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

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

She gasped. "We cannot share a bed!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nay, my lord."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can he read or write?" Ranulf asked.

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

"Is John in the hall?" Ranulf asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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