"Nay," Ranulf said. "The walls enclose too big a space. It’s breachable. Not easily, but breachable by a strong army, though not the Welsh rabble. We need a castle to make Ashlin stronger, but we have not the power, the wealth, or the king’s permission to build one. So, Fulk, we will consider how best to defend the manor house itself in the event of an attack. But first the church, lest my lady say I am not a man of my word."
" 'Tis time to plow the fields, my lord," Fulk pointed out.
"The serfs must give us three days a week of work. Those who give me a fourth day’s labor to rebuild the church will be paid in coin when the job is done," the lord of Ashlin said.
John, the bailiff, who had been walking with them, nodded. "I will tell all of your offer, my lord."
"I will expect one strong man from each household," Ranulf said sternly. "Tell them no permissions for marriages will be given until the church is repaired, and its roof thatched. The lady desires that a priest be called to Ashlin again. It cannot be done until the church is ready to receive the bishop’s man."
The fields were plowed, and the winter crops harvested. Every third field was left fallow in rotation. Of the two remaining fields, one was planted. The other arable field would not be planted until the late summer for harvest the following spring. The ewe sheep had birthed a bountiful number of lambs. They would have wool to sell at Hereford town come the summer fair. There were three new calves. Next to her herbarium Elf recultivated her garden, enlarging it so she would have plenty of medications for her store, with which to dose her people when necessary.
She was happy. Happier, she had to admit, than she had ever been. She had expected to feel a trifle guilty over her happiness, but she could muster no guilt. She liked her life, and she loved her husband, even if he should never know that. Now, she realized, she wanted a child of her love.
"You are too anxious," Ida told her. "Children come when they come, and not before. It is God’s way."
"Have you ever had any bastards, Ranulf?" she asked her husband one night as they lay abed. She trailed mischievous fingers over his belly.
The hazel eyes, closed with the pleasure her fingers wrought and anticipation of the delights to come, flew open. "What?" Surely he had not heard her aright.
"Have you ever had any bastards?" she repeated. The wicked little fingers tangled themselves in his thick dark bush.
"Why would you ask me such a question?" he demanded, pulling her hand away from his groin, and gently pinioning her beneath him so he might see her face.
"I want a baby," she said, "and I do not seem to conceive. I just wondered if you had ever had any bastards. Perhaps I am like Isleen and cannot have babes. What a tragedy for Ashlin."
"No offspring have been placed at my feet, Eleanore," he told her, struggling to hold his laughter in check. She was such an outrageous little minx. "I have been careful, however, not to allow my cock to outweigh my common sense. The women I enjoyed were wise enough to know how to prevent conception, for children would have been a burden to them, and they could never be certain of the fathers."
"Do you mean whores?" she asked him.
"What can my little convent-bred wife know of whores?" he responded, fascinated.
"The girls at the convent knew all manner of things, Ranulf. We were not all meant for the church. Bad women are rather intriguing when girls are young. The forbidden always has a certain appeal." She smiled seductively into his face. "Do you want to f-"
"Aye," he interrupted her, "I do, petite." Then a rather wicked light came into his eyes. "Do you still find the forbidden appealing, Eleanore? A lovely and skilled whore I knew long ago taught me a very naughty trick to please both a man and a woman. Are you brave enough? Or is it just the talk that you find pleasing?"
"Is it very wicked?" she asked him. Her gray eyes shown with interest. She contemplated his dare.
"There are some who say it is wicked, and others who say it is not wicked," he answered her. His little nun was becoming quite the delightful sybarite, he thought. The gray eyes locked onto his hazel ones. Taking her legs he drew them up, up, up, until they were well over his muscled shoulders.
Mesmerized Elf watched as her Venus mont was drawn within easy reach of his mouth. She started just slightly as his lips pressed a deep kiss upon her nether lips, and then his thumbs slowly opened her to his gaze. She felt her cheeks flush with the terrible intimacy of his action. Should she forbid him? Unable to tear her eyes away, however, she watched him as his tongue slipped from between his lips and touched her jewel, gently at first, and then with fierce vigor.
"Ohhhhhh, Ranulf!" The tongue nicked back and forth relendessly over her sentient flesh. She gasped with undisguised pleasure as strong ripples of wonderfully wild sensations began to engulf her. She couldn't watch any longer. "Ohhhhhh, Ranulf!" She abandoned herself to the erotic delights his marauding tongue was creating, mewling with her gratification. "Ohhhhhh, Ranulf! Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhh!" Her body stiffened, and relaxed as the intensity drained away.
He was hard as iron with her open desire. Lowering her legs just enough, he impaled her with his manhood, and she sighed so gustily that he could not help but laugh. "You are shameless," he said, groaning as he pistoned her writhing body. "Utterly shameless, petite!" By the rood, he could not get enough of her this night! She was hot, and despite the fact she was no longer a virgin, yet tight. He pushed himself as far as he could go, and then pulled her legs up higher to thrust farther. He needed to be deeper within her.
She clung to him. Her senses were completely awhirl. Her fingers clawed his back desperately as she sought the delicious and perfect bliss that the conjoining of their bodies brought her. I am greedy and selfish, she thought muzzily. I think only of my own pleasure. "I want to pleasure you, too," she gasped as he fiercely used her.
"You are!" he groaned through gritted teeth. "By Christ’s blood, you are!" Then together they found paradise, shuddering with mutual release; collapsing in happy contentment in each other’s arms.
"You would have been a terrible nun," he finally said when his heart had stopped hammering wildly.
"Nay," she protested. "Had I remained in ignorance of how sweet lovemaking can be, I should have been a very good nun."
Then they both laughed at the familiar badinage with which they always teased each other.
Ranulf declared a full day’s holiday on Mary’s Day, which was also Elf’s fifteenth birthday. A Maypole was raised, and the lord and lady danced about it with their people. Tables were set up in the near sunny meadow, and a feast served at the expense of the master and mistress. Barrels of cider and ale were rolled out for drinking. There were footraces and an archery contest with the winners receiving a young cock and two hens. The church had been finished, its walls repaired, its roof newly thatched. Ranulf gave his permission for half-a-dozen marriages to take place as soon as the priest was sent. Two of the brides-to-be were already with child, but there was no shame in it as it but proved their fertility, and their young men were true.
"There be a rider approaching," one of the girls cried out, pointing and excited, for visitors were a rarity at isolated manors like Ashlin.
The sun glinted off the riders sword hilt, Ranulf noted. A knight. Was he alone? A member of an advance party? But no. He would not come alone to scout for a larger, menacing group. Besides, the knight rode slowly, which meant his destination was in sight, and that destination could only be Ashlin. Ranulf stood up, and called to one of the house serfs. "Go inside, and bring me my sword. Hurry!" The man ran off, returning quickly with his lord’s sword and belt, which Ranulf buckled swiftly about him. Then he began to walk forward, distancing himself from the revelers, distinguishing himself so the strange knight would understand that Ranulf was lord of this manor.