The Innocent (15 page)

She arose, wondering if anyone noticed the heat in her cheeks. "Come, Ranulf, and let me bathe you." Her fingers wrapped about his, and she led him from the hall into the solar where the bath awaited them, the great tub steaming with the heat of the water that filled it.

Ida awaited them, an apron about her stout figure. "Come, lord," she beckoned him. "Sit down, and I will have your boots. The mistress has undoubtedly explained to you that I will instruct her in the art of bathing, as it was not something taught her at her convent." She pulled his boots from his feet with an expert twist, then quickly rolled down his chausses.

He stood, and Ida took his tunic, and his two undertunics, his drawers. He stood in his knee-length chemise, which was cut to his waist on either side of the garment. He looked searchingly at the old woman.

She nodded her understanding and turned to Willa, handing her the garments already removed. "Here, girl, see the lord’s boots are cleaned, his tunic’s brushed, and his chausses and drawers washed and dried for the morning. You're much too young for such a fine sight yet," she cackled wickedly. "Go along, now! Lady, please take your husband’s chemise, and lay it aside. Then we will take up our brushes," Ida instructed Elf. She whisked the chemise from her master, handing it to Elf while Ranulf descended into the tub quickly so that his wife got no more than a glimpse of his bare buttocks.

"Hellfire! 'Tis hot," he yelped as his naked body made contact with the water. "Do you mean to boil me, then, old woman?"

"The lady must have her bath after you," Ida explained. "If the water is not hot to begin with, it will be cold when she enters it. Besides, men have tougher hides than we women. Come, lady, and take up your brush. The jar with the soap is there."

He stood in the water while the two women plied their brushes, and scrubbed him clean. Elf delicately averted her eyes as he stepped upon a stool within the tub so he might lift a leg up for washing. He smiled at Ida. There would come a time when Elf would not be shy of him, and indeed, the tub was big enough for two. He longed for the day when they would bathe together, and in doing so aroused himself to an upstanding state. The old lady chuckled conspiratorily at him, her eyes dancing with mirth. Gritting his teeth, Ranulf thought of his last jousting tournament before King Stephen, who had brought the sport to England despite the objections of the clergy. In remembering, his shoulder began to ache where he had been bruised by his opponent-and his immediate purpose was served: his lust was defused.

"Lady," Ida said, "wash your husband’s hair, being certain to pick out the nits first."

"I have no lice," he said indignantly. "I keep myself clean, old woman."

Ida ruffled her stubby fingers through his head, pushing the hair aside here and there. Finally she said, "He does not lie, lady."

Elf giggled. Looking at her, Ranulf laughed, too. "The king need not have bothered to send me to Ashlin, Eleanore," he said. "You already have a dragon to guard it."

"If he hadn't sent you," Ida snapped quickly, "this fair maid would have pledged herself to God. We are all lucky, but especially you, my lord."

Smiling, Elf lathered his hair with the thick soap, scrubbing it clean-for this was something she had done with the younger girls at the convent to help Sister Cuthbert-and then ducked his head beneath the water to rinse it. "You're done," she told him.

"Hold up his toweling, lady, and wrap him in it," Ida instructed as Ranulf arose up from the tub. "That’s right, now sit him by the fire, and dry him off while I get him a clean chemise. Then it is into bed with you, my lord, before you catch an ague!"

Shyly, Elf knelt and dried her husband’s legs and feet. Standing, she dried his back, his arms, his shoulders, his chest, his torso. He was such a big man; his muscled body scarred here and there.

"I'll do the hard part," he murmured to her, and she smiled up at him gratefully as he stood up and walked toward the bedchamber, where Ida was fetching the chemise for him. A moment later the old lady bustled out.

"You did well, lady," she said. "Now, let me help you."

Elf undressed slowly, handing Ida her garments until she wore nothing but her chemise. Boldly she pulled it off, pinning her braid up, and climbed into the tub. The water came up to her neck and shoulders. She sighed with pleasure, for it was still quite warm. After a few minutes of pure bliss, Ida broke into her reverie, telling her to stand upon the bath stool, and handing her a washing cloth and the soap.

"What of your hair?" her nursemaid asked when she saw Elf had finished washing herself.

"It was washed before my wedding," Elf said. "It will do for a few more days, Ida. Besides, it is late, and I cannot go to bed with long wet hair, can I?"

The old woman let out a rough laugh. "If I were wife to that big, warm-eyed man, I should want to hurry to my bed, too. Heh! Heh!"

"Fetch me a clean chemise," Elf said, feeling the heat come into her face with Ida’s ribald remark.

"What? You would sleep in a chemise next to that fine husband?" She sighed. "Well, I suppose it will take awhile to breed that convent prudery out of you, lady." She shuffled off into the bedchamber to fetch the requested garment. By the time she returned, Elf had exited the tub and was drying herself vigorously, for the air in the solar was cold after the warmth of the water in the tub.

Elf slipped her chemise on. "God give you a good rest, Ida," she told her old servant. "Tell Willa she may sleep here with you." Then she went into the bedchamber, closing the door behind her. Seating herself on the stool by the fire, Elf unpinned her hair and undid her thick plait. She took up the boar’s bristle brush Ida had placed upon the little table, and then his hand closed over hers.

"Let me," Ranulf said.

"I thought you asleep," Elf said softly.

"I was just keeping warm in the bed waiting for you," he said. Then he drew the brush through her long hair over and over and over again until the thick tresses were free of tangles and as smooth as a length of Byzantine silk. His hand followed each sweep of the brush into a rhythmic movement that she found very relaxing. "Your hair is so beautiful," he said. "You are beautiful, petite."

Turning slightly, she moved to take the brush from him. Their lips were so very close, and Elf’s heart beat a wild tattoo. For a moment their eyes locked, and she thought in that moment that she would melt, for the heat of his gaze was that strong. Then her fingers closed about the pear-wood handle of the brush, and she took it from him, looking away as she did so. "I must braid my hair now," she said low.

"Yes," he said, standing up. Outside the sounds of the serfs struggling to empty the tub and return it to its place could be heard. "I have had a thought," Ranulf began. "What if we cut a drain into the stone of the solar floor, and installed a spigot at the bottom of the tub? The tub can be placed, when in use, with its spigot over the drain, effortlessly emptied, and easily restored to its storage place."

"That’s a wonderful idea!" Elf said. She had finished restoring her hair to an orderly state. "How clever you are, Ranulf!" Going to her side of the bed, she knelt down. To her delight he joined her on his side of the bed, and together they said their prayers. Then they climbed into bed.

Immediately he took her hand in his, but tonight she was neither fearful nor afraid of him. She was beginning to believe that perhaps the abbess had been correct when she said God’s plans for Eleanore de Montfort had changed. It was obvious that God had sent her a good man and she must do her best to be a good wife to him. "I know nothing about you, Ranulf," she said to him, "while you know all there is to know of me. Will you tell me of yourself?"

"There is little to tell," he said. "My father, Simon de Glandeville, had lands in Normandy. He was killed in the Holy Land. My mother sent me to King Henry’s court to be raised. Then she remarried. My lands in Normandy were somehow absorbed into my stepfather’s holdings. When I was old enough to understand what had happened, I went to Normandy with the intent of reclaiming what was mine. I was sixteen at the time. My stepfather claimed that my mother’s marriage to my father had not been a legal union. As there were no other male heirs among the de Glandevilles, the lands dissolved upon my mother, and then to him upon their marriage. I had no power to refute his claim."

"But what did your mother say?" Elf wanted to know. "By saying such a thing, he defamed her character and that of her family."

"My mother had been the only child of elderly parents who were now dead. She had no one to defend her, and begged me to keep silent. Her husband, she promised, had sworn to keep her shame and my ill-born status a secret if I would simply accept what had happened. None of it was true, of course.

"My maternal grandmother had been alive before I was sent to King Henry’s court at the age of seven. My mother’s family was an ancient one, but poor. My father had been honored to have my mother as his wife. He took her without a dower just for her name, my grandmother always told me with pride. Our neighbors, the church, all treated my parents with great respect. This would not have happened had my mother been only my father’s leman and I born on the wrong side of the blanket. As a child my father had carried me on his saddle, introducing me to his villagers as
le petit monseigneur,
the little lord. They would always cheer. I was just five, and it was before my father departed for the Holy Land, but I remember it well.

"Still, I was only sixteen, and newly knighted by the king. I had neither wealth nor power with which to challenge my mother’s husband. If I allowed him to destroy my good name, I should have had nothing. What little I had would have been stripped from me, Eleanore. I told my mother that I should leave her in peace, but that I would pray for her. I thanked her husband for his
generosity
in protecting my mother’s reputation and my good name. He blustered and blew of how much he loved her, that she had been a good wife, that she had given him heirs, that she was deserving of his generosity. I had been raised well by King Henry’s court, he pompously told me, and, should anyone ever ask, he would be proud to call me his stepson.

"It was all I could do not to slay him where he stood, but I did not. I departed Normandy, returned to England, and pledged myself to the king’s service. I did tell King Henry the truth of my adventure. He complimented me on my wisdom, and advised me to make my home in England. When he died, and the quarrel between King Stephen and the Empress Matilda erupted, I did what any knight in my position would do. I chose a side, and I stuck with it. Men of power have, of course, changed sides in this dispute as frequently as the wind has changed directions, but knights like me cannot afford to do so unless the odds are so overwhelming that to stay with one’s choice would be foolish."

"I do not think you foolish," Elf said. "I think you are quickwitted and resourceful, Ranulf. You did the right thing to protect your mother from a husband who would steal from her child, and then threaten to destroy both her good name and his to keep the ill-gotten gains. He must be a very wicked man, for your mother is the mother of his own heirs, and her shame would reflect on them as well."

"Greed, my innocent little wife, does not know shame," he told her. "Your brother’s wife was surely proof of that. Our people have little good to say of her. Fulk tells me before her cousin arrived, she would often flirt with the men-at-arms. The king was right to order her put away where she can do no harm."

"I do not see Isleen going meekly into the confinement of a convent for the rest of her life," Elf said. "But let us not speak of her, Ranulf. It pains me to think she poisoned my poor brother. He was a good and gentle man."

"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.

T
he 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?"

"Well, lady, you would not be knowing such things being in the convent since you were scarce little more than a babe, but it is so. You are not afraid, are you? There is no need to be afraid."

"I am not afraid," Elf said calmly, but she would be if she didn't get her old nursemaid to leave the bedchamber. This was certainly not a subject she was comfortable discussing with Ida.

"Good," the old woman said. "Then, I shall leave you. Willa and I will sleep in the hall tonight, and every night from now on, lady. You will want your privacy, and that door scarce allows it." She shuffled from the bedchamber, leaving Elf quite astounded.

Did everyone at Ashlin know the state of her marriage, Elf wondered as she unbraided her hair and brushed it out? Was nothing a secret? But she did realize that in any small community, there were no real secrets. There had certainly been none at St. Frideswide's. Slowly she brushed her long red-gold hair, rebraiding it into a single plait, then climbing into bed. Where was Ranulf? Ah, she realized, Ranulf might not know that everyone at Ashlin was aware of their marital matters, and so he had probably remained in the hall with Fulk and his men, as was his custom each evening. Elf smiled and stretched her limbs beneath the coverlet. The room was dim, not overly cold this night. Her eyes grew heavy, and soon she fell asleep.

Looking down on her, Ranulf thought Elf was surely the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her thick dark lashes grazed her pale cheeks. Her sensuous little mouth was the most tempting mouth he had known. He had bathed and entered their chamber as quietly as he could. Now he raised the coverlet to slip into bed. Should he awaken her… or should he allow nature to take its course when she finally awoke? Unable to help himself, he leaned over and lightly kissed her mouth.

Elf opened her gray-blue eyes and looked into his hazel ones. "You need not have stayed so long in the hall, my lord. It seems the entire manor knows of our private matters," she told him. "Did you not see that Ida and Willa have gone to sleep in the hall? Ida says the door does not give us the privacy we need."

He laughed softly. "So, we are the talk of Ashlin, petite. How did all this come about?" Pulling up his pillows so he might sit, he drew her onto his lap.

Her heart had jumped when he moved her into his arms, but Elf managed not to show any nerves. "Ida told me she put a knife beneath the bed to cut the pain of my defloration," Elf told him.

"Why do women who should know better believe that old wives' tale?" He chuckled. "Mary’s honor, petite, you are not fearful, are you? I will not allow you to be afraid of making love!"

"Why does everyone ask me if I am afraid?" Her heart-shaped face was the picture of annoyance, and he almost laughed aloud. "If a husband and wife’s coming together in carnal fashion is pleasant, then why should I be afraid? Oh, I know, the first time will be strange, and yes, I know it will hurt when you pierce my maidenhead, but frankly I am more curious as to where everything goes than I am concerned about a brief pain. No, Ranulf, I am not afraid!"

"You are adorable," he said with a sigh. "Now I know why no woman has ever attracted me enough to induce me into offering marriage. It was obviously God’s plan that you be my wife, Eleanore."