"Very well, lady," Merin ap Owen responded. "Besides, I should not know what I was seeking. You will. Gwyll, take her, and remain by her side at all times."

"I understand, my lord," Gwyll said with meaning. He didn't like his master’s English mistress. She was a truly evil woman.

Elf had little hope of finding what she needed, but to her surprise she did. There was a loom and a frame both, along with a basket of colored wools. Then Gwyll discovered a smaller woven container with sewing materials.

"I wonder to whom these belonged," she said softly.

Gwyll did not answer her, but shrugged, apparently as mystified as she was, although he was not. The tapestry frame had belonged to the lord’s grandmother. The loom and its wools had belonged to his master’s first wife, who had come dreamy-eyed and full of hope to Gwynfr, only to discover her bridegroom was a monster. She, poor lass, had been so in love with Merin ap Owen, she could not bring herself to face the truth. She had died for her love; and there had been no one to revenge her, for she had been an orphan. The sewing basket he thought might have belonged to her, too. "If you have what you need, lady, we had best return to the hall," Gwyll said. "I'll set up the loom and the frame for you, if you wish it. Mayhap by the fire?"

"That would be perfect," Elf answered him, placing the sewing accoutrements atop the basket of wools, then stepping carefully down the narrow staircase of the half-ruined tower. Here and there a stone from the walls had fallen into the passageway. Elf was surprised that the roof in the attic had been in such good condition else her treasures would have been ruined. She really did need something to do if she was going to be here for even a short time.

Back in the hall Gwyll set up the equipment next to the fire as he had promised Elf. When he had finished, he set a chair by it, then turning to Elf asked her, "Will you weave now, lady, or would you like to go out-of-doors and seek for plants? There is but a light rain today."

"I think I shall remain indoors today, Gwyll. I am still damp from my long ride," she told him with a small smile.

"Do you think you will be with us long, lady?" he asked her politely as he seated her before the loom, setting the tall basket of wools by her side. "Perhaps I should spread them out on the floor for you to see, and then you can decide which colors to use," Gwyll offered helpfully, tipping the container and separating the hanks for her to view.

"Thank you," Elf answered him. "I don't know. It depends when my husband returns from Normandy." Bending, she began to separate the colors, filling her lap with those she wanted. "Put the others away now, Gwyll," she said as she started to string the loom.

"Ohhh! How sweet and how domestic" came a sneering comment.

"Good morning, Isleen," Elf replied dryly. "What do you do with your day? Gwynfr is hardly the most stimulating atmosphere I have ever been in, and I am used to using my time wisely."

"So pious. So good. My lord Merin coddles you. If you were my prisoner, I should chain you in the dungeons to be nibbled at by the rats. Your husband could have whatever was left when he paid the ransom! He'd probably be glad to be rid of you. You cannot be of any interest to him in his bed. Do you pray when he mounts you, and takes what small pleasure he can gain off your skinny body?" Isleen stood directly before Elf’s loom, glaring down at her, her bright blue eyes filled with her anger.

"But I am not your prisoner, Isleen, although I have been given to understand I have you to thank for my current predicament," Elf replied. There was, Gwyll noted, just the faintest hint of anger in her voice.

"So he told you it was my idea, did he? Well, it was!" Isleen crowed triumphantly. "If your husband is willing to ransom you, it will cost him everything. I wonder if he is willing to give up all he gained when he wed you just to have you back. I hope he won't pay the ransom. Then, I shall put you in my whorehouse to earn your keep!" She laughed when she saw how Elf paled.

"You make me ashamed of myself," Elf responded. "For the first time in my life, I feel an anger so deep that I want to kill you!" She arose from her chair, and glared furiously at her adversary. Her small fists were clenched into tight little balls. "You are a horrible creature, Isleen de Warenne! God forgive me, but I hate you!"

Isleen stepped back, surprised by the rage in Elf’s silvery eyes. Those eyes blazed, and Isleen had not a doubt that Elf would, if driven much further, attack her person. "So," she snarled, "you are human after all. Good! A weak enemy would offer me little amusement."

"I will offer you none," Elf said coldly. Then she sat back down again and continued stringing her loom.

Isleen looked to Gwyll. "Leave us!"

"I cannot," he said. "Master’s orders, lady. I am to remain with the lady Eleanore at all times and take my orders from no one but the lord hisself." There was a faint smile on Gwyll’s lips as he spoke, and a determination in his eyes Isleen knew could not be swayed.

Angrily she slapped him. "Impudent serf!" she shrieked, then fell back, her hands going to her face. Astounded she stared at Elf, who once more stood. "You… You hit me!" she screamed disbelievingly.

"Do not raise your hand again to the servants," Elf warned her. "Gwyll was but doing his master’s bidding. You are not lady here."

"Nor are you!" Isleen shot back. She frantically rubbed her cheek. "If you have marred my beauty, I will find a way to punish you no matter your faithful watchdog! I swear I will!"

"You are not injured fatally," Elf said dryly. "The mark of my hand and fingers will fade in a few hours' time, Isleen. As you warn me, however, I warn you. Do not mistreat the servants. Did your mother teach you no better? My Ashlin folk are well rid of you."

"Servants are servants," Isleen said with emphasis.

"They are God’s people even as we are," Elf said. "Even you, Isleen, for all your wickedness, are God’s creation."

"I hate you. I hate you!" Isleen shouted, and stamped from the hall.

"You have a bad enemy there, my lady," Gwyll noted.

"She was always my enemy even when she knew me not," Elf told the puzzled man. "Now, however, I am wise enough to be hers."

"I'll defend you," Gwyll said. He was still amazed that the lord’s gentle captive had defended him against the unjust anger of the lord’s mistress. There were none here at Gwynfr who would do the English bitch a good turn, and so he thought the lady Eleanore relatively safe. Ever since the lord had hanged those two men-at-arms for poaching on his preserve, the men could not be suborned by the whore. Only poor little Arwydd was loyal to her, but Arwydd had not the stomach for murder. Still, Gwyll thought, he saw he must guard his charge most carefully.


***

From the first Elf had seen that weeping and bemoaning her fate would do no good, so she had settled into life at Gwynfr Castle as best she could. While her thoughts were with Ranulf and their son, those two were safe. And, reassured by such thoughts, she spent hours weaving at the loom by the fire, and going out on the hillsides to search for medicinal plants with which to make a store of medicants.

One day when her gaze wandered to the hills about them and remained too long, she heard Gwyll’s voice say gently, "You don't even know which way is England, do you, lady? You are safer here. Do not think of escape."

Elf did not respond to him, pretending she had not heard. Instead, she dug her knife carefully into the soil about the roots of a plant she needed, loosening the earth and drawing the plant slowly forth. Gwyll was right. She didn't know which direction England was, and there was no way in which she could find out without arousing suspicion. She handed Gwyll the knife, and laid the plant in her basket.

Gwynfr provided primitive living quarters at best. Most of the castle was a ruin, and other than Arwydd, Isleen, and herself, there were no women, even servants, who came during the day. The life was even harder than the convent had been when it came to simple everyday things such as washing. In order to do that, she was forced to carry her own water to her chamber. Ever since the first night she had come, Arwydd had been forbidden by her mistress from helping Elf in any way, and Merin ap Owen did not interfere. Her clothing was in need of a good washing.

When he had stolen her, Elf had been in a drug-induced sleep. Merin ap Owen had put a tunic dress and a skirt on her, wrapping her in a cloak, before he had taken her away. She had kept these garments as clean as she could with brushing, and shaking, but she had been wearing the same clothes for two weeks now. Her chemise was filthy and needed to be washed, but she had no other to wear. Since there was no door to her little interior chamber, it presented a problem. Then it dawned on her to bathe as she had once bathed in her convent, wearing her chemise. She would do it in the evening before Merin ap Owen came to his apartments. Then she would wrap herself in her blanket, and dry the chemise by the fire in the dayroom. She would then find her bed, and it was unlikely he would ever reahze it.

But when he entered his apartment that night, he saw the delicate little garment spread over a chair back facing the fire. At first he was puzzled, then he realized her predicament. Had she been any other woman he would have taken advantage of the moment, but he could not with her. Never in his life had he encountered such a woman as Eleanore de Montfort. She had accepted her situation with a practical fortitude. She made herself useful without being asked to do so, and, for the first time in memory, his servants appeared actually happy.

Her attitude toward him was equally interesting. Isleen had been so scornful of the lady Eleanore, but the lady of Ashlin was no mealymouthed little saint. Indeed, she was quick of wit and quite able to defend herself from his whore, who took every opportunity to belittle or attack his captive. He was quite certain Eleanore did not approve of his ways, but not once, even subtly did she attempt to reprove him or reform him. Instead she went about his castle making herself useful and attempting to help where she could. She had already dressed several minor wounds among his people and cured his cook, who had had a dreadful cough.

Merin ap Owen, who had little use for the gentler sex but for the pleasure they could provide, had to admit that he was faced with a truly good woman. He felt a trifle guilty for having stolen her, but not so guilty that he would return her without a proper ransom. However, when he saw that fragile little chemise drying before his fire, he realized her predicament and was touched that she had not complained, but rather had attempted to solve her problem herself. This was something he could right.

When Elf awoke in the morning and saw that the lord of the castle was gone from his bedchamber, she crept out into the day-room to retrieve her chemise. It was nicely dry, and to her surprise upon the chair seat there was a small bolt of fine linen. She was both surprised and touched. After dressing herself, she went down into the hall, where he was already at the high board breaking his fast. Isleen was nowhere in sight as she rarely arose early.

Elf took her usual place. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"I did not realize you would be with us so long," he replied. "If I had, I should have stolen some of your clothing other than what I dressed you in, lady. You must not be shy to tell me when you need something. It is not my plan to mistreat you."

"I am not a woman to complain, my lord, but I shall make myself another chemise, and be glad I have it."

Nothing more was said about the matter until several mornings later when she handed him a portion of neatly folded linen with a smile.

"What is this?" he asked her.

"There was far too much linen for just one little chemise," Elf told him. "I made you one, too. I thought perhaps you could use a new undergarment, my lord. I have had to guess at the size, but I believe I am close. Try it on later, and I will make whatever alterations are necessary for the garment to fit you properly."

"Lady…" He was speechless. In his entire life no one had ever done anything gratuitously for him. She was his captive. He had stolen her away from her home and family, and would not allow her to return until her husband beggared himself to ransom her. Yet she had thought of his comfort as if they were old friends.