The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series) (20 page)

Hugh lifted his head and ran a hand through his hair. That problem was solved. He had sought and discovered his misstep with Elsbeth, and he would now put all to rights. He could do little more to secure her body and her longings; it was time to ease his way into her thoughts by spending hours in converse with her. Women liked that sort of thing, having their thoughts and dreams treasured by a man. He had some experience with such things; he would not misstep. Let her talk. He would listen.

She came out of the door then, and he greeted her with a smile of welcome. She did not smile in return. He was not dismayed; Elsbeth was not the sort of woman to smile often, yet when she did, the very sky seemed to lighten as by the rising of the sun. She made him want to work to win a smile from her, he who had been smiled upon by women since he first came of age. Yet it was different with Elsbeth. Her smiles meant something, as if a victory had been won and her smile the prize.

"You look lovely," he said, taking her arm.

"I look as I did moments ago. Nothing has changed," she said, letting her hand rest on his arm.

"Did I say anything had changed? Nay, you looked as lovely in our chamber, covered only by the dark fall of your hair. It is your fate, I do perceive, to be complimented upon the hour," he teased.

"Or even upon the half hour,' she said and then ducked her head to hide her smile.

"Oh, do not hide your smiles from me. I work too hard for them," he said in mock seriousness.

"Is it work you do with me, my lord?"

"Call it rather a labor done in love," he said as they reached the bottom of the stair. All was quiet in the hall; the torchlight flickered on emptiness.

"I use your word for it," she said as they crossed the hall. "You do not find the companionship of your wife either soothing or restful?"

"You are right," he said, releasing her arm, running his hand down her back and over the mound of her derriere. "I have no rest in your company until I have the rest of possession. You are mine, yet not mine. I want you. I will not rest until I have you."

She stumbled and caught herself, and he could not stop the smile that crossed his lips at her discomfiture. He had the power to move her and he enjoyed it greatly. Given what her father had said of her, he had been in doubt. Now all doubt was gone. Elsbeth was a woman of strong passion, both spiritual and physical. Both were well approved by him.

And he spoke true. He did want her. He wanted her more with every hour he knew her. She was a mystery, a puzzle in a way that no woman had been before. A life of prayer was what she sought, yet with a touch, a look, a kiss, she tumbled into passion that burned them both. Such a woman should not bury herself in the cloister. How that she could not see that?

After her courses passed, he would prove it to her. Most happily, he would prove it to her.

These thoughts were not helping, Hugh adjusted his braes with a nudge of his hand and a shifting of his weight. His plan was to talk to her, get her to speak and share the longings of her heart; that was the path open to him. That was the path he would take.

Until her flux passed.

How many days did a woman's flow occupy? It seemed a week, had passed and yet it had been just a day.

He looked askance at her as they left the hall and walked down the stair to the bailey. Would she tell him when her blood left her?

Nay, she most like would not.

She did not yearn for consummation, though her body softened at his touch. Nay, all she yearned for was the abbey. He would do well to watch her closely, his eye ever on the bucket in their chamber. When the blood ran thin, he would mark the day and take her the next.

But how long was he to wait?

* * *

She could hardly wait. As soon as the office was sung, she would talk to the priest. He would advise her; it was his duty and his calling, after all. If only she could remember... what was his name? She had not been to Warkham for ten years, and his name was lost to her.

He was older now and had the neglected look of a recluse; it was not how she remembered him. She only hoped he knew what he was about. She had need for good counsel, and there was no one in Warkham whom she trusted with the suspicions that had arisen within her when she had heard Hugh speak of Jerusalem and King Baldwin.

The hour of Sext ended, the incense rising to the vaulted beams above them, disappearing, merging with the mists of autumn. All rose and moved, eager to be back within the lofty hall, where the meal awaited them. All except Elsbeth.

Hugh remained kneeling at her side and whispered, "Will you pray on, Elsbeth? I will stay at your side, our prayers rising in one voice, if that is your will. But perhaps we could fill our stomachs and then return to pray?"

"You need not wait for me if your appetites call you elsewhere," she said, keeping her head bowed reverently.

"What? And have it said that my wife outprayed me? Nay, if you stay on your knees, your heart bound toward God, then I am at your side. I will not be outdone in so solemn a thing as prayer."

He was jesting. She could hear the laughter in his voice. His leaving would be nothing but pure blessing.

"I do not compete with you," she said, lifting her head just a bit, looking at him from downcast eyes.

"Nay, 'tis I who compete with you, little wife. I will not be found less holy than a maid from England; I, who walked in the path of Christ from the moment I could walk."

"I am sure there are many in my father's hall who would dearly cherish hearing of your holy walks in shining Jerusalem," she said, looking at him directly.

That had been a mistake. He looked distinctly challenged. Elsbeth sighed. Now he would never leave. No man left a challenge unanswered; it was the mark of their sex.

"I have wounded you," he said, taking her prayerful hands in his, turning what had been a holy exercise into an embrace most profane. "It is true, I love the land of my birth, but I have a great heart; I will love England with as fierce a love. If Elsbeth will instruct me in her finer points."

"If you will only go in to dinner, I will tell you all you wish to know of England. Later."

"Then you stay now to pray? I will stay with you."

He really was a most obstinate man. He was quite the match of her father.

"I do not stay to pray," she said, rising to her feet. He helped her up. She did not need his help. "I would speak with the good father on a matter—a private matter."

Hugh looked down at her and raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"'Tis not unusual," she said defensively.

"Nay? For a bride who has not been breached, it might be found unpleasantly predictable," Hugh said.

He looked stern. It was a new look upon his face that she had yet to learn. Still, there was no mistaking it; he was not pleased.

"There is no cause for you to be concerned," she said, lifting her arm from his hand.

He let her go, but he took a step nearer. She swallowed hard and looked up at the great mass of him. He was a goodly sized man, almost a giant by some measures.

"Ah, my little wife proclaims that I need not be concerned. Her blood flows, she is not breached, her heart is not in this marriage but in the convent, where she longs to fly," he said softly. It was the soft touch of whispered menace. "Nay, Elsbeth. I think you have it wrong. There is much to concern me."

The vault above them was dark with age and shadowy with smoke and mist. The softness of his voice echoed within the stone chamber, rising up to the dark to fall back down on her, a wave of sound that crashed against her with muted intent. Yet there was no mistaking his meaning. He thought she meant to have the marriage annulled, or feared she would. If he would only repudiate her, then she could let her suspicions sink back into shadow, leaving him as she had found him. Why would he not release her? Did he not always find her at her prayers? Aye, when she was not stripped and leaning into his hands and mouth, curse her weakness.

It was no easy thing to slip out of a marriage. Unfortunately.

But now did not seem the time to discuss any of that. They were alone, the priest long fled, and Hugh was looking most unhappily determined to keep her.

"I think you have misread my intent, my lord," she said. "Besides, the priest is at his meal by now, as is all of Warkham. Shall we not join them? I have missed my time."

"I hope I have misread you, Elsbeth," he said, his look still stern, his hands at his sides. "And it is I who have missed my time. I wed a woman, intent on making her a wife; time was against me. Yet I am a patient man and determined. I will have you, Elsbeth, Let there be no doubt in your mind as to that I will have you."

Yet she had many upon many doubts as to the nature of her husband. She only needed the priest to make things clear. But she held her tongue and said nothing to Hugh.

She was learning quite well the manner of a wife.

Chapter 10

After the meal, when she would have made straight for the priest of Warkham, an event of profound importance happened. At least, Hugh thought it so.

"Look, Elsbeth, the sun shines!"

Multiple shafts of warm yellow light spread through the air and onto the wooden floor of the hall, lighting the dark interior to a cheerful glow.

"Aye, my lord, as it does every day," she said.

"Every day you say?" he said, grinning and grabbing hold of her hand. "Nay, the sun may rise but it does not shine, not in this land of mist and cloud. Come, we must away and enjoy the white shine of it while it lasts."

So saying, he clutched her hand and all but dragged her from the hall. She could feel her father's sardonic amusement pressing against her back. That was enough to propel her out, no matter the pull of the sun.

Yet when she was out and down the stair that led from hall to bailey, she could not fault her husband for his joy. It was a glorious day. The air was clean and sharp, the sky a bowl of lapis adorned by the golden specter of the sun. Clouds floated high and far above, white lambs in a scattered flock that raced happily across the sky. Aye, it was a day for gamboling and grinning, a day for walking out and skirting mud puddles, a day for—

Hugh pulled her straight into a wide puddle, sending mud up in all directions. Her bliaut was instantly sodden and stained. She jerked her hand from his and lifted her skirts away from her legs.

"My lord, have a care," she said tightly.

"My lady," he said, grinning like a boy, "I care only for the sun this day, and to take you out in it, sharing my joy with you."

"'Tis no joy for me to be soaked and sodden."

"'Tis naught that water and soap cannot cure," he said, reaching out for her again, taking her hand. Elsbeth, let your smile shine as free as the friendly sun. This is a day for play. Come play with me."

Of course, he would make her feel churlish for not wanting to cavort in the mud. Of course, he would speak softly in entreaty when other men would harangue a shrewish and ill-tempered wife. Of course, she would bow to his wish, because he was Hugh and because he smiled with all the shining splendor of the sun.

"As you wish, my lord," she said reluctantly. "I will cavort with you, but may I point out that my shoes will not withstand another puddle?"

"Yea, you may point that out to me, little wife. I will take care to keep you from puddles. I am a knight of some renown; I will destroy the next hostile puddle I see."

"Very well, my lord,' she said, fighting a traitorous grin. "I now feel safe with you for, you see, I did not know that you were at your best when fighting puddles. What is your name, then? Lord Hugh of the Muddy Water?"

"You can mock me now, wife, but when the next mud flies, we shall see who you turn to in your distress," he said, laughing back at her.

They were through the bailey and into the outer ward. A nod to the porter and they were out of Warkham and making their way across a well-trod path that led to the not-so-distant sea. The air smelled of salt, and gulls, white as cloud, flew above them, crying into the sky their own peculiar joy at so fine a day.

They walked together, her hand in his, and said nothing for a time. A peaceful time it was, his stride shortened to hers, though she could feel the urge in him to run for the pure pleasure of it. The wind blew stronger as they neared the sea, and with it came the smell of fish.

"It reminds me of Jerusalem, though the air here is brisk and the sun a weaker shadow of itself," he said, his face to the sky, "I could live all my life within the sound of the sea and count myself blessed."

"Is Jerusalem near the sea?"

"Nay, not so near as this. It cannot be walked, but the bounty of the sea comes to us yet, from the Sea of Galilee most near."

She watched him, watched the memories sliding over his face, moving behind his eyes.

"You miss it very much," she said.

"Jerusalem is home," he said, looking forward and then smiling down at her. "Yet with Elsbeth is where I want to be."

So he said upon the hour, yet... there was something in him when he spoke of Jerusalem and its king, Baldwin, something that no amount of talking of Elsbeth and England could mimic. He was a knight of the Levant, so he said with regularity, yet why was he in England? Sunnandune was in England, and Sunnandune was the only land they owned; he had come to her rich in money, but poor in land. Where would they live but in England? Would he spend his life loving Jerusalem from afar?