The Innocent

Chapter 1

St. Frideswide’s Convent sat atop a hillock with a fine view of the surrounding countryside of Hereford, and across the hills into Wales. Its high stone walls enclosed themselves about a quadrangle on the south side of which was a church. From the church four sheltered walks went around the quadrangle connecting with the refectory, where the nuns and their female guests ate, the chapter house, where they met guests or did the business of the house, and the dormitories. There were special places for the students and nuns to study, and a kitchen, a bakery, a brewery. St. Frideswide's, though small, had a storehouse, a barn for its farm animals, a henhouse and dovecote, not to mention an infirmary to treat the sick, several workshops for metalwork and illuminating manuscripts, and an herbarium.

Within the convent each day was carefully ordered. At midnight, Matins, the first holy office of the day was said, followed shortly thereafter by Lauds. The nuns would then go to their sleeping quarters. Prime was said at six during the summer months, and seven in the dark months of winter. It was then that the young girls in the convent’s charge joined the nuns for the first Mass, which was followed by a breakfast of oat porridge, a slice of buttered bread, and a small cup of cider, or ale for the nuns. The children then returned to their dormitory to make their beds and sweep the rooms. They emptied the common night jar, and opened the windows to air the space.

It was during this time the nuns met together in the chapter house. Convent business was discussed, announcements, if any, were made, letters read, and finally discipline was dispensed to those miscreants who had earned it. Terce was the next office said at nine o'clock of the morning. A High Mass was sung. It was then the nuns went to their daily tasks, which might involve personal study, teaching, household duties, the workshops where skilled illuminations and simple, beautiful metalwork were done. Some of the nuns did heavy farmwork, caring for the convent’s flock of sheep, its smaller herd of cattle, or its milk cows, pigs, or poultry. At noon the office of Sext, at three, Nones, and at four, Vespers, were conducted, and attended by those nuns whose other duties did not prevent it.

From midmorning until five in the afternoon, the young girls in the convent’s care were taught. All of them learned how to read and write and keep simple accounts. They learned Latin, French, and English, for both of the latter languages were spoken in England, but not all the convent’s students could speak them when they came to St. Frideswide's. The girls who were eventually to become nuns were taught to do needlework and fine tapestry work. Those who showed a talent for it were taught the art of illumination and scribing. When a girl showed her competence in administration, she was taught the work of supervising the convent and its lands so that should Mother Eunice, the convent’s abbess, be away, or too ill to do her duty, there would be someone able to pick up her burden. Maidens prepared for the church were also taught the arts of healing.

The young girls destined for marriage took a slightly different path, learning how to play on some instrument, do pretty needlework, oversee the kitchens; which meant they must learn to cook, make conserves, and salt foods to be stored for a time. They must know how to make soap for bathing, and soaps for cleaning. They learned how to manage an estate in the event their husbands should be away, how to manage their own households, care for the sick, and tend the wounded.

Frightened and lonely as she was, Elf quickly adjusted to life at St. Frideswide's. Sister Cuthbert, the nun who had carried her away from her brother and into the convent, was enormously kind. It was she who was in charge of the six young girls currently boarding in the cloister. She was plump beneath her robes, and had a round face with rosy cheeks and warm brown eyes that twinkled more often than not. She was sympathetic over her newest charge’s sadness, but she would not allow the child to wallow in her misery. Bustling into the girl’s dormitory, she set Elf down upon the floor.

"This is where you will live with your new companions," she said brightly. "Come now, maidens, and meet Eleanore de Montfort, who is called Elf. She is five."

"She doesn't look five," the biggest of the girls said. "She is very petite. Matilda FitzWilliam is five, and she’s far bigger."

"I am bigger than Isabeaux St. Simon, and she’s six," Matilda said, glaring at the older girl, who was ten and an earl’s daughter. "Nature makes each of us differently." She held out her hand to Elf. "You may call me Matti, for we are going to be friends, little Elf." She had round blue eyes and yellow braids.

Elf looked shyly at the other girl from the safety of Sister Cuthbert’s robes. "I was five on Mary’s Day," she said as if to reinforce the fact. "I am called Elf because I am so small. My brother named me."

"I have six brothers," Matti said, "which is why I was sent here to St. Frideswide’s to be a nun. There wasn't enough monies to dower me into marriage. I came when I was three, and my mother died birthing the last of my brothers. You'll like it here. Are you going to be a nun, too?"

"I don't know," Elf said.

"Yes, she is," Sister Cuthbert said. "Now, Matti, you will have someone to go to your special studies with, my child."

"She’s going to be way behind us," the earl’s daughter said.

"Of course she is," Sister Cuthbert said with a cheery smile. "She is the youngest and the newest of you, but I believe Elf will like her studies, and quickly catch on. You cannot expect her to know as much as you do, Irmagarde. After all, you have been with us four years now. As I recall you had no knowledge at all when you were six, and Elf is just five."

What the good sister didn't say was that she believed Elf would far outstrip Irmagarde.

Irmagarde Bouvier had departed St. Frideswide’s three years after Elf’s arrival to be prepared for her marriage to a knight some years her senior. She was to be his third wife, and he had children older than she. By that time Elf had indeed surpassed the earl’s daughter in her abilities.

"She was not the brightest of girls," Sister Cuthbert noted shortly after Irmagarde had departed in pubescent triumph for her wedding.

Outside the convent’s walls, the war raged on. In 1139 the Empress Matilda had landed in England. King Stephen was captured by her forces in 1141, and the daughter of Henry I, the granddaughter of William the Conqueror, entered London. But the empress was arrogant, and immediately imposed exorbitant taxes on the populace. Stephen’s wife, another Matilda, drove the empress from London. Finally in 1147 Henry’s daughter departed England forever. Her cause was taken up by her son, Henry Plantagenet, Lord of Anjou and Poitou in his own right, and Lord of Acquitane by virtue of his marriage to Alienor, its heiress.

In 1152 Elf was fourteen, and a novice at St. Frideswide's. It was planned she would take her final vows on the twenty-second day of June that year. This was the feast day of England’s first martyr, and Elf had decided to take his name for her own. She would be known as Sister Alban. Her best friend, Matti, would also take her vows that day and become Sister Columba. As for Isabeaux St. Simon, their other friend, she would be married in the autumn and would leave St. Frideswide’s in late summer for her own home near Worcester.

On a late spring afternoon the three girls sat out on a hillside watching over the convent’s sheep. Two were dressed alike in the gray gown all the convent novices wore. Isa, however, wore a red tunic over her deep blue skirts.

"I can't believe," she said, "that they're going to cut your hair, Elf. Mary’s blood, I've always envied it." She stroked Elf’s long pale red-gold hair. "What a sin!"

"Vanity has no place in a bride of Christ," Elf said softly.

"But you're not vain!" Isa protested. "It is a great pity you cannot be wed, Elf. I'll wager there would be men of rank who would take you even with your small dowry. You are far more beautiful than either Matti or me." She sighed. "I hate it that we're being separated in a few months. I know I grumble a lot about the convent, but the truth is it has been a lot of fun for us over the years, hasn't it?"

Matti giggled mischievously. "We've had a few small adventures."

"Misadventures is more like it," Elf said with a smile. "Keeping you two out of difficulties has been a full-time occupation. You are really going to have to change your ways, Matti."

"Reverend Mother knows how impossible that will be for me," Matti replied. "That is why I am going to remain with Sister Cuthbert, taking care of the little girls. Reverend Mother says that will help me to use up all my energies until I am too old to have any. She says we all serve God in our own way. Sister Agnes says if my voice continues to improve, I shall be a head cantrix one day. I would like that, for you both know how I love music!"

"But once Matilda FitzWilliam becomes Sister Columba," Isa said wickedly, "there can be no more visits to the dairy barn to see Father Anselm swiving the dairymaid with his big poker."

Matti chuckled. "It’s a shame you would never come with us, Elf. You can't possibly know what you're going to miss unless you can see it. I think I am making a big sacrifice now that I have seen a man and a woman together in the throes of passion. I am filled with regret that my family has not the means to marry me off to a big healthy fellow. Still, I have accepted my fate, and am the better for knowing the forfeit I make for our good Lord’s sake."

"I can't wait until Sir Martin and I can be joined in the marriage bed," Isa said. "They say it hurts to lose your virginity, but afterward it doesn't hurt at all. When Father Anselm puts his big, thick manhood into Hilda, the dairymaid, how she squeals with delight!"

"And waves her legs about until she wraps them tight about our good priest," Matti noted with relish. "Then they bump up and down until the crisis comes. I like it when he pillows himself on her nice big breasts, and sometimes, Elf, he even suckles on her like a babe at its mother’s breast. It’s very exciting to watch."

Elf put her hands over her ears. "Matti! Matti! You know I don't want to hear such things. You are very, very wicked to gossip so salaciously. If you do not cease, I shall have to tell Reverend Mother, and I don't want to tell. How I fear for your soul, Matti."

Matti reached out and patted her friend with a plump hand. "Do not fret yourself about me, Elf. Once I have taken my vows, there will be no more visits to the dairy barn, alas. One cannot serve two masters, and my master is our good Lord, not the lord of lust and darkness."

"I am relieved to hear you say it, Matti," Elf replied, mollified. She loved both these girls with whom she had been raised. It did not matter that Isabeaux St. Simon was worldly, for she would be a wife soon; but Matilda FitzWilliam was another matter, particularly as she was to help Sister Cuthbert with the little girls in the convent’s care. She had uneasily broached the subject with the nun who had raised them just a few months ago; however, Sister Cuthbert did not seem to take the matter very seriously. "But some of the girls sneak into the dairy barn to hide and watch Hilda when she sports with a lover," Elf told the nun, a worried look upon her face. "Even girls who are to take holy orders," she finished in an unhappy and shocked whisper.

Sister Cuthbert had said almost what Matti said. "But they are not nuns yet, little Elf, and they are curious as to what they will miss, if anything. Having seen the carnal act, they will either find it unpleasant and be glad to be free of such things, or they will finally understand the loss they must forgo if they are to serve God properly. There is no harm in seeing as long as they remain chaste. Most of the girls in our care go to the dairy barn at one time or another. Even I did when I was very young," she told the surprised Elf. "Do not worry, my child. Matilda FitzWilliam will be a good nun."

"But I didn't say-" Elf began.

"No," Sister Cuthbert said, "you didn't." Then she smiled. "Perhaps you should go to the dairy barn one day, Elf, before you take your final vows."

But Elf shook her head violently. "Never!" she told the nun. "I want to be as pure an offering as I can be, a totally innocent bride of Christ. That is the only way for me."

"Each of us knows the best way for herself," Sister Cuthbert said soothingly. Then she turned the conversation. "Sister Winifred tells me you are the best student she has ever had. She has asked Reverend Mother if she may have you for her assistant in the herbarium. She is not young anymore, my child, and you may one day take her place, but do not say I told you until Reverend Mother tells you it is so."

Elf had learned of her appointment to the herbarium a few days later, and was very pleased. She liked the old nun whom she would assist, and who had taught her all manner of healing, physicking, and tending of wounds. She liked the herbarium because it was quiet and peaceful. In the summer they had a garden in bloom all around the little building housing the herbarium. Elf was content knowing her place in the orderliness of the convent.

"Look!" Isa, pointing, broke into her thoughts. "A mounted rider is approaching the convent. I wonder what news he brings. Mary’s blood! Look how the sun shines on his hair! It’s like beaten gold, I vow."

"My hair is gold," Matti said.

"Your hair is yellow like straw, and when it’s all cut off that’s just what it will look like." Isa giggled. "It’s a good thing your head will be covered by your wimple, Matti. Still, you have a very pretty face. No one will miss your hair."

"I hope you'll send your first daughter here to St. Frideswide’s in a few years so I can tell her what a troublesome wench her mother was as a girl," Matti said sweetly.

"You are terrible, the pair of you," Elf chided them, but then she joined in their shared laughter. "Oh, Isa! I shall miss your honesty and your wickedly sharp tongue. I will pray God that Sir Martin appreciates what a wonderful wife he has been blessed with, even if she is a bit of a naughty baggage."

"Men like naughty women," Isa responded.

"But not wives," Matti said wisely. "Even I know that. When my father sought a match for my eldest brother, Simon was mad for the daughter of a neighbor, but father had heard she was a bit wild. He sought elsewhere for a more modest girl. The neighbor’s daughter was twenty before a husband was found to take her; and that bridegroom was mightily surprised to find the neighbor’s daughter a virgin, for all had believed her not. A reputation must be guarded as carefully as a maidenhood, my father always said."

"I was betrothed to Martin of Langley when I was five, and then immediately sent here to St. Frideswide's," Isa said. "I will go home some time after Lammastide, and be married immediately. I have no reputation!" she complained bitterly.

"What does he look like?" Matti asked curiously.

"As I remember, and I have not seen him since our betrothal," Isa replied, "he had brown eyes and brown hair. He was fifteen, and had just been knighted, but as I recall he had no pockmarks on his face. I can't remember his face except that it was pleasant. He shall be a complete surprise to me, and I hope a nice one. I shall be a total surprise to him from the runny-nosed little maid I was on our betrothal day. I had a cold, as I remember, and wanted to stay warm in my cot, but I was dragged up, and dressed in my finest, and taken to the church to stand by his side while the betrothal ceremony was performed. I don't think he ever even looked at me more than once, and I suppose then to ascertain that I didn't have a squint," Isa concluded.

The three girls giggled, but then they turned their heads at the sound of a voice calling them. It was the convent gatekeeper, Sister Perpetua, and she was waving her apron at them.

"Eleanore de Montfort, come down at once," she shouted up the hill at them. "Reverend Mother wants to see you."

Elf arose, and waved back. "I am coming, sister," she called. She put on her wimple, tucking her long braids beneath it, brushed the grass from her dove gray skirts, and looked to her two friends. "Am I all right?" They nodded, and Elf hurried off down the hill to the convent.

"You are to go right to the chapter house, my child," Sister Perpetua said. "You will find Reverend Mother in the hall with a guest."

"Who is it?" Elf asked curiously. "Is it the rider we saw coming through the gate a few minutes ago, sister?"

"Yes," the nun answered, "but I do not know who he is. Hurry, child! Do not keep Reverend Mother waiting now."

Elf walked quickly through the gates, and across the cloister courtyard to the stone chapter house. Entering it she went directly to the great hall. At one end of the chamber was the abbess’s chair of office, flanked by a row of stall seats where the nuns sat each morning. Mother Eunice sat in her place, a booted gentleman by her side. Elf came forward, and prostrated herself before the abbess.

"You may arise, my daughter" came the permission, and when Elf stood before Mother Eunice, head bowed respectfully, her gray-blue eyes modestly lowered, the abbess said quietly, "This is Sir Saer de Bude, Eleanore. He has come to escort you home to Ashlin."

Elf raised startled eyes to the abbess.

"Your brother, Richard, is ill, my daughter, and he wishes to see you" came the answer to Elf’s unspoken question. "Sir Saer is the cousin of your sister-in-law, the lady Isleen. It is not a very long journey, and if you leave within the hour, you will be home before twilight this very day. Sister Cuthbert will help you to pack what you must have. You are to remain as long as you are needed. When your brother releases you, you will return to us." Seeing that Elf was desperate to speak, the abbess said, "What is it, my daughter?"

"My vows, Reverend Mother. Matilda FitzWilliam and I are to take our vows together on the twenty-second day of June. That is less than three weeks away. What if I am not back by then?" Elf could feel tears pricking at her eyelids.

"Then, my child, you will take your vows at a later time. Remember, all of this is God’s will, not ours. You must obediently follow the path our gracious Lord Christ has set out for you."

"Yes, Reverend Mother," Elf replied, disheartened. If Richard had sent for her, then the matter was serious. She had seen him only once in the nine years she had been at St. Frideswide's. That had been six months after her arrival when he had come with his new bride, Isleen, who was the most beautiful creature Elf had ever seen, but did not seem particularly interested in the small child who was now her sister-in-law. And Dickon had changed. He was distracted, and had eyes only for his wife. They had not stayed long, and Elf had had no contact with them since but for a letter from her brother that came each year on her birthday. This year, however, there had been no letter.

The abbess’s voice cut into Elf’s thoughts. "Go now, my daughter, and prepare for your journey. Sir Saer will await you outside the gates of the convent. When you are ready, take yourself to Sister Joseph, who will see that you have a proper mount. Go with God, my daughter."

Elf bowed to Reverend Mother Eunice, turned, and hurried out.

"The demoiselle Eleanore is of good family," the abbess said to her guest, "and of gentle disposition. She came to us when she was five, and has not left the environs of St. Frideswide’s since. Be certain you treat her gently and with respect. Above all, do not speak harshly to her. She is not used to men as you will surely understand. Father Anselm is the only man she knows."

"Of course, Reverend Mother," Saer de Bude answered the abbess. "My cousin would be angered with me if I were thoughtless of the demoiselle." He bowed to the nun. " I shall take my leave of you, then, my lady abbess, and await the demoiselle outside your gates." He turned quickly to go.

"A moment, sir," Mother Eunice said sharply. "What is Richard de Montfort’s true condition? I shall not tell Eleanore."

"He is dying," Saer de Bude replied sanguinely.

The abbess merely nodded. Then, after a long pause, she said, "You may go." She had been certain that nothing short of impending death would have elicited a call for Eleanore de Montfort. She well remembered Isleen de Warenne. A proud, selfish girl with little care for anyone but herself. And Isleen was childless after nine years of marriage. Even here in her convent the abbess had heard the gossip about that. If Richard de Montfort did die, the manor of Ashlin would devolve upon Eleanore de Montfort. And that sweet child was shortly to take her vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. As a nun she could possess nothing, not even her immortal soul, which belonged to God. Therefore Ashlin would come to St. Frideswide's.

The abbess considered this conclusion. There was a piece of property that matched the convent’s lands, which she had coveted for some time now. If Ashlin were sold, this excellent grazing land could be purchased. The Reverend Mother Eunice smiled. God always answered her prayers, even if He sometimes took a bit longer than she thought was entirely necessary.

And while the abbess considered the rich grazing land soon to belong to the convent, Elf was standing in the center of her dormitory with Sister Cuthbert looking completely confused. "I don't know what to take with me," she wailed. "Do you know what I will need?"

"Take your other skirt, two tunics, all three of your camisas, your stockings not with the laundress, your hairbrush and comb. You will need a pair of gloves for riding. I will give you mine. Our hands are almost the same size. You will wear your cloak, of course." As she spoke, Sister Cuthbert gathered up Elf’s possessions and wrapped them neatly in a piece of dark cloth. When she had finished, she said, "Go and pee, child. You have eight miles to traverse today. Then wash your face and hands. You'll need a clean wimple. That one looks as if you had been sitting on it in the grass, which I suppose you were. I'll fetch you a new one."

Elf pulled off the offending headdress, and did as she had been bid. When she returned to the nun, there was a fresh wimple on her bed. She put it on and slipped her cloak about her shoulders, fastening it with a closure in the shape of the cross. The garment was a darker gray than her skirt. "Will you tell Matti and Isa where I have gone, Sister Cuthbert? And that I will be back as quickly as I can?"

Sister Cuthbert nodded, gently adjusting Elf’s wimple as she said, "It will be a grand adventure, little one, and you should have one small adventure before you pledge your life to our good Lord. We will pray for your brother, Elf. Do not fear for him, for he is in God’s hands. Come, I will take you to Sister Joseph, to make certain she mounts you decently. She always wants to give us that wretched mule who will only go where he is minded to go, and not necessarily where you need him to go. You are too young and innocent to defy Sister Joseph. I am not."

Together the two of them walked to the convent stable, a small building on the cloister’s west side. And indeed Sister Joseph was of a mind to mount Elf on her favorite mule, but Sister Cuthbert would not have it.

"She must have the white mare," the older nun said.

"That is reserved for Reverend Mother," Sister Joseph protested.

"Reverend Mother is not going anywhere, but Eleanore de Montfort is. That mule is impossible with everyone but you, and you know it."

"But we don't know how long the mare will be away, and if Reverend Mother needs her, what am I to say?" Sister Joseph persisted.

Sister Cuthbert turned to Elf. "Can you have your brother’s serfs return the mare in a day or two? I am sure he will mount you decently when you return. That way should Reverend Mother need her mare, the beast will be here in its stable."

Elf nodded.

"Oh, very well," Sister Joseph acquiesced, "but that mare had best be back in two days' time, Eleanore de Montfort."

"It will, sister, I promise," Elf said softly. "And hopefully I will be the one to ride her back." She stroked the mare’s soft nose.

The mare was saddled. The bundle with Elf’s possessions was strapped into place, and she was helped to mount. All the girls in the convent school were taught how to sit a mare in the event they had to do so. Elf had not expected she would ever ride outside of the convent courtyard, but as she gathered the reins in her gloved hands, she felt a little tremor of excitement. She was going back to Ashlin. She would see Dickon, and using her own skills she would make him well, she was quite certain. She would see old Ida, if indeed Ida was still alive. Then she would return to St. Frideswide's, take her vows, and spend the remainder of her life serving God. Still, she wished she could speak with Isa and Matti herself before her departure.

Sister Cuthbert led the mare and its rider from the stable. Sister Perpetua opened the gates of the convent, and Elf was led outside. Sister Cuthbert put the lead rein into Saer de Bude’s outstretched hand. "Go carefully," Sister Cuthbert told the young man sternly. "The lady is not used to being astride. Go with God, my child," she told Elf.

They set off at a staid pace. Elf could see Isa and Matti still upon the hillside with the sheep. She wanted to wave to them, but she was too shy to do so, and afraid of causing a scene. Saer de Bude kept the mare beside his own mount, and to his right. For a time the animals moved in silence, and then the young man spoke.

"Are you permitted to speak with me, lady?" he asked her.

"Aye," she replied. "We are not a cloistered order."

"You have not been home to Ashlin since you were brought to the convent," he said. It was not a question.

"No," Elf replied. "Tell me of my brother, sir. How ill is he, and what has been done for him?"

"Richard is dying" came the blunt answer.

"Mon Dieu!" the girl exclaimed, and then blushed with the knowledge that she had sworn an oath.

"The lady Isleen cares for her husband with the devotion of an angel," Saer de Bude continued. "He is a fortunate man, your brother."

"Why is he dying?" Elf demanded of her companion. "What is the matter with him, good sir? Surely a physician was sent for and a diagnosis made."

"There has been no physician at Ashlin," Saer de Bude replied. "We would have had to send to Worcester for one. At first your brother’s illness was not thought to be serious."

"I assist the infirmarian at the convent," Elf told him. "I will want to examine my brother, although I am certainly no expert. Still, Sister Winifred says I am the best assistant she has ever had. I am certain there is something I can do to help my brother."

"The lady Isleen will be most grateful," Saer de Bude replied.

"How came you to Ashlin?" Elf asked him.

"My mother was a de Warenne" was the reply. "The lady Isleen is my cousin. Her family thought I could be of help to your brother."

"I am certain Richard is grateful," Elf answered him primly. Then she grew silent again. She had, of course, only met her sister-in-law once, and perhaps she had judged her through the eyes of a small child, ripped from her home, and put in a strange place. This was the person who had taken her beloved Dickon from her. That Isleen was extravagantly beautiful had not helped. Her hair had been like golden thistledown touched by the moonlight. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her skin was as pure as cream, her cheeks touched with just the faintest hint of rose. She had smelled of roses, too. A delicious, heady scent that bespoke elegance. It was difficult for a little girl just five and a half years of age, in a dull gray gown, to like such a woman. And Isleen had made no effort herself to draw her bridegroom’s little sister to her heart. That one visit had been brief, with Isleen staring out the window of the visitor’s chamber while Dickon spoke briefly, his eyes always going to his bride until he could seemingly not bear it any longer, and they had taken their leave of Elf.

But now her brother and his wife, childless after all their years of marriage, had sent for her. I must not judge Isleen by that one visit, Elf chided herself silently. Still, they could have surely afforded the expense of a physician. Yet she loves my brother, and has taken good care of him. It must break her heart that God has not blessed them with sons and daughters. I must greet her as my sister, and as if it were the first time we met. I will love her because she loves Dickon. Has not our dear Lord said we must love one another as we love Him?

"You have not yet taken your vows?" Saer de Bude spoke again. "Do you really wish to be a nun, and do you never consider the joys of marriage, lady?"

"I have never wanted to be anything but a nun," Elf answered him honestly. "I bless the day my brother brought me to St. Frideswide's, although at the time, I was frightened, and confused. I had just lost my mother and never knew my sire, you see. All I had were Dickon and my old nurse, Ida. The nuns, however, mothered me and taught me. And one day I realized how happy I was in their company, how happy I was that I should join their ranks and have the privilege of serving God forever."

"I can understand," he told her. "I always wanted to be a knight, and fight in the king’s service. I am happiest when doing it."

They rode on in silence for a time.

"Do you think you could go a bit faster?" he finally asked her.

"I think so," Elf responded, "but if I become frightened, will you stop, sir?"

"Aye." He grunted, and kicked his own animal into a gentle canter.

The mare followed, with Elf leaning forward just slightly into the faster gait. She was quite surprised that she could do it, for she had only cantered a few times, but it was not unpleasant at all. She could feel a light wind on her face, and there was a freedom about it that was positively exhilarating. Sister Cuthbert was always teasing Elf that joy was not forbidden within the order, for Elf had a great tendency to be quite serious. Finally after a time she began to grow tired and called to him to stop.

"Forgive me, lady, you are so quiet I almost forgot you are here. Of course you will want to stop and rest a bit. It is not far once we begin to ride again. Let me help you down." Reaching up Saer de Bude lifted Elf from her saddle, setting her upon the ground. "There is a stream just down the slope there. Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you," Elf said. "I only wish to stretch my legs a moment before we travel onward." She looked about her. "Are we on Ashlin land? It has been many years, but it does seem familiar."

"Indeed, lady, your memory is a good one. Aye, we are on your brother’s lands. We have just about two more miles to go, and you will be home again." Then he smiled toothily at her.

He made her uncomfortable, Elf thought. Was it because he was a man and she was not used to men; or was it something particular to him? She glanced casually at him. He was a pleasant enough looking man. Stocky, of medium height with gold hair and dark eyes. His face was just slightly pockmarked, but not enough to spoil his good looks. His round face was edged with a beard and mustache that connected about his mouth. The beard was barbered and short. He was well dressed, but not ostentatiously so, in medium brown and green garments, and Elf noted that his boots, though well used, were of the best leather.

Saer de Bude drank from a small flask he carried. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he went off into the bushes, and she blushed to hear him relieving himself. When he returned, he said, "If you are certain you want nothing to drink, then let us be on our way again."

Elf nodded in the negative. She was thirsty, but terrified to drink anything lest she should have to pee. How could she while in the company of this man? "Let us go, sir," she said. "I am as anxious as you to reach Ashlin." Then she looked past his shoulder as his hands lifted her up into the saddle again. "Thank you, sir," she told him. "I am well settled now."

He gave her a curt acknowledgment and after climbing upon his own horse, led her off again. Finally they came through a dense wood, and on the hill beyond, Elf saw her childhood home, the small stone manor house lit by the late afternoon sun. Her heart stirred within her, and unaware of her actions, she kicked the little mare into a gallop, racing across a meadow, scattering the sheep as she went. Her companion, startled at first, followed after her, rather surprised by the little nun’s show of enthusiasm. He hadn't expected it in one so meek and mild. He chuckled. The next few days would certainly prove interesting indeed. He wondered if this bit of spirit was unusual, or if beneath her mouse gray robes, and prim little white wimple, Eleanore de Montfort was perhaps intelligent and lively. Isleen was not expecting that, nor would she like it one bit, but his cousin, he knew, would wait to see the lay of the land before making any move. What had begun as a simple mission to bring Richard de Montfort’s sister from her convent was now appearing to become a most fascinating and intriguing matter. Saer de Bude chuckled again.

Chapter 2

A young serf helped Elf from her mount. "Welcome home, lady," he said. She did not recognize him at first, but thanked him. "Please see the mare is treated kindly," she told the boy. "She is the abbess’s personal mount, and must be returned to St. Frideswide’s in two days' time."

He nodded. "I shall care for her myself, lady. I am Arthur, Ida’s grandson. I did not expect you to remember me."

"But I do!" Elf exclaimed. "We played together as children, and when my mother died you brought me daisies you had picked in the meadow. You cried when I went away. I remember you standing by your grandmother’s side, sniffling, and wiping your eyes with your sleeve. May God bless you, Arthur, and always keep you from harm."

Arthur nodded his head in acknowledgment, a smile on his face, and then he led the mare away toward the stables.

Saer de Bude cantered in through the gates of the manor then, and called out to Elf, "Lady, wait, and I will escort you to your brother." He slid from his horse. Grabbing Arthur by the neck of his smock, he said, "Here, lad, take my horse with you, too."

"You are kind, sir, but I remember my way," Elf called to her escort.

"Lady," he said, walking over and taking a firm grip on her arm. "I was sent to bring you to Ashlin, and I would not be doing my duty in full if I did not escort you directly to my cousin and your brother." He led her into the house and to the manor hall. "Cousin, I have returned!"

Isleen de Montfort turned quickly, a smile upon her face. Then she hurried forward. "Welcome home to Ashlin, my dear Eleanore," she purred. "I am so sorry your visit must be a sad one."

It suddenly crossed Elf’s mind to say that her sister-in-law might have asked her sooner, and in happier times, but she pushed the uncharitable thought away. Holding out her hands, she went to Isleen and kissed her on both cheeks. "May God bless you for calling me, Isleen. Your cousin has told me how devoted your care of Dickon has been, but now I am here, and I shall help you. Where is my brother?"

"He is there." Isleen pointed to the cot that was set by the fireplace. "He sleeps now, but he will awaken when you call him. I shall leave you alone for your reunion. Come, cousin. You must escort me while I walk about my gardens and take the air."

Elf did not even notice her sister-in-law and the knight depart. She was staring, horrified, at her brother as he slept. Richard was practically a skeleton, and his skin tone was an unhealthy yellow gray. He had been a handsome man, but now his cheeks were sunken, his nose prominent, and his cheekbones quite visible. The skin was stretched tightly over his skull, and his once fine russet hair was so thin he was almost bald in places. Elf knelt by her brother’s cot, her eyes tear-filled. "Dickon," she said softly to him. "Dickon, I have come home to make you well again."

Richard de Montfort’s gray eyes opened slowly. A bony hand gripped her arm. "Who are you?" he rasped.

"It is I, Dickon. It is Elf," she said. "Your sister." Undoing the chin strap that held her wimple in place, she pulled the covering from her head so that he might see her hair. Then she smiled.

"Elf," he said softly. "Is it really you? You have grown."

"I would hope so, brother." She laughed. "It has been nine years since we last saw each other. I was but a little girl of five years, Dickon. I am now fourteen, and soon to take my vows, but Isleen sent for me, as you are gravely ill. I am the assistant infirmarian at the convent. Perhaps I can help you."

He smiled back at her. "I am dying, Elf, and there is no help for me," he said. "When I am gone, sister, Ashlin will be yours."

"But what of Isleen?" Elf asked him, astounded. "Isleen is your wife, Dickon. Ashlin should be hers, not mine."

"Isleen’s dower portion will be restored, and she will be returned to the de Warennes," he told Elf. "Ashlin, by law, is yours. You have not taken your final vows yet, Elf. If you decide to, you may take a husband instead. Ashlin is small, but it is a respectable dower portion. Allow St. Frideswide’s to have the dowry I paid them when you went there. It is only fair. They have cared for and educated you all these years."

"But I don't want a husband," Elf told her brother. "I am content to take my final vows, Dickon. Besides, I do not intend to allow you to die on me. I am an excellent herbalist. Tell me your symptoms. When did you begin to grow ill?"

"Well over a year ago," he replied. "At first it was just my belly. It would take offense at some food or other, but in a day or so I would be well. Then, however, I became sick more and more. My guts began to burn with an unquenchable fire. I began to have bouts of weakness. I could not walk, or ride, or even stand. Then the sickness would go, and I would recover only to grow ill again. Now I can keep nothing on my belly, and as you can see, my hair and teeth have begun to fall out. Even I can tell that I am dying, Elf. I do not believe that you can help me, little sister."

"I can try," she told him fervently. "I can try, Dickon!"

"I cannot feel worse than I already do," he said with a wry smile.

"Why do you have no children?" Elf asked him frankly.

"It is Isleen," he replied, "although I dare not tell her, for it would break her heart. I have two sons and a daughter among the serfs, but you must not say I told you so. She believes because I am ill, it is my fault, but it is not. You will keep my secret, Elf, will you not? I have confessed my fault to you, and are you not bound by your vocation to keep the knowledge of my sins to yourself? God will judge me." He smiled weakly at her.

She wondered why he had felt it necessary to seek among the serf girls. Still, it was not her business, she decided, pushing the thoughts from her head. "I will keep your secret, brother," she promised. "Now, you must sleep again while I ask Isleen to find me a place to set up my herbarium. If I am to help you, I cannot delay. Where is old Ida?"

"She has not spoken to me since the day I took you away, nor has she set foot in this house."

"I will find her," Elf told him, "and she will help me to get you well, Dickon." She arose from his side, and calling to a servant, asked, "Where is the lady of the manor?"

"She is in her gardens, lady," the servant answered.

"Take me to her," Elf said, "and then go find old Ida. Tell her I am home, and I need her aid."

Elf followed the servant to the manor garden, where the roses were already in bloom. The garden was not as well kept as it had been in her mother’s day, she noted. At first she did not see her sister-in-law, but then she spied Isleen with her cousin, their heads together, seated on a wooden bench at the far end of the garden. Elf called to her as the servant accompanying her hurried off in the opposite direction.

Isleen seemed to leap from her seat and, turning about, came toward Elf. "Gracious, you startled me, Eleanore," she said. Her cheeks were flushed, and the color made her look all the more beautiful.

"I do not mean to disturb you, sister, but I need a place where I may set up my little herbarium. I have seen Dickon now, and he is indeed seriously ill. I pray God I can help him."

"As do I, dear sister," Isleen said sweetly. "There is a small shed at the end of the garden that I believe would be perfect for your purposes. Come, and see it." She was pointedly ignoring Saer de Bude now as if he did not even exist. Isleen’s pale blue skirts swayed gracefully as she moved through the rosebushes.

The fragrance of the pink, white, and red blooms was heady. Large bumblebees floated about the flower heads, dipping into the blossoms to gather their nectar, the hum of their wings just barely audible. Elf followed in her sister-in-law’s perfumed wake to the edge of the garden, where a small, rather ramshackle building stood.

"Will this do?" Isleen inquired in dulcet tones.

"It will have to," Elf told her. "It’s really in the best place for my herbarium. Will you permit me to requisition some serfs to make any necessary repairs, Isleen?"

"Of course" came the reply. "This is, after all, your home." The last was said a bit tartly, and Elf heard the change in tone in her companion’s voice.

Isleen knows if Dickon dies that Ashlin is mine. She is bitter about it, Elf thought. "Thank you," she told Isleen.

Isleen shrugged. "I will leave you to your work, then, Eleanore," she said, and hurried back up the garden path.

"My baby! Is it really you?" An old woman hobbled into view.

"Ida!" Elf’s face broke into a smile, and she enfolded the elderly nursemaid in her embrace. "Oh, Ida! How good it is to see you once again. Dickon tells me you have not spoken to him since I went to St. Frideswide's. That was really very bad of you, and now my poor brother lies ill unto death, I fear. I need your help, Ida."

"Now that you are here, my baby, I will enter that house again, and make my peace with the lord Richard. I swore I would not do it until you returned, and I have kept my promise." The old lady’s jaw was set firmly with her resolve, and her hazel eyes were sharp.

"But what if I had not come home, Ida?" Elf gently said. "Surely you could not have allowed Dickon to go to his grave without your forgiveness?"

"How could I forgive him when he chose her over his own blood?" Ida said fiercely. "It was her duty as lady of the manor to raise her husband’s younger sister as your mother was dead, God as-soil the lady Adeliza’s good and pure soul! Great heiresses have gone into their husband’s homes and raised their younger brothers and sisters, and even their children from earlier marriages. But not that one!"

"You do not like her," Elf said quietly. "Why? Surely not just because Dickon sent me away, Ida?"

"It began with that," Ida told her former charge. "But then I have watched these nine years while she lorded it over your poor, benighted brother. He thinks the sun rises and sets on her, he does. When she came to this house, not a servant did she bring from her father’s house, though he could have easily afforded to give her several. We quickly learned why, my child. She is a bad-tempered mistress, though never before your brother does she show her evil nature. She beats the servants at the slightest provocation, or complains to the lord Richard of some fault or slight in a servant that brings punishment. She is a wicked creature, my lady Elf, and you must beware of her!"

"But her cousin tells me she has nursed my brother with utter devotion," Elf protested.

"Hah!" Ida exclaimed. "If he is indeed her cousin. He came to Ashlin a year ago. Shortly before that your brother fell ill for the first time, although he had been the picture of health until then."

Elf felt a shiver race down her spine, but she shook off the feeling, saying, "I am certain that is just coincidence, Ida. We must not think ill of Isleen because Dickon is ill. I can only judge her on my own experience with her, and to date it has been a good one. She has welcomed me warmly and given me leave to take this little shed for an herbarium so I may help Dickon."

"Of course she is pleasant to you," Ida said. "You are her brother’s only living relative, and Ashlin will be yours if he dies."

"I know that," Elf replied, "but my brother is not going to die, Ida. I have learned a great deal from Sister Winifred, and she says I am the best student she has ever taught. I am told I shall be her assistant when I take my final vows, and one day, God willing, I shall serve the convent as its infirmarian. That is the life God has planned for me, and it is the life I want. Now, let us find some brooms, old friend, and clean this little shed so it is a suitable place for me to set up my herbarium and make my medicines."

"You are too innocent, and your heart is far too good," Ida said, then rushed to obey her young mistress.

Several young strong serfs came, and removed the clutter of many years from the shed. A fire was built nearby to heat the water that would be necessary to clean the shed properly, while two well-muscled men dug a new well and enclosed it with a waist-high stone wall. A post was pounded into the ground from which a wooden arm could be swung over the well to lower the bucket into the water, drawn up, and swung back over the well wall for the water-drawer’s convenience. A sturdy door was hung. Two windows with rounded tops were set, covered with very thin sheets of animal membrane, which served a dual purpose-to allow the light in and keep the wind out. The shed was swept clean of dust and vermin. It was whitewashed inside to aid in lighting it. Shelves were built to store Elf’s jars and materials. A table and a chair were built. Within seven days Elf had an excellent workshop.

In that time she had done her best for Dickon, making him a sweetened barley water, which she fed him in an effort to purge his system of whatever was harming it. Elf quickly noticed that while her sister-in-law hovered about making sympathetic noises, she did little to aid her husband. It was Ida who saw that her master’s bedding, linen, and person were kept clean and fresh. It was she who tended the terrible bedsores Dickon had, using a salve of lamb fat and acorn paste Elf had made after first smoothing beaten egg whites on the sores to ease their pain. Still, Isleen was kind to her husband’s sister, the manor hall was kept neat, and meals were served on time. Yet in the evening Isleen would sit on the far side of the fireplace with her cousin, the two of them speaking in whispers while the manor’s lord dozed on the other side. Elf, sitting next to her brother, worked on a tapestry to while away the time. Was there something wrong as Ida was constantly hinting, given the opportunity; or was poor, beautiful Isleen simply taking comfort in the company of her relative?

I must not think idle and evil thoughts, Elf chided herself. Isleen and Saer de Bude do nothing wrong, and they are in full sight of everyone in the hall. God forgive me, Elf prayed, for sitting in judgment of my brother’s wife. Ida is querulous and bitter. She has no children to care for, and children are her very life. "Ave, Maria, gratia plenia," Elf murmured, and afterward thought she did not like being kept away from St. Frideswide's, where her days were peaceful and her hours ordered.

Ida’s son, John, and his son, Arthur, took it upon themselves to build a small fireplace in the herbarium. It was a small raised half hearth, constructed upon a base of stones with a slate flooring, and set above floor level in a wall. Its shape was a half round, and when the two men had finished it, they drilled holes in the side of the hearth and affixed a swinging iron arm from the smithy that would hold a pot. A little chimney ran up the outside of the shed, which was now quite habitable. Both men were delighted when Elf thanked them profusely.

" 'Twere nothing, lady," John said quietly. "I know little of your skills, but I did not think you should have to go outside each time you needed hot water. Especially if the weather were foul."

"I hope I have not taken you from your manor chores," Elf replied. "I would not want the lady to be angry with you on my account."

"The manor is well looked after by your serfs, my lady Eleanore. We do not need the likes of that knight telling us what to do. He is not a man of the land, and knows less than nothing. You will forgive my frank speech, lady, but my mother says you are too good, and I would have no harm come to you, or yours." John then gave a little bow, saying, "We are your serfs to command, lady, and will protect you if we must." Then he turned from her, leaving Elf quite puzzled in her new domain.

During the week the shed was being made useful again, Elf had enlisted the company of several young female serfs to go searching in the fields and woods for many of the things she needed to make her remedies. Pinecones had been gathered, for they were useful in healing problems of the kidneys and bladder, although if not used properly were known to excite lustful desires. She had found a small store of acorns in a storage room beneath the hall, and was grateful for them. There would be no more acorns until the autumn. There was some wheat and barley remaining in the granary from the previous harvest. Elf took a basket of each. She roasted the latter grain, for otherwise it was mildly laxative. Mixed and cooked with dried figs in a sweetened water, it was a cure for abscesses. She found a host of capers growing on some rough ground near the granary, and gathered them, for they were most valuable for any number of complaints from a toothache to sciatica and cramps. A beehive in a half-rotted log in the nearby wood gave her a large cache of honey. The kitchen gardens yielded cabbages, marrows, cucumbers, leeks, onions, and garlic, as well as asparagus, spinach, lettuces, parsnips, and beets. There were mustard greens, mint, sage, parsley, and fennel. In a nearby meadow Elf discovered horehound growing, and behind her shed, elecampane.

Very soon sheaves of herbs were drying within the little building. Jars were filled with violets, dandelion roots, crocus bulbs, as well as figs and dates that Elf had taken from the kitchen. She had been surprised to find them there, for they were items not easily come by, but, the cook told her, the lady Isleen likes a sweet dessert occasionally. Albert had opened a small garden for Elf next to her shed. She planted all manner of herbs not grown in the kitchen’s gardens, including chamomile.

Dickon seemed to be growing weaker every day despite her efforts, but she found herself with a growing number of patients from among the serfs. When she questioned Ida about it, the old woman told her that Isleen was not particularly skilled at healing, and disliked such labor.

"But it is the lady’s duty to care for her people," Elf said, shocked. "Do you mean in all the years she has been married to my brother, she has not healed those who came to her for aid?"

"Not once," Ida said. "She does not give your brother an heir, although he has children among the serfs. She will not bind up her people’s wounds, or prescribe for an ague, or flux. She is useless."

"But Dickon loves her," Elf said softly.

Ida made a rude sound. Then she muttered, "A lot of good it does him to love so useless a female. When my poor lord Richard is dead, you will be a better mistress for Ashlin, my dear lady."

Elf said nothing more. It was foolish to argue with Ida. Her mind had been set against Isleen from the very moment she had arrived at Ashlin. Still, Elf was concerned about her sister-in-law. Just last night she had caught her feeding Dickon a sweetmeat that Elf knew he loved, but should not have. It was not the first time, either. Elf was hard put not to scold her sister-in-law severely. Instead she had protested gently while Isleen had looked properly contrite at first, then made a face at her.

"Isleen, you must not feed Dickon anything of which I do not approve, for it is difficult enough getting his belly under control. The sweets but upset him, although I know you do not mean to harm him. You spoil him because you love him, but you cannot."

"If I were ill, would you care for me so tenderly, my lady Eleanore?" Saer de Bude asked her. She found his smile unpleasant.

"It is my duty as an infirmarian, and a servant of our God, to use what skills I have to ease suffering, sir," Elf answered him primly.

"It would be easy to recover if I were tended by you" was the silken reply. "You are most fair."

Elf flushed, ignoring him, for his words were quite inappropriate, and he well knew it. A gentleman did not speak to a bride of Christ in such a suggestive manner. She bent low over her tapestry frame, but she did not miss the angry hiss of her sister-in-law’s voice, although she could not hear her words.

"How dare you flirt with the pious little bitch!" Isleen whispered to Saer de Bude. "If Richard were well, he would kill you for your words to her. Are you mad?"

"No, I but think of our future, as should you, my pretty cousin. Have you and I not planned all this? And is this not why the little nun was called from her convent? You have played your part well so far, Isleen. Do not allow your jealousy and envy of her to ruin everything. It is you I love, and not the little nun. It has always been you. Had I been a man of property, we might have convinced your father to give you to me instead of Richard de Montfort."

"But you are not a man of property," Isleen murmured cuttingly.

"No, I am not, but I will be once I wed your sister-in-law," Saer de Bude answered his cousin. "Then Ashlin will belong to me. When I suddenly find myself a widower, it is you who will be my bride." His eyes, so deep a blue that they were almost black, looked into hers passionately. A lock of his golden blond hair fell lazily over his forehead. Isleen wanted to reach out and push it back, but she knew she dared show no sign of intimacy toward her cousin.

"She will not marry you, or anyone else," Isleen said almost spitefully. "I saw her only once, before she came to Ashlin, when Richard and I were first married. He took me to her convent so I might meet her. I think he hoped I would offer to bring her back to Ashlin. The fool! She was but a child then, and knew nothing. Now, however, she is grown enough to know what she wants, and 'tis a nunnery, although I cannot understand why. She is certainly pretty enough, and with Ashlin for her dowry, can easily attract a flesh-and-blood husband, but she wants none but her Lord Christ. How can you compete with that, cousin?"

"If we cannot bring her around reasonably, there is but one way, Isleen. I will rape her. Her convent will not have her if she is despoiled. Believe me, her virginity will be gone, and the little nun well used before I release her to prayerfully reconsider her decision."

"You are very wicked," Isleen murmured in appreciative tones. "I think you hope she will resist you so you may violate her."

He chuckled darkly. "Perhaps I do," he said. "Would you like to help me, Isleen? Would you like to rape the little nun, too?"

Isleen’s blue eyes widened. "How?" she whispered half fearfully. This was dangerous territory. Sometimes Saer frightened even her, but she had to admit to herself that she was intrigued by his words.

"I have among my possessions an object called a dildo, which I purchased at the Moor’s shop in Hereford. It is a forbidden object, not easily obtainable, but the Moor knows my tastes. It is shaped like a manhood, and fashioned of polished ash wood." He smiled wickedly at her. "After I have taken the little nun’s virginity through her temple of Venus; perhaps you should like to take her other virginity through her temple of Sodom. The dildo can be used by its hand grip, or you might enjoy attaching it to yourself with the leather straps I have for it, and playing the boy, cousin. Would you like that, Isleen?"

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.

"I will, and gladly," Ranulf de Glandeville said quietly.

Richard nodded, openly relieved. "Thank you, sir. I do not like my wife’s cousin. He presumes too much, but I have tolerated him for Isleen’s sake because she seems so fond of him. Of late, however, I have seen this Saer de Bude looking at my young sister when he thought no one was noticing him. His gaze is too predatory to suit me. Elf is an innocent. She would not know how to defend herself against such a man."

Elf, Ranulf thought. It was a charming nickname. "How long has your sister been at St. Frideswide's? I know it, for a young relative of mine is there. The girl’s name is Isabeaux St. Simon, but she is to marry soon, this autumn, I think."

"Isa is one of Elf’s two best friends," Richard answered. "You must tell my sister that you know her. I took Elf to the convent shortly after her fifth birthday. Our father had died, and then our mother. I had contracted a marriage with the de Warennes, and they did not think it fair that Isleen should have to raise my sister. It was they who suggested St. Frideswide's. Knowing my sister’s dower was a small one, they also suggested that she become a nun when she was old enough. It was a good decision. Elf has been safe in these troubled times. Her gentle disposition is perfect for the life she will lead. I should fear for her otherwise after I am gone." He coughed, his face paler than usual.

"Perhaps now she is to inherit your manor," Ranulf de Glandeville said, "she might decide she prefers to marry."

Richard shook his head. "I think it more likely she will give Ashlin to her order. They will do with it what is best for them. Marriage is not for Elf. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall sleep. I am very weary despite the fact all I do is lie here day after day."

Ranulf de Glandeville sought his own bed space, nodding to the young serf who had come to sit by his master. To the knight’s surprise there was a small stool by the bed space with a basin of warm water. He washed the grease of his supper from his hands and face gratefully, drying them on the small linen cloth with the ewer. What a shame his young hostess had chosen the church over marriage. She would make a fine chatelaine of any man’s manor. Pulling off his dalmatica, he laid it aside, and unlaced his corselet, a tight-fitting leather jupe, and set it out of the way, too. Then he removed his boots. He would sleep in the rest of his clothing. He needed to pee, and so walking across the hall, he let himself outside to complete the task, then returned inside, carefully barring the door again.

A serf awoke him shortly after dawn. There was hot oat stirabout, fresh bread, cheese, butter, and brown ale to break his fast. Having eaten his fill, he went to Richard de Montfort’s side, where Elf was even now copying out a second parchment of her brother’s will. She looked up at his approach, the expression on her young face serious. He sat silently by the lord’s side. Richard’s eyes were closed, his breathing labored. Ranulf de Glandeville crossed himself, and folded his big hands in prayer. They were hands more used to battle than supplication, and his hazel eyes could not help but stray to the earnestly bent head of the girl as she wrote.

"There, only one more to copy," she finally said. "It is not a long document, sir. I will try not to keep you. You must be eager to be on your way as your business is for the king." Then she bent her head again over her task.

He picked up one of the parchments. It had been dictated in a straightforward manner. Richard de Montfort, right lord of the manor of Ashlin, being childless after nine years of marriage to his lawful wife, Isleen de Warenne, leaves said manor with its lands, its serfs, its buildings, its livestock, and all of his possessions to his only heir, his sister, Eleanore de Montfort. The will went on to note that Isleen’s dowry portion should be returned immediately to her family. Here Ranulf de Glandeville raised an interested eyebrow. The de Warennes had been most generous, perhaps a bit overgenerous. They had obviously been quite eager to rid themselves of this daughter. Curious, he could not help but wonder why. The lady was quite beautiful and from an excellent family. The will went on to commend Richard de Montfort’s wishes to His Majesty, King Stephen, and to his lordship, the Bishop of Worcester. The bishop was awarded six ewe lambs and a young ram for his trouble.

"I have finished, sir," Elf’s voice broke into his thoughts.

The knight looked up to see Richard de Montfort signing each document, and sealing them with his seal both by his signature and on the rolled-up document’s exterior. The lord of Ashlin had to be braced by a servant so he might sit up enough to scrawl his signature and press his seal into the hot wax. Before he did so, however, Ranulf de Glandeville signed each will in witness.

"What is it you are doing?" Isleen had entered the hall, Saer at her side.

They were a beautiful couple, Ranulf thought, fascinated by their appearance.

"I have dictated my will to Elf," Richard said softly. "Ranulf de Glandeville has witnessed it, Elf has made copies, and now our good guest will deliver a copy each to the bishop in Worcester, and the king, so my wishes will be carried out with expedience. Elf will inherit Ashlin as she is my heir."

"Of course she will," Isleen said, and her voice was almost angry. "I know that, but what a little nun will do with a manor is beyond me. Will she use these lands to found a new convent, perhaps?"

"I am not allowed to own any personal possessions once I have taken my final vows," Elf said, speaking up. "When I return to St. Frideswide's, I shall sign my rights in Ashlin over to my order. Ashlin will belong to the sisters of St. Mary, Isleen."

For the tiniest moment, so brief that Ranulf de Glandeville wasn't even certain, an ugly look touched Isleen’s face, but then it was gone as swiftly as it had come. Why, she hates her sister-in-law, the knight thought. Well, the woman was human. Her childless condition was costing her a comfortable living, and her very home. She would get over it, but who could blame her in the meantime? He took the two rolled documents Elf handed him and arose.

"I will see these are delivered properly," he told Richard de Montfort, "and I will pray for your soul, my lord." He bowed.

"Thank you" was Richard’s simple reply.

"Your cloak, my lord," Ida said, handing the garment to him.

"Why, it looks like new!" he exclaimed, surprised.

"Nothing a good brushing couldn't accomplish, my lord," the old lady said sharply. "That is why God made women. Men need taking care of, it is obvious. Godspeed, lord."

He put the garment about his broad shoulders, and then made his farewells, saving his last good-bye for Elf. "I shall not forget your hospitality, lady," he told her softly. "Your kindness lifted the weariness from my shoulders last night, and I am grateful. I have a long way to go yet. Thank you."

"May you go with God, then, Sir Ranulf," Elf told him. "I shall remember you in my prayers."

He bowed to her, then turned and left the hall.

Chapter 3

“Will you remember me in your prayers also, lady?" Saer de VV Bude queried when the king’s messenger was out of hearing.

"I remember all here in my prayers, sir," Elf said, and then added more tartly, "I expect you need praying for more than that good knight, sir." She turned to Ida. "We will need fresh linen for my brother’s cot. I will go and fetch it if you and Isleen will bathe Dickon, please." Without waiting for an answer she hurried off to the linen cupboard, where she drew forth clean bedding for her brother’s comfort. The cupboard smelled of lavender and damask roses. Hearing a footstep behind her, Elf turned about and found herself face-to-face with Saer de Bude.

"You are even more beautiful than my cousin, Isleen," he began.

"Your words and your obvious thoughts are inappropriate, sir," Elf said. She was irritated by this man’s proximity, but her voice did not quaver, nor did she shrink from him.

The deep blue eyes fixed her fiercely. "I find you ultimately desirable, Eleanore de Montfort, and as you have not taken your final vows as a nun yet, I feel I may tell you so." He moved closer, pressing her back into the cupboard.

"In my mind and in my heart, sir, I am a nun. I do not welcome your attentions. I find them distasteful, extremely offensive. Now, step aside so I may pass! These linens are needed in the hall."

He laughed, and she saw his teeth were slightly yellowed. It spoiled the illusion of his overall handsomeness. Reaching out, he caught a tendril of her pale red-gold hair between his fingers, rubbed it, and then brought it to his lips to kiss. "Your hair is soft."

Elf was instantly repelled. Now she understood why a nun cut off her hair when she took her final vows. A woman’s hair was a terrible and sensuous provocation even when she didn't want it to be. "Let me pass!"

His answer was to run a slender finger over her lips. "You have the most kissable mouth," he murmured seductively.

Elf was nauseated. Unable to help herself, she disgorged the contents of her morning meal on him. The vomit spilled down his sky blue tunic. Horrified, he stepped back with an oath. It was then Elf took the opportunity to shove past him, clutching the linens, which had somehow managed to remain free of her spew. She was dizzy, but she didn't stop in her flight, handing off the fragrant linens to a young servant woman, saying, "Take these to the hall. I must have some air." Then she ran from the house into the sunny summer morning.

She ran through the gates, and kept running until she found herself in a meadow filled with ewe sheep and their lambs. Sitting down beneath a large oak tree, she clutched her knees to her chest and wept. Dickon was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it. All of her skills were useless, and worse, she wished Dickon had never sent for her. She wanted to be back at St. Frideswide's. It was almost the end of June. Midsummer’s Eve was upon them. Matti would probably take her vows alone while she was stuck here at Ashlin with a dying brother, his wife, and Saer de Bude. Dickon had visited her only that one time in all the years since he had placed her in the convent. Why now this need to have her by his side? He could have died, and she could have inherited Ashlin without all of this fuss. Her presence had made absolutely no difference at all.

Or did her brother, perhaps, feel guilty for sending her away to please his bride-to-be? He needn't have, Elf thought. After the first month she had grown used to her convent, and enjoyed the company of the other little girls. Or maybe Dickon had realized all along that he was dying, and felt a deep need to have his sister with him. There seemed little love between him and Isleen now. Had he given in to her every whim in the past to try to make her love him? If only Isleen had borne Dickon children… but she had not.

Elf started, terrified, as a body plunked itself down next to her. Then her eyes met Arthur's, and she sagged, visibly relieved. "It’s you, praise God!" she said, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"I saw you tear out of the hall like the devil himself was after you," Arthur said.

"He was," Elf answered her old playmate, "but he calls himself Saer de Bude. He followed me to the linen cupboard and tried to kiss me," Elf told Arthur. "He has spoken to me several times in a most unsuitable manner. It is almost as if he were trying to woo me."

"Maybe he is," Arthur suggested quietly. "I wouldn't put it past him, Elf." Then he flushed, realizing he had used her nickname as he had always done when they were children.

Elf put a hand on his arm. "It’s still Elf to you, Arthur," she told him. "Why would that awful man attempt to woo me? I am a nun. I have voiced no indication that I have changed my mind about taking my final vows. Indeed, I cannot wait to return to St. Frideswide's!"

"But shortly you will be an heiress with a fine, small manor in your possession. Saer de Bude is a younger son. He has nothing. I believe if the lord’s wife were to inherit Ashlin instead of you, Elf, he would wed her, but the lady Isleen is not the heiress. You are. What will you do with Ashlin, and what will become of us?"

"The manor will belong to my order," Elf said. "I do not know what the Reverend Mother will decide. Perhaps she will rent the manor to some knight seeking a place of his own. Perhaps she will sell it off, but it doesn't matter. You and the others belong to Ashlin. You will be secure, Arthur."

"But without our family," he said. "The de Montforts have been part of Ashlin forever."

"Not really," Elf told him. "Ashlin was a Saxon manor in the Conqueror’s time. Its daughter wed a de Montfort, and Ashlin was her dowry. My ancestress, Rowena, did what was expedient for Ashlin, and for herself. The story goes that her brothers were killed at Hastings, and her old father wounded seriously, but his bravery had attracted King William. He ordered one of his knights, the first Richard de Montfort, to bring Sir Edmund home to Ashlin. And when he did and met the lady Rowena, it was love at first sight. She had hair my color. It is said that at least one child in each generation since has had hair this color," Elf concluded, then she giggled, for two lambs, curious, had come over to investigate beneath the tree, and were nibbling on her soft shoes. Reaching out, she stroked them. "They are so pretty," she said. Then she sighed. "I suppose I have to go back now."

"What of the lady’s cousin, Elf?" Arthur asked her.

"I vomited on him when he attempted to kiss me," she said. "I hope he will now keep his distance for fear of a recurrence."

Arthur laughed heartily. "I know I should certainly steer clear of a girl who threw up on me." He chortled, then stood and, giving her a hand, pulled her up. "Elf, I know I am only a serf," Arthur told her, "but if that man approaches you again, I want you to tell me."

"Arthur, a serf who strikes out at a nobleman is accorded death without exception. I should not want your death on my conscience, heaven forfend!"

"There are ways other than open defiance or violence to right a wrong between serf and noble," Arthur told her with a wink. "We cannot have you harassed in your own home by that rude fellow, Elf. Don't worry. We shall not endanger ourselves by our actions."

"Thank you, Arthur," she told him, and then she walked back to the house, her heart a bit lighter.

"Where have you been?" Isleen demanded as she reentered the hall. "I have had to change Richard’s bedding myself as that wretched old woman disappeared just when I needed her. She said she was fetching water for my husband’s bath, but she has not yet returned."

"Do you want me to remain here with you, or find Ida?" Elf asked her. Isleen’s tone was whiny, and frankly annoying. It was about time she did something for her husband.

"Oh, go and find her! Richard is asleep again. Where is my cousin? If I must sit here, I want some company at least," Isleen complained.

"I will find Ida," Elf said.

"I am here," Ida said, coming into the hall with a large basin. "I am not as young as I once was, lady, and cannot be hurried."

Isleen jumped up. "I cannot bear to sit here and watch my husband die!" she said. Then she hastened from the hall.

"You are not that slow," Elf said. "What on earth kept you, or did you mean for her to be alone with Dickon?"

"Her cousin came upon me howling and covered in vomit," Ida said. "He insisted I take his tunic from him to wash, and then he demanded a bath be brought for him. Imagine, a man who cannot hold his wine this early in the day," Ida concluded. "Come, let us bathe the lord."

Reaching out, Elf gently shook her brother. "Dickon, dearest, wake up. Ida and I would wash you."

Richard de Montfort’s eyes opened slowly. "Elf," he said, "I am sorry I sent you away. I should not have. I should not have." Then his body gave a long shudder, and his head fell to one side.

"Lord God and his blessed Mother have mercy on his soul!" Ida cried out, crossing herself as she began to weep.

Shocked, Eleanore de Montfort stared at her brother’s limp body, his sightless eyes. "He is dead," she said, stating the obvious and crossing herself. Then she fell to her knees. "Dear God, forgive me that I could not save him, for I truly tried to do so, but I had not the skills despite all I have learned." Then she began to cry.

"She poisoned him!" Ida said in venomous tones. "She has killed my baby, and I curse her for it! He called for you to come months ago, but she would not do it until she was certain nothing could save him, the wicked bitch! God curse her! God curse her!"

Hearing her old nurse’s lament, Elf stifled her own grief. Putting her arms about Ida, she said, "You cannot say such things, for you have no proof of it. Like you, I have become suspicious, but there is no real evidence. You can be killed for slandering Isleen. We must keep such doubts to ourselves, Ida. We must! Do you understand me, old woman? You cannot voice your concerns in this matter."

"Is she then to be allowed to escape judgment for the lord’s murder, my sweet lady?" Ida demanded angrily.

"Unless we can show the sheriff proof positive, we cannot accuse Isleen," Elf said quietly. "God knows the truth of this matter, and God will render his judgment and his punishment in his own time, Ida. We must trust in God." She hugged her nursemaid hard.

"For you," Ida said, "and for you alone will I be silent. You are now the lady of Ashlin, and I will obey you. Now, release me, child. We must bathe the lord’s body, and lay him out for his burial."

"Should we tell Isleen?" Elf wondered aloud.

"Not until he is ready and looking his best," Ida said. "I will go and fetch his shroud."

Elf sat by her brother’s side praying. Anyone entering the hall would assume that Richard de Montfort was sleeping. When the old woman returned, they stripped Richard’s body and tenderly bathed it. Elf was horrified at his skeletal look. She carefully kept her eyes averted from his private parts and let Ida attend to them. As he was washed, they wrapped him in his shroud, leaving his head uncovered so his mourners might gaze upon his face a final time. When he was buried it would then be covered over.

Elf looked at her brother’s once handsome face, now peaceful. She touched his cheek, and felt it was cool and waxlike. Tears rolled down her cheeks. What had brought her poor brother to this fate? Was it indeed poison as Ida insisted? It was odd that Dickon had sickened so suddenly when he had been robust all of his life. Bending, she kissed his forehead, then said to Ida, "Send Arthur for a priest. Dickon must be shrived before he is buried. And tell the carpenters to make the lord a fine coffin. My brother will lie in the hall for all his serfs to see and pay their respects."

"The coffin is already made, lady," Ida said. "I shall call for it to be brought in, and the lord laid in it. Arthur will go for the priest. He will have to bring him from the convent, I fear. There is none nearer."

"Very well," Elf said. "I shall tell Isleen now." She turned and made her way to the solar, which was behind the hall. Opening the door, she spied Isleen and Saer by the fireplace in a heated discussion.

Hearing the door creak, Isleen spun about. "What do you want?" she demanded angrily of Elf. Her face was flushed with her ire.

"Your husband is dead," Elf said.

"Oh, my God!" Her eyes went to Saer de Bude. "It is too soon!" she said. "He cannot be dead yet! He cannot!" Now her glance took in her sister-in-law. "Could you not have done something, Eleanore?"

"I am only human, Isleen. I cannot hold back death," Elf said tartly. "You knew Dickon was near his end."

"But now?" Isleen wailed.

"It is God’s will," Elf answered her.

"Oh, cease your pious mouthings at me," Isleen cried, and she stamped her foot. "Now you have what you wanted all along, Ashlin! I hate you! I hate you!" And she burst into tears.

Saer de Bude gathered his cousin into the shelter of his arms. "She does not mean it, Eleanore," he said. "I am certain she doesn't mean it. She is just distraught with Richard’s death."

"I was sent from Ashlin at your behest when I was only five years old," Elf said, unable to control the sudden anger she felt welling up. "Great ladies raise their husband’s siblings, children from earlier marriages, and their bastards, Isleen, but you could not be bothered by one small girl. I was fortunate, however, for I found a real home at St. Frideswide's, and I found a wonderful life. I never aspired to possess Ashlin. If you had given my brother children, we should not have come to this point. I should have probably never seen this place again. Your children would have inherited, and if I were lucky, you might have taken a moment to send me word of my brother’s passing. But you did not do your duty by Dickon. You had no children, so under the law Ashlin is mine, but I never wanted it!"

Isleen looked up from Saer’s shoulders. "I wanted children," she sobbed, "but your brother was not man enough to give them to me."

"Nay, lady, you were not a fertile field. My brother has fathered three children among the serfs since he wed you." Elf heard the words spill unchecked from her mouth, and was unable to stop them.

"What?" Isleen’s tears were suddenly gone.

"My brother has fathered children on other women," Elf said fiercely. She would not allow this woman to slander Dickon’s name, and if that was a sin she would confess it to Father Anselm when she returned to her convent. For now, however, she would defend her brother.

"Liar! Liar!" Isleen screamed. Her face was blotched with her fury. "You are a nasty little liar, and I hate you!"

"I am a nun, Isleen, and I do not lie," Elf said quietly. "The fault for the childlessness in your marriage rests with you, and not with my brother."

"Where are these little bastards?" Isleen demanded furiously. "I will have them slain along with their whoring mothers! Where are they?"

"You will kill no one, Isleen," Elf told her sister-in-law with devastating effect. "You are no longer the lady of Ashlin. I am, and those children, my blood, are under my protection. Attempt to seek them out, and I will have the church on you, lady." Then Elf turned on her heel and departed the solar.

"Oh, my God," Isleen gasped. She sagged against her cousin.

"You are truly a fool, Isleen," Saer said grimly. "You have made an enemy of Eleanore just when we need you to be her friend."

"Did you hear what she said, Saer? Did you hear? I am barren! Richard fathered three children, and none of them mine." She looked at him panic-stricken. "Now you will not want me!" And she burst into fresh tears, clinging desperately to him.

"Do not be absurd, Isleen. Of course I want you. I have always wanted you, and that has not changed. We will follow our plan with but one change. I will force the little nun into marriage, and after she has given me a son, then we shall dispose of her, and you will raise my heir as your own. She might even die in childbirth, but if not, soon thereafter. The boy will never know you are not his real mother. What difference does it make who births him? He will be my son, Isleen… and yours!'

Isleen sniveled. "I hate it that you must couple with her."

"I know, I know," he replied, smoothing her hair in a soothing gesture, "but there is no help for it. If you cannot have a child for me, I must take a wife who can. It is better this way. There will be less suspicion if I marry another, and have a child first. After the little nun has returned to her God, we will be together."

"How do we know she has not lied?" Isleen said softly. "Perhaps I can have a child for you, Saer. I am sure she has lied!"

"No," Saer de Bude replied. "She did not lie. She would not. There is no deception in her, Isleen. She is a true innocent. I suspect she never meant to tell you of Richard’s bastards, but that you actually drove her to anger with your lack of sympathy regarding your husband’s death. She will say a hundred Aves to expiate that sin." He chuckled. "Now, you must go into the hall and show your respect for your husband. We have waited long for this day, my pretty cousin."

"Do you think they suspect anything?"

"They are peasants," Saer de Bude said, "and Eleanore has not been here long enough to realize something was wrong. No. I am certain no one knows that we have killed your husband, Isleen. No one." He smiled warmly at her. "Did I not promise you when your father gave you to Richard de Montfort that you and I would be together one day? I have kept my promise, Isleen. Now you must be patient just awhile longer, and you must trust me. If you do, we will have each other, an heir, and Ashlin for ourselves. Promise me, Isleen. Promise me you will resign yourself to waiting a bit longer. If you should lose your composure now, we could lose everything, including our lives. Do you understand me, Isleen? You must make your peace with Eleanore this very day, my pretty. Give me your bond, cousin."

"But what if I could give you a child?" she persisted.

"If you could, you already would have done so, Isleen," he told her. "I have bedded you practically every night since I arrived at Ashlin, even during some of your unclean periods. Never have you conceived of my seed, and like your husband, I have my smattering of bastards, including a little girl born several months ago here at Ashlin."

"Ohhh, villian!" she shrieked, pulling away from him and striking out at him with both of her fists.

"Cease your caterwauling, bitch!" Saer de Bude said. "It is a man’s right to amuse himself among his serfs. Now, go and behave as a proper grieving widow would, Isleen. Our future is secure if you can manage to keep your head and your temper in check." He released her wrists, which he had caught when she began beating him, and gave her a push toward the door of the solar.

Isleen moved away from him. Her look was scathing. "When will you force the little nun?" she asked. "The sooner we begin this charade, the sooner it is played out."

"Let me try and woo her first," he responded.

"Like you did this morning? You have not so many tunics, my love, that you can allow another one to be spoiled."

"My error in judgment was approaching a virtuous young maiden too quickly. I meant to help her with the linens. She misunderstood."

Isleen snorted in derision. "You allowed your lust to gain the upper hand, Saer. Do not he to me, my love, for I above all people know you best. Now, I will go and humble myself before Ashlin’s new lady, claiming shock and grief were responsible for my temper. I will beg her forgiveness, and she will give it to me because it would not occur to her that I was lying, or had any other motive."

"Eleanore is not a fool, Isleen," he warned her. "Pure of heart and innocent of the world she may be, but she is no simpleton. Make certain you are sincere. Remember, there is none among the serfs or house servants who love you. You have not been an easy mistress. They will seek to find fault with you at every turn and complain to Ashlin’s new lady of the manor. They knew her from birth until you convinced Richard to send her away. Old Ida in particular bears you malice for that selfish deed."

"Why should I have had to raise someone else’s brat?" Isleen snapped. Then she smoothered her veil, making certain that her fillet was neatly in place. "Leave my chamber after I have gone," she said, and departed.

In the hall Isleen found her husband already laid out in his coffin upon an oaken bier. At each corner of the bier, a tall footed candlestick had been placed, and from each stick a tall beeswax candle burned. Roses from the garden and field flowers were arranged in large stone jars by his head and his feet. His hands had been folded neatly upon his chest beneath his shroud. A crucifix had been placed on his chest. His hair, or what was left of it, was neatly combed. A snug binding was wrapped about his head and under his chin, preventing his mouth from sagging open. A little copper penny had been placed upon each of his eyelids to keep them closed. He looked quite peaceful.

Isleen gave a shriek, and then flung herself dramatically upon her dead spouse’s coffin. "Richard, my love! Oh, why have you left me?" she wailed, and began to sob in a most convincing manner.

"Hypocritical trull," Ida muttered beneath her breath. "She sends him to his grave, then weeps her insincere tears. If there is any justice, God will strike her down dead now and raise our good lord Richard back to life, healed and in his full vigor!"

"God has already raised Dickon up," Elf said softly.

It was at that very moment Father Anselm entered the hall. "My lady Eleanore," he greeted her, hurrying to her side.

Elf turned and came forward, holding out her hands in greeting to the convent priest. "Thank you for coming, good father, but how quickly you arrived. I am grateful. Will you shrive my brother, and bury him tomorrow for us?"

"I was but three miles away on another matter when your young Arthur found me," the priest said. "Yes, I will remain. I am glad I may be of service to you and the grieving widow."

Isleen, for all her weeping, nonetheless heard the exchange. She turned and fell on her knees before Elf. "Sister, forgive me for my harsh words earlier. I knew my poor Richard was dying, and yet when the moment came, I could not believe it. In my shock and pain, I struck out at the one person who came to aid my dearest husband and nurse him these weeks with such devotion. Forgive me, Eleanore, I beg you! I cannot bear the thought that you and I have quarreled!" She held out her hands in supplication to Elf.

Elf bent and drew her sister-in-law up. "Of course I forgive you, Isleen, but I must also ask your pardon for my harsh words earlier. Like you, my grief overcame me, I fear." She kissed Isleen on both cheeks.

"And I forgive you," Isleen replied sweetly, kissing Elf in return. "We must never quarrel again, sister.”

Father Anselm smiled at the two young women, pleased by their public display of affection. Then he greeted the young widow with kindness as Elf introduced them.

"And this is my cousin, Saer de Bude," Isleen told the priest. "My father sent him to help us when Richard fell ill. He will escort me home to my parents with my dower portion after we have buried my poor husband. Ashlin now belongs to Eleanore to do with as she pleases."

"I shall give it to our order," Elf said.

The priest nodded his approval. "Reverend Mother would be quite delighted by such a gift."

"Has Matilda FitzWilliam taken her vows yet, Father Anselm?" Elf asked him. "We were to do so on St. Alban’s Day in June."

"Sister Columba became a bride of Christ forever on that day, Eleanore. She sends you her prayers, and looks forward to your return," the priest said. "Reverend Mother says you may take your final vows on St. Frideswide’s Day itself in October if your business here at Ashlin is completed by then. It is quite an honor, my daughter, as you well know."

Elf’s face was alight with joy.

The priest and the young novice prayed the night through by Richard de Montfort’s bier. Isleen cried off from exhaustion in midevening, and disappeared into the solar. Throughout the long hours and into the early morning, the serfs came into the hall to pay their last respects and to pray with the two religious. Finally in the hour after dawn Isleen appeared again, asking for time alone with her departed spouse. Ida came, clucking and fussing that Elf must break her fast, and afterward escorting her to her bed space for a nap before Richard de Montfort’s funeral. They buried the lord of the manor in the early afternoon of a summer’s day. The air was heavy with the promise of rain, and the skies a dull gray above them. Elf had declared a half holiday, and provided her people with a small feast afterward. The rains held off until dusk when a thunderstorm rolled in from beyond the hills that separated Hereford from Wales.

"I will say Mass in the morning here in the hall," the priest said, "and then return to St. Frideswide's. When shall I tell Reverend Mother to expect your return, my daughter?"

"I shall come with you tomorrow," Elf said. "I am no longer needed at Ashlin, and I am anxious to resume my own life."

"Oh, please remain until I am ready to depart Ashlin, and rejoin my family," Isleen said prettily. "It is unlikely we shall see each other again. Do a few days really matter, dear Eleanore?"

"I am certain that Reverend Mother would approve," Father Anselm said helpfully. "The lady Isleen has told me of your devotion to your late brother, my daughter. You are entitled to a few days of rest before you must resume your life at St. Frideswide's. I shall tell Reverend Mother myself. Return when you can."

"Well," Elf reasoned, "I should really appoint a bailiff until Reverend Mother decides what to do with Ashlin; and I must separate Isleen’s dowry portion from Ashlin’s other assets so she may carry it home to her family. After you have mourned a proper time, Isleen, your father will undoubtedly want to arrange another marriage for you."

"Then, you will remain?" Isleen clapped her hands together in a childish gesture of delight. "Ohhh, I am so glad!" Her glance flicked to Saer de Bude for the briefest moment, but old Ida saw it.

What mischief were those two up to, Ida wondered. She had best watch carefully over her sweet child lest they do her some harm. They were a wicked pair, and she would put nothing past them.

Shortly after Father Anselm departed for St. Frideswide’s the following morning, Isleen sought out her sister-in-law.

"You are now the lady of Ashlin," she said. "I will move my things from the solar so you may take your rightful place."

"No! No!" Elf replied. "We will be here but a few more days, sister. Do not go to the bother of removing your possessions for me. I am not used to having a chamber to myself. I have always slept in the dormitory with the other girls. When I take my final vows, I will be assigned a tiny cell for myself. I would be uncomfortable in the solar, Isleen. I have not slept there since I was a child."

"At least share it with me, then," Isleen cajoled. "It is not proper for the lady of the manor to be taking her nightly rest in a bed space in the hall. We will share our memories of Richard before we must part forever." She gave Elf a winning smile.

Now, what is that vixen about? Ida wondered.

"Very well," Elf agreed. "As long as I do not discommode you, Isleen. It is just for a few days after all."

"Ohhh, good!" Isleen purred. "Let us move your belongings right now, sister.”

"I will do it for you, my lady," Ida said quickly. She was anxious to learn if there was anything she should be concerned about in the solar, for she had not been inside that chamber since Elf had been taken away as a child.

"Be certain you do not touch any of my belongings," Isleen said meanly. "I will know if you do."

Ida glared at the young woman, but said nothing. Her thoughts were racing, however. Nay, I'll not touch your things, lady, but I'll be certain to make sure that nothing belonging to Ashlin has been taken by you for transport back to your home. The old lady gathered up Elf’s few possessions, and wended her way to the solar. She found the chamber dirty and in terrible disarray. Not even setting down her small burden, Ida stamped back out into the hall and marched right up to Elf.

"My lady, you cannot stay in the solar. It is filthy and in such disorder that there is no room for you. Until it is cleaned, it is better you remain in your bed space in the hall."

"Why has the solar not been kept in order?" Elf asked her sister-in-law. Cleanliness was a watchward at the convent.

"Since Richard died, the servants will do nothing I ask," Isleen whined piteously. "Even the girl who served me has disappeared."

"I'm not surprised, but that clutter has been there longer than a day or two," Ida muttered low to her mistress.

If Elf heard, she gave no sign of it, instead saying, "Who served the lady Isleen? She is to return to her duties until my brother’s widow departs Ashlin for her own home. Only then is she freed from her obligations. She is to come at once and put the lady’s possessions in their proper places. Then the room is to be thoroughly cleaned. When that is done, I shall join my sister in the solar, and I expect to sleep there this very night. Am I understood?"

Cedric, the household steward came forward. "It will be done at once, my lady Your word is our command."

"Very good, Cedric. The lady Isleen and I shall leave the solar to you and your minions." She smiled sweetly.

Isleen could not help but be annoyed as the servants hurried to oblige their new mistress. They had never toiled as diligently for her, but, she decided, they were simply trying to get on the innocent Elf’s good side for the brief time they thought she would remain with them. When Saer was lord here, and Elf had her brief tenure as lady, they would reveal their true colors, for they were lazy and slothful creatures at heart. She was therefore astonished when she and Elf entered the solar in late afternoon to find it cleaner than she had ever known it since she came to Ashlin.

The stone floors had been scrubbed thoroughly, as had the walls. The fireplace was clean, its small chimney drawing perfectly. The two narrow and arched windows had been washed! The sunlight was shining brightly through them. The two tapestries hanging on the walls had quite obviously been beaten and brushed, for they no longer looked dusty, nor were there cobwebs hanging from them. The bed she had once shared with Richard had clean hangings, fresh, lavender-scented linens, and plump new pillows. Its feather bed had been well lofted. The two wooden chests that belonged to her had been rearranged, and were open to display her belongings all neatly set inside. A smaller painted chest that she had never seen had been placed at the foot of the bed, and Elf’s few belongings were visible.

Elf clapped her hands and laughed. "It is my mother’s chest!" she said, delighted. "I have not seen it since I left Ashlin. I always loved it because of all the animals and birds painted upon it. The chest originally belonged to my ancestress, Rowena." Her silvery glance swept the chamber. "They have done well, Isleen, haven't they? The room is well ordered now. Come, and let us tell Cedric how pleased we are." She took her sister-in-law’s soft hand.

Isleen pulled her hand away from Elf’s gentle grip. "Tell Cedric we are pleased? Because the servants have done their duty? It is past time they did their duty! I shall thank no one."

"Well, I shall," Elf told her. "Do you think the servants are not as distressed over Dickon’s death as we are? He was the last de Montfort who will rule here; the last of his Saxon ancestress’s long line. Ashlin’s serfs and their families have belonged to this land for hundreds of years, Isleen. They fear the future."

"This ancient line you speak of would not be broken," Isleen replied, "if you would consider marrying a man instead of locking yourself away in a convent for the rest of your days, Eleanore. Now that Richard is gone and I have no child to inherit this land, it is your duty to give up the nunnery and accept the responsibility of your inheritance. Instead, you selfishly pursue your own desires rather than accepting the obligations that God has given you."

Elf looked suddenly stricken. She had not even considered such a thing. She would not! "I am already a nun, Isleen."

"You have not yet taken your final vows, Eleanore. When Richard placed you at St. Frideswide's, it was because the small dowry your father had apportioned for you would not gain you a proper husband of stature who possessed his own properties. Richard discussed the matter quite thoroughly with my parents, and it was then the decision was made to put you in the convent. The nuns would take your little pittance, and be glad for it; and you would have a life of safety and contentment serving our dear Lord. Now, however, you are an heiress of respectable means. You have a small manor with livestock, a house, and serfs. This makes you a most desirable commodity for a knight of good name."

"My course in life has already been determined," Elf replied in firm tones. "I pledged myself to our Lord at the age of ten years. It was then I became a postulant. At twelve I advanced to the blessed rank of novice. In October, on St. Frideswide’s Day, I shall take my final vows and become Sister Alban. This is what I want. It is what God wants. You are wrong, Isleen, to try and tempt me from my chosen path. I shall not be enticed, no matter your argument."

"Very well," Isleen said. "I think you very wrong." But, your intransigence suits me well, Isleen thought. I shall enjoy seeing Saer despoil your virtue, and force you to his will. You will be taught how to use your lips for more than just prayers. You will be taught how to kiss, to lick, to suck, and how to give your husband pleasure in ways you cannot even imagine, little nun. You will be taught obedience as you never learned it in your convent. And when you have given Saer a strong son and heir, I will kill you myself.

Chapter 4

“I shall sleep on the trundle," Elf said as they prepared for bed.

"First we must have a bath," Isleen replied. "There is the tub all ready for us by the fire. You may go first, dear sister."

Elf looked nervously at the large oaken tub. It appeared to be big enough for two people, not at all like the small modest tub they bathed in at the convent. Bending, she undid her garters, which were fastened at her knees, and rolled down her stockings, kicking off her shoes first. She drew her round-necked gray tunica off, and laid it aside, placing her long skirt atop it. Then she pinned up her braid and started to mount the steps of the tub.

Isleen shrieked. "Do you mean to bathe still clothed?" she cried to Elf. "You still have your camisa on, Eleanore."

"I was taught to bathe like this in the convent," Elf answered. "It is more modest. It is not good to flaunt one’s body shamelessly."

"You are not in the convent now," Isleen said. "Take it off so you may bathe fully. There is no one here to see you. I shall not look, I promise you, if you are so modest that you fear my gaze."

"Turn your back, then," Elf said, not of a mind to argue, and frankly curious to learn what the water would feel like on her bare skin. When Isleen had turned away from her, Elf drew the long garment off, dropping it on the floor, and stepped down into the tub. The water was scented, and hot. It felt wonderful. She sighed with the decadent pleasure of it. She would not know such luxury once she returned to the convent. Then she silently chided herself. She had lived her life very well without such delights. She would readjust perfectly well.

From his hiding place behind a tapestry, Saer de Bude had let his eyes wander over the young girl’s body as she stood naked for that brief moment. She had not the lushness of his cousin, Isleen, but she was perfectly formed for her size. He was sorely tempted to step from behind his shield and violate her now, but he restrained himself, remembering her violent reaction to his nearness the day before. No. He had to attempt to win her over, at least a little before he seduced her.

Isleen moved next to his hiding place. "Well," she whispered, "what do you think, cousin?"

"She will prove an amusing tumble," he murmured back so softly, she could barely hear him.

"Go!" she said low, and was relieved to hear the soft click of the little door behind the tapestry open and close as he departed. She turned, saying, "Are you enjoying your bath, Eleanore?"

"Oh, yes!" Elf admitted. "It is ever so much better without my camisa, but of course at the convent we must be more modest, sister."

"Oh, Eleanore, you should at least consider my earlier words," Isleen said, her tone kindly. "You are a lovely young girl, and there would be at least a dozen offers for your hand if you would but say so. My father, Baron Hugh, would be delighted to act as your guardian in such a matter. Ashlin needs you."

"God has called me," Elf said, "and to disobey his call would be wrong. Do not peck at me so, Isleen. You knew marriage was for you. I know the convent is for me, and that is an end to it."

Isleen clamped her lips together. Saer thought he could breach the girl’s defenses, but he was wrong. In the end he would have to rape her to have his way, and to have Ashlin. "Here is a warm drying cloth for you," she said. "Come forth from the tub while the water still has some warmth so I may bathe, too."

"Turn your back, then," Elf commanded her, standing, although the tub concealed her nakedness from Isleen. Taking the toweling she climbed out, wrapping the cloth about her, blushing as Isleen turned, pulled off her own camisa, and moved to encase her voluptuous nakedness in the warmth of the water. Elf dried herself, put her camisa back on, and lay down upon the trundle. When Isleen had bathed and exited the tub, she protested Elf’s decision to sleep upon the trundle.

"You are the mistress of Ashlin. The bed is yours," she insisted.

"It is a bed for a man and a woman," Elf replied. "It was my parents' marriage bed, and your marriage bed. I would be uncomfortable sleeping in it, I fear."

"Then, we will share it, silly," Isleen said.

"Nay," Elf responded. "I am content on the trundle, Isleen. God give you a good rest. Good night." And Elf quietly, but audibly began to say her prayers.

Little prude, Isleen thought to herself, and rolled onto her side, drawing the feather coverlet over her shoulders. She would have to sleep alone tonight, and the notion did not please her at all. When the little nun was fast asleep, Isleen decided, she would creep from the solar and up into the attic room, where Saer was now residing. Would he have some ripe little serf girl in his bed tonight? She hoped so! She always enjoyed it when there were three of them. She had often longed to bring one of the young, well-muscled serf lads into their bed, but Saer did not fancy that kind of a game. There were times when she thought him very difficult, but it never caused her to cease her affections. She had loved him since they were children together, for he had been in fosterage with her parents since he had been six. As the youngest of her parents' children, she had not been sent off as had her three sisters and her brother. Isleen closed her eyes, and dozed. She would awaken when she needed to, and she would go to Saer.

When Elf awoke, the sun was well up. At first she wasn't certain where she was, and then she realized she was in the solar. Stretching, she arose from the trundle and reached for the rest of her clothing. She was fully dressed when Ida bustled into the chamber.

"You are awake at last, child," the old woman said. "I did not awaken you because you needed your sleep. You have hardly had any proper rest since you returned home, so busy were you with your poor brother, may God assoil his good and noble soul! Come into the hall now, and break your fast, my dear lady."

"What time is it?" Elf asked, following Ida into the hall.

"Half the morning is gone," Ida said.

"Ohhh!" Then realizing she felt much better than she had in many a day, Elf said, "Where is the lady Isleen?"

"Out riding with that cousin of hers," Ida answered. "She wanted me to awaken you so you might go with them, but I would not let them disturb your rest. You needed it more than you needed to ride with the likes of those two."

"Where is Cedric?" She sat down at the high board. "I must see to the business of restoring Isleen’s dower portion so she may return to her father’s house. He will want to arrange another marriage for her."

"You must first eat and renew your strength," Ida told her mistress in no uncertain terms. "What you put into your mouth would not satisfy a bird, lady! Have they been starving you at that convent?" She signaled the servants to bring Elf her morning meal.

"Gluttony is a grave sin, Ida," Elf replied. "We eat just what is necessary to sustain the body. I have never gone hungry at St. Frideswide's, I promise you. We cook too much food and then waste it, I fear." She bowed her head a moment in prayer, crossing herself. A round trencher of bread filled with hot oatmeal was put before her, and Elf began to spoon it up. A plate with a hard-boiled egg and a small wedge of cheese was set at her elbow, and a goblet of watered wine spiced with herbs put by her hand.

"The servants eat the leftovers, lady, for how else would they be fed but from your table, as is their right; and that which remains is given to the beggars, who frequently come to our door. These wars have not been easy on anyone, I fear, lady. Safe and secure in your convent, you do not know these things, but this is the way of the world."

"And our blessed Lord himself preached charity," Elf replied. "I stand corrected, Ida."

"Eat your breakfast," Ida said, pouring a dollop of heavy cream on her mistress’s oatmeal.

Elf laughed, but discovered she had an excellent appetite this morning. She finished her cereal, and then ate some of the bread trencher with the cheese and egg. When she had finished, draining the last drop of wine from her cup, Cedric came and stood before her, awaiting her sign to speak. She nodded at him.

He bowed politely, then said, "I have gone back over the manor records to determine the exact amount of the lady Isleen’s dower portion, and of how it was paid. It was mostly in coin, which your brother, may God assoil his good and noble soul, wisely set aside. He never touched it, and it still remains in the bag in which it came. The lady brought certain household goods and a palfrey as well. They are all carefully listed, and can be separated from that which belongs to Ashlin manor."

"How quickly can it be done, Cedric? I am certain the lady Isleen is eager to return to her own family, and I wish to rejoin my sisters at St. Frideswide's," Elf told her steward.

Cedric smiled knowingly at his young mistress. "It can be done by day’s end, lady, so that you may all depart Ashlin on the morrow. Will that be suitable, my lady?"

"That," Elf answered him with a small grin, "will be perfect, Cedric. You are a good servant, but then my mother and brother always said it was so. You have not changed over the years."

"Lady, if I may ask a question?"

She nodded.

"What is to happen to us if you return to your convent?"

"As a nun I am not permitted to own personal property," Elf told him. " I shall give Ashlin to my order. There are any number of ways in which they might make use of it. They might found another convent here; or they might lease the manor to a tenant; or they might sell the manor. That will not be my decision, but the one thing I can guarantee you is that the serfs and freedmen who have lived on these lands for centuries, and are as much a part of Ashlin as the lands itself, they will remain here. The Reverend Mother is a wise and good lady. She will allow no harm to befall any of you. On that you have my word, the pledge of Eleanore de Montfort, and you know, Cedric, that the word of a de Montfort is as good as gold."

"Thank you, my lady," the steward said. "I needed to know in order to reassure our people that no ill would befall them with your departure. But we truly wish you would stay with us."

"I cannot. It is not my fate. You may go now, Cedric, and see to the departure of my brother’s widow."

He bowed, and left her. Elf looked about the hall. There was nothing for her to accomplish. Her packing, which Ida would do, would take but a few minutes, and could be done in the morning before she departed her childhood home. I'll go to my herbarium, she finally decided. There were things there for her to do, and the little side garden had grown nicely since it was planted. It would be wasteful not to harvest what she could now, and take it back with her to the convent. Sister Winifred would be delighted. Elf hurried from the hall and down the garden path, waving to Arthur, who was weeding among the roses. She saw two riders coming toward the house, probably Isleen and her obnoxious cousin.

Elf chuckled. Saer de Bude had certainly given her a wide berth since their encounter by the linen cupboard. As she thought back on it, she had no idea why she had vomited her breakfast on him, for she hadn't been afraid of him. He simply revolted her, and, after all, it had been the time of the month when her link with the moon had been broken. Still, it had certainly put him off, for which she was grateful. Her tears had been those of frustration and relief. And Arthur had cheered her up as he often had when they were children and she had been frightened. She realized now that his friendship was one of the few things she had missed about Ashlin, and it would be very sorely missed again. She was giving up a great deal, she realized.

But was not sacrifice a part of the religious life? Still, was there any truth in Isleen’s contention that she was pursuing her own desires instead of accepting her obligations? After all, did not all things come of God? Eleanore de Montfort shook her head. Her very thoughts were the most disturbing she had ever known. There had never been any doubt in her mind that she was one of God’s chosen brides. Why was she even considering the possibility now that she wasn't? The devil! It was surely Satan tempting her! She crossed herself and entered the herbarium, noting the hearth was cold.

I will make some elixirs and salves today that I may carry with me, Elf decided. She called to Arthur, "Go up to the house, and bring me some coals from the fire so I may start my own. Cedric will give you a pan in which you may carry them."

"At once, lady," Arthur called back, dashing off.

Elf went to her well, drew up a bucket of cool water, and brought it into her shed. She used some of it to wipe off the slate-topped table upon which she worked, then placed the bucket on the floor beneath her table, and took down from a shelf several mortars and pestles. After going out into her garden, she picked the biggest greenish yellow leaves of her lettuce plants, and brought them back into the herbarium to wash.

Elf filled a kettle and added the lettuce leaves. Boiled down and made into a syrup with honey to both thicken and sweeten it, it could be reconstituted into a soothing tea that would cure spider bites, but was also useful for bringing sleep in a manner very much like poppies.

Next she took down a sheaf of horehound leaves that had been drying for some weeks. She crumbled the leaves slightly, then added them to a mortar, and began to pestle them into a fine powder that she transferred into a stone jar. The powder would make an excellent tea, or a syrup. Horehound was known to cure jaundice, bad coughs, and was also beneficial for fading eyesight, always a problem among the convent’s elderly nuns.

"I've brought the coals, Elf. Do you want me to make the fire? I see you have one kettle ready to boil up," Arthur said as he entered the herbarium with the pan of live coals from the hall fireplace.

"Syrup of lettuce," she told him. "Yes, start the fire for me, Arthur, and then you can go back to your work. Thank you. I'll be in my garden." Outside again, Elf took up a basket. First she gathered leaves of sage, which was good for the nerves; mint, an excellent remedy for retching, stopping hiccups, and for maladies of the stomach in general; mustard greens, which were a sure cure for gout, particularly in the toes; and anise, which was used to rid a body of flatulence.

"I'm off, then," Arthur said. "The hearth is drawing nicely, and your kettle is coming to a boil, Elf. Can I carry your basket?"

"Nay, I'm fine," she replied with a wave as she reentered her little shed. She placed her basket upon a small wooden table and began to separate the plants she had just cut. She had about finished when the door to the shed opened. Elf looked up. "What," she demanded, "are you doing here?"

"I have wanted to apologize to you, Eleanore, for the other day. My behavior was most unchivalrous. Still," Saer de Bude said, "no man who saw you would blame me. Despite your drab robes, you are a lovely young woman, lady."

"I will accept your apology, for to refuse it would be most un-Christian of me," Elf told him.

"What is it you do here?" he asked her.

"I make medicines, elixirs, and salves," Elf replied, wishing he would go away.

"Like a good chatelaine," he said, smiling at her.

"I assist our infirmarian, Sister Winifred," Elf told him.

"What is that kettle boiling on your hearth now?" He moved into the small shed, closing the door behind him, and peered into the pot. "The smell is familiar."

"I am making a syrup of lettuce," Elf told him. Why would he not go?

"I have heard lettuce dulls desire," he remarked.

"You obviously do not eat it," Elf replied tartly.

Saer de Bude laughed aloud. There was more to the little nun than they had realized. She could be humorous. Something he had not expected. And she was not as vapid as she appeared. No, not at all. "Lady," he said, "I will be frank with you." He had decided in that instant that to dissemble with the girl was not wise. "I am a younger son. I want my own manor. If you would reconsider your decision to return to your convent to take your final vows, I should make you a good husband. My mother was a de Warenne, and my father’s family is a respected one in Normandy. I have always been a man of honor."

"Nay, sir, you are not honorable at all, for you have committed adultery with my brother’s wife. I am not so great a fool that I did not realize it, although I prayed it not be so. I hope Dickon never knew, although I think he did, for he was no fool, either. There is talk among the serfs that you and Isleen poisoned my brother. No formal accusations can be made for nothing can be proven. In that you are safe. As for me, I am God’s chosen, and will wed with no man. If you want Ashlin, then speak with the Reverend Mother Eunice at the convent. It will be her decision as to how Ashlin is disposed of, and she may be seeking a tenant."

"I will be no one’s tenant," he said grimly. Then reaching out, he pulled her into his arms. "Lady, I will have Ashlin, and I will have you whether you will, or no."

Elf attempted to squirm from his grasp, but he held her too tightly. "Let me go this instant, sir!" she said in her firmest voice.

Laughing mockingly he kissed her, his lips smashing hard on her soft mouth. One arm pinioned her to his broad chest while his other hand reached up, hooked itself into the round neckline of her tunica, and yanked the fabric of both her gown and her camisa asunder. The marauding hand pushed the materials aside and captured a round breast, squeezing it hard.

His sudden attack both astounded and terrified her. She couldn't breathe, and his grasp on her person was like iron. Desperately she tore her mouth away from his, and tried to scream, but her throat muscles seemed constricted and nothing but a small squeak came forth. She grew faint, and struggled to maintain consciousness even as she fell back against his arm.

"There is a river of passion within you, Eleanore," Saer de Bude growled. "I will awaken it." His mouth pressed kisses against her white throat while his hand fondled her breast hungrily. "By the time I am through with you this day, no convent on earth will have you, my pretty. You will be a very despoiled dove, Eleanore." Then he kicked her legs from beneath her.

She fell to the floor with an "Offffff," the wind temporarily knocked out of her. He stood above her, straddling her as he loosened his garments, then pulled forth his swollen manhood. "This, my pretty, is all for you!" Then he lowered himself, covering her body with his.

The sight, her first sight, of an engorged manhood restored Elf’s voice, and she began to scream at the top of her lungs. Strength flowed back into her body, and she fought him as if she were fighting for her very life, and in a sense she was. If he violated her, her life as a nun was finished. She would be forced into marriage with him, and that was the last thing on earth that Eleanore de Montfort wanted. Her hands reached out, clawing at his handsome face as he pushed her skirts up and began to push her resisting thighs apart with his knee. Her shrieks grew louder, frantic peal after frantic peal rending the quiet afternoon air.

Saer de Bude slapped the girl beneath him, hard. "Shut up, you little bitch!" he shouted at her, and he slapped her again and again to silence her cries, but Elf would not be silenced.

"Help! Help!" she shouted as loudly as she could.

"You wanted this," he snarled. "Admit it, you little bitch! You wanted it!"

"No! No!" Elf screamed.

"You'll like it," he promised thickly. Her resistance was the most exciting he had ever encountered.

God save me! Elf thought as her strength began to give out, and as if in answer to that prayer, the door to the herbarium burst open. Elf heard Arthur’s voice swearing a string of extremely colorful oaths as he grabbed Saer de Bude by his neck and dragged him off the resisting girl. Immediately the boy’s fist made contact with the man’s chin, and Saer de Bude fell back to the floor, his head striking the edge of the slate table. Elf scrambled up, pulling her skirts down, clutching the torn fabric of her upper garment across her chest.

"Come on," Arthur said, grabbing her other hand.

"But he’s injured," Elf protested. "I must see to him."

Arthur pulled her from the shed. "We'll send someone from the house to tend to him. By the rood, Elf, you are either a saint or a fool! The slimy bastard tried to rape you, and you would tend to his wounds?" He dragged her up the path to the manor house and into the hall. "Cedric! Grandmother!" he shouted as he entered.

"Holy Mary, and all the saints in heaven," Ida said as she saw Elf. "What has happened to my baby?"

"The knight tried to rape her," Arthur answered bluntly.

"I'm all right, thanks to Arthur," Elf said, "but the knight lies wounded in the herbarium. Arthur hit him, and Saer de Bude hit his head when he fell. Send someone for the sheriff! I will press charges against the man for his attack on me."

"Nay," Cedric the steward said grimly. " 'Tis our Arthur who would be arrested, lady, for he is a serf, and he has hit a noble. The punishment for that crime is death. We will take care of the knight, but you must return immediately to your convent, and Arthur must go with you to beg sanctuary. He will be safe there until you can explain to the sheriff what has happened. It will be a far more effective story told within your convent walls than here at Ashlin. Go to the stable, boy, and saddle two horses. Lady, we will see to the knight, I promise."

"I must know before I go if we have killed him," Elf said.

"I will check myself," Cedric answered, and hurried from the hall.

When he returned several minutes later, Ida had managed to pack up Elf’s small belongings, and Elf had changed into a fresh camisa and tunica. Isleen had been napping, and had not heard the two women creeping about.

"The knight will live, worse luck," Cedric said. "He was already trying to sit up. I told him we would send aid. Now, lady, you must go! We will take the other horses in the stable out to the far pasture to make it difficult to follow you, but I do not believe the knight will be in any condition to chase after you for a day or two. He is injured enough, but sadly not mortally."

"I want them both out of Ashlin as soon as Saer de Bude can travel, Cedric. Send to Baron Hugh in my name for an escort for his daughter and her cousin. By the time they arrive, that wretched man should be ready to travel, even if he has to go in a Utter!"

"Yes, my lady," the steward answered her, with a small smile. "Godspeed you."

"And God bless all here at Ashlin," Elf answered. Then with Ida at her side, she hurried from the hall to where Arthur was waiting with two horses for them.

The boy helped his mistress onto her horse, then mounted his own. "Good-bye, Grandmother," he said, and Ida began to weep.

"Now, Ida," Elf told her old nursemaid, "I will let nothing happen to Arthur. He did nothing wrong. If worse comes to worst, I will send him into Wales, where Norman law cannot touch him." She drew the old lady’s hand up to her lips, and kissed it. "Farewell, my old dearie. God bless you."

"The Holy Virgin keep you safe, my baby," Ida sobbed. Then she whirled and ran back into the house.

"Can you go faster than a walk?" Arthur asked her.

"Can you?" Elf teased back, and kicked her mount into a canter.

They rode straight through the eight miles to St. Frideswide's, reaching it at sunset.

"Welcome back, Eleanore de Montfort," Sister Perpetua, the convent portress, greeted her as they came through the gates.

"Thank you, good sister," Elf replied. "This is my serf, Arthur. He asks us for sanctuary, and when Reverend Mother hears my tale, I believe she will give it to him."

"Elf!" Isabeaux St. Simon ran forward as Elf dismounted her horse. "I didn't know you were coming today!"

"Neither did I," Elf said. "Isa, will you go find Reverend Mother, and ask her if she will see me on a most urgent matter."

Isa nodded and hurried off. Several minutes later she returned. "She'll see you in the chapter house." Her eyes flicked to Arthur. "Who is this?" she asked.

"My serf," Elf said with no further explanation.

"Oh," Isa said, her interest waning. The handsome young man was only a serf. For a moment she thought that perhaps Elf had decided not to take her final vows now that she was an heiress; that mayhap she would marry, and that her companion was her chosen.

"Come with me," Elf said to Arthur, and hurried off across the cloister toward the chapter house. Moving quickly through the door, Arthur in her wake, Elf headed directly to the hall, where Reverend Mother Eunice awaited. She made obeisance to the abbess, flattening herself upon the floor before her.

"Rise, my daughter, and tell me why you have arrived so precipitously, and in this young man’s company," Reverend Mother Eunice said.

"This is Arthur, my serf, Reverend Mother, and he would beg sanctuary of us. You must give it to him, for he saved me this day from a fate worse than death," Elf began, arising to stand before the abbess. She then went on to explain, telling the Reverend Mother all that had happened since her arrival home at Ashlin: her brother’s subsequent death, her sister-in-law’s insistence that she give up her calling and marry, Saer de Bude’s attack on her person this very day. "If Arthur had not been nearby and heard my cries, I should have surely been ravished and despoiled." She began to weep softly. "I should not have been able to return to St. Frideswide's, and been forced into marriage with that horrible man! And poor Arthur! Because he came to my aid, he will now be condemned to death unless you will give him sanctuary."

"Arthur of Ashlin, I grant you sanctuary here at St. Frideswide’s for a year and a day. If we cannot straighten this matter out by then, I shall grant you sanctuary for as long as it takes," the abbess said. "Now, go to the stables, my lad, where Sister Joseph is in charge. Tell her I said she is to house you and find work for you to do."

Arthur knelt before the abbess, and taking up the hem of her robe, kissed it. "I thank you, my lady abbess, for your mercy." Then he stood and left the hall.

"Oh, thank you, Reverend Mother! Arthur was my childhood playmate, and one of the first to greet me warmly on my return to Ashlin. Ida, his grandmother, was my nursemaid. I would not want to be the cause of his death…" She was sobbing now.

The abbess recognized that Elf was suffering from shock, but there were questions she had to ask. " I must know exactly what it is this man did to you, my daughter. Come, and sit with me," she said, leading the girl to a bench set against the wall. "Now, speak honestly to me, Eleanore de Montfort. Your immortal soul stands in peril if you lie to me. Do you understand, my daughter?"

"Yes, Reverend Mother," Elf replied, and she shuddered. "He grabbed me, and kissed me. He fondled my breast. Then he threw me to the floor of the shed, and exposed his male member to me. He was saying horrible things to me, about how I should like what he would do." She shuddered again, but swallowing hard as she relived the attack, she bravely continued on. "Then he laid his body on mine. I was screaming, and screaming, and thank God, Arthur came. He pulled my attacker from me, hitting him on the jaw. It was when he fell back that Saer de Bude’s head grazed the edge of the table.

"I saw the blood gush from the wound, and wanted to remain to aid him, but Arthur would not let me. We ran back to the manor, and Cedric, my steward, went back to the shed. My attacker was alive and moving. Cedric told him to remain where he was, and he would fetch help. In the meantime Ida gathered my belongings together, and Arthur and I fled here to St. Frideswide's," Elf concluded.

"Did your attacker’s male member touch your private parts, or penetrate you at any time, my daughter?" the abbess probed.

"No! Never, Reverend Mother!" The shocked look on Elf’s face told the nun that the girl was telling the truth.

"Are you wearing the same clothing as you wore when you were accosted?" the abbess asked. She had to make certain, as painful as it was.

"All but my tunica and camisa," Elf said. "He tore those from me when he sought to fondle me." Her face was pale. "May I have a bath, Reverend Mother? I can yet smell that man’s body on me."

"Of course, my daughter, and you may bathe this night only without your camisa. Tell Sister Cuthbert I said so. Nay, I will tell her so myself." She arose from the bench. "Come, my poor Eleanore, let us go and find Sister Cuthbert, and get you settled safely."

They left the chapter house and walked across the cloister to the dormitory where the girls were housed. Both Sister Cuthbert and Matti, now Sister Columba, hurried forward to hug Elf.

"Go inside with Sister Columba, my daughter, and take the tub from its cabinet. Then begin filling it with water warmed from the fire. Use the small tub. It will be easier for you. Come and tell us when you are ready," the abbess instructed the two girls. When they had gone off, she spoke seriously to Sister Cuthbert, telling her what had happened. "I am certain Eleanore has told me the truth as she knows it, but sometimes the shock of such a terrible experience, the fright- Well, just be certain there is no blood on her skirts or her thighs. The man ripped her camisa and tunica so they were changed, but we must be sure she is still a virgin, and pure, Cuthbert."

The younger nun’s face was stricken with sorrow. "What a terrible time the poor girl has had, but I will make certain as you have asked me, Reverend Mother. Still, I am sure Eleanore told you the truth. Her calling means too much to her that she would lie. Who was the lad who escorted her?"

"The serf who rescued her. His name is Arthur, and we have given him sanctuary because his brave and noble actions have put him in jeopardy. You well know the punishment for a serf who hits a master."

Sister Cuthbert nodded. "But it would be an injustice for them to punish the boy for defending his mistress, wouldn't it?"

"We will wait to see if this knight files charges," the abbess said. "If he does, and they come here for the boy, we shall tell them he has sanctuary and speak for him in the courts. Knowing what has happened, it would not be right for us to do otherwise."

Chapter 5

Hugh de Warenne looked at his youngest daughter with annoyance and distaste. She was still beautiful, and certainly young enough to make a second marriage. Yet he was extremely irritated at her. "If you had given Richard a child, even a daughter, you would have been a very eligible widow. As it is, I shall have to find some old man, desperate for a child, who will overlook your small dowry."

"She is barren," Saer de Bude told his uncle. "Both Richard de Montfort and I fathered bastards at Ashlin, but your daughter could not conceive by either of us."

"You were at her again, then?" his uncle replied wearily. "Well, if what you have told me is true, then at least we will have no bastards from her. Yes, an old man with gold is just what we shall find for you, Isleen. We shall blame your childlessness on him, and when he dies you will be a wealthy widow, ready for another rich old man’s bed, eh? You'll like that, won't you, you greedy little bitch?" He chuckled, then turned to his nephew. "As for you, Saer de Bude, what am I to do with you? You are my sister’s son, and I feel an obligation toward you, but how can I settle a man with nothing to offer?"

"Richard de Monfort’s sister is Ashlin’s heiress. Arrange a match for me with her, and I shall have my own lands. She’s a pretty creature, and I want her."

"The nun? Are you mad, boy?" his uncle snapped.

"She has not yet taken her final vows, and will not until October, Uncle. I have already had her, Uncle, but in a burst of remorse she fled back to her convent. She was aided by one of her serfs, a lad who was her childhood playmate. I am certain he has dallied with her, too, for she was no real virgin, Uncle. I have filed charges with the local sheriff. The boy will be hanged when he is caught."

"If the girl is loose, why take her, then?" his uncle demanded.

"I forced it from her that he had only used his fingers on her, and not his male member. I ploughed her furrow well, Uncle. She may already be with child. My child. The next rightful heir to Ashlin if I can but wed her. Give me your aid, Uncle."

The baron considered his nephew’s request thoughtfully. He was the youngest of his sister’s brood, and had always been a mercurial fellow. Still, he was a good soldier, but Saer had a weakness for women. Any woman. Baron Hugh had given Richard de Montfort a larger dowry for Isleen than he otherwise might have, for he had caught his daughter and her randy cousin in flagrante delicto, their bodies intertwined, sweating and groaning as they serviced each other. From the look of it, he had known it was not the first time. His wife, when told, had beaten Isleen thoroughly, then taught her daughter how to feign her long-gone virginity. If Richard de Montfort had realized the deception played upon him, he had never complained, for he was madly in love with her. Now Isleen was back like a bad penny, and he discovered that Saer had been at Ashlin for almost a year.

Hugh de Warenne did not want to know the truth. He had his suspicions, for Richard de Montfort had been an exceptionally healthy man until a year ago. These two bad pennies would bring ruin upon them all if he did not separate them for good and all. A young wife, children, the responsibility of a manor would certainly keep Saer’s thoughts from Isleen. As for his daughter, the sooner he could find a husband for her, the better. In the meantime, his wife must handle the problem. Isleen was, after all, in mourning for her husband. Or at least it must appear to be so. The bitch, he thought irritably.

"I'll dispatch two messengers in the morning. The first to the Bishop of Worcester, telling him what you have told me. The second to the king asking that he appoint me the lady Eleanore’s guardian. When I have that authority, I will arrange your marriage, nephew. Will that suit you, Saer?"

"Very much, Uncle," Saer du Bude replied.

In her father’s garden that evening, having escaped her mother’s vigilant eyes, Isleen excoriated her lover. "Why did you not help me when my father said he would find a husband for me? We will never be together, Saer. I do not think you love me at all."

Backing her against a stout oak, Saer de Bude raised Isleen’s skirts and lifted her up to slowly push his member into her. "Do not love you, my pretty? Is this the cock of a man who does not love you?"

"It is the cock of a lustful man," Isleen murmured, putting her arms about him as she locked her legs about his waist.

He smiled into her face. "You are the only woman I have ever loved or will love. Your fathers plan is perfect, Isleen. You will wed a rich man who will expect you to give him a child, which you cannot, but he will not know that. When he begins to become impatient with you, you will slowly poison him as you did Richard. In the meantime I will wed the little nun, and she will give me a son. Then she, too, will die, and lord Saer of Ashlin will marry the wealthy widow, the lady Isleen. With our wealth we will buy more land until we become a great power in the area. It is so perfect, Isleen, and all we need is to be patient, my pretty."

"Why did you tell my father you had had her already?" Isleen demanded. "I thought you said she escaped, thanks to her serf."

"She did, but I knew your father would be reluctant to take any action unless I claimed to have despoiled the girl. I knew if I told him that it was a fait accompli, he would send to the bishop. The bishop, until he can prove the truth of my charges one way or another, will not allow Eleanore de Montfort to take her final vows. My claim alone may be enough to have her exiled from the safety of her convent. But if it is not, certainly the king will rule in my favor based on my testimony. Remember, I have watched her bathe. I can describe in detail the flaws and perfections of her body if I am called upon to do so. Only a lover would know such a thing, my pretty." He thrust against her.

"You have puzzled this all out quite carefully," Isleen said thoughtfully.

"I want Eleanore de Montfort, and I want Ashlin," Saer de Bude said. "And I shall have them!" He thrust again, and yet again.

"Am I a fool to trust you, Saer?" Isleen asked him. He was the most exciting man she had ever known. There was something dangerous about him that thrilled her. "Mmmmmmmm," she murmured as he drove them to a pinnacle. "Ahhhhhhhhh!"

"You must decide that for yourself, my pretty," he taunted her, withdrawing from her body and setting her down again on shaky legs.

"You are the devil himself, I am sure of it," she said low.

Saer de Bude laughed. "Perhaps I am, Isleen. After all, who but the devil would get such supreme pleasure violating a nun?" Then he was gone into the darkness of the garden, leaving Isleen alone.

She shivered. She was only just beginning to realize how treacherous and wicked Saer really was. At this moment she sensed he would betray her as easily as anyone. She did not doubt that he loved her. Of that she was sure, but of late she had noticed a certain evil aura about him that came close to frightening her. If Eleanore de Montfort gave him a son, would he be satisfied? Or would he want other legitimate children of her body? Would he fall out of love with Isleen, and in love with Eleanore? Had her mother not always said a man would love and forgive any woman as long as she gave him children? But that was one thing she could not do, Isleen thought. She must either prevent her father from finding her another husband, or she must kill off her bridegroom as quickly as possible so she could go to Saer and make certain he rid himself of his pious little nun. She would not be cheated of her lover. Not this time!

The Bishop of Worcester received Baron Hugh’s communication, read it with raised brow, and sent a messenger off to St. Frideswide’s Convent posthaste with a letter for the abbess that forbade Eleanore de Montfort to take her final vows until the charges leveled by Baron Hugh and his nephew, Saer de Bude, could be reconciled or disproved.

Reading the bishop’s message, the abbess angrily threw down the parchment scroll. "Hellfire and damnation!" she swore softly, then crossed herself in a gesture of penance. Poor Eleanore! She was only just beginning to recover from the unpleasantness she had encountered. The abbess was no fool, and she knew immediately that it was the manor of Ashlin that was at the center of this devilment. According to Eleanore, her attacker was a landless knight. His attack on the girl had been to ruin her so she would be unfit for the convent. She would have had to wed him, and the manor would have been his. Now he and his uncle were attempting to gain by slander what they had been unable to gain by violence. "They should have their tongues cut out," the abbess muttered.

Calling a novice to her, the abbess sent for Sister Columba. She and Isabeaux St. Simon had been Eleanore’s best friends since they were little girls. Isabeaux, however, had left St. Frideswide’s two weeks ago to return home for her long-planned marriage. Sister Columba would have to do.

The young nun arrived quickly, and bowed to her superior. "Yes, Reverend Mother? How may I serve you?"

"Sit down, my daughter," the abbess said, and then explained the situation.

"Oh, how wicked!" Sister Columba cried. "This will break Elf’s heart, Reverend Mother!"

"That is why I have told you, my daughter. You must help to convince Eleanore that everything that happens, happens for a purpose. I shall speak to her first, but you will remain while I do."

Elf was sent for, and when she came and was told of the charges leveled by Baron Hugh and his nephew, she burst into tears. "But I am a virgin, Reverend Mother! I am! To He about such a thing under the circumstances would place my immortal soul in jeopardy!"

"I believe you, my child," the abbess said, "but the bishop does not know you, and he will want more than just your word to prove your innocence. Sister Winifred will have to examine you. Once that is done, there can be no doubt as to the truth of the matter."

"Examine me? " Elf’s voice quavered. "How? "

"She will insert a finger within your female sheath to determine that your maidenhead is still there intact. It will not hurt, and will take but a minute or so," the abbess said, her face devoid of any emotion.

Elf paled, and Sister Columba gasped.

"We will do it now so you have no time to worry yourself into a swoon awaiting this terrible examination," the abbess said gently. She arose from her seat of office where she had been sitting. "Come," she said. "You, too, Sister Columba. You will hold your friend’s hand to give her courage."

The trio departed the chapter house and walked across the cloister to the infirmary. Entering it, the abbess explained the situation to Sister Winifred, who nodded serenely and instructed Elf to lie upon her examining table. The infirmarian brought a basin of water, and washed her hands carefully. Then looking at Sister Columba, she said, "Draw up her skirts, and you, Eleanore de Montfort, raise your legs and open them, keeping your feet upon the table."

"I am afraid," Elf said.

"There is nothing to fear," Sister Winifred said briskly. "Mind carefully what I do, child, for one day you are going to take my place, and may need to conduct just such an examination. Now then, let us begin." The nun dipped her finger in a pot of heavy oil, and gently began to insert it into the girl’s body.

With a little cry, Elf fainted.

" 'Tis better this way," Sister Winifred said. "She is more relaxed now." Her brow furrowed in concentration, then she withdrew her finger, washing her hands again. "Pull down her skirts, Sister Columba, and burn a feather beneath her nose to revive her." The infirmarian turned to the abbess. "She is a virgin without any doubt, Reverend Mother. My finger is the first thing to ever penetrate the child. Her maidenhead is intact and most tightly lodged. She has not been tampered with in any way. Her accusers lie. I swear it on the body of our dear Lord himself."

"Thank you," the abbess said. "I had no doubts myself, but the bishop would want more than just the girl’s word. He cannot doubt the veracity of this convent’s infirmarian, however."

Elf had been revived and helped off the examining table by her friend. "What will happen now?" she asked.

"I will send a letter to the bishop attesting to our findings, but until he gives you his permission, you cannot take your final vows," the abbess said. "I will also send the testimony of Arthur in your behalf, explaining he is in sanctuary here because of the incident, and he will swear on his soul that Saer de Bude, while attempting to rape you, did not succeed. It will be enough. Perhaps by Martinmas you will be able to take your final vows, my child."

"I must be content with that, then," Elf replied.

Several weeks later the bishop sent a message to the abbess of St. Frideswide’s Convent. The testimony of Sister Winifred, and the sworn denial of Eleanore de Montfort that no sexual encounter had taken place, were now enough to satisfy him. However, he had been instructed by the king to command Eleanore de Montfort and the abbess of St. Frideswide’s to come to Worcester on St. Andrew’s Day. The king would be visiting the bishop, and wished to decide the matter of Eleanore de Montfort himself.

For the first time in her life, Elf seriously lost her temper. "Is there no end to this man’s perfidy? Does he think the king can force me into marriage with him? I would rather die before I would wed any man! It is impossible! I hope he will grow a wart on the very end of his nose that will spoil his handsome face!"

The abbess bit her lip to restrain her laughter. "My child," she said, "you must not wish evil on any man, especially Saer de Bude. It is obvious God created him without any sense, and surely that is enough of a burden for the man." She patted Elf’s hand. "We shall go to Worcester on St. Andrew’s Day, and straighten this matter out. You can ask the king to pardon Arthur so he may go home to Ashlin."

Elf nodded. "I am ashamed at my outburst."

"My daughter," the abbess said, "you seek to become a nun, but you are a human being. Mayhap someday you can aspire to sainthood, but the majority of us are just simple women. We are subject to the same human frailties as are any women. It is not wrong to experience righteous anger, Eleanore. Just do not hold a grudge. I worry that you strive too hard for mortal perfection, when it is the perfection of your immortal soul that is more important."

They departed St. Frideswide’s several days before the thirtieth of November, for it would take them a few days to reach the town of Worcester. They were a party of four nuns and half a dozen men-at-arms, although it was unlikely anyone would attack such a religious group. The abbess had asked Sister Winifred, the convent’s infirmarian, to accompany them because she felt her personal testimony, if necessary, would be valuable. She had also asked young Sister Columba, Elf’s best friend. The two girls would keep each other amused on the long ride. Sister Winifred, being elderly, could not ride, and was transported in a small cart that slowed them down. The usual three-day journey took them four.

The skies were slate gray, the countryside bleak in the late autumn. Here and there sheep and cattle browsed in the gray green meadows. They stopped the first night at the manor of a baron who was related to the abbess. The next two nights were spent in convent guest quarters, and finally late on the fourth day they arrived in the town of Worcester, lodging in the cathedral guest house, which was empty but for them. The king’s standard flew from the bishop’s castle. They sent word that they had arrived.

The king was eating with the bishop and their retainers in the great hall when the message arrived. "So the abbess has come with her chick," he noted. He was a sad-faced man with sandy hair and a beard with flecks of silver. His mild blue eyes were thoughtful. "Now, we must resolve the matter for once and for all."

"Do you know what you will do, my lord?" his friend, Geoffrey de Bohun, asked him.

"It is an unpleasant situation," the king replied. "Hugh de Warenne wants guardianship over the girl. His youngest daughter was the late lord’s wife, and the girl, the lord’s sister. If I give him that guardianship, he will undoubtedly take the girl from her convent and marry her to his nephew, Saer de Bude, in order to keep the manor in his family. De Bude claims to have had relations with the girl, but she says he lies, and the infirmarian at the convent has sworn the girl tells the truth and is a virgin."

"Has Baron Hugh supported you, my lord? Is he deserving of such a reward?" Geoffrey de Bohun inquired.

"Baron Hugh has done what is expedient for himself in the years of my reign. He has supported me when it was to his advantage; and he has supported my cousin, the Empress Matilda, when it was advisable to do so," the king said with a wry smile. It was rare he smiled these days, for he had recently lost his wife. The queen had been the stronger of the pair, and he very much missed her wise counsel. He tried to imagine what his wife would do in such a situation as he now faced.

"Was Richard de Montfort your man?" de Bohun wanted to know.

Now the bishop spoke up. "Richard de Montfort obeyed the laws of this land, and gave loyalty to its king."

"But did I not hear that his father was the empress’s man, and died in her cause? How important is this manor to you, my lord?"

"It is true Lord Richard’s father fought for Matilda, but so did many here at one time or another. Richard de Montfort was yet a child when his father perished, and his sister still a babe at her mother’s breast. He never took sides, but obeyed the law and gave fealty to this land’s ruler. His sister has been in her convent since she was five years of age. I doubt Eleanore de Montfort has any worldly opinions, and certainly not political ones," the bishop defended the de Montforts heatedly. This whole situation was vexing, but he understood. Land was a man’s first base of power, and the de Warennes and their nephew knew it.

"Tell me, my lord bishop, about this manor of Ashlin," the king said quietly. He wanted to make a fair decision.

"It sits near Wales, my lord. It is small, and supports itself, but it is not a rich holding by any means. There is not much else to recommend it. Saer de Bude is landless, and the only way he can obtain Ashlin, for he has not the coin to purchase it, is to marry its heiress."

"The girl has not yet taken her final vows?" the king asked.

"Nay, my lord. She was to have done so in June, but was at Ashlin caring for her dying brother. The date was reset for the feast of St. Frideswide’s on October nineteenth, but then there was this claim from the de Warennes and their nephew that he had had carnal relations with Eleanore de Montfort. The lady denied it, and the infirmarian of the convent confirms that Eleanore de Montfort is a virgin. I would have given permission for the girl to take her final vows, but that Baron Hugh complained to you, and you requested to see the girl before you made a decision. Have you made one, my lord? "

"I believe I have," the king said, "but I shall reserve it for the hearing. Have all the parties involved in this matter brought before me after Mass in the morning."

The bishop turned to the messenger who wore his badge of service. "Go to the guest house, and tell the abbess that she and the lady Eleanore are to join us after the Mass in the great hall tomorrow morning."

The messenger bowed, and hurried out.

The three nuns and their novice entered the great hall, and were announced by the bishop’s steward. They came forward, gliding like a trio of black swans with one gray cygnet across the stone floor. The abbess made her obeisance first to King Stephen, and then kissed their bishop’s ring. Her companions followed suit. The king looked at Eleanore de Montfort, and thought her a beautiful young girl with her heart-shaped face framed neatly by her white wimple, and her large gray eyes with their hint of blue that looked swiftly at him, then lowered modestly. He could not help but smile at the girl. No wonder young de Bude coveted her.

Baron Hugh de Warenne and his nephew, Saer de Bude, were now called into the hall, and they came, the younger man swaggering, sure of his certain victory. His uncle had drunk many cups of wine the previous night with the king’s friend, Geoffrey de Bohun, and put certain thoughts into his head, which de Bohun had passed on to the king. Having heard them, and considered well, the king could not help but give Eleanore de Montfort to the de Warennes, which meant she would be his wife very shortly. With his uncle he bowed before Stephen, and then his eyes touched on his fair prize. She glared at him so fiercely he almost laughed. No. She was not meant for a convent. Such passion should be reserved for him, and not some invisible God.

The king spoke. "Baron Hugh, your nephew claims intimate knowledge of the novice, Eleanore de Montfort. She denies any such congress between them. She has been examined by the infirmarian of her convent, who insists the girl is untouched and as pure as the day she was born. Has your nephew lied in this matter?"

"He but confessed it to me this morning, my lord," Hugh de Warenne said contritely. "When I demanded an explanation for his slander, he claimed it was because he loved the lady Eleanore, and could think of no other way to obtain her. He is young, my lord, and impetuous. I beg you forgive him."

"Forgiveness is not my province, Baron, it is the lady's," the king said quietly. He turned to Elf. "Do you forgive him, lady?"

"For his slander of me, my lord, or the lie that he has told his uncle to excuse his slander?" Elf said sweetly.

"You do not believe he loves you, lady?" The king’s lips twitched.

"How could he love me, my lord, and behave as he did toward me? How could he love me when he did not know me? I am not such a fool that I do not realize the attraction I hold. It is my manor at Ashlin, of course! This man is landless, and hopes to gain stature through me, but he most certainly does not love me, and I absolutely do not love him! I can say it no more plainly. I belong to God."

"Your manor, lady," the king began, "is in a vulnerable spot. I need a man on that land who is totally loyal to me, to my son, and to our cause. I need a man the people of Ashlin will cleave to and obey. In order to attain such a goal, you must also be on your land. I have discussed this matter thoroughly with the bishop, and we are of one mind. You will not take your final vows, Eleanore de Montfort. You must marry."

"No!" Elf gasped, looking desperately to the abbess. She could hear Matti, now Sister Columba, beginning to weep behind her.

"Now, my child, the only question is, who is to be your husband?" the king continued smoothly, ignoring her small outburst. "You are certain you will not have Saer de Bude for your husband?"

"Never!" Elf hissed. "The man is an adulterer who lay with my brother’s wife! I would not have him if he were the last man on earth, my lord, but I beg you, do not force me to the marriage altar. I will give you Ashlin if you desire it, but let me continue on with my life as I have always planned it. In my heart and mind I am a nun."

"Then, if you will not have this man who covets you, lady, I must choose a husband for you," the king said firmly. "Anticipating this, I have already made my choice. You will wed one of my own knights: a man raised in my Uncle Henry’s court, a man who has served us with loyalty and devotion for many years. He, like Saer de Bude, is landless. It is time I rewarded him for his many years of service. He is a good man, Eleanore de Montfort. A godly man who will treat you with respect. You and your people will be safe in his hands, as will your manor of Ashlin," Stephen said calmly ignoring her desperate plea. "Come forward, Sir Ranulf de Glandeville, and greet your bride."

The abbess moved to Elf’s side, and gently removed her wimple revealing her hair, unpinning her single thick braid. The girl turned frightened eyes to her. "Please, Reverend Mother," she whispered. When the abbess did not answer, too stricken herself with emotion, Elf turned to the king again. "Why are you doing this to me, my lord? Why?"

"Have you learned no obedience, Eleanore de Montfort, in your years at St. Frideswide's?" the bishop scolded her.

"Nay, my lord bishop, the girl is certainly entitled to an explanation of why I am so drastically changing her life." King Stephen held out his hand to Elf. "Come here, my child, and I will explain," he said gently, and when she had hesitantly taken the royal hand, he drew her to his side, speaking quietly. "This decision is not one I have made arbitrarily, or without prayerful thought. The de Montforts, I have learned, fought for my grandfather, the Conqueror, both in Normandy and England, coming with him to take part in his great victory at Hastings. Your great-grandfather then wed Ashlin’s Saxon heiress. I suspect it is from her you gained your pale red-gold hair." He smiled encouragingly, then continued. "The blood of Ashlin’s original family continued to flow through the veins of Ashlin’s de Montfort lords because of that alliance. You have serfs, do you not, my lady Eleanore? How many? "

"Seventy-three, and ten freedmen are part of the manor," she answered the king softly.

"Have they ever rebelled against their lords?" the king inquired.

"Oh, no, my lord! Ashlin folk are peaceful folk," Elf quickly reassured him.

"If called upon to defend Ashlin, would they?" he probed further.

"Of course! Ashlin folk have always been loyal to us," she said.

"Loyal to us. To whom, my lady? To your family because they are related by blood to Ashlin’s original lords. And this is the reason you must wed. I cannot allow the continuity that Ashlin’s blood lords have to their land and to their serfs to be disrupted. It would but confuse your folk and make them resentful of a new lord, unless, of course, that lord was married to the de Montfort heiress. You, my lady Eleanore, are she. Your husband will be able to peacefully oversee the land and defend it for me, because the transition that is to be made from your late brother, Richard, may God assoil his good soul, will be made through you. You seem to be an intelligent girl, and so I am certain that you understand the importance of this transit from the de Montforts to the de Glandevilles."

"Yes, my lord," Elf said low.

"But yet you are resistant," the king noted. "Speak to me truthfully, my lady, and I will try to allay your fears."

Elf moved closer to the king, still clutching his hand nervously. "My lord, I do not know how to be a wife," she whispered. "Even if I were, in my heart, willing, I have been schooled to be a nun. I can read, and I can write. I speak French, English, and Latin. I have become in my short lifetime a skilled herbalist and infirmarian. I can chant plainsong. But, alas, I know nothing about keeping a house, or cooking, or preserving, or making jams, or any other of the valued skills of a good wife. I cannot play upon any instrument. Worst of all"-and here Elf blushed deeply-"I know naught of men or their desires. I would be a most dreadful wife, but I shall be a very good nun."

The king listened gravely to the girl’s litany, then he said, "All this may be true, my dear, but as you have learned how to be a good nun, I am certain there are those among your folk who will teach you how to be a good chatelaine. As for the rest, it has been my experience that a bridegroom enjoys schooling his bride in those other matters."

"But, my lord," Elf attempted to plead her case once more, but was interrupted by the bishop.

"My daughter, you have been told what you are to do. Now, cease your complaints, and tell the king you will obey him," the Bishop of Worcester snapped angrily. This stubborn little chit was behaving far above her station.

Elf, however, was not about to admit defeat quite yet. There was a light of battle in her gray eyes; she opened her mouth to speak, only to be arrested by a look from the abbess. Elf’s mouth shut with an almost audible snap.

"My daughter," Reverend Mother Eunice said, "when you came to us, I believed it God’s will that you remain with us forever. However, it is now plain to me that God’s will for you has changed, and you must obey it, Eleanore de Montfort. You will be a wife, not a nun. You will give obedience and respect to this good knight who is to be your husband. Perhaps one day you will send us one of your daughters to join our ranks, and that will be God’s will. But if you continue to argue with both the king and the bishop, you will shame us, for it will be said that we do not properly bring up the girls sent to us. Surely you would not shame us, child."

Elf sighed deeply, then she looked up at the king. "I am not happy in my heart, my lord, but I will obey you," she said reluctantly.

King Stephen patted the small white hand in his. "Sometimes God’s will is difficult to both obey and understand, Eleanore de Montfort. Nonetheless obey we must, my dear. Do not fear. This is a good man to whom I have given you." He turned his head briefly. "Come to my side, Ranulf de Glandeville," he called, and when the knight had joined them, the king put the girl’s little soft hand into the large hand of the knight. " In my capacity as guardian of this maiden, Ranulf de Glandeville, I give her to you as a wife with all her goods and chattels. Will you treat her with love and respect, and defend her lands in my name?"

The big hand closed about her hand. It was warm, and there was strength in it. "I will, my liege, as God is my witness," the deep familiar voice said quietly.

Elf’s head snapped up, and for the first time since all this had begun, she looked at the man who was to be her husband. "You!" she said. "You are the knight who passed through Ashlin before my brother died. You carried Richard’s will to both the bishop and the king."

"I am he, lady," Ranulf de Glandeville answered.

"They will be wed tomorrow by the bishop, and in my presence," the king said. "My lady abbess, will you see that the lady Eleanore is suitably dressed for her wedding?"

"I would gladly, my lord, but alas, I have no coin with which to purchase proper garments," the abbess replied, embarrassed.

"The bishop will supply you with all that is needed," the king said, and then a twinkle arose in his blue eyes. "Do not stint in your choices, lady. The bishop, I know, would want to be generous in this particular matter. He must perceive that it will please me to see the lady Eleanore of Ashlin prettily garbed."

"Indeed, yes," the bishop quickly agreed. "Choose what you will for the bride, Reverend Mother."

"My lord," Elf said to the king. "There are two small matters to address before you dismiss us. May I speak?" She gently disengaged her hand from that of Ranulf de Glandeville.

"You may," the king said, noting how deftly she had slipped her fingers from the knights. Lady Eleanore, he suspected, was going to be just fine despite her disappointment and the suddenness of everything that had happened to her this day.

"The dowry my brother gave to St. Frideswide's, I should like it to remain with them. They have nurtured me since I was five years of age. Then, too, Sister Winifred will now have no one to assist her, and she is not as young as she once was. It will take time to train another girl for her, and that girl must have an aptitude for herbs and caring for the sick. It cannot be just anyone. Now that I am Ashlin’s heiress, my lands should be more than enough for Sir Ranulf."

The king looked to the knight. "I agree," he said, "but the final decision is yours, Ranulf. What say you?"

"I agree also, my lord. It is only fair that my lady’s dower portion remain with the convent. She was, after all, within days of taking her final vows. I would also add to that two barrels of beer each October in thanks for my good fortune, and my bride."

"Well-spoken!" the king approved. "Now, my lady, what is that other matter on which you would speak to me?"

"It is my serf, Arthur," Elf began.

"He attacked me, causing grievous bodily injury," Saer de Bude spoke up. He had been forced to stand next to his uncle, who did not speak up for him when the king gave Eleanore to his own man. "A serf who attacks a noble is automatically sentenced to death. The low fellow has been in hiding at St. Frideswide’s ever since he fled from Ashlin. I demand justice!"

"Do you not know how to speak the truth at all?" Elf demanded fiercely. "Arthur pulled you off me when you sought to violate my innocence. You fell back, and hit your head against my worktable."

"He hit me!" Saer de Bude shouted, his reserve gone.

"I saw no blow," Elf boldly lied, glaring directly at the man. She turned to the king. "Arthur," she explained, "is a year older than I am, my lord. We were playmates as children, for my brother was ten years my senior. He had been working in the garden that day. In fact, he had earlier helped me to light the hearth so I might make my elixirs. If he had not been nearby in those gardens and heard my cries for aid, I should have been ruined. His sole concern was for me. He rushed me from my little workshop to the house, where my steward, Cedric, and my old nursemaid, Ida, advised me to return to St. Frideswide’s immediately. The steward gave Arthur leave to accompany me. Only that Cedric sent word that that man was crying for poor Arthur’s blood, he would have returned to Ashlin, and certain death. Instead he asked sanctuary of the abbess, who graciously gave it. Is that not so, Reverend Mother? Arthur asked you for sanctuary?"

Reverend Mother Eunice hesitated but a second. "Yes," she said, "Arthur of Ashlin did indeed ask me for sanctuary, which I granted." She would not have believed Eleanore de Montfort, so meek and mild a girl, could lie with such facility. Still, she had not asked for the abbess’s confirmation of her tale, only that the abbess had been asked for and had given sanctuary. That the rest would be assumed was not her fault.

And indeed it was assumed. "The serf, Arthur of Ashlin, is hereby granted my pardon for any wrongdoing that may or may not have occurred," the king said with finality. "It will be written up for you to carry with you tomorrow." Then King Stephen swung his gaze to Saer de Bude. "You are a good knight, Saer de Bude, but you need more polishing, it is obvious. I am sending you to my brother’s court in Blois. You will remain in the count’s service until you are told otherwise. My brother’s court is an elegant and refined one, and I urge you to learn all you can from being there. You will leave tonight, and you will carry several messages for me to my brother. May good fortune go with you."

Saer de Bude bowed to the king. There was no use in arguing unless he was seeking to have his life shortened considerably. While he loved Isleen, there was no sense in getting himself killed over her. There were plenty of other women in the world upon whom he might dote. He bowed low. "I thank you for your kindness, my lord king." Then he stepped back into the crowd in the hall, seeking some male friends with whom he might pass the time until he was summoned to leave. He did not bother to bid farewell to his uncle, who had not been particularly helpful to him this day. If the king had imprisoned him for his attempted assault he was quite certain that his uncle would have remained silent.

"Now, Baron Hugh," the king spoke again, "there is the matter of your daughter. It has come to my ears that Richard de Montfort sickened suspiciously and died. While nothing can be proven against your daughter, there are suspicions, particularly given her carnal liaison with her cousin. Do not deny it, my lord, for there were many who saw them, though they either did not know, or care; yet it is suspected that your late son-in-law, Richard de Montfort, was poisoned by person or persons unknown. But as your daughter and her cousin were the only ones close to Richard de Montfort-as no servant had a grievance against the lord-it is possible that it is your daughter who poisoned her husband. This being the case, I forbid you to make any match for Isleen de Warenne. Incarcerate her in a cloister, and keep her there for the rest of her days, Baron Hugh. She is a dangerous woman."

"My lord," Hugh de Warenne protested, "you have no proof that my daughter would do such a terrible thing. What reason would she have? She loved Richard."

"Your daughter was barren after nine years of marriage. Richard de Montfort had at least three bastards born to female serfs belonging to him. Your daughter may have known and become angry and embittered. She loved her cousin. She might think to kill her husband, have her cousin debauch his sister, the rightful heiress, so the girl would have to marry her rapist. Then, when the time was right, Lady Isleen might kill off the innocent so she could marry her cousin, and together they would share Ashlin."

Hugh de Warenne blustered, "My lord, that is a preposterous tale! You have not one shred of proof against my daughter and Saer de Bude."

"I have enough proof, my lord," the king said icily. "Cedric of Ashlin, come forward and give your testimony."

Ashlin’s steward came slowly forward, awed to be in such grand company, but determined to make certain his mistress was safe from Saer de Bude and his family. "I am here, my lord king," the old man said, and he bowed low to King Stephen.

"Shall the steward give his testimony, Hugh de Warenne, or will you cease your carping and do as I have commanded?" the king asked.

"I will obey, my lord," Baron Hugh said, silently damning his daughter to hell. He was going to find the most remote and harshest cloister and see Isleen put away forever! His family had come close to ruin today, and all because of the lewd, murderous bitch.

"Go, then," the king said, "and carry out my will."

Hugh de Warenne bowed, and backed from the king’s sight.

"Now," the king said to the steward, "will you pledge for yourself, and all of Ashlin’s folk, that you will be loyal to Lord Ranulf, Cedric of Ashlin? Will you accept him as your new master?"

"Right gladly, my lord, as long as he takes care of our lady Eleanore," the steward replied boldly.

"I will take great care of her," Ranulf de Glandeville said.

"Then, we will serve you loyally and with devotion, my lord," Cedric replied, and he bowed to his master.

"It is settled, then," the king said. "The marriage will take place tomorrow immediately preceding the morning Mass."

When they had departed the bishop’s hall, Elf turned to her steward. "How did you come to be here, Cedric? I did not give you permission to leave Ashlin."

"I had to come, my lady, and I hope you will forgive me, but your old Ida would not rest easy unless we could all be certain that Saer de Bude did not slander you further or force you into a marriage you didn't desire. We could not serve such a man, although for love of you we would have. Forgive me, my lady."

"But how did you gain the king’s ear?" Elf asked him.

"I simply told the bishop’s porter that I had important information for the king regarding a case to be heard today. The porter passed me on to the bishop’s seneschal, who gained the king’s ear for me. I told him everything we had seen and heard in Lord Richard’s last months. She never noticed us as she pursued her evil desires. There was nothing we could do to stop her, for we are serfs. We would have been punished for uttering our suspicions. Ida thinks it was the sugared almonds she was always feeding the lord. But we heard enough to be certain that she killed our dear lord. I thought the king should know before making any decision in this matter. I am glad, my lady, that you will be coming home to Ashlin, where you truly belong," Cedric finished.

"You will stay with me tonight, steward," Ranulf de Glandeville said to Cedric. "Your mistress must go now to prepare for our wedding." He turned to Elf, taking her hand again. "Lady, you need have no fear of me. You have been gently bred. I will respect your wishes in all matters, for I would that ours be a happy union."

Elf looked shyly up at him. "You are so big."

"And you so petite, lady," he responded with a small smile.

"I fear I shall not be a good wife."

"You were a most gracious hostess that night I stayed at Ashlin, my lady Eleanore. While your sister-in-law looked to her lover, you saw to my meal and to my sleeping accommodation. I think you will be a very good wife."

"But I do not know how to do so many things. It is a simple task to say, bring the lord a plate of food. But what happens when I must decide what food the cook is to prepare?"

"Cedric will help you, will you not, steward?" Ranulf de Glandeville said, his gaze going to the older man.

"Indeed, my lord, and cook will help the lady, and we all will aid her, for we are so glad she is coming home again," Cedric said.

"So, my lady Eleanore," her husband-to-be said, kissing her small hand and causing her to blush before he released it, "you will in due time become an excellent chatelaine."

They had reached the door of the bishop’s guest house.

"We will leave you now, my lord," the abbess said. "If Eleanore is to be a bride tomorrow, we must go into the market and the shops to see what garments we can obtain for her."

"The lady Eleanore, Reverend Mother, will be beautiful in whatever she is clothed, I am certain." Then he flushed. " I am no courtier with words, I fear." He bowed to the four women, and with Cedric in tow hurried off.

"For a man who is no courtier, he does quite well with words," the abbess said with a small smile. "I like him."