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.