The clothier bowed, nodding his thanks, and the abbess in the company of Sister Winifred departed the shop leaving the two younger women behind. Mistress Martha pocketed her silver mark with a pleased smile, then signaled to Eleanore and her companion to follow along back up the stairs. The three settled themselves to begin the task of making the alterations. Elf was silent as she sewed, carefully keeping her eye on her work, but Sister Columba chattered away with the clothier’s wife as they hemmed and stitched. Soon Mistress Martha knew a very great deal about the two young women. She was quite fascinated that a novice, within days of her final vows, had been plucked from the convent to marry a knight.

"I do not wish to seem rude," the older woman whispered to the young nun, in whom she recognized a friendly soul, "but does the young lady know about men’s needs? I hope I do not shock you."

"You are a mother," Sister Columba said. "Mayhap you should attempt to enlighten Elf."

She looked up at the sound of her name. "What is it?"

"Mistress Martha, realizing your ignorance in matters of the flesh, was asking me if she should speak to you as your own mother would were she alive to do so. I think it a good idea, Elf. You would never come with us when we went to the barn, and that was all right then, but tomorrow you are to be married, and as the goodwife says, men expect certain favors of their wives. You must know what will be required of you."

Elf blushed deeply. "I know… but I am frankly fearful."

"The natural reaction of a proper virgin," Mistress Martha said, "but, my child, there is really nothing to fear. While a woman’s body is a pretty thing, a man’s while not ugly, is quite ordinary. While a woman has titties to be stroked and a bottom to be fondled, men have naught but one item of interest. Their manhood. They put a great deal of store by it, however. Boys compare them for size. Men brag on them, and the amorous conquests they have made with them. It’s all quite silly considering a manhood is naught but a length of limp flesh most of the time." And then the good woman proceeded to explain as if Elf were her own dear daughter, Cecily. At length Mistress Martha finished, asking, "Now, is there anything you would ask me?"

Elf shook her head.

"You are free, you realize, to ask your husband questions. Oh, yes! Men like to be petted, too. Do not feel shy of touching your husband. And do you know, although of course you must, about preventing conception?"

"But that is wrong."

"Not always," Mistress Martha replied, "leastwise, not to my mind. Not if a woman has had too many babes in a row and her body needs to rest, or if a woman imperils her life by being with child. These dangers must be addressed. Oh, I know the church says that under such circumstances a man and his wife must cease marital relations, but more often than not they do not want to do so. Then, too, if they do, the man’s natural lusts will lead him to other women, and no wife wants that. The church, God bless it, does not comprehend these things, and asks too much of us in these cases. Better a wife take a spoonful of wild carrot seeds daily to prevent conception. That way she may keep her husband content in her bed and free from the greater sin of adultery," the goodwife concluded happily.

"I see," Elf said. Although it went against all she had been taught, there was a practical logic to it. "Thank you, Mistress Martha."

It was well past dark when the trio finished the alterations for Elf’s clothing. Two men-at-arms from the bishop’s staff had arrived to escort the young women back to the guest house. Master Albert accompanied them, drawing a small cart. It held a small wooden chest that had arrived during the afternoon from the furniture maker, whose shop was located just a few doors down from the clothier. Mistress Martha herself had packed Elf’s clothes, and she would not let them leave until she had fed them a hot supper of rabbit stew, fresh bread, and newly pressed cider.

They left the clothier’s shop, two of Master Albert’s own apprentices going ahead with torches, the clothier himself following his lads with the cart, the women behind him followed by the two men-at-arms. They had almost reached the bishop’s guest house when a door opened onto the narrow street, light breaking out to brighten the cobbles as some half-a-dozen men spilled from the building. It was obvious they were well filled with wine.

"Aha!" one of the men said, stepping forward to block Elf’s path. " 'Tis the lady Eleanore de Montfort, who might have been my bride, but instead is to marry an old man tomorrow." Saer de Bude’s face, now dissolute with too much wine and other debauchery, leered down into hers. His breath was foul with sour drink.

"Let me pass!" Elf snapped. It was this man, she decided, who was responsible for all that had happened. Had there been no dispute over Ashlin, the king would never have known of her, and her life would have gone on as she had planned. Angry, she stamped her shoe down upon his booted foot as hard as she could.

With a surprised yelp he fell backward. "Bitch!" he snarled as Elf pushed past him, and the bishop’s men-at-arms now stepped quickly into his path to prevent any further encounter between the two.

The porter at the guest house gate greeted them as they arrived, letting Master Albert carry Elf’s new chest into the building, where a servant accepted it. Both Elf and Sister Columba thanked the clothier for his kindness before he left. They quickly found their pallets in the dormitory and lay down. Elf was so exhausted by the day’s events that she never even heard the nuns arise before midnight to go to the adjoining church to say Matins and Lauds. They did, however, awaken her for Prime, and afterward a bath was brought for the bride while she broke her fast with hot oat stirabout, and bread with honey.

Then it was time for Elf to be dressed for her wedding. As there were no other visitors to the guest house now, they had privacy in which to attire the bride. The abbess admired the beautiful deep green and gold silk brocade bliaut. First Elf was given a clean camisa to put on, and over it a somewhat more elegant camisa, called a sherte, with a neckline embroidered in a band of gold, and long sleeves that had been dyed a green to match the rest of the costume. The abbess laced the bliaut tightly while Sister Winifred attached wide, pleated green sleeves to the brocade sleeves that extended to the elbow. Sister Columba fastened the long, pleated green skirt to the bliaut, then fixed a green and gold brocade girdle with a polished brass clasp about Elf’s hips. The bride had previously put on her stockings, and gartered them at the knee; and then put on her leather shoes, which Sister Columba had carefully cleaned.

The abbess took up a small hairbrush, and began to brush Elf’s long hair, which had never been cut, and now extended to her knees. When the lovely pale red-gold hair was shining, it was left loose in tribute to her virtue. A sheer golden silk veil was set atop her head, and held in place with a green ribbon. "There," the abbess said with a small smile. "You are ready, my daughter."

"Oh, Elf, you are really beautiful!" her best friend said.

"I feel so strange. I have never worn anything but my simple convent garb. This garment is so rich. I fear I am most out of place in it.

"Nay," the abbess responded. "It is a costume for a special occasion. For a wedding, or a festival, or if you should go to court. It is perfectly suitable for your station. But come, now. We are expected in the bishop’s private chapel before the Mass. It is almost time, and we must hurry."

Escorted by the three nuns, the bride was brought to the place of worship where the Bishop of Worcester made his personal devotions. It was a small chamber. A simple oak altar, a fine white linen cloth covering it, bore a beautiful gold cross with matching candlesticks burning pure beeswax candles. There were no windows in the room, but hung about the walls were the stations of the cross, represented in simple paintings in arched frames. The bishop in his fine robes was awaiting them, as was the bridegroom.

For the first time since they had met, Elf studied this man she was about to wed. He was at least a foot taller than she was. His chestnut brown hair was cropped short in defiance of fashion, and he was clean-shaven unlike many of his peers. His face was long rather than round, and he had a squared chin. His nose was prominent, although not out of proportion with the rest of his face; his hazel eyes oval in shape; his mouth big; his cheekbones chiseled. His brows were thick and dark, and Elf could not help but notice he had very long eyelashes. His skin tone seemed fair, but weathered. He did not appear too old.

Ranulf de Glandeville was aware of Lady Eleanore’s close scrutiny. He was garbed in his finest dalmatica, a rather extravagant scarlet silk with bands of embroidery on the sleeves, and about the neckline. His dark blue chausses-long, tight-fitting hose-showed in the area between the hem of his dalmatica, and his cuffed, soft leather boots. An embroidered blue and gold girdle encased his body. He wore no sword within the holy place, and his head was bare.

The bishop looked for a moment on the couple before him. How suited to marriage was the girl, he decided. Her face, even surrounded by the simple wimple of a nun, was so lovely it would tempt a man far more chivalrous than Saer de Bude. Aye, the girl was not meant for the cloister. This faithful knight of the king's, Ranulf de Glandeville, would master her, and keep both her and her lands safe. His conscience quite clear, he began the marriage ceremony.

Elf listened to the drone of the bishop’s Latin. Her fate was sealed. She had been taught all these years to be obedient, yet she felt the flames of rebellion within her heart. She almost jumped with surprise as Ranulf de Grandeville reached out to take her little hand in his big paw. She glanced quickly up at him, but his eyes were focused straight ahead upon the bishop even as he gave her fingers a little squeeze. A terrifying thought leapt into her brain. Could he read her mind? Did he know what she had been thinking? No! He could not have known-or could he?

Gently prompted by the abbess, who stood by her side, Elf made her responses, agreeing to her marriage vows before God and this small company of witnesses. To her surprise her bridegroom placed a small, delicately made gold ring studded with rubies upon her finger… and it fit perfectly! When the bishop finally pronounced them husband and wife, she turned with Ranulf de Glandeville to find that King Stephen had slipped quietly into the bishop’s chapel to observe the ceremony. Now he came forward, and Elf knelt before him, placing her hand in his to give him her fealty, for she had not previously done so.

The king raised the bride up, and smilingly claimed his right as monarch to kiss the bride on both her blushing cheeks.

"I have brought you a wedding gift, Lady Eleanore," the king said. Then he handed her a lovely brooch with a fine green stone in its center. "This belonged to my late wife, Queen Matilda, who like you was the heiress to her family’s lands. If she were with us now, may God assoil her good soul, she would give you this gift herself, for my Tilda loved nothing better than giving presents. Wear it in memory of her." He pinned the brooch to the neckline of Elf’s dress, and she kissed his hand.

"I am honored, my liege, by your kindness. Mine is not an important family, and yet you have treated me as if I were one of your own. I shall remember both you and the queen, may God assoil her good soul, always in my prayers," Elf said sincerely.

King Stephen nodded. "We will be late for the Mass if we do not go now, eh, Bishop?" He moved off.

"That was well done, Eleanore," Ranulf said.

"I am not without manners, my lord," she told him a trifle sharply.

"I did not think you were, lady."

As Ranulf led Elf out of the bishop’s chapel, she saw her steward, Cedric, at the very rear of the holy chamber. "Were you here for the ceremony?" she asked him.

"I was, lady," he told her with a broad smile. "Your old Ida would not forgive me if I could not tell her every detail when we return home." He bowed to the man by her side. "Everything stands in readiness for our departure, my lord," Cedric said. It was obvious he already accepted his new master.

"Good!" Ranulf said. "Attend us at the Mass, Cedric." He turned to Elf. "I realize you will not wish to travel in your wedding garments, and neither do I. After the Mass, we will change and depart immediately for Ashlin. We will travel in the company of the good sisters, and their men-at-arms, as far as St. Frideswide's."