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.
"I think I shall go out with Gwyll today, my lord, with your permission, of course. Soon it will be too cold to dig up the plants I need. I have managed to find quite a respectable stock of things with which to make my medicines." She had recognized his surprise, and sought to cover it over and make him comfortable again.
"Of course," he said. "Go with Gwyll." He cast a sidewise glance at her. God! She was so lovely. With a terrible sinking feeling Merin ap Owen realized that the impossible had happened. The heart he had firmly believed he did not possess had surfaced from deep inside of him. For the first time in his life, he was in love. He was in love with Eleanore de Montfort. How had it happened? Perhaps he should have done what Isleen had wanted to do when he brought his captive to Gwynfr. Perhaps he should have incarcerated her in his dungeons, where he would not have been exposed to her charm, her beauty, her wit, and her genuine goodness. But it was too late now. He was in love with the lady of Ashlin, and if he was to return her safely to her husband, he was going to have to be certain that Isleen never found out his secret.
Oh, God, he prayed silently for the first time in years, please help me! He wondered if God would hear the prayers of a man such as Merin ap Owen. For Eleanore de Montfort’s sake, he hoped He did.
Chapter 17
The weather in the Channel was foul, and had been for days. A hard cold wind blew from the north. The rain came in torrents, and the sea was all afroth, the waves crashing over the seawalls in Barfleur. The king, snugly housed, groused and grumbled with his impatience to begin his journey. He must be crowned soon. England had been without a king for over a month. Henry Plantagenet could only pray that there was peace there, no civil war. The line of succession, he kept reminding himself, was clear and undisputed, but, still, the English were a most unruly people.
Ranulf de Glandeville seethed with impatience, too. All he had wished was to complete his mission for the king, get the little prince to England, and then go home to Ashlin. It had been almost five months since he had seen his wife and child. Eleanore’s sweet face haunted his dreams, and he longed to tell her that he loved her. Soon. Soon. He could have howled with outrage when he learned his services to escort the little prince to England were not needed at all. He had been brought to Normandy on a fool’s errand.
Queen Alienor, heavy with her second child, had insisted she would not be parted from her little son. The court had moved almost immediately following the king’s campaign in the Vexin to Barfleur. The empress was to remain behind in Rouen to govern Normandy in her son’s absence. She had sided with her daughter-in-law. So the little prince would travel officially with his parents and his own household.