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.
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
