Elf unlaced his chemise, opening it so it might slide over his shoulders, then his torso, his hips, and finally to the floor. Reaching out, he returned the favor, then drew her to him, her full, naked breasts pressing against his bare chest, her sweetly rounded belly against his belly, her love mound pushing against his burning lance, still held captive within his remaining clothing.

"Ohhh!" Elf gasped as he knelt before her and rolled down her stockings, then removed them from her feet. He kissed each knee as he did so. Then he stood again, drawing his braies off.

Elf went to mimic him, kneeling to roll down his hose. She gasped, startled, upon coming face-to-face as it were, with his burgeoning manhood. She had never before seen it quite that close up. Captivated, she stared at it, fascinated to view the source of her pleasure. Other than its size, it had little to recommend it, she decided, yet, oh, what delights she gained when it fitted itself within her sheath. Hesitantly she broke her gaze and drew his hose off. When she again stood up, he looked questioningly at her. "It is not particularly pretty, my lord, but I enjoy the dance it performs with me," she said.

He pulled her against him again, reveling in the warmth of their bodies. "There is so much I want to teach you, petite, now that we are so well acquainted." His mouth brushed against her brow.

"Could I kiss it?"

"Aye," he said shortly.

"What else?"

"You could nurse upon it as I do your breasts," he replied. Dear God, he was going to burst, she excited him so greatly with her talk. The thought of her mouth against him was almost too much.

"If I swallowed your seed, could I become with child?" she inquired, curious.

"Nay," he told her, "but I should not let my seed loose within your mouth. I would save it for your sweet sheath. I do not wish to waste it, petite."

"Would it give you pleasure?"

"Aye!" He squeezed the word out of his throat.

Without a moment’s hesitation Elf fell to her knees before him, and taking him in her mouth began to nurse upon him vigorously.

Ranulf thought his head would burst. "Gently, petite," he groaned. By the rood she was such a different woman from the innocent he had married less than two years ago. "Enough!" he said sharply.

Elf stood, her cheeks pink, and he kissed her passionately, his manhood pushing against her. Unable to help himself he lifted her up, cupping her buttocks in his big hands as she instinctively wrapped her legs about him, and he slowly pushed himself deep within her eager body. Her arms enclosed him, and she sighed deeply, a sound of complete and utter contentment. Does she care? he asked himself again. Or is it simply that she enjoys the privileges of marriage? He walked through the solar into their small bedchamber, never allowing their bodies to unlock, and laid her back upon the bed. Gently he pistoned her, anxious for any sign of distress on her part, but Elf was plainly enjoying her husband’s tender ardor.

"Ahhhh!" she cried softly. How he filled her! How she had missed his passion! Would he ever love her, or must she be content forever with only these wonderful moments between them? Her nails dug into the muscles of his back as her crisis approached, and when hot pleasure rained down upon her, she heard him cry out, too, as his juices flooded her.

He collapsed atop her, and after a moment she pushed at him. His eyes met hers, and the warm smile she gave him almost broke his heart in its sweetness. He loved her, and he wanted her to love him! How did a man go about making a woman love him. The emotion was surely a different feeling than passion, for he, himself, felt differently toward her when they were not making love. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to share his thoughts with her, and have her share hers with him. He wanted to tell her how much her approval meant to him, and how just holding her hand in his caused his heart to sing. He felt vaguely embarrassed by these feelings, for, after all, he was a man. Should a man be so very tenderly inclined toward a woman? Toward a wife?

And what if he shared these emotions with her, and she did not reciprocate? Would that not spoil the rapport they now had together? But was it possible that she might care? Eleanore was not a woman to feign sentiments she did not feel. She was honest and unspoiled. In that she had not changed. If he told her he loved her and she could not return his love, she would say so. The thought that she might not love him was the one thing that kept him from declaring himself. For the first time in his entire life, Ranulf de Glandeville realized that he was truly afraid. Oh, he had been fearful of going into battle, but that was a different kind of fear altogether.

His own mother had rejected him in favor of her new husband. He had been astounded that she could do such a thing, for he was her son. Her firstborn, and yet she had put him aside with apparent ease. When the pain and the shock had drained away, he had come to realize his mother was only doing what was best for her, and the children she had borne her second mate. Though she had stood by while her husband stole her eldest son’s patrimony, she had loved Ranulf in her own way; and she had known that he could forge a new life for himself with King Stephen. He had forgiven her, but he had never quite rid himself of the pain of that rejection. Now he knew that his mother’s denial of him would be naught compared to the pain and sorrow he would feel if Eleanore rejected his love. Better to remain silent. At least for now.

She lay cradled in his arms, her head upon his chest. Men are different in so many ways from women, Elf thought. She remembered the girls at the convent saying that all that men could feel was lust and passion. She had since learned that those qualities were not necessarily a bad thing; yet, how her heart yearned for more! She did not know if this love was a particularly good thing. Her brother loved his wife, Isleen, and that turned out badly. For love, Dickon had rejected his own flesh and blood and had put her in St. Frideswide's. He did not come to see her but once in those nine years. How fortunate that she was happy there, for her brother would neither have known nor cared if it were otherwise, just as long as Isleen was content. And in the end she killed him because she loved her cousin, Saer de Bude, and he was willing to abet her in her evil perfidy.

Does love render men foolish and weak? Elf wondered. How I should like to tell Ranulf that he owns not just my body, but my heart as well. She wanted to be with him all the time and fretted when he was not with her. She could not bear the thought that he was to go to Normandy, not knowing when he would return. For all those years she slept alone on her convent cot, yet now she could not even bear to think of how awful it would be when his broad back would not be there for her to cuddle against. That was not lust, she knew. When he smiled at her, her heart grew tight within her. The sound of his voice made her happy. How will I bear it when he is not here for me to share my day with, and he, his, with me?

She would tell him of her feelings, but she suspected it would just embarrass him. He was so much older than she, and wiser. He would surely think her foolish, and she could not bear it if the respect he seemed to hold for her were damaged by her girlish emotions. Ranulf was a sophisticated man, having been raised at the court. He might not be a man of great family or wealth, but even Duke Henry recognized his worth and chose him for this mission. A man like that would certainly be discomfited and abashed by love. Better that she remain silent. He was good to her, and what more could she possibly desire?


***

July came, and it was time for Ranulf to depart for Normandy. He did so reluctantly. Although Ashlin had been left in peace, the Welsh had been raiding. A serf sent to St. Frideswide’s with several baskets of plums, a gift from Simon to his godmothers, returned to tell them that a small flock of the nuns' sheep had been driven off from a near meadow. It had happened in the night, which made it more frightening. The nuns had awakened in the morning and discovered the loss. The sheepdog who stayed with the flock had been slaughtered, and it was the crows feasting on its carcass that had first drawn their attention.

"Keep one side of the gates closed even during the day," Ranulf told Elf. "If the Welsh come, the serfs in the fields can run for the enclosure, but remember to be certain the gates are firmly barred before the Welsh ponies even get near the drawbridge. Raise it if you can in the event of an attack. It will make it more difficult for the enemy. If anyone mounts a serious full-scale attack, it is possible to breach our walls, for they are still too low. I do not believe, however, the Welsh have that capability. You should be safe if you take precautions. Be very careful, petite."

"But what if some of our people are caught in the open?" she asked.

"They must then take their chances, and God help them," he told her. "The safety of all of Ashlin’s people rests with your decisions, petite. Fulk will be here to marshal our men, but you are the lady of the manor, and it is your word that is law."

"I do not wish to sound like a child, but I am truly uncomfortable with so great a responsibility."

"If I were killed in battle," he replied, "you would have to hold this manor for our Simon, Eleanore, even as your mother did for your brother. She was, I am told, a gentle soul as you are, but she had strength aplenty for her son’s inheritance, unlike my mother who allowed my stepfather to steal my lands for their sons. You have the courage, petite. I will be back as quickly as I can." He put a comforting arm about her, and Elf could feel his strength flowing into her as he embraced her.

"Forgive my lapse," she said softly. "I will do my duty."

"I know you will," Ranulf replied. "Keep a watch on the walls both day and night. Tell the shepherds that if the Welsh come in the night as they did at St. Frideswide's, to take their dogs, and disappear into the gorse. They would be helpless against an armed band, and unable to prevent the sheep from being stolen. The sheep can be replaced. Their lives cannot. I need loyal serfs about us."

"Will you send me word when you can return?"

"I do not think I can, as my mission is to be a discreet one. I will try, however, petite. When you hear that King Stephen has died, know that I will be on my way home," he advised her. "It is then the queen will come to England with her son."

Elf had packed her husband’s baggage, which would be transported upon a mule. There were two good tunics for the court, and two for everyday wear. She had made him several fine new linen chemises. There were newly sewn hose and braies, chausses, and undertunics. There was a beautiful surcoat to be worn over his armor at court, a fine girdle studded with garnets and pearls, and a pair of fur-lined gloves as well as a light wool mantle lined in lynx.

"I wonder if it is enough," she fretted.

He laughed. "It will have to be. I am but a simple knight. I do not wish to attract attention, petite. I am to be an English sparrow amid all the fine peacocks of Duke Henry’s court. Besides, the mule must carry my armor with him as well. I may be invited to join in a tournament."

She paled. "What if you are injured?!" she exclaimed. "And who will wash your garments for you if you are forced to stay more than a month or two? Did Duke Henry think of that when he ordered you to Normandy? No! Of course not! He is to be a king and is used to ordering others about without a care for their welfare."

Ranulf laughed again at his wife’s outrage. "Pax will do the laundry," he told her. "It is part of his duties as my squire. He promises to care for me every bit as well as a wife," he teased her.

"Humph!" Elf snorted derisively.

The day was new, the mule packed. Pax had thanked his uncle for the hundredth time for the opportunity he had been given. He kissed his proud mother farewell, and mounted his new horse. Ranulf smiled at the young man’s excitement. He knew that Pax had never been off Ashlin lands in his whole life, and for him a grand adventure awaited.