"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."