The Innocent (26 page)

His own mother had rejected him in favor of her new husband. He had been astounded that she could do such a thing, for he was her son. Her firstborn, and yet she had put him aside with apparent ease. When the pain and the shock had drained away, he had come to realize his mother was only doing what was best for her, and the children she had borne her second mate. Though she had stood by while her husband stole her eldest son’s patrimony, she had loved Ranulf in her own way; and she had known that he could forge a new life for himself with King Stephen. He had forgiven her, but he had never quite rid himself of the pain of that rejection. Now he knew that his mother’s denial of him would be naught compared to the pain and sorrow he would feel if Eleanore rejected his love. Better to remain silent.
At least for now.

She lay cradled in his arms, her head upon his chest.
Men are different in so many ways from women,
Elf thought. She remembered the girls at the convent saying that all that men could feel was lust and passion. She had since learned that those qualities were not necessarily a bad thing; yet, how her heart yearned for more! She did not know if this
love
was a particularly good thing. Her brother loved his wife, Isleen, and that turned out badly. For love, Dickon had rejected his own flesh and blood and had put her in St. Frideswide's. He did not come to see her but once in those nine years. How fortunate that she was happy there, for her brother would neither have known nor cared if it were otherwise, just as long as Isleen was content. And in the end she killed him because she loved her cousin, Saer de Bude, and he was willing to abet her in her evil perfidy.

Does love render men foolish and weak?
Elf wondered.
How I should like to tell Ranulf that he owns not just my body, but my heart as well.
She wanted to be with him all the time and fretted when he was not with her. She could not bear the thought that he was to go to Normandy, not knowing when he would return. For all those years she slept alone on her convent cot, yet now she could not even bear to think of how awful it would be when his broad back would not be there for her to cuddle against. That was not lust, she knew. When he smiled at her, her heart grew tight within her. The sound of his voice made her happy.
How will I bear it when he is not here for me to share my day with, and he, his, with me?

She would tell him of her feelings, but she suspected it would just embarrass him. He was so much older than she, and wiser. He would surely think her foolish, and she could not bear it if the respect he seemed to hold for her were damaged by her girlish emotions. Ranulf was a sophisticated man, having been raised at the court. He might not be a man of great family or wealth, but even Duke Henry recognized his worth and chose him for this mission. A man like that would certainly be discomfited and abashed by love. Better that she remain silent. He was good to her, and what more could she possibly desire?

***

July came, and it was time for Ranulf to depart for Normandy. He did so reluctantly. Although Ashlin had been left in peace, the Welsh had been raiding. A serf sent to St. Frideswide’s with several baskets of plums, a gift from Simon to his godmothers, returned to tell them that a small flock of the nuns' sheep had been driven off from a near meadow. It had happened in the night, which made it more frightening. The nuns had awakened in the morning and discovered the loss. The sheepdog who stayed with the flock had been slaughtered, and it was the crows feasting on its carcass that had first drawn their attention.

"Keep one side of the gates closed even during the day," Ranulf told Elf. "If the Welsh come, the serfs in the fields can run for the enclosure, but remember to be certain the gates are firmly barred before the Welsh ponies even get near the drawbridge. Raise it if you can in the event of an attack. It will make it more difficult for the enemy. If anyone mounts a serious full-scale attack, it is possible to breach our walls, for they are still too low. I do not believe, however, the Welsh have that capability. You should be safe if you take precautions. Be very careful, petite."

"But what if some of our people are caught in the open?" she asked.

"They must then take their chances, and God help them," he told her. "The safety of
all
of Ashlin’s people rests with your decisions, petite. Fulk will be here to marshal our men, but you are the lady of the manor, and it is your word that is law."

"I do not wish to sound like a child, but I am truly uncomfortable with so great a responsibility."

"If I were killed in battle," he replied, "you would have to hold this manor for our Simon, Eleanore, even as your mother did for your brother. She was, I am told, a gentle soul as you are, but she had strength aplenty for her son’s inheritance, unlike my mother who allowed my stepfather to steal my lands for their sons. You have the courage, petite. I will be back as quickly as I can." He put a comforting arm about her, and Elf could feel his strength flowing into her as he embraced her.

"Forgive my lapse," she said softly. "I will do my duty."

"I know you will," Ranulf replied. "Keep a watch on the walls both day and night. Tell the shepherds that if the Welsh come in the night as they did at St. Frideswide's, to take their dogs, and disappear into the gorse. They would be helpless against an armed band, and unable to prevent the sheep from being stolen. The sheep can be replaced. Their lives cannot. I need loyal serfs about us."

"Will you send me word when you can return?"

"I do not think I can, as my mission is to be a discreet one. I will try, however, petite. When you hear that King Stephen has died, know that I will be on my way home," he advised her. "It is then the queen will come to England with her son."

Elf had packed her husband’s baggage, which would be transported upon a mule. There were two good tunics for the court, and two for everyday wear. She had made him several fine new linen chemises. There were newly sewn hose and braies, chausses, and undertunics. There was a beautiful surcoat to be worn over his armor at court, a fine girdle studded with garnets and pearls, and a pair of fur-lined gloves as well as a light wool mantle lined in lynx.

"I wonder if it is enough," she fretted.

He laughed. "It will have to be. I am but a simple knight. I do not wish to attract attention, petite. I am to be an English sparrow amid all the fine peacocks of Duke Henry’s court. Besides, the mule must carry my armor with him as well. I may be invited to join in a tournament."

She paled. "What if you are injured?!" she exclaimed. "And who will wash your garments for you if you are forced to stay more than a month or two? Did Duke Henry think of that when he ordered you to Normandy? No! Of course not! He is to be a king and is used to ordering others about without a care for their welfare."

Ranulf laughed again at his wife’s outrage. "Pax will do the laundry," he told her. "It is part of his duties as my squire. He promises to care for me every bit as well as a wife," he teased her.

"Humph!" Elf snorted derisively.

The day was new, the mule packed. Pax had thanked his uncle for the hundredth time for the opportunity he had been given. He kissed his proud mother farewell, and mounted his new horse. Ranulf smiled at the young man’s excitement. He knew that Pax had never been off Ashlin lands in his whole life, and for him a grand adventure awaited.

Elf forced back her tears. She would not behave like a silly fool. Ranulf was not going to war, just to Normandy. "I will pray you have a safe journey, my lord," she told him quietly. "I will pray you are successful, and return home safely to us as quickly as possible."

"The hour of my departure but means I am closer to returning home to you, petite," he told her. Then his arms enfolded her, and he kissed her with tender passion. "Keep Simon and Ashlin safe for me, Eleanore," he said, releasing her from his embrace.

"I will, Ranulf," she promised him. Was there something different in his look than had been there before? She had begun to sense of late that perhaps love was not an emotion foreign to him. If only she could tell him what was in her own heart! She watched him as he mounted his great warhorse. He reached down and lifted her up for a final kiss.

Their eyes met, and for a moment Elf thought she was floating. "Farewell, petite," he said setting her back upon her feet. By the rood, her look had been more than just responsive! Was it possible she might harbor warmhearted feelings for him? Did he dare to hope? He sighed as he kicked his mount into a walk. It would simply have to wait until he returned. Besides, he wanted to be absolutely certain of his position in her life. If she loved him, he wanted to hear it from her lips. He needed to know for sure else he make a fool of himself. He wanted her love, not her pity.

Elf watched until her husband and his squire were no more than a speck upon the road. Then, with a shake of her head, she returned through the gates of Ashlin to her daily round of duties. She had to speak with Fulk, John, and Cedric this morning. There would be crops to harvest in the coming month, and the fields to be tilled and planted with the winter crops. The sheep needed to be shorn if they were to have new coats for the winter and Ashlin have wool to sell at the Lammas Fair. There was so much to do.

***

On the edge of a wood bordering Ashlin, Merin ap Owen lurked. He did not trust any of his men to scout a possible target for him. This was something he always did himself. It was the secret of his success as a raider. He looked up the hill and saw Ashlin’s walls. They were far higher than Isleen had told him. Had she lied? Was she stupid-or had the walls been rebuilt? He opted for the latter explanation, for Isleen was many things, but she was not stupid. He needed to get closer. Isleen had said there was a shallow moat, but if the walls had been elevated, then surely the moat had been deepened.

He moved from the wood onto the narrow path leading up to the walled enclosure. He was dressed simply in greens and browns, the better to blend in with his surroundings. On his back he carried a knife-sharpener’s wheel. It was a disguise he used often. There were always knives to be sharpened on any estate, although one such as this one probably had its own wheel. Still, Merin ap Owen did not appear to be a suspicious character and would be granted a night’s lodging if he asked, which he would. It was the best way to gain the lay of the land. Servants gossiped, and a woman servant well pleasured talked the most of all. He smiled wolfishly, his step firm.

He was, as he had expected, welcomed to Ashlin. His sharp eye determined that the moat was indeed deeper. Not only that but the earthen bridge across it had been dug away to be replaced by a thick oak drawbridge. There was a platform around the inner walls where the men-at-arms stood on watch, and there were certainly more armed men than he had anticipated. Further, they seemed well trained. Ashlin would be a far greater challenge than he had thought. It would take careful planning to gain hostile entry here. Was it worth it, he wondered?

As he sat in the hall that evening looking about him, he thoughtfully considered the risks, weighing them against the profits of such a venture. The sheep and the cattle were pastured outside the walls. They would appear to be Ashlin’s greatest assets, and they could easily be stolen with probably no loss of life. While the hall was comfortable, there was no silver plate displayed, or anything else of great enough value to warrant taking. Isleen’s passion for vengeance was what drove her, but his whore did not ever overrule his common sense.

The lady of the manor had married a good man. He divined that by the well-trained men-at-arms and the additional precautions that had been taken to evade raiders such as himself. He smiled. They were the exact foresights he would have taken under such circumstances. The lord, however, was away, he learned from the chatter about him. It would appear to be as good a time as any to raid Ashlin’s livestock.

His eye went to the lady of the manor. The little nun, as Isleen called her, was probably one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her pale red-gold hair was neatly braided, and contained beneath a modest veil. There was a serenity about her that he had never known to encompass a woman. His eyes narrowed. He could see her servants both loved and respected her by the way in which they served her. He realized he was, for the first time in his life, in the presence of a
good
woman. He had not thought such a creature existed. It gave rise to another question. What was a good woman like in bed? Did that cool elegance extend to her lord’s bed, or was she both passionate and hot in her husband’s arms? He was not likely to know, he considered wryly.

Merin ap Owen was given a sleeping place by the fire, and some bread and cheese when the morning came. As they did not need a knife sharpener’s service, he took his leave of Ashlin, making his way for the next few days over the hills back into Wales and to Gwynfr. Arriving at his small castle, he went to Isleen’s chambers and sent for her to come to him immediately.

"So, you are back, my lord," she said, entering her private apartment. She was garbed in a blue silk gown that favored her eyes, and her golden hair was loose.

"Get on your back, and raise your skirts," he commanded her. "I have missed your hot and eager sheath, Isleen. When you have pleasured me we will talk, my pretty bitch." He fell upon her immediately and used her lustily. She was not as eager as he, although she pretended to be. He knew then she had been betraying him with one or more of his men. He said nothing. Let her believe she could hoodwink him. While he enjoyed her wantonness, he knew that one day he would send her back to Clud, for he could not allow her to make a fool of him, lest his men believe him weak. Finished with her, he arose and straightened out his clothing. "Get up," he told her. "Now we will talk."

"You will attack Ashlin?" she asked avidly.

"Much has changed since you held sway there as Richard de Montfort’s wife, Isleen." He went on to explain to her, then said, "The sheep and the cattle we will steal, but there is nothing in the hall worth risking the lives of my men."