Now, what was she to do about it? Merin ap Owen watched over his precious captive like a mother hen over her chicks. When he wasn't there, that damnable old serf, Gwyll, was at Eleanore’s elbow. As much as Isleen wanted to harm Elf, she faced the fact it was unlikely she would ever get the chance. So how was she to revenge herself on those who had hurt her so deeply? She knew very well that Merin ap Owen, while he enjoyed her sensual nature, was becoming bored with her. He would toss her aside as easily as he would any peasant wench. And then what was she to do?
She had only begun to organize and refine Clud’s whorehouse; she was in no position yet to push the whoremonger out and take it over. She had not the funds, nor did she think she could obtain the strong support of Merin ap Owen at this juncture. He would very much enjoy throwing her out and leaving her to fend for herself. Bastard! But a woman couldn't fend without gold, she knew.
And then she realized the solution to her problems was right before her very eyes. She would steal the ransom Ranulf de Glandeville was to pay for his wife before it even got to Gwynfr. With that ransom and a good horse, Isleen de Warenne could go wherever she chose, set up the finest whorehouse England had ever seen.
London. She would go to London! Merin ap Owen would never find her. He would think Ranulf de Glandeville had betrayed him. He would rape Eleanore de Montfort before he killed her so that in the end Isleen would indeed be revenged! It was a foolproof and a perfect plan! Isleen’s color was high, and her heart beat wildly with excitement as she considered her victory.
"You have the look of a cat that has just cornered its prey," Merin ap Owen said to her. "What are you thinking about, my pretty bitch?"
"Of how Ashlin, and all its people who were unkind to me will suffer and be destroyed when Ranulf de Glandeville must sell off all his livestock to regain custody of his wife," she lied, looking directly into his dark eyes. "They will starve without cattle to sell at the Lammastide Fair. There will be no wool, either, without sheep. How will they buy what they need for the coming years? How will they afford seed and other supplies that are not manufactured at Ashlin?"
She laughed meanly. "Ranulf de Glandeville will not think he has gotten such a bargain after all, and the serfs will curse his name. It is really quite delicious to contemplate," she finished, and the truth was it was a wonderful thought. A bit of a bonus, Isleen considered. She wondered if Ranulf de Glandeville would come to avenge his wife. Would he kill Merin ap Owen, or the other way around? Her thoughts kept getting better and better.
"You have such a black heart, my pretty bitch," he said. "I think I must have you before too much more time has passed. Your wickedness excites me very much, Isleen." He turned to Eleanore. "It is time for you to seek your chamber, lady. Do not wait up for me," he mocked her, knowing his words would cut into Isleen, "for I shall be very late."
"And should you hear noises coming from my apartments above you, lady," Isleen said, "do not be disturbed. My lord is most vigorous when he is in my bed." She smiled a feline smile.
"All men, I am told, are vigorous in your bed, lady," Elf replied sweetly She arose and curtsied to them, then left the hall.
Merin ap Owen laughed softly. "She is a true spitfire," he said admiringly. "By the rood, I'd like to get between her legs!"
"Do you expect me to believe that you haven't already?" Isleen snarled, all pretense of civility gone. "Do you think I believe for one moment that you haven't had her again and again since you brought her to Gwynfr, and ensconced her in your chambers? She may look like a little saint, but I doubt she is any longer, and you certainly are not!"
"You know me not at all, my pretty bitch," he said in a soft, deadly voice, "if you think I would dishonor myself by dishonoring my captive. All women are not like you, Isleen. Most may be to a certain extent, but not all. Eleanore de Montfort is a good woman."
"You love her!" Isleen accused.
For a long moment his dark eyes bored into hers, then he smiled an inscrutable smile at her. He would admit nothing to this bitch who railed at him. What he felt for Eleanore de Montfort was the purest feeling he had ever had. He would not spoil it by saying aloud what was in his heart to this harridan. He arose. "Come along, my pretty bitch. There are better ways to amuse me than you are now doing. I believe your bottom is in need of some correction. A good strapping to begin with, then I shall burnish you to a fine glow with a bunch of birch twigs. And then, my pretty bitch, you will take me into your hot, wet sheath, so we may truly pleasure each other," he said.
"She cannot give you what I give you," Isleen murmured breathlessly as she followed him from the hall.
"No," Merin ap Owen agreed with a smile. "She cannot."
Elf heard them passing by as they made their way down the narrow corridor and began to climb up to Isleen’s chamber. Isleen was giggling, and Merin ap Owen’s dark laughter followed her. It was at times like this, Elf realized how truly wicked her captor was. And yet he had never really been unkind to her. Indeed he was just the opposite with her as he was with Isleen. Why was that? Alas, she had no answers because of her inexperience. How much longer would it be before she saw her husband again?
It would not be long now, Ranulf thought, as he counted out the coins that John had brought back from Hereford, where he had sold off half of Ashlin’s cattle. The other half had been sold in Worcester. The sheep had gone to the bishop, who had been apprised of the situation and agreed to purchase them. He had been generous, much to Ranulf’s relief. A churchman was not above taking advantage of a desperate noble. Now, Ranulf realized, he must decide upon a time and a place for the ransom to be paid. Only when it was delivered would Merin ap Owen free Eleanore. God! It had been so long! Looking across the hall at his son, Simon, crawling about, pulling himself up whenever he could, he realized how much she had missed.
Sim departed for Gwynfr in a heavy winter rain. There was just enough time for him to reach Wales and offer a choice of meeting places. Merin ap Owen greeted him, Isleen de Warenne at his side and looking sour. There was no sign of the lady Eleanore.
"I'm to see the lady is safe still, my lord," Sim said politely.
"Gwyll," Merin ap Owen called. "Go and fetch the lady Eleanore so her man may see she is unscathed."
Gwyll moved quickly off.
"What suggestion does your master have for a meeting place?" the lord of Gwynfr asked.
"He offers you two choices, and if they do not suit, he will accept your choice, my lord. Just over the English side of the border are the ruins of an old hall. We call it Briarmere. Or we could meet atop the verge, on the border itself," Sim said.
Merin ap Owen thought for several minutes on the selection. He knew Briarmere well. The ruined stone hall was a place from which an ambush could easily be set. He had himself attacked hapless prey from there. If he could get there first… on the other hand, if the lord of Ashlin got there first… no. This time Briarmere would not suit. On the other hand, atop the verge was an excellent site. Out in the open there was no place for anyone to lay in wait. He smiled. Ranulf de Glandeville had thought the same thing, else he would not have offered so obvious a choice. "The verge, in ten days' time," he said.
"Agreed," Sim responded. "I will bring the gold, and you will bring my lady in exchange."
"Nay. You will bring the gold, and then you will wait until the gold has been brought back to me. I must ascertain that your master has been honest, and not filled the ransom bags with small stones topped by gold pieces. When the gold is all in my hands and counted out, then the lady will be brought to you. I will bring her myself to be certain she is delivered safely into your hands. The verge is but a few hours' ride from Gwynfr."