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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ranulf had said nothing.

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

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

"She is cold and tired," Ranulf answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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