"Bitch!" he growled, reaching out and yanking her by the ankles onto her back. Fumbling with his garments, he loosed his lance and couched it securely within her sheath. "Bitch!" he repeated as she attempted to dislodge him.
Isleen pulled him down into an embrace and sunk her teeth into his shoulder, biting until she tasted blood. "Now I have infected you with my rabidity." She laughed.
He slapped her several times, but the blows were not hard, merely a warning. "You are clever," he told her, "but not indispensable, my pretty bitch. I may have to kill you one day."
"Perhaps," Isleen told him, "I will kill you first," and she laughed at the surprised look on his face.
He thrust into her again, using her cruelly, forcing her near the peak, holding her back again and again until she began to scream vile curses at him, and he at last gave her her release, mocking her as he did. "You are only a woman, Isleen, and a weak woman at that." Then he laughed, and withdrew from her. "Remember that, my pretty bitch. I must think on what you have suggested." He pulled his clothes back into order and walked out of her room even as she cursed him again.
Isleen, he considered as he entered his own private apartment, was becoming a very annoying encumbrance. Still, she had the same ferocious appetites that he himself possessed. He had to admit to himself that he gained more satisfaction from her than any other woman he had ever known. Still, she was not to be trusted, he reminded himself. She wanted to be rich, and she wanted to be independent. Perhaps he would help her to attain those goals, provided she behaved herself. She would certainly make a better ally than enemy.
Her proposal to kidnap the lady Eleanore was clever. Isleen was right when she said he could gain double in ransom than he would simply by stealing and selling Ashlin’s livestock. But if he was able to get custody of the lady and bring her to Gwynfr Castle, could he keep her safe from his wild whore? A dead or injured mistress of Ashlin would gain him nothing. Isleen’s grievance with Eleanore de Montfort was not justified. Isleen herself had told him how she had managed to get Eleanore as a young child banished to the convent before she married Richard, and how she had seen her but once before her dying husband sent for his sister nine years later.
Isleen’s partner in crime, her cousin, had obviously been a stupid man. He had chosen both the wrong time, and certainly the wrong place, to attempt his debauchment of the lady Eleanore. He would have been wiser to come in the night with the aid of Isleen and take the girl where her servants could not have heard her cries. It was his fault that Isleen’s plan had failed. Eleanore de Montfort could scarcely be blamed for defending herself from the unwanted advances of Saer de Bude, nor could her serf be faulted for protecting his mistress.
Isleen’s complaint had no basis, in fact. She was, Merin ap Owen concluded, jealous of her former sister-in-law. Aye, that was the crux of the matter. The lady Eleanore was every bit as beautiful as was Isleen de Warenne. And she was respected and loved by her people, which Isleen certainly had not been. How often his whore had complained to him about Ashlin’s people. The lady Eleanore was everything that Isleen was not, and Isleen hated her for it. Not that Isleen would have changed given the opportunity. She wanted everything her way, and when she could not have it, she cried foul.
How to keep his hostage safe from her was the problem. Once he had solved the conundrum, he would move on to the issue of how to kidnap her. The lady Eleanore was not worth the loss of life it would take to battle through Ashlin’s walls, although once inside the compound, gaining entry to the house was a simple enough matter, he decided. But if he could not get inside the walls, he would have to get his victim outside, where he might capture her more easily.
Merin ap Owen poured himself a goblet of the fine wine he kept here in his own private domain. Then he sat down by his fire to consider the matter more carefully. The lady was close to the nuns who had raised her. Could she be lured outside her walls by an attack upon St. Frideswide's? Possibly, but not certainly. There was that grizzled and battle-hardened sergeant at arms who served her. He was in charge of the safety of Ashlin, and would certainly know better than to allow his mistress to go to the convent to help her nuns after an attack. He would send his own men to help. Still, such an attack could prove a successful diversion.
Stroking his chin slowly and thoughtfully, he narrowed his eyes in contemplation. If he could get someone into Ashlin’s manor house, someone who could drug the gatekeeper, the men on the walls, the household servants, and then open the gates for him… now that was the perfect plan! But who? Who would the manor folk take in? Not be suspicious of? He needed some helpless creature he could bully, and whose loyalty was unquestioning. Who? Then a slow smile lit his handsome features as he realized the perfect pawn for his endeavor. Isleen’s servant. Clud’s niece. Arwydd!
Arwydd was not a stupid girl. She had been clever enough to gain an exit from her uncle’s brothel, where she had been naught but an unpaid slave. Isleen never complained about her, which meant the girl was also clever enough to serve a difficult mistress. Could she also serve her master? Aye! She could, and she would or he would kill her himself. He had no use for disobedient servants. And while he thought on it, he decided he would learn who had been futtering his whore while he had been in England. He had warned his men that she was his personal possession, but obviously someone had succumbed to Isleen’s bounteous charms. The man would die for it when he learned his name. He would say nothing to Isleen, but she would understand, and more important, so would his men. No one would ever use Isleen again unless he gave them permission to do so.
He smiled grimly, then considered how to infiltrate Arwydd into Ashlin. She would be a runaway slave, of course, whose master had attempted to sell her as a whore, or some such tale. That was a story sure to gain sympathy from the gentle lady Eleanore. He chuckled. It was clever, and Arwydd was just the right lass to carry it off. He would have to think on a series of signals she could use to alert him and his men, but with his decision, success was a foregone conclusion. Merin ap Owen chuckled, well pleased with himself- and even with Isleen.
Chapter 14
Pax of Ashlin was astounded by all he had seen of the world so far. What stories he would have to tell Willa! His lord and he had departed home and ridden for over a week before they reached the sea. It seemed that England was quite a large country, Pax decided. Finally they came to a town his master called Portsmouth, where they set about arranging for passage across to Barfleur. Pax had never seen such a big place as Portsmouth, and the salty smell of the sea was strange to his nostrils. Only by listening carefully could he make out what was being said most of the time, for the English spoken here was different from that spoken at Ashlin. Fortunately his Norman-speak improved quickly as his lord spoke it with him every day.
"Remember," Ranulf warned him, "to pretend you understand just basic orders and unimportant phrases. That way the others about you will speak freely, and I may gain information that may be of use to me."
"I will, my lord," Pax replied.
"You have done well so far, boy," Ranulf praised him, and Pax was pleased, for he truly wanted to better himself and be worthy of Willa’s hand when he returned. If the lord was satisfied with his service, then he would certainly give permission for Willa and Pax to wed.