Her cheeks were flushed with the lewd thoughts racing through her mind as he had spoken. The depravity of his suggestion was absolutely mind-boggling. "Yes!" she said. "Oh, yes, Saer!"

"Then, stop being such a jealous little fool," he said quietly to her.

Across the hall Ida watched the pair suspiciously. "Do you see how flushed she is, my lady," she murmured to Elf. "What could he say that would make her flush so? It cannot be anything fit for a decent woman’s ears. They are poisoning Lord Richard, I am certain."

"Do not say such a thing! 'Tis wicked, Ida! What would make you voice such a suspicion?"

"Lady, you have been too sheltered!" Ida told her. "You must see things as they truly are. Your sister-in-law is a wicked woman. Perhaps she has been sweet to you, but that does not change the fact that she is wicked. We fear for you when the lord dies, left with that woman and her cousin. It is very likely that they are lovers, my lady. He has been seen on several occasions coming out of her chamber. We could not tell the lord in his helpless position, but you must know!'

"I do not understand," Elf said softly. "Does she not love Dickon, Ida? How can she betray her husband if she loves him?"

Ida’s weathered face was kind, and her eyes were tender with concern. She patted her mistress’s hand gently. "I do not believe the lord’s wife ever loved anyone but herself. All she wants to do is take. She knows not how to give of herself, or of anything else. You have been taught to sacrifice your all for the world as did our dear Lord Christ. The lady Isleen does not know the meaning of the word sacrifice. She wants her cousin, and she wants Ashlin."

Elf was extremely disturbed by Ida’s words. Sheltered and innocent she might be, but she was no fool. She had frankly wondered about the apparent intimacy between Isleen and Saer de Bude. It had begun to concern her that Dickon would rally only to grow sicker, and always after Isleen had tempted him with his favorite sweetmeats, sugared almonds. Was he, as Ida suggested, being poisoned? It was unthinkable! But it was also very possible. She sighed. She wished Isa and Matti were here to talk to, or Sister Cuthbert, who was a font of common sense. She was alone, though, and as helpless as her brother’s serfs, unable to prove her suspicions and forced to stand by and watch as Richard de Montfort slowly faded away.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the entry of a knight ushered into the hall by Cedric, the manor steward. He introduced himself as Sir Ranulf de Glandeville, returning from Wales on the king’s business. He was a large man with a deep voice.

"Will you give me shelter this night, my lord?" he asked Richard, who was now awake and alert as he lay upon his cot.

"You are most welcome, my lord," Richard said graciously, albeit in a weak voice. He looked to Isleen, who smiled vapidly, but made no move to see to the comfort of their guest. "This is my wife, the lady Isleen," Richard said in an effort to encourage her to courteous action.

Isleen smiled again at the knight, but remained in her place. Ranulf de Glandeville was but a momentary distraction from Saer’s licentious words. "And my younger sister, the lady Eleanore, who will be mistress of Ashlin when I am dead," Richard finished, his anger aroused by his wife’s open lack of hospitality.

Elf arose, prodded gently by Ida. "You are most welcome to Ashlin, good sir," she said. "Ida, please fetch our guest a plate and some wine. Come, sir, sit by the fire and warm yourself while our good Ida brings food. It has been a rainy, chill day for June." Taking his cloak, she said, "We will see it is dried for your departure tomorrow."

"Thank you, lady," Ranulf de Glandeville answered her. "You are kind, and I am grateful for your hospitality." He sat, observing those of consequence in the hall. Another man who was familiar. The lord’s beautiful wife and his equally beautiful sister. By her simple gray garb he recognized the sister as a religious. Her long pale red-gold braid, however, told him she had not yet taken her final vows. The heart-shaped face was sweet, and he thought it a shame that her calling was to God and not a husband. His thoughts were interrupted by the other man who was approaching him.

"I am Sir Saer de Bude. We have fought together for the king," the man said. "The lady of this manor is my cousin. I have been here this past year aiding her husband, who is ill to death as you surely see."

Ranulf de Glandeville stood, and held out his hand. "I thought you familiar, Sir Saer," he replied. The man was officious and tactless. He almost behaved as if he were lord here, and not Richard de Montfort.

"Wine!" Saer de Bude called loudly. "Why have we no wine?" He swaggered with a proprietorial air toward the high board. "Come, sir, and join me. The servants will bring your food quickly."

Not knowing the situation, and not wishing to appear rude, the king’s messenger sat himself at the high board. The fair lady Eleanore herself set down a plate laden with food and a fresh trencher of bread. There were slices of well-hung venison, a generous spoonful of rabbit stew, several juicy prawns, a thick slice of ham, an artichoke, and a wedge of cheese. With a small smile she handed him a polished wooden spoon. He flushed beneath his ruddy wind-tanned cheeks, realizing his appetite had been showing. Crossing himself, he bowed his head a long moment, then crossing himself again, he began to eat. When he had mopped the last bit of gravy from his pewter plate with the last scrap of bread, and swallowed a final gulp from his cup, he sat back with a grin of contentment.

"Lady, you set a fine table," he said appreciatively.

"This is my brother’s house," Elf said modestly.

"You have, I would imagine, returned home from your convent to help," Ranulf de Glandeville observed. "Have you been able to aid your brother, lady? Is there anything I can do to aid you?"

"Dickon will die," Elf said, voicing for the first time what she had all along known in her heart. This knight had kind eyes, and for a brief moment she didn't feel quite so alone. "I am the assistant to our herbalist and infirmarian. It is said I am skilled in these arts, but just when I think I am making progress, my brother has a relapse. It has happened thrice now in the few weeks I have been back at Ashlin. If I cannot overcome the mystery of whatever it is that plagues him, I cannot make him well, sir. It is but a matter of time, and he will indeed surely die." There were tears in her gray-blue eyes as she spoke.

"You cannot determine what ails him?" the knight probed gently.

"It is a complaint of the belly first and foremost," Elf told her companion. "Pains, sometimes so severe his body folds itself in half. A continuous flux in the bowels. He has lost most of his hair, and a good many of his teeth. His skin is sallow, and tinged with gray. He is but ten years my senior, but he appears an ancient man now. All I can do," she concluded, "is keep him comfortable, sir. I feel so terribly helpless that I cannot make him well again."

"Was he always of a weakened disposition?" Ranulf de Glandeville asked Elf. Sometimes this was unfortunately so.

"Oh, no!" Elf replied. "Until about a year ago, according to old Ida, who was our nursemaid, Dickon was in the best of health." Then the young girl blushed. "I have almost forgotten, sir. My brother wanted me to ask you if you will come and speak with him before you retire. I have had a comfortable place made up for you in the bed space next to the fire. You will be quite snug there."

He arose from the high board, giving her a small bow. "I will see to your brother immediately," he said. "Again, I thank you for your hospitality, my lady Eleanore."

"God grant you good rest, sir," she answered him.

"I did not know you were so skilled in the arts of flirting, my pretty," Saer de Bude said suggestively. "Did the good nuns teach you that amorous art, Elf? You do not flirt with me, and I am quite overcome by your loveliness." He reached out to take her hand in his, but Elf snatched it away before he might do so.

"Why do you mistake simple courtesy for something else?" she asked him sharply. Then more boldly, "And why do you remain here at Ashlin, sir? You are not really needed by anyone. Dickon will die soon. It is not fitting that you be here in this house with two women and no older relation. Surely you do not wish to damage your cousin’s reputation?" Suddenly, Elf was more angry than she had ever been.

"You do not fear for your own reputation?" he mocked her.

"Why? All who know me know I am chaste, for I am a bride of Christ. My reputation is safe, but what of Isleen's, sir?" Elf countered, then turned and came down from the high board. After seeking out Ida, Elf crawled with the old woman into a bed space at the end of the hall. The space Elf had allocated to Ranulf de Glandeville had actually been hers, but as it was the best one in the hall, she gave it to their guest. Ida and Elf preferred being near Richard de Montfort, who spent all his time in the hall now. Isleen slept in the small bedchamber off the solar, which was located behind the hall, while Saer de Bude found his rest in a little attic room.

Richard de Montfort greeted the king’s messenger, and invited him to sit by his side. "I have a commission for you, if you can take it, sir," he said softly. "My wife and I are childless. Under the laws of inheritance Ashlin must go to my sister, Eleanore. My wife’s dowry, of course, will be returned to her family, the de Warennes, as will Isleen. She is still young and beautiful. Another husband can be found for her, I am certain. In the morning I will ask my sister to write my will, for she has been most excellently educated at St. Frideswide's. She will make three copies. One I shall keep. The second I would have you deliver to the Bishop of Worcester; the third take to the king. I do this so that there is no mistake in my intentions for my wife and my sister. A serf has already been delegated to ride to the bishop when I die, and inform him of my demise. The bishop is to notify the king. I entrust Eleanore’s safety to King Stephen. Will you do this for me, sir?" the lord of Ashlin finished weakly.