win the trust of all at Ashlin, even if it takes me a lifetime." Then, straightening her backbone, Arwydd sat up in her saddle, her eyes focused ahead.

"It may take a lifetime with some," he said. "The lady is beloved of us all."

"I know," Arwydd replied meaningfully.

"I'll be watching you," Sim said, "to make certain you don't deceive us again."

"If you watch me too closely," Arwydd said, not looking at him, "you'll make your wife jealous."

"I have no wife," Sim said.

"Because no girl will have such a rough fellow as yourself, I imagine," Arwydd responded. "Oh, Mary, Mother of God, protect me! There is that old Ida, and she is the one I truly fear."

Sim chuckled. "You're wise, lass, for she'll not hesitate to put a knife between your ribs given the chance. She may be old, but she’s as fierce as any warrior in his prime, old Ida."

"My lady! My lady!" Old Ida cried as Elf was lifted down from her mare. She clutched the young woman to her scrawny bosom weeping. "Praise God, His Blessed Mother, and all the angels in heaven, you have come home safe to us!"

Elf comforted her weeping nursemaid as best she could. "I was never really in any danger, Ida. I was well treated, I promise you. Now, I want to see my son."

It was at that moment the old lady, relinquishing her hold on Elf, let out a screech, leaping back like a scalded cat and pointing a bony finger. "What is she doing here?" Ida advanced on a pale-faced Arwydd. "What is this deceitful Welsh bitch doing here? Have you come back then to destroy the whole family this time, wench? Someone give me a knife! I will kill her now before she can do us any further harm!"

Elf stepped between Arwydd and her outraged nursemaid and explained as she had to Sim and to Ranulf.

"Your heart is too good, lady," Ida said grimly. "I do not trust the Welsh. She will be trouble," the old woman predicted darkly.

"There will be no trouble," Elf said sternly. "Do you all understand me? This girl protected Ashlin’s heir. For that I am eternally grateful. She is under my protection. Any who harms her by word or deed will have to answer to me. Remember that I am the lady here!"

Arwydd suddenly knelt before Ida and, looking up at the old woman with tear-filled eyes, pleaded, "Please, Ida, forgive me the wrong I have done the Ashlin folk!"

"Clever baggage," the old woman muttered, glowering down at Arwydd. "You will have to earn my forgiveness, wench, but I will not speak against you to the others. That, at least, your pretty plea has gained you."

Arwydd scrambled to her feet and hurried after Elf, who was already entering her home. Alyce came forward carrying her little charge in her arms. Elf felt the tears sliding down her cheeks as she took her son into her arms. His hair was her own pale red-gold, but Simon de Glandeville looked at his mother with his father’s warm hazel eyes. Elf kissed the child passionately until he protested and squirmed away from her, holding out his arms to Alyce.

Elf laughed. "Oh, Simon," she said to him, "you must forgive your mama. I have missed you so very much, and missed so much of you, bébé. But they tell me you will never know of this separation, and within a short time you will be used to your mama again." She kissed the top of his head, and handed the little boy off to Alyce. "Thank you," she said to the young serf who had cared so faithfully for her son.

"Maris fed him, lady, and still does," Alyce said blushing with her mistress’s praise.

"Tell her she must continue to do so, as my milk has been dried away now," Elf responded.

"My lady! Welcome home!"

"Cedric!" Elf held out her hands to her steward, smiling.

He took her hands, and pressed them to his heart a moment, then stood back to allow John the bailiff and Fulk to come forward. They both greeted her happily. Elf thanked them both for their care of Ashlin in her absence.

"Sim," she told Fulk, "was very brave, and did well in the face of adversity. You may be proud of your kin, Fulk. I promise you that the next time you advise me, I shall listen well."

Fulk’s eyes grew visibly misty. "Thank you, my lady," he said, grateful she did not hold him responsible for her captivity.

"I'll want a bath after the meal," Elf announced as they seated themselves at the high board.

The meal was served, and Elf ate with relish, particularly of the roasted meats and the greens, which had been few and far between at Gwynfr, whose cook it seemed boiled everything to mush. There was even a sweet pudding of boiled wheat, milk, sugar, cinnamon, dried apples, and raisins. She practically licked her wooden bowl clean, swallowing down the last of her sweet wine with a sigh.

"It would seem," her husband noted, "that the kitchens of the Welshman left much to be desired. Do you want the rest of my pudding?"

Without a word Elf switched bowls with him, and scooped up the remainder of the pudding with a mischievous grin. "I was hungry for sweets," she said.

"So am I," he replied, his hazel eyes twinkling, and she giggled. It was a wonderful sound, he thought. "Go and bathe, petite."

"Let us bathe together, Ranulf, my dear lord," she invited him, and her glance was warm. "We have both been on the road for several long days… and nights. I believe we would find the water salubrious." She arose from the high board and, walking to the door leading to the solar, turned to look seductively at him. Then she was gone.

A feeling, unfamiliar to him these last months, rippled through his large frame. His member actually tingled in anticipation, then began to harden with lust. He drained his cup slowly, making a small attempt to bring himself under control. He had waited for this night for months. He would not spoil it with undue haste. Willa and Arwydd came from the solar, giggling. They had once been friends, and now Elf’s approval of Arwydd restored, Willa saw no reason to hold a grudge. The two young women had taken up where they had left off.

"Lady says you are to join her, my lord," Willa said.

"And we're not to return until morning," Arwydd added.

He grinned at them conspiratorially evoking another burst of giggles from the two girls. He walked across the hall to the solar and barred the door behind him. Turning, he caught his breath in surprise. She awaited him as naked as the day she had been born. He closed his eyes briefly as he felt his hunger for her welling up once again.

"My lord," she murmured low. "Let me help you to undress so we may have our lovely bath. The water is perfect, warm and just lightly scented with the fragrance of flowers." She drew him over to a stool. "Sit, please, so I may remove your boots."

He sat, not certain if he should be shocked by her boldness. What had happened to his innocent Eleanore? Was it possible that Merin ap Owen- He pushed the suspicion away. The one thing he could be certain of was that his wife had been faithful to him in her captivity. Had she not, she would either have killed herself or told him of it and begged his forgiveness. Besides, why was he concerned that she was so suddenly deliciously impudent? Was it not for his pleasure? His eyes caressed her round little bottom as she bent to pull off his boots. Then she drew off his stockings.

"Please to rise, my lord," she instructed him. Kneeling she slipped his braies down and slid her hands beneath his tunics and chemise to caress his naked flesh, fondling his bare bottom with kneading fingers. She rolled the fabric of the braies down his legs, smoothing his calves as she did so. "Foot," she said, tapping his left foot so he would lift it. Then the right foot. Sitting back on her haunches, she folded the braies and set them on the stool.

Standing again, Elf smiled teasingly up into his face. Then she went about the business of removing his outer tunic, and the two undertunics he wore. Now Ranulf was clad only in his linen chemise. His raging manhood thrust the soft material forward. Licking her lips with her tongue in a provocative fashion, Elf slowly unlaced the garment, her hands pushing it open, smoothing over his broad chest, sliding the garment off his shoulders so that it fell to the floor. "Now," she said, "we are equal, my lord," and bending her head she stroked his warm flesh with her wet tongue, teasing at his nipples until he thought his head would burst and his loins explode with their raging desire for her.

Ranulf drew her up and wrapped his arms about her. His lips played softly over her lips. "What," he demanded, "has happened to the little innocent I married?" Then, before she might answer him, he kissed her hard as their bodies pressed together heatedly.

Elf knew she was yet in control, but she was half-conscious with the pleasure his lips offered. Too long! Too long, she thought muzzily. Her breasts were molded tightly against his chest. The heat from his body was utterly intoxicating. His manhood was like iron against her belly. His thighs were like rock. Her lips softened and parted just slightly beneath his. His tongue played with her tongue, sending shivers of delight and anticipation up and down her spine. Finally she drew her head away from him. "The water will grow cold if we do not bathe soon, but our desire, I think, will continue to remain hot, my love."

His hazel eyes were overflowing with his passion, but he released her and climbed up the steps into the tall oaken tub by the fire. Then reaching out he lifted her in with him. Elf took up the sea sponge and filled it with liquid soap. Then she began to wash him, rubbing the sponge over his back and his chest, down his arms, across his shoulders, around his neck. She took a small soft cloth to wash his face, then his ears. The sponge dipped beneath the water to wash what she could not see. Ranulf gritted his teeth and bore her delicious ministrations. On her command he dipped himself beneath the warm water to rinse. Then it was his turn.

Taking the sponge from her, he renewed the soft soap and rubbed across her back and shoulders, laving water with his big hand to rinse her silken skin. Laying the sponge aside on the ledge of the tub for a moment, he slipped an arm about her and drew her back against him. He kissed the nape of her neck softly, nibbling lightly at the tiny curls springing forth where her long hair was pinned up.

"Delicious," he murmured against her skin, then he nipped the flesh and laughed softly when she squealed, pressing her bottom against his groin.

"Witch," he told her, taking up the sponge again in his free hand. He encircled first one breast, rubbing lightly over the soft mound, slipping the sponge between her two breasts, and then moving on to the other. He could see the effect he was having upon her, for her little nipples thrust themselves forward, peaking hard. His hand moved beneath the water to smooth firmly over her Venus mont, cupping it.

Elf sighed with pleasure. She wanted this to go on forever and ever. Then to her surprise he pushed her firmly against the wall of the tub, pulling her thighs apart and bending her slightly. She felt the head of his manhood seeking her love channel, and then he was filling her full of himself. "Oh, Ranulf!" she murmured.

"I could wait no longer," he whispered in her ear. "Follow my rhythm, petite. There will be more afterward, I promise you!" His loins began to move against her, and Elf instinctively pushed her buttocks back against his strong thrusts. Her head was beginning to spin with delight as she felt the strongly pulsing, pulsing cadence of his manhood within her. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips as he held her steady, pressing deeper and deeper within her wet and burning softness. Elf could feel her husband growing thicker and more demanding of her. She whimpered her pleasure, needing him so desperately she thought she would die. And then their combined passions exploded in a crescendo of boiling juices that crowned his manhood and flooded her heart and body with joy.

They cried out together, and he slumped for a long moment against her, his hands moving up to her breasts, teasing the nipples so that she spasmed again and yet again. When he came to himself, he turned her about and kissed her hungrily, his mouth fierce and demanding against hers. "It is a beginning, petite, but not yet enough," he growled in her ear. His hands clamped about her buttocks, and she felt him against her, already eager with his need for her.

"I never knew a man could be so insatiable," she said to him, wrapping her arms about his neck and pressing her breasts against his broad chest. But while he had driven her to an apogee, she could sense it had not been enough for her, either. Her breasts felt hard and quite dissatisfied with a strong longing that was unfamiliar, and yet familiar.

"It has been close to a year since I had you in my arms," he told her, "and all that time I remained faithful to you, petite. At Queen Alienor’s court of love, there were many beautiful women who would have gladly filled my bed, but I could only think of you, petite. My precious wife. My only love." His face was sincere with the declaration. There were, she noticed for the first time, small fine lines about his eyes. "My mission for the king came to naught, Eleanore. We shall have no grateful Henry Plantagenet granting us his permission to build a small keep here at Ashlin. We shall remain what we have always been. A simple manor, and worse off for Merin ap Owen."

"We will regain our lost ground, my lord. Did I not see some sheep with their lambs in the enclosure by the barns?" she asked him.

"Aye," he said with a small grin. "We shall speak on it later, my love. For now my lust has just been barely slaked. I want to take you to bed, wife, and bury myself in your sweet body." He climbed from the oak tub, lifting her out after him.

Together they dried each other, leaving the damp drying cloths on the stone floor of the solar as they entered their small bedchamber. Before he might draw her into bed, however, Elf knelt and, taking him in her mouth, pleasured him as she had once done before the separation. Her tongue ran around and around the ruby head of his manhood, teasing him, playing with him until he forbade it further. Picking her up, he placed her carefully upon the bed, her legs over the edge, her feet not quite touching the floor.

"I will show you the same pleasure you have shown me," he said, and then gently parting her nether lips, his head dipped between her thighs.

Elf gasped with delight as she felt the very tip of his tongue in that most secret of places. He licked her slowly. His tongue sought the opening to her passage and pushed in as far as it could go, tasting her renewed juices. She cried out with pleasure as his tongue began to play with her tiny jewel, and she felt it swell and burst with the delectation he offered her. "Ohhh, yes, my lord! It is soooo good," she mewled.

And when he had seen that she enjoyed this pleasure, he pulled her onto their bed fully, joining her with a smile. "I have wanted to give you that delight for so long," he said, kissing her lips so that she could taste herself upon them. He cupped her mound in one hand. "You are so warm and alive, my love. I do not believe I shall ever gain enough of you." His head dipped, and he fastened upon one of her nipples, suckling eagerly.

She cried out softly, her body arcing as the pleasure coursed through her again. He would surely kill her with his tender loving. Was it indeed possible to die of love? His hand kneaded the breast strongly, and Elf half sobbed. "I need you inside of me, my Ranulf! I am aching with my desire for you!"

Removing his hands from her body, he pinioned her between his thighs, and then he slowly entered her body, groaning with delight as he did so. She was the most perfect lover, he thought happily as his great lance sheathed itself deep inside her. He began to move with deliberate leisure upon her, within her, feeling her body welcoming him.

Elf wrapped her legs about her husband’s torso, drawing him as close as she could. She could feel his throbbing and pulsing within her, and with a behavior she hadn't known she possessed but knew was right, she contracted her muscles to squeeze him tightly. When he groaned, she knew she had given him pleasure, and did it again and again until he pleaded with her to cease, for he desired her delight, too. She allowed herself to drift away, engulfed by his love, his strength, his warmth. She was slowly, slowly ascending to a place of incredible pleasure such as she had never known. She clung to him breathlessly, and as the stars burst behind her closed eyes, she cried out his name. "Ranulf!" Then she tumbled into a place of incredible sweetness and warm darkness, hearing him cry her name as she fell. "Eleanore!"

When she awoke, it was to find herself sprawled half upon his chest, his arms about her. She smiled happily. There would be another child of their shared passion this night, Elf sensed, and she wanted that child and the other children that, God willing, would follow. She did not care that Ashlin would have no castle. She was content with what God had given her. A husband she loved, and who loved her. A healthy son named Simon Hubert. Ashlin with its good grazing and growing land. Her loyal serfs and freedmen and women. A guarantee from Merin ap Owen that he would leave them in peace. She was even grateful for a king she did not know, Henry Plantagenet, who had brought order and rule back to England again. And then there were the nuns, her true family and dearest friends, from St. Frideswide's. She must go and see them soon, to assure them she had come through her ordeal quite unscathed.

"What are you thinking about?" Ranulf suddenly asked her, his voice startling her as it cut into the quiet of her thoughts.

She raised herself off his warm chest so she might look into his eyes. "I am thinking of how fortunate we are," she told him. "I am thinking of how much I love you, my Ranulf."

The happiness that lit up his face at her simple words touched her heart to its very core.

He drew her into the circle of his embrace, turning her so they might still look upon each other. Lifting her hand, he kissed each of her fingers, smiling into her eyes as he did so. "The words, petite, were hard for me to first say, but now I am no longer afraid of them. I loved you yesterday. I love you today. And I will love you tomorrow and always, Eleanore."

She looked into his hazel eyes, which were misty with his admitted emotion. How could she ever have doubted, she wondered? "I will hold you to that promise, my lord husband," she said. "Yesterday, today, tomorrow… always!”