Bertrice Small - The Innocent

"You have no squire?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I could not afford one, Eleanore. While my bloodline is good, I have naught but my horse, my armor, my weapons, my clothing, and a few coins I have managed to set aside over the years. Our marriage is a blessing for me in many ways. I have been given a virtuous woman to wife. I now possess a manor, which means I may have legitimate sons and daughters. I will have a home in which to grow old."

"How old are you?" she ventured, remembering Saer de Bude’s nasty words of the previous evening.

"I am thirty," he said. "It is not too old, I promise you, to father children, lady. How old are you?"

"Fourteen and a half, my lord," Elf answered. Mary’s blood! He was old!

They entered the church following in the wake of the bishop and the king. The Mass was sung. Afterward they bid the king farewell, and Ranulf de Glandeville escorted his wife back to the bishop’s guest house, where she changed from her bridal finery into her gray skirts and yellow tunica, packing up the green bliaut and its skirts with the rest of her garments in the wooden chest. The bishop’s servants carried the chest to the cart where Sister Winifred was already seated, her hands firmly in control of the reins harnessed to Sister Joseph’s favorite mule.

The little party set off, leaving the town of Worcester quickly behind. The day was cold, for it was December first, but at least it was clear and bright. Ranulf set a quicker pace than the one that had brought them to Worcester. He and Cedric led the way, followed by the two nuns and Elf, the cart, and the four men-at-arms. Even the mule, sensing its direction was toward home, trotted briskly along to the women’s astonishment. Whereas it had taken four days to reach Worcester, it took just three to reach St. Frideswide's, and half the day was yet remaining for their journey to Ashlin.

The first night they had stayed at an abbey guest house, with the men in quarters segregated from the women. The second night they sheltered at a convent, again in separate quarters. When they finally reached St. Frideswide's, Elf found it both difficult and strange to part from the nuns who had been her family since she was five.

"You are welcome to visit whenever you can," the abbess said, and she hugged Elf warmly. "God bless you, my daughter."

"It will not be easy to find another assistant like you, my child," old Sister Winifred said, "but God obviously had other plans for you. I could have wished he had let me know sooner." She, too, hugged Elf. "Come, and visit me, my child."

As Sister Columba looked at her friend, her big blue eyes filled with tears that spilled down her rosy cheeks. "Oh, Elf, I thought we would always be together! I shall miss you so very much."

Elf put comforting arms about her. "Don't weep. I'll visit often, I promise." She hugged the young nun.

"Come now, my sisters," the abbess said, "we must go in, and give God His thanks for a safe journey" She turned to the knight. "Return the mare your lady is riding when you can, sir."

"You may have her now," Ranulf said, and reaching out he lifted his startled wife up onto his saddle. "It is not far, and my lady can ride with me," he told them.

"Go with God, then, Sir Ranulf," the abbess said, and she gave them her blessing. Then she led her little party and the riderless horse through the gates of the convent.

"The mare could have been returned tomorrow," Elf said, somewhat irritated by his actions.

"There is a storm coming, lady," he told her. "Surely you can feel it in the air. It is December. If you are truly that uncomfortable riding with me, Cedric can walk, and you may have his mount."

"I would certainly not ask a man of Cedric’s years to walk the distance from here back to Ashlin on a cold day," Elf spat at him. "How can you even consider such a thing?"

"Then, you are content to ride with me?"

"It would seem I have no other choice," she grumbled.

"You could walk," he suggested. Unable to stop himself, he chuckled at the outraged look upon her face. "It would seem, my lady wife, that your convent modesty is fast wearing away, and you are quickly becoming a mere woman. I can see you have a red-haired temper," he teased.

Ave Maria, gratia plenia, Elf began silently. She had indeed allowed her temper to get the best of her. She would silence her voice, and pray all the way back to Ashlin. While no longer a member of a religious order, she nonetheless must behave with gentle decorum. There was no excuse for shrewish behavior, but were all men so irritating? Did all behave in such wretchedly superior fashion? Elf was suddenly very aware of his great masculine presence. His heavy woolen cloak was the same one he had worn when he had first come to Ashlin. It looked as if it had not been properly brushed since then. It felt rough against her cheek. His arm encircled her, provoking an odd feeling in her.

She sneaked a look up at his face. His was a pleasant face, a very masculine face. There were tiny lines at the edges of his eyes. And in his favor was the fact that he smelled quite clean. A snowflake caught in his thick, dark eyelashes, and Elf realized her husband had been right. There was a storm brewing, and it had already begun. "You were correct about my temper," she told him. "How far do you think we are from Ashlin?"

Cedric, riding next to them, replied, "We are halfway there, my lady. May I ride ahead, my lord, and tell them we are coming? The cook will need to know you are arriving."

"Go," Ranulf instructed. "The path is clearly marked for me to see. Have a hot bath ready for my lady. She is cold and will need its warmth."

Cedric rode off.

"How did you know I was cold?" Elf asked him. "I have not complained, my lord."

"Nay, you have not, but I can feel you trembling against me, Eleanore."

Here was another side of his character, she thought. He was observant of her needs. Interesting. Her brother had loved her as a brother should, but he had given no thought to her at all once she was safely at St. Frideswide's. Father Anselm, while a good priest, was nonetheless a lustful man eager for a quick tumble with the more-than-willing dairymaid, or any other servant girl, if Matti and Isa were to be believed. She had never had any reason to doubt either of them. Her serfs were deferential and kind to her as Cedric, Arthur, and his father, John, had demonstrated, but they belonged to her as lady of Ashlin. The king and the bishop, both figures of power and authority, had rearranged her life without so much as a by your leave, but that was their right, she realized.

So that was all she knew of men until Ranulf de Glandeville. Her husband. Her lord. She remembered back to several months ago when he passed through Ashlin and stayed the night. He had been quiet-spoken and grateful for her hospitality, unlike others who had come, accepted the best bed space as their right and gone on their way without so much as a merci. On their wedding day he had been aware that she would not want to travel in her best clothing, and had given her time to change without impatience. On the road he had been thoughtful of the nuns, hurrying them, while not driving them, for he knew that winter weather could turn dangerous on a moment’s notice even as it was doing now. And she had yet to hear him raise his voice in anger, although she thought him capable of it.

She had heard the girls at the convent speak of the men they knew. Men were figures of authority, sometimes kind, mostly to be feared, they had always said. One girl they knew had voiced the opinion that she would rather be a simple free woman who might be apprenticed, and follow a trade, or craft, than be the daughter of a baron. Several of the guilds were female dominated: the spinners, the weavers, and the brewers, in particular. At least, the girl, had continued, an apprenticed girl was able to follow her trade after serving seven years and could hope to become a master crafts-woman. Most of the other girls had laughed, saying that even the female guilds were headed by men. There was no escaping male authority and domination. Even the final authority in certain convent matters had to be referred to the bishop for his decision. Men ruled. Women obeyed.

She was the heiress to Ashlin, but it was now her husband who was in charge. But did she still have any control, or influence, over her lands and her people? Or had her value been only in her lands? How was she to learn these things? Who could tell her? Mary’s blood!

She felt so terribly ill prepared in every way to be a wife and chatelaine. Did the king not consider this when he made his decision? No. He did not. Elf sighed deeply and instinctively snuggled closer to her husband’s warmth. Opening his cloak on one side, he wrapped it about her gently, surprising her. Who is this man I have married? she considered once again. What was he? She would spend the rest of her life finding out.

The snow was falling heavily as darkness descended. The track would have been impossible to find had not men come from the manor, torches in hand, to guide them home. He had paid little attention to the design of the manor when he had passed through last summer. Now he noted the stone wall about the demesne. It would need to be built higher if the house was to be seriously protected from the Welsh. When they stopped before the house, Ranulf slipped easily from his saddle, turned, and lifted Elf down. Turning again, he walked directly through the open door of the house with her in his arms.

"Cedric has told me," he said to her, "that it is an old custom to carry the bride across the threshold of her home."

"It is?" She had not known, but then what would she know of such things? She shivered.

"Where is the solar?" he asked.

"Follow me, my lord, my lady, and welcome home," Cedric said.

"Put me down," Elf said softly. The solar? Why was he taking her to the solar? Did he mean to immediately consummate their marriage? He had certainly not been able to do so before due to the sleeping arrangements in the religious guest houses.

"You are cold, and tired," he said quietly. "Do you have a woman to take care of you, Eleanore?" God’s blood! She was the sweetest armful he had ever carried. Lighter than a feather and so precious. From the moment he had seen her, he had been attracted to her, but never in his wildest dreams had he thought to possess her. The king, he knew, had considered giving her to Jean de Burgonne, another of his loyal knights, but Geoffrey de Bohun had noted that de Burgonne was not really a man with a need for a wife. De Burgonne had laughed heartily and agreed.

"An almost nun?" he said with a rough chortle. "God save me, my liege, but I should rather not, given the choice. I like my women saucier than sweeter, and very experienced. Give me a wicked wench who knows how to please a man, and the saints protect me from a shrinking virgin."

King Stephen looked to Ranulf. "And do you feel the same way, Ranulf?"

"Nay, my lord, I should be happy for a wife, especially a propertied one as the lady Eleanore of Ashlin. I have reached the age where I am beginning to feel my old wounds each time the rain threatens, my liege. A snug home and a wife will suit me well."

"She probably has a face like a horse," de Burgonne teased. "All these nuns in training do, it has been my experience."

Ranulf had said nothing.

A tiny smile touched King Stephen’s lips, for he knew that his knight had passed through Ashlin only recently. The girl was surely pretty. He realized in retrospect that she was probably better off with the quieter knight than she would have been with the rowdy Jean de Burgonne. "Very well, Ranulf de Glandeville, you shall have Eleanore of Ashlin for your wife, with all her property and possessions. You will, of course, renew your oath of fealty to me as the new lord of Ashlin. I am relieved to have a man of your abilities on the border."

"God’s mercy!" A voice cut into his thoughts, and he focused his eyes to see an old lady hurrying forward. "My baby! Is she hurt?"

"She is cold and tired," Ranulf answered.

"This is Ida, my lord," Cedric said. "She is the lady Eleanore’s old nursemaid."