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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Chapter 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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