"How do we know she has not lied?" Isleen said softly. "Perhaps I can have a child for you, Saer. I am sure she has lied!"
"No," Saer de Bude replied. "She did not lie. She would not. There is no deception in her, Isleen. She is a true innocent. I suspect she never meant to tell you of Richard’s bastards, but that you actually drove her to anger with your lack of sympathy regarding your husband’s death. She will say a hundred Aves to expiate that sin." He chuckled. "Now, you must go into the hall and show your respect for your husband. We have waited long for this day, my pretty cousin."
"Do you think they suspect anything?"
"They are peasants," Saer de Bude said, "and Eleanore has not been here long enough to realize something was wrong. No. I am certain no one knows that we have killed your husband, Isleen. No one." He smiled warmly at her. "Did I not promise you when your father gave you to Richard de Montfort that you and I would be together one day? I have kept my promise, Isleen. Now you must be patient just awhile longer, and you must trust me. If you do, we will have each other, an heir, and Ashlin for ourselves. Promise me, Isleen. Promise me you will resign yourself to waiting a bit longer. If you should lose your composure now, we could lose everything, including our lives. Do you understand me, Isleen? You must make your peace with Eleanore this very day, my pretty. Give me your bond, cousin."
"But what if I could give you a child?" she persisted.
"If you could, you already would have done so, Isleen," he told her. "I have bedded you practically every night since I arrived at Ashlin, even during some of your unclean periods. Never have you conceived of my seed, and like your husband, I have my smattering of bastards, including a little girl born several months ago here at Ashlin."
"Ohhh, villian!" she shrieked, pulling away from him and striking out at him with both of her fists.
"Cease your caterwauling, bitch!" Saer de Bude said. "It is a man’s right to amuse himself among his serfs. Now, go and behave as a proper grieving widow would, Isleen. Our future is secure if you can manage to keep your head and your temper in check." He released her wrists, which he had caught when she began beating him, and gave her a push toward the door of the solar.
Isleen moved away from him. Her look was scathing. "When will you force the little nun?" she asked. "The sooner we begin this charade, the sooner it is played out."
"Let me try and woo her first," he responded.
"Like you did this morning? You have not so many tunics, my love, that you can allow another one to be spoiled."
"My error in judgment was approaching a virtuous young maiden too quickly. I meant to help her with the linens. She misunderstood."
Isleen snorted in derision. "You allowed your lust to gain the upper hand, Saer. Do not he to me, my love, for I above all people know you best. Now, I will go and humble myself before Ashlin’s new lady, claiming shock and grief were responsible for my temper. I will beg her forgiveness, and she will give it to me because it would not occur to her that I was lying, or had any other motive."
"Eleanore is not a fool, Isleen," he warned her. "Pure of heart and innocent of the world she may be, but she is no simpleton. Make certain you are sincere. Remember, there is none among the serfs or house servants who love you. You have not been an easy mistress. They will seek to find fault with you at every turn and complain to Ashlin’s new lady of the manor. They knew her from birth until you convinced Richard to send her away. Old Ida in particular bears you malice for that selfish deed."
"Why should I have had to raise someone else’s brat?" Isleen snapped. Then she smoothered her veil, making certain that her fillet was neatly in place. "Leave my chamber after I have gone," she said, and departed.
In the hall Isleen found her husband already laid out in his coffin upon an oaken bier. At each corner of the bier, a tall footed candlestick had been placed, and from each stick a tall beeswax candle burned. Roses from the garden and field flowers were arranged in large stone jars by his head and his feet. His hands had been folded neatly upon his chest beneath his shroud. A crucifix had been placed on his chest. His hair, or what was left of it, was neatly combed. A snug binding was wrapped about his head and under his chin, preventing his mouth from sagging open. A little copper penny had been placed upon each of his eyelids to keep them closed. He looked quite peaceful.
Isleen gave a shriek, and then flung herself dramatically upon her dead spouse’s coffin. "Richard, my love! Oh, why have you left me?" she wailed, and began to sob in a most convincing manner.
"Hypocritical trull," Ida muttered beneath her breath. "She sends him to his grave, then weeps her insincere tears. If there is any justice, God will strike her down dead now and raise our good lord Richard back to life, healed and in his full vigor!"
"God has already raised Dickon up," Elf said softly.
It was at that very moment Father Anselm entered the hall. "My lady Eleanore," he greeted her, hurrying to her side.
Elf turned and came forward, holding out her hands in greeting to the convent priest. "Thank you for coming, good father, but how quickly you arrived. I am grateful. Will you shrive my brother, and bury him tomorrow for us?"
"I was but three miles away on another matter when your young Arthur found me," the priest said. "Yes, I will remain. I am glad I may be of service to you and the grieving widow."
Isleen, for all her weeping, nonetheless heard the exchange. She turned and fell on her knees before Elf. "Sister, forgive me for my harsh words earlier. I knew my poor Richard was dying, and yet when the moment came, I could not believe it. In my shock and pain, I struck out at the one person who came to aid my dearest husband and nurse him these weeks with such devotion. Forgive me, Eleanore, I beg you! I cannot bear the thought that you and I have quarreled!" She held out her hands in supplication to Elf.
Elf bent and drew her sister-in-law up. "Of course I forgive you, Isleen, but I must also ask your pardon for my harsh words earlier. Like you, my grief overcame me, I fear." She kissed Isleen on both cheeks.
"And I forgive you," Isleen replied sweetly, kissing Elf in return. "We must never quarrel again, sister.”
Father Anselm smiled at the two young women, pleased by their public display of affection. Then he greeted the young widow with kindness as Elf introduced them.
"And this is my cousin, Saer de Bude," Isleen told the priest. "My father sent him to help us when Richard fell ill. He will escort me home to my parents with my dower portion after we have buried my poor husband. Ashlin now belongs to Eleanore to do with as she pleases."
"I shall give it to our order," Elf said.
The priest nodded his approval. "Reverend Mother would be quite delighted by such a gift."
"Has Matilda FitzWilliam taken her vows yet, Father Anselm?" Elf asked him. "We were to do so on St. Alban’s Day in June."
"Sister Columba became a bride of Christ forever on that day, Eleanore. She sends you her prayers, and looks forward to your return," the priest said. "Reverend Mother says you may take your final vows on St. Frideswide’s Day itself in October if your business here at Ashlin is completed by then. It is quite an honor, my daughter, as you well know."
Elf’s face was alight with joy.
The priest and the young novice prayed the night through by Richard de Montfort’s bier. Isleen cried off from exhaustion in midevening, and disappeared into the solar. Throughout the long hours and into the early morning, the serfs came into the hall to pay their last respects and to pray with the two religious. Finally in the hour after dawn Isleen appeared again, asking for time alone with her departed spouse. Ida came, clucking and fussing that Elf must break her fast, and afterward escorting her to her bed space for a nap before Richard de Montfort’s funeral. They buried the lord of the manor in the early afternoon of a summer’s day. The air was heavy with the promise of rain, and the skies a dull gray above them. Elf had declared a half holiday, and provided her people with a small feast afterward. The rains held off until dusk when a thunderstorm rolled in from beyond the hills that separated Hereford from Wales.