She had caught him off guard for a brief moment, but then he slapped her lightly as he drew her up the stairs. "If I treat the lady Eleanore differently than I do you, my pretty bitch, it is because she is a lady and a truly good woman. You are an evil whore with a soul as black as night. I fear you are the perfect match for me."


***

On Christmas morning, while the snow swirled outside Gwynfr Castle, Elf sat as usual weaving at her loom. After her morning prayers she softly had sung a little carol she remembered from St. Frideswide's. It saddened her that there was no Christmas here in this place. The tapestry was beginning to take shape. As this was no place for a religious theme, she had taken her inspiration from the hills about them, weaving a pattern of green mountains, a blue sky, and a field of flowers. She intended to set a pair of deer in the landscape as well.

Elf shivered with the cold. Her cloak was not enough over her simple tunic and skirts. Despite the fact she huddled by the fire, the chill always came through the stone walls whose mortar was either worn with age or gone entirely. She thought of her own warm hall at Ashlin. How was her little Simon? Had Ranulf returned yet from Normandy? When was she to be released from this terrible captivity? It was Christmastide, and yet there was no Yule log here as there would be at Ashlin. There were no scented beeswax candles, roast boar, or Ashlin folk singing carols in the newly restored church. It was Simon’s first Christmas, and she would not be there to see her baby wonder at it all. For a moment a black anger came over her, but she fought it off remembering that the Christ Child had come to bring peace on earth. She let her thoughts return to her home. She missed her querulous old Ida, Willa, faithful Cedric, stalwart Fulk. She missed her bed and the good food her cook prepared. Here at Gwynfr the meals were dull. There was hardly a green to be seen unless she asked.

Outside the wind howled mournfully. Elf shivered again, then started as a heavy fur cloak was dropped over her slender shoulders. Surprised, she looked up and found herself face-to-face with Merin ap Owen. Their lips were almost touching. Startled, she flushed and drew back, unable to speak. The look in his eyes! She had recognized that look. It was the same look that Ranulf had for her, and in a flash she realized what it was. Ranulf loved her! Her heart soared with the knowledge, then plummeted as quickly. Merin ap Owen loved her, too! He looked away.

"Gwyll has pointed out to me that you have few garments, and now that winter is here, you might be able to use a heavier cloak," he said in a quiet voice.

Elf swallowed hard. "Thank you, my lord," she answered, bending low over her weaving.

"It is wolf. The cloak. I hunted them down myself last winter," he continued.

I must look at him, or he will think something is wrong, Elf thought. She glanced up again. "I am grateful, my lord. I already feel warmer. I shall use it on my pallet at night as well."

"Why did you not say you were cold?" he demanded.

"It is not my habit to complain."

"Ask for what you need in future, my lady Eleanore. Granted our situation is unique, but it is not my intent to make you uncomfortable or harm you in any way. I am an honest man, and give value for the coin I gain. I would return you to your husband in good condition."

Elf giggled. She couldn't help it.

He smiled, for he had never heard the sound of laughter from her throat. "What amuses you, lady?"

"You are an honest man? You are a bandit, a thief, Merin ap Owen!" Elf chortled.

He laughed. "Aye, but I am a honest bandit, an honest thief."

"I wonder if the nuns at St. Bride’s thought that of you," she said softly.

He flushed at her words. "Blood lust is a difficult thing to control, lady. Never before had I ravished or murdered like that; but that day I was driven to it by a she-devil. I was weak. I am ashamed of it, but it is done and cannot be undone."

"You could pray for those you wronged, Merin ap Owen," Elf told him gently. "A wrong can be undone by a right. If you are truly contrite and ask God’s forgiveness, He will give it to you."

He smiled wearily at her. "I am past salvation, my lady Eleanore. Perhaps if I had met you earlier in my life, but I did not." Then with a small bow to her, he turned and walked away.

Elf’s hand returned to her loom, but she felt a great sadness for Merin ap Owen. What had he been before Isleen had come into his life? Gwyll said his master was a wicked man from birth, but had he really been wicked, she wondered? Probably yes, she admitted to herself, for Gwyll loved Merin ap Owen and was completely loyal to him. He but spoke the truth, as harsh as it was. What a world this was, Elf considered, and she should have known none of it had she remained in her convent. There would have been no Ranulf or Simon. In the world one had to take the good with the bad, she realized. The good, she thought hopefully, far outweighed the bad. The rising wind rattled the windowpanes.


***

Snow. This was bad, Ranulf thought irritably. He had wanted to send Sim to Gwynfr to tell Merin ap Owen that he had returned, and would comply with his demands as quickly as a buyer could be found for his livestock. There would be those who would wonder at his selling his flocks and his herd. Some might even take advantage of him. It was a difficult problem, but he would solve it. He wanted his wife home safe.

The storm finally stopped, and as it had not been a hard snow, Sim set out for Gwynfr. He arrived with the first day of January. He rode up the hill to the castle, his eye scornful of the ruin and the neglect he saw.

"What do you want?" the man behind the portcullis demanded.

"To see Merin ap Owen," Sim replied.

"He don't see strangers."

"I have come from Ranulf de Glandeville, the lord of the manor of Ashlin, and your master will indeed see me," Sim snapped.

"Wait." The gatekeeper disappeared, returning several long minutes later. Without a word he raised the portcullis halfway, allowing Sim to duck beneath it as he rode into the courtyard. "Through there," he said, pointing toward one of the two towers that still stood.

Dismounting, Sim did not bother to thank the porter. He headed straight for his destination. He came into an entry and was met by a villainous-looking fellow who signaled him to follow, leading him into the great hall. There at the high board sat Merin ap Owen himself, and on his right was the lady Eleanore, looking pale, but otherwise unharmed. On his left, sweet Jesu, was Isleen de Warenne! Now, Sim thought, there is the real cause of all our troubles. Sim bowed.

"My lord, I have been sent by my master to tell you he has returned to Ashlin. He will follow your instructions, but he would be certain that his lady wife is safe and will indeed be returned."

"You can see your lady for yourself," Merin ap Owen said. "I am an honorable man, even if my ways are a bit unorthodox. When may I expect the ransom for the lady Eleanore?"

"My master must be cautious in selling his livestock," Sim began. "If he appears anxious to do so and sells them all in the same place, there are apt to be questions. He would obtain the best price for his sheep and his cattle, for he holds his wife in the highest regard."

"What is this delay, and why do you prevaricate with us?" Isleen suddenly demanded. "Your mistress has been gently treated to date, but she could find herself in the dungeons if your master should make any attempt to trick us!"

"Be silent!" Merin ap Owen thundered. "You are not mistress here!" He turned his glance back to Sim. "A delay does seem odd to me. What is the reason for it other than what you have told me? Does the lord of Ashlin not want his wife back?"

"My lord, if my master appears to be in need or in distress, the merchants will take advantage of him. He will get no more for his cattle and sheep than you would have gotten if you had simply stolen them in the first place," Sim explained in practical tones. "You took the lady for ransom because she would bring you more, did you not?"

"This serf is too clever by far," Isleen said. "Kill him!"

"If you kill me, who will take your words back to my master?" Sim asked quietly. "Oh, you might bring my lifeless body back to Ashlin, but is that really the message you wish to deliver to my master, my lord? That will not tell him that his lady is well and safe, will it? Only my voice can speak the words that will reassure him, and keep him from coming down upon you with all the wrath of a wolf on the fold."

Merin ap Owen chuckled. "You are no simple serf, are you?"

"My name is Sim, my lord, and I am next in command after Captain Fulk" was the quiet reply. "My master would show you the respect of sending someone of stature from Ashlin, and not some widess clod. May I speak with my lady, please, my lord? A few words to reassure her husband?"

Merin ap Owen nodded. "But here, for all to hear, Sim."

"I bring you greetings from all at Ashlin, lady. We pray daily for your continued safety and for your return. Father Oswin said I was to tell you that everyone is well and thrives, and all who love you would have me speak their names. Cedric, old Ida, Willa, Simon, Orva, and Fulk. Your husband says he will secure your release as quickly as is humanly possible, my lady Eleanore. Have you a message for him?"

"Tell my lord," Elf said, "that I am safe, and have been well treated by Merin ap Owen. Tell my lord that I send him my love." She smiled broadly at him, nodding.

Sim bowed politely. He was pleased with himself for having been able to tell the lady her child was well without the Welsh lord and his whore understanding. He knew his lady would want to learn that her son was safe, but all at Ashlin believed that her captors did not know of the child, else they might have taken him, too.

"Go back to your master," Merin ap Owen said. "Tell him my patience is not endless, but I understand his caution. Return in a month with the time and place of the exchange. It must be a neutral spot, however. Tell your master that if he should attempt to betray me, or regain custody of his wife without paying the ransom, I shall kill her," Merin ap Owen said with emphasis. "Do you understand, Sim of Ashlin?"

"I do, my lord, but you need have no fear. The lord of Ashlin wants nothing more than the safe return of his wife, for he holds her in high regard and great esteem," Sim said quietly. Then he bowed first to the lord of Gwynfr Castl, then to Elf.

Merin ap Owen nodded. "Go, then," he said.

Sim bowed again, and departed the hall.

"Impudent bastard!" Isleen sniffed. "You should have killed him, and sent him back in pieces to his master."

"You are too quick to rash actions," Merin ap Owen said quietly. "There is no profit in killing an unimportant messenger. When I kill, it is for a good reason, not for the pure joy of it as it is with you, my pretty bitch." He turned to Elf. "You will be home by spring, my lady Eleanore. Will it please you?"

"Aye," she said honestly. How good it had been to see Sim. She had so very much desired to speak to him privately, but how clever he had been in allowing her to know that Simon was well. And Ranulf. He had returned safely. His return would mean that King Stephen was dead, and that England had a second Henry upon the throne. The word had yet to filter into Gwynfr, not that it made any difference.

"You must finish your tapestry before you leave us," Merin ap Owen said. "I shall hang it here in the great hall over the fireplace so all may see it, my lady Eleanore."

"It is a small enough price to pay for my keep, my lord," Elf answered him. How his eyes looked at her. He struggled hard to mask his longing, but she now knew it for what it really was. Dear God, she silently prayed, get me home safely! It had gotten to the point where she could hardly look at him, and she frankly feared the nights. She made it a point to hurry to bed immediately after the evening meal so that when he entered his bedchamber, she, in her little stone alcove, was long asleep. Although she really wasn't. She did not dare to sleep until she heard him snoring. His desire for her frightened Elf. Worse, she was curious of that desire. This was temptation such as no nun at St. Frideswide’s had ever faced, and she prayed to resist it daily.