Isleen smiled a feline smile. So the bastard had bought her from the whoremonger. Why? To be the castl whore for his men? That would be just like him, for Isleen had quickly learned Merin ap Owen was a cruel man. Or did he want her for himself? Pray God that was it. She had not given quarter last night. She would not give any now. The Welsh lordling was her chance to have her revenge upon her meek little sister-in-law, the holy Eleanore. If it hadn't been for the little nun, Saer de Bude would now be lord of Ashlin and she, waiting in the wings, would have soon again been Ashlin’s lady. She had wanted to be her cousin’s wife since she was a child. It was Eleanore de Montforts fault she was not, nor was ever likely to be now. So she would revenge herself upon the little bitch, and she would use this Merin ap Owen to accomplish her goal.

Isleen bathed herself carefully with the primitive accoutrements provided by Clud. She washed her long golden hair, drying it by the charcoal brazier the servant had brought her to warm the room. Slowly she combed through her hair, freeing it of tangles, combing, combing, combing until it was almost dry. Parting her hair in the center, she wound it into a thick coil at the base of her neck and affixed it with her hairpins. "Find me some scented oil," she told the servant.

"There is no such stuff in this place," the girl said.

"Your master does not know how to run a proper brothel," Isleen said irritably.

" 'Tis the finest brothel in Gwynfr."

" 'Tis the only brothel in Gwynfr," Isleen sneered. Then she dressed herself in her sky blue skirts and blue and gold tunic top.

"Ahhh," the girl said admiringly, "I have never seen anything so fine, lady. May I touch it?"

Isleen nodded, amused by the girl’s naivete.

The girl fingered the fine material, then she said, "You are surely the most beautiful lady I have ever seen. If you go with Lord Merin, you will need a serving woman. There are none at Gwynfr Castle, I swear it! I can sew, and do your hair." Her plain face was hopeful.

"Are you a whore?" Isleen asked.

"Nay!" the girl denied vehemently. "Clud is my uncle, and when my mother died, he took me in to serve, but I am no whore. I will swear it on the Blessed Virgins name!"

Isleen was thoughtful. The girl was plain enough to attract no attention. She was clever enough to want to advance herself, yet meek enough to be controlled easily. She was familiar with the region and all the people. She could prove a useful ally. "Are you freeborn or serf?" she asked the girl. If she was a serf, Isleen would have to wheedle Merin into purchasing her.

"I am freeborn," the girl said, "for all the good it has ever done me, lady. I will serve you well."

"What is your name?"

"Arwydd."

Isleen laughed. The wench was a sly thing. "Gather your things, Arwydd," she told the girl.

"I'm wearing them," Arwydd said wryly.

Isleen looked scornfully at the girl’s soiled and sweat-stained garments. "This will not do," she said. "Go and fetch your uncle."

Arwydd ran out, returning a few minutes later with Clud.

The whoremonger looked Isleen over appreciatively, licking his lips as he did so. "Perhaps I am selling you too cheap," he said.

"Whatever Merin ap Owen paid you was too much," Isleen said dryly. "Now, I am taking Arwydd with me, for I must have a servant. Get her some clean clothing, you tightfisted old bastard. She stinks of a year’s worth of slave labor, labor you have undoubtedly not paid her for at Michaelmas. Now you don't have to pay her. Just clothe her decently, and I will take her with me. It cannot hurt you to have your niece in service at Gwynfr Castle."

"I have fed her and housed her," Clud whined.

"Indeed. Now, do as I say. I shall also do something else for you, Clud, but first Arwydd’s garments. Hurry!" She turned to her servant as Clud hurried out. "Take those stinking rags off and get into the tub, girl. If you are going to serve me, you must be clean."

Arwydd didn't argue. She stripped off her filthy gown, and climbed into the tub to wash herself and her hair. Clud returned with a clean chemise, skirt, and tunic top. Isleen looked them over critically. They were lacking in style, but had one advantage. They were clean. The skirt and top were a medium blue. He laid them on the stool by the tub, leering at his niece’s naked bosom.

"Come outside with me," Isleen commanded him. "Arwydd, do not dally, or I will leave you behind." The curtain of the room flapped down, and they stood in the narrow hall of the building. "You have absolutely no idea of how to run a brothel," Isleen told him. "Once I have settled myself with Merin ap Owen, and my position is secure, I shall tell you what to do, and if you do what I tell you, you will be a rich man within a year, Clud."

"And what would a nobleman’s daughter know about such things?" He snarled at her. "If you are indeed who you say you are."

"Oh, I am," Isleen assured. "As for what I know, I am a woman. I know men. If all you ever hope to serve are serfs and poor freemen, then continue as you are. But if you wish to add the rich, both free and noble, to your clientele, then you will do what I tell you. Men like beautifully adorned women and sweet scents. They like soft beds and fine wine. Save the sour grape and the pallets for your poorer clients, but learn to service the rich, and your fortune is made."

"And what will you gain for your trouble?" he asked her.

"A small remuneration, Clud, but there is no need for us to discuss that now, is there? First you must see that I speak the truth. Then we will talk about what my aid is worth to you." She smiled sweetly.

Instinct told him not to trust her, yet he was intrigued by her words. He heard himself saying, "Very well, lady.”

"I am ready, mistress." Arwydd lifted the curtain separating the chamber from the hall, and stepped out. She was clean, her black hair braided into two plaits, her blue eyes alive with hope.

Isleen nodded approvingly. "Excellent," she said. "Now, let us go and await Merin ap Owen’s return."

They had hardly stepped outside the door when the lord of Gwynfr came down the street upon a large warhorse. Stopping before Clud’s house, he reached a hand down to Isleen and pulled her up onto his saddle.

"I am taking the girl, Arwydd, with me as my servant," Isleen told him.

Merin ap Owen looked down at the slight girl. "Go up to the castle, wench. Tell the steward you are her servant, and he will take you to her chamber."

"Yes, my lord." Arwydd curtsied.

Merin ap Owen turned his mount, and rode off with Isleen. "I was not wrong," he said. "You are a very beautiful woman."

"Am I your whore, or the castle whore?" she demanded of him.

The Welshman laughed heartily. "You do not dissemble daintily, Isleen, do you? You are my whore until I decide otherwise. Occasionally, however, I may loan you to an important visitor whom I wish to particularly please. When this happens, Isleen, you will give my guest a night of ecstasy such as he has never known, so that come the morning he will be amenable to whatever it is I desire. Do you understand?"

"Aye," she said. "It is a clear path you have laid out for me, but I want something in return."

"What?" His eyes were curious.

"The man who sold me to Clud had not the right to do so. I am freeborn. You know this to be so, don't you?".

He nodded.

"I will not grow rich in your service, Merin ap Owen, and I must be rich to be independent. I must have a means of earning monies."

He was absolutely fascinated. "Go on," he said, guiding his horse down the narrow street.

"Gwynfr is on the road to Hereford. An invasion road for both the Welsh and the English. Clud has the only brothel in Gwynfr, yet he knows not how to manage it. Only a lord as corrupt and debauched as you would inhabit such a place. But what if Clud’s brothel was elegant enough to serve the rich? Not only plowboys and men-at-arms, but men of substance, and lords. I have offered to aid Clud in attaining such a goal. It will not interfere with any of my duties for you, my lord, I promise. I will do all that you tell me, if I can but use my own time to help Clud."

"And what will you gain in return, Isleen?" She was delicious. She was as evil a woman as he had ever known.

"Nothing at first, my lord, for I must make Clud open his tight fist so we may improve his premises in order that important men seek it out. Then, too, we must find the best and most skilled of whores. And you, my lord"-she leaned against him, and purred in his ear-"you will personally examine each of our prospective jades, so we may be certain they are worthy." Her tongue dipped into his ear, and swirled about it for a moment. "Later, when I have proved to Clud that I can deliver on my promises, I shall take half of the brothel and its profits for myself."

"And eventually cheat the unsuspecting Clud out of his half," Merin ap Owen said, chuckling darkly.

"Of course, my lord," Isleen said in a hard voice. "You don't expect me to go to all that trouble just to enrich that creature?"

Merin ap Owen laughed heartily. "Evil!" he chortled. "You are pure evil, my beautiful Isleen. We shall make a perfect couple. I may even marry you someday."

"No, thank you," Isleen said. "I've had a father, a husband, and a lover or two along the way. I don't intend to be any man’s possession ever again, my lord! I shall, however, revenge myself upon my late husband’s family, and then settle down to being the richest whoremonger in Wales. And I shall not be unmindful of your help."

He laughed harder. Every word out of her mouth pleased him. As a rule he didn't like women. They were sly and deceitful creatures. Until today there had been no woman in his castle since his bitch of a mother had died. His first wife, a girl of fourteen, he had killed with his depravity. His second, seventeen the day she wed him, had fled to a convent a month after their wedding. He was notified that the marriage was legally dissolved by the church. Her family had not asked for her dower portion back. He later learned that his second wife had been pregnant with his child when she ran away. No sooner had she birthed his son, than she drowned him; but fortunately for her family, she killed herself also. No, women were not to be trusted.

And here was Isleen. Every bit as wicked as he was himself. She made no secret of it, either. She was, he decided, the first honest woman he had ever met, although he would not be fool enough to trust her, either.

"Do you like beating women?" she asked him frankly.

"Just enough to increase their pleasure… and mine," he admitted.

"Do you always use that strap?"

"I like a nice thin and whippy hazel switch, too," he replied. "It cuts sharply, but if plied carefully doesn't leave scars."

"Can a woman whip a man, my lord?"

"Yes. There are men who enjoy being beaten, but I am not one of them," he answered her.

Isleen nodded. "Could you teach me? That might prove an interesting diversion for my whores. It would give us a uniqueness."

"You have a head for business," he noted.

"I have an instinct for it, it is true, but no real head for it. I cannot read or write."

"Neither can I," he said quietly, "but I think you must learn, for it would not do to have some scribe cheat you. Or me."

"You want a part of my brothel?" she said, surprised.

"Of course, my pretty bitch," he told her. "If I help you, and I will if you continue to please me, then I must certainly have some part of the rewards. It is only fair."

Isleen pouted a moment, and then her common sense overcame her greed. "Very well," she agreed.

They had reached the castle now. The street had wound up a hill to where it was located. It was small and, from the look of it, not in particularly good condition. The drawbridge and the portcullis, however, were in excellent repair. Inside the courtyard he drew the horse to a halt, and dismounted, lifting Isleen down.

"I will take you to your chamber," he said.

Gwynfr Castle had but two towers. They were connected by the great hall. He led her into one of the towers, and up three flights of stairs. Her chamber, she discovered, was at the top of the tower. It was light, but scantily furnished. There was a fireplace for warmth.