The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series) (21 page)

What did it matter where he spent his life as long as hers was left intact?

Yet it did bear thinking on. If he would not repudiate her, would he at least leave her safe in Sunnandune while he fought for Jerusalem's king? That would answer. He could live out his life in Outremer while she abided softly in Sunnandune, her husband only a name upon her lips, her body untouched. Her life untouched.

'Twas a possibility, if he would agree to it. Yet now was not the time to ask it. He was well set on having her, a man with his blood up and chasing after a maid. Time would cool that. Perhaps even before her flux was ended his blood would chill and he would look elsewhere, to other maids and other victories, leaving Elsbeth to herself.

Aye, it did bear thinking on.

"I think that where you want to be is running through the grass, the wind singing past your ears," she said instead, turning the conversation onto a smoother course.
"Go
your way, my lord. I will not hinder you."

He looked at her, a question in his brilliant eyes, half undecided and in doubt.

"Go, my lord. Away with you. I fear no puddle," she said on a rising laugh, anticipating his disappearance from her life.

"Well, if you think you can manage it..."

"Go!" she said, pushing him along.

With the word and a parting grin, he was away, running for the joy of it. His legs carried him far, for they were very long legs and his wind was good. He disappeared around a spur of wood, and then she was alone with the gulls and the wind. It was good.

When was the last time she had been alone, out from behind the curtain wall of hall and tower? When had she last breathed air that did not smell of woodsmoke or incense but only of the sea and sun? When last had her thoughts been free of all save the beauty of a perfect day?

So far back in time that she could not remember it. And suddenly, that seemed too long a time. Her mother had kept her close and then had kept her away at her fostering. Of freedoms, she had known few. Only the freedom and sanctuary of prayer had been her solace, with Ardeth's warm encouragement. A fitting occupation for a daughter. A better occupation for a nun.

At that thought, Hugh came running back from beyond the wood, his cheeks ruddy and his hair wild and tossed by the wind from the sea. And with the sight of him, all thoughts went flying to mingle with the gulls. He was a beautiful man. He was a plainly beautiful man, and he was hers. With a jolt of realization, she knew that she wanted him.

So temptation ran into her heart, straight and hard and with the smell of the sea to mark it.

It could not be so. She had sworn in her youth never to submit to a man's touch, no matter what desires enflamed her blood. She had promised her mother that she would not fall into temptation with any man. But she had not conceived of such a man as Hugh of Jerusalem.

It was more urgent than ever that he leave her.

"No puddle has attacked you, I see," he said, laughing lightly, his breath coming out in well-spaced gasps. "I came hurrying back, certain you were in peril most grave."

She shook her desire from her, breathing deeply the clean air of the sea, forcing out the shallow breath of passion. She would not fall to this. She would not give herself over to this.

"I think, my lord, that you came back because you had run the length of your course."

"You think me doddering, to tire from such a jaunt as that?" he asked, still laughing.

Why was he always laughing? She had never known such laughter in her life. It seemed almost unnatural.

"I did not say doddering, my lord. You inflict yourself with such a word."

"Oh, Elsbeth, you know your words are daggers, though the knifing is so sweetly done that I cannot say I am ever offended."

"Nor ever do you bleed," she said, completely against her will.

She baited him, teasing him with words that maids used to catch the attention of a comely knight or squire. She was no such maid, nor ever had been. What was it about this man that made her want to throw herself into the wind, trusting that she would not fall to the rocky shore below?

He grabbed her round the waist and twirled her in the air, her skirts flying free behind her. She buried her face in his neck and held on, laughing softy, surreptitiously, hiding her mirth mostly from herself.

"Have a care, Elsbeth, or else I shall throw you into yon puddle and watch the mud wick its way up your skirts. Then where will you be, maiden of mud, defeated by water and earth?"

"Where will my knight and husband be, he of Muddy Water renown? Will his name not fail if it be known that I was defiled by mud and he so near to save me?"

"It is not mud which will mark you, little wife," he said, slowing his twirling and letting her feet touch to ground.

He bent his back low to set her gently down.

"Water, then?" she asked, looking up at him. His eyes were the deep green of a shadowy wood.

"Nay, not water, though you live in a land where water is in the very air you breathe. Nay, it is blood which will mark you, Elsbeth, as you know it must be."

Her mood settled at that, as did his. 'Twas for the best. Such laughing gaiety was unnecessary and only put her in harm's way.

"My blood marks me now, my lord."

"Aye, it does. A fine wall it is between us. Yet it will not last, though I begin to think you pray that it would." She started slightly, he was so close upon the mark, but she held her tongue. He continued, "Yet it is not your woman's blood but your maiden's blood which I want and which I will have."

She lowered her gaze and turned from him. He held her by one arm and turned her around to face him.

"There is no running from that, Elsbeth, no matter what you pray or how ceaselessly you pray it. I must have you. I will have you. Find your peace with it, I beseech you. I would not hurt you for the world."

"Then do not hurt me," she said, looking at the grass and stones beneath her feet.

"I cannot promise what I cannot control," he said. "That is the first of many lessons for a knight, and I learned it well. I can only promise that I will deal gently and that, if I could, I would take all pain upon myself. I must do no less as your husband, and I would do all that and more. Only trust me, Elsbeth. Trust me."

She wanted to. The temptation was strong. She wanted to lay down the burden she carried, letting him carry all. Trusting him as every wife must needs trust her lord and husband. But she could not. No matter what he said or how sweetly he said it, in the end, he was only a man.

He was the man of her temptation and he must leave her. He must return to Jerusalem. With a distance of a thousand miles between them, she would be safe. Only memory would haunt her, and she knew how to manage memory.

"Do not ask what I cannot give," she said. "Let that be the vow which marks our union. You would not hurt me. I believe you. I would give you all that is in my power to give. Believe me, my lord. I withhold nothing from you out of a spiteful heart," she said, looking up into his eyes, letting him imagine that he could see into her, into her very heart.

He smiled slowly and then bent to kiss her on the mouth. It was a soft kiss of reconciliation and peace and even of trust.

Raising his lips from hers, he said, "I do trust you, Elsbeth, and I will endeavor not to ask of you what it is not in you to give. Are you content?"

Smiling up at him, she said, "I am content."

From the woods bordering the track, a pair of eyes watched them, taking their measure. Hidden and watchful, the man followed them as they made their way back to Warkham.

* * *

Hugh would, of course, see to it that she would want to give him all he asked. That was the very nature of every discourse between a man and a woman, even if that woman be a wife. To tempt her into wanting, that was his task, for, however lovely she was, she held herself aloof and wanted it to remain so. It could not. God and all His saints knew it could not. Mayhap even Elsbeth knew it could not, yet still she struggled to keep all as it was, to keep herself apart from him, her body and her life her own.

How that she thought she could have a marriage unlike every marriage under heaven?

But she did not want a marriage, did she? She wanted to be the bride of Christ. To be Hugh's bride held no appeal. Or so she wanted him to think.

What a rare battle this was; never had he thought that the wife he finally took unto himself would treat him with anything but love and gratitude. Elsbeth was not grateful; she was desperate, as her father had predicted. Gautier had been blunt in his appraisal of his daughter, and he had struck the mark soundly. Elsbeth yearned for the cloister, not the conjugal bed.

Well, he was the man to turn her toward her rightful place. She could pray away her years when her hair turned silver. Now, she was for bed. His bed.

He had no doubt that he could get her there, eager to give him all he asked of her. He looked down at her now, at her dark and petite beauty, at the uncertainty and fear that hovered like gray mist in the blackest night, shrouding her heart and all her thoughts. Why such fear? Why this yearning hunger for the cloister? She was devout, aye, but so was he, and he was content to live in the world of men. He had no yearning to hide.

Little Elsbeth, so serious and severe, so vulnerable and afraid. In all his words designed to win and woo, he had spoken true. He would take care of her, love her, for she was his wife and he saw the value of her. But they would consummate the marriage, despite her blood if he must. He would not relinquish her, no matter her fears. No matter what she said to the priest of Warkham.

Turning to her, wrapping an arm about her waist, he began walking back toward Warkham Tower.

"Do you still wish to see the priest?' he asked.

He felt more than heard the hesitation in her answer. "Aye, I do."

"What will you say to him, or is it a question you wish to ask? I may be able to answer you myself. Will you not trust me with your confidence?" he asked, smiling down at her.

She kept her eyes on the horizon, green and golden in the sunlight, the grass heavy with seed and swaying in the coastal breeze.

"Do not make this a matter of trust," she instructed, her spine rigid as she walked at his side. "There are certain things which must find the ears of a priest. This is one of them."

"Oh, so you have sinned since Sext?"

She stopped and glared up at him. "I have not. Not all matters having to do with priests are of sin."

"Praise be to God," he said in mock seriousness.

"Praise Him indeed," she said, nodding.

"So, it is a matter of repentance, then? You wish some penance to observe?"

"I have done nothing requiring penance, at least today," she said.

"Ah, I do not doubt it, little wife. You are most unrepentant today."

"I think you find yourself very amusing today, my lord, but I do not jest about matters divine. Repentance is no man's game. Not even if he be from Jerusalem itself."

"Elsbeth!" he said, clutching his heart and falling back a pace. "A strike! A strike upon my soul, my honor, and my very home, the home of our blessed Savior. You are a brave maid to strike so. And most in need of penance."

She pressed down a smile and tried to ignore him, her mud-stained skirts swinging heavily against her legs as she walked away from him. "I will leave that to the priest," she said. "It is his province."

"Aye, leave it to him; he will decide if repentance is called for this day."

"And by whom," she said.

"And still she bites," he said, patting her on the derriere. "When shall it be my turn to bite into glorious Elsbeth?"

She swung away from his touch to face him. "My lord! This is not seemly."

"Perhaps not," he said easily, "but I want my wife, now, under the sun, and later, under the stones of her father's tower. When shall my needs be fulfilled?"

She stood still, her breathing shallow and uneven. "I cannot answer as to that."

"Then what will you answer to, Elsbeth? Will you say you want me? Will you say that your body will lie unresisting beneath mine as I learn the depths of you? Will you give yourself to me?"

She stared up at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. "Do not ask that of me."

"Why not?" he said softly, taking her hands in his.

"I do not know the answer," she whispered, looking past his shoulder to the sky above them. "I do not want to know."

She did not know the answer, but he did. She would in time. She would give herself to him, not because he demanded it, but because he would bring her to the place where she would want no other path before her. She would want him. She would want him as much as he wanted her.

She was halfway there now, and perhaps that was the root of all her fears. She did not want to be a wife, and he was making her a wife. All her dreams for herself were fading in the sun, and all she did to hold the shadows to her failed. She was a wife, his wife, and he would not relinquish her. If only she could accept that, all would be well.

"Be at rest, Elsbeth," he said, pressing his hand to her back. "Find your ease in me. I will not betray."

They walked along, the breeze freshening the air, blowing through the trees on their right hand. To the left lay the long slope of the sea, hidden now by earth and bush and clumping grass turning golden and heavy with seed in the autumn air. 'Twas the twilight of the harvest season and they were nigh onto November, the blood month when all the livestock that could not be overwintered would be killed and preserved through the lean months.

She hated November.

"What are winters like in Jerusalem?" she asked, ignoring the touch of his hand on the small of her back. Or pretending to.

Hugh smiled. "You ask much of Jerusalem," he said. "Are you truly so interested?"

"It is your home, is it not?" she answered. "It is the home of our Savior, for that reason alone I would ask."

"Hmm," he said. "A worthy answer. Tell me, Elsbeth, are you not attempting to flatter me?"

"Humph," she said, lifting her skirts and skirting a puddle. "I am not."