Elf listened to his breathing; shortly he was snoring. She whispered her prayers and tried to sleep, but sleep would not come at first. Her mind was filled with questions for which she had no answers. How had Isleen de Warenne ended up here at Gwynfr Castle? And Merin ap Owen? What kind of a man was he really? While his tongue was rough with Isleen, he was courteous with her. Was she safe from his advances, if indeed he even made advances toward her? It was all very confusing. She was not worried about her son, for the Ashlin folk would care for Simon with singular devotion. A wet nurse would be easily found among her serfs. While he might miss her face, Simon would be oblivious to her absence, given a warm breast to nurse upon and sturdy arms to cuddle him. Elf, however, could not shake free from her desperate sense of loss of both the infant and Ranulf. Her breasts ached every bit as much as her heart, which she felt was near to breaking. But for Simon’s sake she had to mask her emotions. Her enemies must not know of his existence.
Ranulf.
She sighed softly. He would be safe in Normandy, but when was he coming home?
When you hear of King Stephen’s death,
she reminded herself, but she had heard nothing of the king, and here it was October. But then Ashlin in its remote location was always last to hear any important news, Elf thought. And she was stuck here in Wales until her ransom was paid. It could not even be demanded, surely, until her husband came home, whenever that was.
Elf felt tears pricking against her eyelids, and blinked them back. She would not allow this Welsh bandit and his evil whore to know she was fearful.
Ranulf.
Her heart cried out for him. She could see his face in her mind’s eye. The dark bushy brows over his warm hazel eyes. His big mouth that could kiss her both tenderly and fiercely all at once. She could almost feel the softness of his chestnut hair between her fingers. How gently he had wooed her. How very much she loved him, and if she ever saw him again in this life, she intended telling him so even if it would abash him! Had anyone ever loved Ranulf de Glandeville? From what he had told her, the answer was no. Well, it was past time someone who loved Ranulf told him so. He would just have to get used to it, and even if he didn't love her because he didn't know how to love, it would make no difference. She loved him, and that was all there was to it!
When she awoke the following morning, Merin ap Owen had gone from the bedchamber. Elf arose and dressed. She walked into the dayroom of the apartment and tried the door into the hallway, but discovered it was locked. Still, a fire burned in the fireplace, and a tray with a carafe of liquid, a small fresh loaf of bread, an apple, and a honeycomb was set upon the table. She wondered if Isleen had poisoned the food and drink, but then decided she was being foolish. She could hear sounds in the tower apartment above her indicating that Isleen was still there. Besides, Isleen would not have a key to her prison.
Elf sat down and ate, prudently leaving half the food for later. When she had finished, she made up the bed in the lord’s chamber and her own little pallet, for lack of anything else to do. She next gazed out the window for a time. Gwynfr was set atop a craggy hillock. Below she could see a village. The hills about them were alive with autumn color. The day was gray and rainy. She had only just sat down by the fire when she heard the key in the lock, and leapt up.
Merin ap Owen came through the door. "Ah, you are awake, my lady Eleanore," he said. "Sit down, and we will speak on the matter that concerns us. Namely, your ransom."
Elf seated herself again. "My husband is in Normandy," she said. "You picked a rather bad time to kidnap me, my lord." He was a handsome man, she thought, but for that terrible thin scar running down the left side of his face. "There is no one at Ashlin who can pay you any ransom you are going to demand. No one has the authority."
"You speak as if you do not know when your husband will return."
"I do not know," Elf told him frankly.
"Why did he go to Normandy?"
"He did not confide in me, my lord, although it may have had something to do with his mother, who lives there with her second husband," Elf replied as naturally as if it were the purest truth.
"Or perhaps he went to make his peace with Duke Henry, for I hear the English king is ill," Merin ap Owen observed.
"Mayhap, but my husband has always been loyal to King Stephen, my lord. It was the king who arranged our marriage to reward Ranulf for his dedication and fealty."
"The
why
does not matter," Merin ap Owen observed. "If I must keep you for a time, I will, my lady Eleanore, but to be frank, I had not anticipated it," he told her. "The lady Isleen is a dangerous enemy to have, as you know. While I realize her grievance against you lacks substance, she nonetheless believes her cause is just and seeks her revenge."
"She is a stupid creature with the wit of a flea," Elf said irritably. "She kills my brother, then blames me because I will not allow myself to be killed by her so she may have my family’s lands! I once thought I had great patience, but Isleen de Warenne would try the patience of all the saints and angels in God’s heaven!"
He laughed aloud, suddenly realizing that he liked this young woman. Isleen had sneered at her goodness, and the truth was that Merin ap Owen could never remember having met a good woman. He was beginning to suspect that Eleanore de Montfort might really be one. "Isleen is indeed stupid," he agreed, "but do not underestimate her, my lady, for while a dullard and simpleton in most ways, she has incredible guile, which is what makes her a treacherous foe."
"It was her idea to kidnap me?"
His dark head nodded in the affirmative. "Frankly, my lady Eleanore, I would have been content to steal all your sheep and cattle, but as Isleen pointed out, I would gain but half their value as everyone knows that what I sell, I have stolen. By stealing you, I force your husband to sell the livestock himself, and gain twice what I would otherwise."
"She has put you to a great deal of trouble, Merin ap Owen," Elf said. "If you had taken the sheep and the cattle, you would now have your reward. Instead you must wait for my husband to return from Normandy, and while we wait, you must keep me safe from your whore. I wonder if you are up to such a task, my lord. It would seem for a stupid woman, Isleen has outmaneuvered us both."
He laughed again. "You are not at all as Isleen described you to me, lady."
"From the time I was five years old until the day I returned home to nurse my dying brother, I never saw Dickon or his wife, but once, shortly after they were wed. Within a convent you are protected from the realities of the world. It is a simple matter to cultivate holiness in a place where there is little temptation, Merin ap Owen. I probably seemed an innocent ninny to Isleen. She bases her impression of me on that brief acquaintance we shared. While I still surely possess a certain amount of naiveté, I am not quite the sweet and simple girl Isleen thinks I am. If she attempts me any harm, I will defend myself with every means at my disposal. The only thing I cannot prevent her from doing is poisoning me. You had best be certain that she does not, else you lose your ransom, my lord Merin."
He nodded, impressed by her astuteness. By the rood, she was a lovely woman! "I will keep you safe," he promised her.
"I believe that you will," Elf replied softly. Then she said, "Must I remain here, my lord, all the time?"
"Nay," he told her. "You are welcome in the hall, lady."
"I cannot simply sit and do nothing," Elf said. "If you have a tapestry frame, I could begin a tapestry; or if you have clothing that needs mending, I will do it for you. I dislike being idle, you will understand, my lord. If you have someone who could gather certain herbs and plants for me, I will make poultices, teas, and salves for your infirmary. Who cares for your sick and wounded?"
"There is no one," he said.
"No one?" She was surprised.
"This is a place of men, my lady Eleanore. Until I brought Isleen here, there were no women. We have relied upon ourselves for healing when it was necessary."
"Have you no wife?" She was curious as to why, but then considering the place, perhaps it was not surprising.
"I have no wife," he answered. For some reason he did not want to tell her he had had two, and neither could abide him.
"Perhaps there is one among your men whom I could teach my arts of healing. That way," Elf explained, "when I am gone back to Ashlin, you will have someone with the knowledge to cure. If an epidemic ever struck here, or in your village below, it could wipe everyone out, my lord Merin. That would be a great tragedy."
She spoke to him as if she were merely visiting as his guest. She was not judgmental of him, and it actually made Merin ap Owen uncomfortable. She should not be kind to him or offer to aid him, he thought. He was her kidnapper, not her host! Yet there was such a pure sweetness about her that he could not for the life of him be anything but pleased. "I will seek among my men for the proper person," he told her. "In the meantime I will choose someone trustworthy to escort you outside to seek what you need. I cannot give you a female companion. Arwydd belongs to Isleen body and soul. If you trusted her before, lady, do not do so now. She is back in Isleen’s power and will do whatever is asked of her. I will warn her, however, not to obey her mistress’s directives to harm you. Isleen must be constantly reminded that I am master here at Gwynfr. Come now." He arose and offered her his hand. "I will escort you into the hall, my lady Eleanore."
They descended the stairs and, entering the hall, found it empty but for a single servant.
"Gwyll," the lord of Gwynfr said. "The lady Eleanore is in your charge from now on. You are responsible for seeing no harm | comes to her. Only I will give you orders regarding her. No one else, and particularly not the lady Isleen, may do so. I will not send my orders by anyone else. I will come to you face-to-face when necessary"
“I understand, my lord," Gwyll replied.
Merin ap Owen turned to Elf. "I think there is a tapestry frame and a loom in the attics that used to belong to my grandmother. I will go and see if I can find it, my lady Eleanore. Gwyll, is there needle and thread to be had in this castle?"
"I do not think so, my lord," Gwyll said, surprised by such a request. "Perhaps in the attics with the loom?"
"Let Gwyll take me, my lord. Surely you must have more important things to do than seek for women’s toys."
"Very well, lady," Merin ap Owen responded. "Besides, I should not know what I was seeking. You will. Gwyll, take her, and remain by her side at all times."
"I understand, my lord," Gwyll said with meaning. He didn't like his master’s English mistress. She was a truly evil woman.
Elf had little hope of finding what she needed, but to her surprise she did. There was a loom and a frame both, along with a basket of colored wools. Then Gwyll discovered a smaller woven container with sewing materials.
"I wonder to whom these belonged," she said softly.
Gwyll did not answer her, but shrugged, apparently as mystified as she was, although he was not. The tapestry frame had belonged to the lord’s grandmother. The loom and its wools had belonged to his master’s first wife, who had come dreamy-eyed and full of hope to Gwynfr, only to discover her bridegroom was a monster. She, poor lass, had been so in love with Merin ap Owen, she could not bring herself to face the truth. She had died for her love; and there had been no one to revenge her, for she had been an orphan. The sewing basket he thought might have belonged to her, too. "If you have what you need, lady, we had best return to the hall," Gwyll said. "I'll set up the loom and the frame for you, if you wish it. Mayhap by the fire?"
"That would be perfect," Elf answered him, placing the sewing accoutrements atop the basket of wools, then stepping carefully down the narrow staircase of the half-ruined tower. Here and there a stone from the walls had fallen into the passageway. Elf was surprised that the roof in the attic had been in such good condition else her treasures would have been ruined. She really did need something to do if she was going to be here for even a short time.
Back in the hall Gwyll set up the equipment next to the fire as he had promised Elf. When he had finished, he set a chair by it, then turning to Elf asked her, "Will you weave now, lady, or would you like to go out-of-doors and seek for plants? There is but a light rain today."
"I think I shall remain indoors today, Gwyll. I am still damp from my long ride," she told him with a small smile.
"Do you think you will be with us long, lady?" he asked her politely as he seated her before the loom, setting the tall basket of wools by her side. "Perhaps I should spread them out on the floor for you to see, and then you can decide which colors to use," Gwyll offered helpfully, tipping the container and separating the hanks for her to view.
"Thank you," Elf answered him. "I don't know. It depends when my husband returns from Normandy." Bending, she began to separate the colors, filling her lap with those she wanted. "Put the others away now, Gwyll," she said as she started to string the loom.
"Ohhh!
How sweet and how domestic" came a sneering comment.
"Good morning, Isleen," Elf replied dryly. "What do you do with your day? Gwynfr is hardly the most stimulating atmosphere I have ever been in, and I am used to using my time wisely."
"So pious. So good. My lord Merin coddles you. If you were my prisoner, I should chain you in the dungeons to be nibbled at by the rats. Your husband could have whatever was left when he paid the ransom! He'd probably be glad to be rid of you. You cannot be of any interest to him in his bed. Do you pray when he mounts you, and takes what small pleasure he can gain off your skinny body?" Isleen stood directly before Elf’s loom, glaring down at her, her bright blue eyes filled with her anger.
"But I am not your prisoner, Isleen, although I have been given to understand I have you to thank for my current predicament," Elf replied. There was, Gwyll noted, just the faintest hint of anger in her voice.