The Marriage Bed (The Medieval Knights Series) (43 page)

"Your daughter does not need time to adjust herself to this newfound marriage you have contracted for her?" Hugh asked her father.

"Nay, my daughter is adept at obedience, as all daughters should be," Gautier said.

Elsbeth raised her eyes and looked at her father. Yea, she heard his warning. She must be obedient if she was ever to find her way to the cloister. And Hugh of Jerusalem was now the door through which she must pass to reach it; he, as her husband, would either allow or disallow it. Her task was before her.

Hugh must allow her to find her way to sanctuary, the sanctuary of a world of women, their hearts and minds, their very bodies, given to God. If he found her unfit to be a wife, her hours devoted to prayer, her every thought and word given to God, he would release her. His repudiation of her was her dearest prayer. She would rather be free to live in peace at Sunnandune than in the cloister, but either would serve. She only wanted to be free of him.

What man wanted a nun for a wife? What man wanted a wife he could not possess? How she would escape his possession, his invasion into her body, she did not yet know. Yet she did know God, and He was able to keep her safe. Somehow, she would be safe.

"Then I follow your word, my lord," Hugh said, turning away from her completely to face Gautier, "for you know the heart of my betrothed better than I. I would cause her no dismay."

"You will not, but ask her yourself, if it please you," Gautier said.

Hugh took her hand in his and she let him. She was obedient to his will, showing them all the perfection of her submission, trying even now to find her way to the place where no man could find her.

"Show me your eyes, Elsbeth, for I would read your heart in them," Hugh said.

Her first act of obedience, and she felt the struggle within herself to perform it. He was too beautiful and the temptation to fall into him would be too great. Yet God was greater still.

She obeyed.

"Our path is marked for us, lady," he said, "but I would not have you stumble upon it, not being ready for the journey every marriage surely is. Would you wait, Lady Elsbeth, or will you trust that my arm is strong enough to sustain you, even as my heart yearns to fulfill our pledge? I stand upon your will, knowing that the God we both serve will guide you."

Perfect. Had any knight ever shown such well-balanced blending of courtesy, chivalry, and holy ardor? Nay, not even Ulrich in all his impassioned wooing had spoken so skillfully.

Yet she would not let a perfect speech from a flawless face move her, at least not overmuch. She must persuade him to relinquish her, she would be no man's wife. But he could not relinquish what he did not hold, and so her answer was clear. As clear as it was that her father would never let her remain unwed. If she could manage for Hugh to repudiate her, then Sunnandune would still be hers. If she could manage to convince Hugh that she was better suited to the cloister, then he would release her into it. Either way, she was free of the control of men. Either path led to freedom. Either path led away from her father.

"You are kind, my lord, to stand upon the will of a woman. Thank you for that courtesy." If her father heard a rebuke in that for him, let him. "I hear no call to wait, my father's will and God's being plainly heard. We marry at your will, the day and hour in your hands, as surely as my life resides in God's."

"Did I not tell you that you would suit each other well?" Gautier said.

"Aye, and you spoke true," Hugh answered. "Elsbeth is a comely damsel, her heart and mind set upon God's holy will. No man could ask for more of any wife."

"Aye, he can," Gautier said, grinning. "That her womb bear him many sons to carry his name and his blood forward. That is the best reward for a man in this life."

"In this life, perhaps," Elsbeth said with the smallest whisper of rebellion.

"My reward rests in God's hands," Hugh said, looking down at her, his expression solemn. "Let Him give me what He will. Or will not. I am content within His grasp."

It was a perfect answer. She could not have dared even to dream for more. She had no words to speak against the match or the man.

A most troublesome beginning to a marriage she did not want.

* * *

It was a marriage he wanted with all his heart, though he doubted Gautier knew it. Which was all to the good. No man would be invited into the dark and shadowed corners of his heart, nor any woman, even if she be a wife.

Hugh sat next to his future father-in-law in the vast, dark, drafty hall Gautier seemed so proud of. What was more, he was drinking bad wine, though Gautier did not seem to mark it. A most strange place, this England. He had heard the stories of it all his life, but he had not quite been prepared for the reality of the place.

It was damp. All over, it was damp. Within and without. A cold damp that settled in the very pit of his stomach and that no fire could burn away. And the sun was a weak thing here, shrouded in cloud and fog and mist and defeated by them all. He longed for the strong white light of Jerusalem and found it only in his dreams.

Ah, well, he had his duty to perform in England and then he was off, home again, to the land of God Himself. He would find solace in his dreams until then.

Elsbeth had gone to pray before the marriage ceremony and to bathe, rather like a man performing the vigil that marked the beginning of his knighthood. Well, and he could see the reason in it. Her life was about to change, and there would be no going back. Aye, let her pray through her fears; he would not condemn her.

According to her father, and even Lord Richard, she was a woman much given to prayer. He could see no fault in it. A woman's life was a secluded one. If she marked the hours by attending the Mass, sending her Latin heavenward, he would only praise her.

Aye, 'twould be a fair marriage, each of them content in getting what they wanted. And was that not the root of contentment? That she was comely was a boon unasked for; perhaps all the sweeter for that. She had the dark took of a woman of the Levant, dark of hair and eye, though her skin was the color of rich cream. Her features were bold and full and her gaze direct, which was not a feature of a woman reared in the land of Christ. He did not fault her for it. These Northern women did not have the same ways as the women of his own life.

He was very far from home, but it did not serve to dwell upon it. He was halfway to winning his goal; he dare not falter now by falling into dreaming of home.

Turning to his host, he said, "How did your daughter come by her name? It is new to me," he asked Gautier, pulling himself out of his longings.

"She comes from a royal Saxon house," Gautier answered. "Her mother, Ardeth, was descended from a Saxon king. I married her to firm my bond to this isle and to gain good land. A wise marriage. Too bad she did not live to see Elsbeth wed."

"When did she die?"

"Two years past. She died in childbed, with Elsbeth at her side," Gautier said, licking chicken fat from his fingertips. "I married again and she is plumped, so all is well. Five sons I have, a rich legacy for any man."

"Aye, that is true. You are rich in sons. And in daughters. Elsbeth is lovely."

"It is good you think so," Gautier said. "A man finds pleasure in a pleasing face... and between soft thighs."

Hugh smiled and drank again of his wine, holding his tongue, keeping the peace.

"You do not wish to break free of the match, even knowing that she would prefer the convent?" Gautier asked.

Hugh smiled and set down his wine. The tablecloth was frayed and thin, much like the wine. "I do not fault her for having dreams as to how she would spend her life, especially a life devoted to prayer. She will make me a fine wife. I will not break free."

"Nor will she," Gautier said.

Hugh only nodded.

"You can have her today. I give her to you. The contract is written, the priest waits only upon my word," Gautier said.

He was a most anxious father, most anxious and eager to give his daughter into marriage. Still, Elsbeth was of an age to marry and Hugh eager to take her to wife. There was no cause to delay.

"I am ready. When she comes, I will take her. Let me only say my own prayers to my divine creator before I join myself to your daughter. I would come to her clean of all sin," Hugh said.

"As you say," Gautier said. "Go to your prayers. I will not hinder you nor any man in his converse with God. Would that more men were of your temper, Hugh. The world we live in would have a different shading than it does now."

"Aye, it may be so," Hugh said, rising from his seat. There was a smudge of dirt on his white tunic from the dusty underside of the table. He turned his eyes from it and smiled his departure at Gautier.

Gautier smiled to watch him go and stroked the dog pressed against his side with negligent affection.

* * *

The chapel of Gautier's holding was against the east wall, a squat and dark building of stone and mortar scoured by wind and mossy with time. It looked like a stable. Hugh sighed and let his eyes find instead the beauty of the place. There was some small patch of brilliance, if one looked long and hard. He had. He had been in Warkham for a sennight, awaiting the arrival of his betrothed. The chapel did boast a splendid floor of cut stone and shimmering quartz laid in a design that awkwardly mimicked the brightly colored mosaics of the Levant. Still, it had a certain severe beauty, and he let the sight wash through him.

The chamber was quiet and still, the birds of winter cooing softly in the rafters, the air pleasantly scented by beeswax candles. It was a place to find God, to hear His voice amid the clamor of living. It was where he found Elsbeth.

She knelt in the nave, her dark hair a shining wave that flowed over her back. Her spine was straight and her head bent to her prayers. The sound of her voice was a soft murmur in the air, as pleasant and soothing as birdsong. He approached her softly, his boots silently marking his passage over the stone floor.

She did not look up. She did not stop her prayers. He had not expected such from her. A woman given to prayer would not mark the approach of a man, even though that man be her betrothed.

He watched her as he knelt at her side. There was a strength to her, a clarity of purpose that radiated from her eyes, a resolve that was unusual in a woman. She was small. And she was young. Yet those traits did not diminish her. A woman, this woman, would need her strength for what he planned to do in her life. Nay, he found no fault with Elsbeth. God and Baldwin had chosen well for him.

He bent his head to his own prayers, his words blending with hers to form a strange sort of spiritual song. If she heard it, she gave no sign. He did not think Elsbeth was given to showing signs.

In time, when the candles had burned down, their wax leaving smooth puddles on the floor, their prayers were silenced. Even Elsbeth, it seemed, could not pray all day. At least not while her betrothed waited at her side in her father's chapel.

"I have not yet bathed," she said, staring up at the rood. Christ upon His cross did not look down at them but cast His eyes upward, toward the Father and His reward. A fine lesson for them all in the way a man's eyes should be fixed upon the prize.

"I will wait," Hugh said, studying her profile. Her lips were full and her brow strong, yet her eyes were soft and deep.

The silence stretched out between them, a silence marked by nothing more significant than the sound of the wind in the rafters and the motion of the birds. Still, it was peaceful. Had he been born a woman, he might have found much solace in prayer and continual contemplation. But he was not a woman.

"I was not..." she began and then faltered.

He waited and did not press for more. Let her speak when she had found her words. Such gentle chivalry would go far with her, according to all Gautier had said.

"I did not pray to delay our marriage," she said, her eyes on the floor under her knees.

"I did not think you had. I would never think so ill of you, Elsbeth. I believe you to be a woman who does not give her words to the air, to be snatched off when the wind blows a different course," he said.

She looked up at him then, a fleeting look that showed first her surprise and then her pleasure at his words. Had she heard so few pleasing words in her life that these few would turn her head?

"Do you?" she asked and then turned away from him again, her eyes once more on the rood. "Do you know me so well and so quickly, then? Or do you only hope?"

"Perhaps it is only hope," he said, standing, giving her his arm to assist her.

She laid her hand upon his arm slowly, cautiously. It was their first touch, and well they knew it. Yet it was only a hand upon an arm. Only a hand, yet she hesitated. He could not fathom it. She had seemed more bold than to hesitate at this.

"And perhaps," he continued, taking her hand in his and laying it upon his arm, "perhaps it is that I trust. I trust in God, Elsbeth, as must you. I trust that He has gifted me with a bride who will suit. I trust that our lives will mesh, becoming one, as the Lord God intended. As Adam was given Eve, so I am given you."

Her eyes widened and she snatched back her hand. "Eve sinned grievously. Do not compare me to her, I beseech you. She did not do her husband any good turn that I can see. I would be better."

"It may be so," he said, taking back her hand and holding it in his, "and yet, she was fashioned for him and from him. And she peopled the earth, as God commanded. I find no fault with that."

"You are a strange sort of knight," she said, her dark eyes smoky with wonder.

"I am a knight of the Levant, Elsbeth. That is all I am," he said, meaning every word.