Bertrice Small - The Innocent

"Good men are often the unfortunate prey of evil women," he answered her. "These are things you cannot have known, petite, but they are lessons you must learn. If the king should call me back into his service, I must go without question, and you must look over Ashlin. You must be aware that there is much wickedness in the world, and guard yourself against being deceived by it. Evil often wears a pretty face." He had turned onto his side now, and was looking down upon her.

Elf felt breathless. His was a strong face, and she had already come to love his hazel eyes. "You will guide me, my lord Ranulf," she said in whispery tones, "will you not?"

"Aye, petite," he answered, then dropped a quick kiss upon her forehead before turning away from her. "God give you good rest, Eleanore," he told her, then was silent.

It had been but a swift brush of his lips, but the kiss seemed to burn like a brand upon her skin. She realized she was possibly a little disappointed that he had not kissed her lips. She knew instinctively that his kiss would be sweet, and not filled with violence as Saer de Bude’s had been several months back. Was she ready to be a wife in the fullest sense? She was not certain. I will pray on it, Elf thought as she drifted off into sleep.

The weather remained cold, but relatively dry. Stones were cut and brought from the quarry to increase the height of the walls surrounding the demesne. The days took on a comfortable cadence. Ranulf oversaw the walls and trained the young men to properly defend Ashlin. Elf spent her days learning those things necessary to being a good chatelaine. She was surprised by how many of them she already knew. How to clean a house, for at the convent they had learned to clean. Now she worked with and oversaw her maidservants. She had learned at the convent how to make soaps. Come the summer she would learn how to make preserves and candied fruits, how to salt meats and fish. Even now she was learning the rudiments of cooking, although Ashlin had an excellent cook. Still, she should know what he did if she was to oversee the ordering of those supplies that they could not grow or harvest themselves.

Once each week Elf was brought the scrolls containing the steward and bailiff’s reports. She would go over them carefully, returning them afterward, sometimes with questions. January passed, then February. March was almost gone when one day Elf walked out-of-doors and suddenly realized she was happy. She liked her life here at Ashlin. And her husband… a good man… a just lord as their people were discovering… but… but he had not yet consummated their marriage, and surely it was up to him! Did he find her unattractive? She was not a nun any longer as he so often teased her. Then what was the matter?

Rambling, she suddenly discovered that she was at the manor church. True to his word, Ranulf had had stones brought to make the repairs, but the walls came first, of course. She stepped inside the church. The roof would need re-thatching. That could be done this summer. Actually she coveted a slate roof for her church, but there was no hope of that. One day, however, she would have glass for the windows, she promised herself. Nothing fancy like the bishop’s church in Worcester, but glass. She walked up the single aisle. The stone altar was bare. She wondered where the candlesticks and crucifix were, or if there had ever been any. The church had been in ill repair since before her birth, although the priest had remained until his death. Turning about, she sighed. There was so much to be done before the church could be reconsecrated, but she would do it.

She walked back to the open door and stood there for a moment surveying the manor. Ashlin was a good place, she thought. Then her eye caught a small clump of bright daffodils by the edge of the wide church steps. She smiled. It was as if she were being told where there is life, there is the hope of better days to come. She started at the sound of Ranulf’s voice.

"We will get it done," he said as if reading her thoughts. He put his arm about her, giving her a small squeeze.

"I know the walls must come first," she said. "Look, spring is coming, my lord. The lambs are being born, and there have been no wolves this year so far. We are fortunate."

He followed the line of her finger to the daffodils, and smiled down at her as she looked up at him. Her mouth tempted him. He swallowed hard, and closed his eyes a brief moment, but when he opened them again, her lips were dangerously near his. Helpless to stem the passion surging through his veins, Ranulf kissed Elf, a fierce yet tender embrace. Then, breaking away, he gulped an apology. "Eleanore, forgive me!"

"As you so frequently remind me, Ranulf, I am no longer a nun," Elf murmured, her glance melting. She held her head up in a very clear indication that she expected him to kiss her again.

"Eleanore!" His arms wrapped tightly about her, his mouth found hers.

Her head was spinning. Her heart was pounding. Her belly knotted and unknotted itself in a repetitive rhythm. She slipped her arms about his neck, and for the first time felt the length of him as he lifted her up. His lips were sending her a dozen messages. He was tender, yet savage. She could sense a deeper longing that he sought to mask. He doesn't want to frighten me, she thought, but he wasn't frightening her. There was a feeling, deep within her, that was beginning to bubble and well up. The feeling grew with the incredible touch of his mouth on her mouth. Pressure. Sweetness. A sudden longing she could not understand.

Finally he broke away, setting her down upon the stone steps. "The serfs will talk," he said softly, but the reality was that if he did not release her, he was going to carry her into the house to their little bedchamber, and ravish her. He had never imagined that this innocent little girl could arouse him so deeply. There was a new hunger gnawing at him, and only her fair body could satisfy that hunger. But was she ready? The one thing he feared above all was that he should harm her, or cause her to hate him. He loved her. He had almost since the beginning, but until this moment he had not been able to admit it to himself. He loved her!

"The serfs will talk anyhow," Elf said, a hint of mischief in her voice. "I have discovered, Ranulf, that I like kissing. Do you like kissing? Or is it boring to you as I imagine you have been kissing women for many years?"

"It is not boring with you, petite," he reassured her.

"I am glad, for I should like to do a great deal more kissing, Ranulf. May we tonight, when we lie abed?"

Again he closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opening them he looked directly at her. "Eleanore, it is said that women are weak, but I do not believe it is so. It is men who are weak, for they cannot control their baser natures. As long as we have lain together, only holding hands until sleep has overtaken us, I have been able to retain a mastery over myself. I swear to you, however, that if you climb into our bed tonight and want to play kissing games, I will lose my vaunted control! You are a sweet innocent, who having finally been kissed, desires to be kissed more. But I am a man. I will want more!" His voice was anguished, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You will want to touch me," she said softly. She reached up and stroked his face with her slim fingers.

"Yes!" he said, catching her hand and kissing first the palm, then the wrist. He clasped her fingers and stayed them over his heart.

"And it is surely past time we consummated our union, Ranulf. Would you like it if we did?" she said ingenuously. She felt his heart leap beneath her palm, and knew the answer before he even spoke it.

"Aye," he murmured, "it is past time, but I wanted you to be the one to say it, petite. I do not want us to hate each other."

"Give me back my hand, my lord," she said softly.

Smiling at her, he released her, but not before kissing the palm of it once again. "You are sure?"

"I am told the first time hurts," she replied. "It will hurt no less if the first time is months from now, I am thinking, my lord Ranulf."

"I will be as gentle as I can," he promised her.

"I know," she said, before turning to leave him standing upon the church steps, his mind awhirl, his heart thumping with anticipation.

***

On the high board at dinnertime was a slender silver holder containing two bright yellow daffodils. It was a secret signal between them, a reminder of the night to come. She smiled at him, and, he believed, there was something seductive in her smile. Something he had never seen before. He felt a tightness in his nether region, and recognized the stirrings of serious lust. By the holy rood, he wanted her! How sweet her lips had been this, afternoon. She was fresh and innocent, yet alluring. Aye! He wanted her very much!

What had she done, Elf asked herself, in the brief madness that had enveloped her when he kissed her? She had committed herself quite boldly to an irreversible course of action. Was she really ready? Would she ever be ready? She was a wife by a twist of fate. A wife in all ways but one. And tomorrow? Tomorrow she would be a wife in every sense of the word. She sneaked a look at this man to whom she would be so irrevocably bound. Though he was twice her age, he did not really seem old. Certainly he could father children on her.

What was she thinking, Ranulf wondered, knowing he was being perused. Would she ever love him? Should he tell her that he loved her? Nay, that would not be wise. What if she did not believe him? They had, after all, been married for only four months. Besides, love was not necessary to a good Christian marriage. She should respect him, and how could she if he admitted to such a weakness as love? He had been patient and kind with her, and she had responded by not keeping him waiting forever. That indicated that she respected him. Best not to ruin a good relationship. He picked up the haunch of a broiled rabbit and began to eat it.

Elf cudgled her brain. What had the clothier’s wife said? Ranulf would kiss her, and caress her breasts and other body parts. What body parts? He seemed to enjoy kissing her hand and fingers, Elf thought. Was there anything else? Well, she would certainly know soon enough. And the touching, Mistress Martha had said, would arouse his manhood, and then… She couldn't believe what she had said to him this afternoon. How brazen she had been. What on earth had possessed her?

He leaned his head, his mouth close to her ear. "If you have changed your mind, Eleanore, I will understand," he said so only she might hear him.

"No!" Dear heaven! She had just given up the only opportunity she would get to stop this madness. Why had she said no?

A minstrel had asked shelter of them this night. Now he took up his small harp and began to play for the small company in the hall. The firelight played brightly against the stone walls. The flames of the candles flickered and danced. Ranulf took her hand in his as the bard sang of unrequited love and passion. When he had finished and been shown appreciation by the clapping of his small audience, Elf rose and slipped from the hall.

The tub had been set up that night, and she quickly bathed before Ranulf might come into the solar. "Leave the tub for my lord if he so desires," she told Willa. "Go into the hall and ask him."

When Willa returned she told her mistress, "The lord says he will bathe himself this night, lady. He says he will not be long."

Elf went into the bedchamber, where old Ida was plumping the pillows upon the bed. "Go and find your pallet," Elf said. "The sun has long ago set, and you are not as young as you once were."

"I've put a knife beneath the bed to cut the pain," Ida told her mistress.

"What?" Elf looked puzzled.

"Lady, I am not so old that I do not know what has been going on these few months. You are still a virgin, but you decided today to remedy that sad state tonight. The knife will cut your pain when he enters into you the first time. It is a well-known fact."

Elf flushed. "Is it?"