The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series) (32 page)

It was a dare he would take.

He walked to where she stood by the bucket just as a cold wind sliced through the wind hole into their chamber. She refused even to shiver as that chill shaft of air lifted the ends of her hair.

She looked a wanton, a warrior maid with the blood of the kill fresh upon her.

She looked as if she could kill and find no need for repentance.

In that moment, she looked more perfectly like Elsbeth than he had ever seen her. This was the woman, the prayer warrior, the stalwart and stony heart he had heard tales of. This was a woman to achieve sainthood if ever any mortal soul could. This was the woman who held his future in her bloody hands.

Her hand still held her skirts, smeared with dots of blood. He looked down into her eyes. This time, he did not smile. This was no woman to wash with smiles. Nay, he would wash her with kisses and bites and caresses until she knew no name but his. Until she spoke no name but his.

If he could have wiped the name of God from her soul in that instant, he would have.

He grabbed up the clean linen and knelt before her. With his fingers, he touched her, touched that place of blood and heat, cool now and clean, but not for long. Yet there was time enough for him to touch the soft folds of her, cupping her, feeling her shape and warmth against his palm.

Soon. Soon her blood would stop and he would thrust his way into her, bleeding her again. He wanted that. He wanted her blood on him. Even this blood. Even though it was forbidden. He wanted her. Even now.

He heard her intake of breath, felt the stiffening of her body, and made himself release her. Made himself follow the commandments of God and church. Made himself deny his want and his need for her.

He began wrapping the cloth about her hips and between her legs. Her skin was smooth and cool beneath his fingertips, the smell of blood and water strong on her. It was as perfume to him, the smell of her.

Without a word between them, he wrapped her up against his touch, keeping her blood away from them both. When he was finished, she dropped her skirts, covering herself. A wasted effort. He would not forget the look and feel of her.

"Are you content?" she asked, staring down at him as he knelt at her feet.

He looked up at her. Her black eyes flashed with... what? Annoyance? Victory? She had won no victory, not over him. Not over herself. He would prove that to her before the night was done.

"Nay, I am far from content," he said, rising to tower over her. She was a small woman; only the strength of her will made her formidable. "Yet I will be."

She said nothing to encourage him. She did cross her arms over her breasts. Good. He made her wary. That was good. He was sick unto madness of making her easy in his company.

"How will you be content?" she asked. Very wary. Very good.

He closed the distance between them and stood over her so that her arms brushed his chest.

"Your blood is upon you, yet it is not upon me. There are no impediments for you."

"I do not comprehend you."

"Of course you do not," he said, lifting a twisted strand of her hair and running it across his cheek. "You are a maiden. I will tell you what you will do."

She jerked away from him, pulling her hair free of his hand. He let her. There was nowhere for her to run in their small, smoky chamber. She would not escape him. "I do not like to be told what to do," she said.

Hugh laughed in spite of his determination not to. "I know that very well, Elsbeth; there are few in this life who enjoy obedience. Yet it is required of us all."

"Whom do you obey, my lord?" she said.

"I obey God and I obey my lord Baldwin," he answered readily.

"And do you find your obedience burdensome?"

"Nay. Do you think to trap me into blasphemy? How shall I answer such a question? Or do you even want me to try?"

"I do want you to try," she said, her voice suddenly small and tight.

"It will not delay what is to come," he said, his voice soft with a compassion he had no wish to feel. Her father had warned him of this, of this softness, of his loss of purpose. He could not bend to her will now.

"Do not speak of what is to come," she said. "Speak instead of your bond with Baldwin."

Hugh stared down at her, his brow furrowed in suppressed anger. "Speak of Baldwin? There is no hesitation in me to speak of Baldwin; often have I done so with you. Why this weight upon your heart concerning Baldwin? And why now?"

She looked up at him, and he could see that she trembled. Her eyes were wide with unwelcome expectation.

"If you will speak of Baldwin, will you also speak of Raymond?" she asked.

"What is this you ask?" he said, grabbing her up against him. "What dark snakes writhe in your heart, Elsbeth? What sins whisper my name?"

She stood in the face of his anger, expecting the worst and ready to face it.

"Why will you not answer?" she whispered.

"Why will you not name my sins? Tell me, of what am I accused?"

"I do not accuse you," she said softly. "I will not judge."

"You judge me even now, lady wife," he ground out. "You want me to confess to... what? Can you name my sins, or would you have that of me, too?"

"We all have sinned," she said. "All have fallen far short of God's glory. I do not judge you," she said again.

"Then what would you have of me if not judgment and condemnation?"

"I only want the truth. Please, tell me the truth. For once, Hugh."

Hugh considered her. The width of the chamber separated them, yet, in some strange way, he knew they had never been so intimate or so close. She wanted the truth? Which truth?

"If my answer is what you fear, will you seek to annul the marriage? 'Tis what your father thinks you will do. He has warned me of it many times," he said, watching her carefully.

How deep did her plotting and her fears run? Did her father manage her as he tried to manage him? Did she seek a way into the convent that would not rely on his goodwill? Did she seek to leave him at any price?

Had he won her heart not at all?

"Did he?" she asked, her eyes hard as granite. "My father has warned you of me, has he? Well, he does not know me as well as he would like to think."

She paused, and he could feel the workings of her mind. She had not wanted a husband; she had plotted a different path for her life. Yet she did not want to bend to her father's will; that way of escape carried too high a price. Or so he gambled.

He had not yearned for a wife, at least not the sort of wife a man could find in the Levant. But Elsbeth? He could yearn for her. She was a woman unlike any other.

"Speak true, Elsbeth," he said. "Let us have this settled between us."

"Speak true? I ever speak true. I will not seek an annulment," she said.

"No matter what truths pass between us this night?"

She held his eye and shook her head, her hair shivering with the motion.

"No matter what truths, my lord."

Hugh straightened and lifted his chin. He was prepared to answer her charge. She would not like his answer at all.

Chapter 16

"Baldwin is my friend and my king. I love him. My heart is bound to his will and his fortune, as his is bound to the future and sanctity of Jerusalem. Our goals are one."

It was as she had feared.

Hugh continued, "Raymond is my squire, the son of my uncle's wife. I have known him long and cherish him as family. He and I share a trust that goes deep, our minds and hearts focused on the same goal: the preservation of Jerusalem."

Yea, they were close, she could see that. All could see who had eyes for such a thing. Sin did not hide well from eyes seeking the truth.

"I have committed the sin of sodomy with neither Baldwin nor Raymond. I have never committed sodomy, Elsbeth," he said. "I am no soft man from Outremer, a Levantine who seeks soft pillows of silk and whose best sword hangs from the center of his hips. I have not sinned, not in this way of man to man. I am a knight for Christ, my thoughts and will and strength given to God and king. I am not the man you thought me. I am not the man your father thought me."

Elsbeth's head jerked up. "My father? Where does he fall in this?"

"I have answered your questions, Elsbeth. Is it not time you answered mine?"

"What part in this has my father played?" she said again, her efforts at composure falling away from her like leaves in an autumn gale.

"The same part any father plays in the betrothal and marriage of his daughter. He only seeks to protect you, as any father would," he said, his anger fading. "What fears haunt you, Elsbeth? What is the source of this suspicion?" he said, coming near to her, his hand out.

He touched her and she kept herself from flinching, holding very still, breathing very slowly. Had her father said anything to make her think so ill of Hugh? She could not remember. It would be like him if he had. He loved nothing better than stirring up discord.

"Did he accuse you of sodomy?" Elsbeth asked. "Did my father lay this charge upon you?"

"The only charge your father laid upon me was the proper husbanding of his daughter," Hugh answered, an answer which could be interpreted in many ways.

Her father. Would he care if she was properly husbanded? Nay, he cared only that she be a proper wife.

And if Hugh now lied to her and he was guilty of sodomy, there was nothing she could do. She had promised him that she would not seek an annulment, and she would abide by that vow. Her father had sparked this confrontation somehow; she could feel his hand in it, and she would not play in any game he started. It was her father who could not be trusted. It would have been just like him to whisper some remark that set her mind on sodomy. She wanted to find a way out of this marriage, but she would do it without acting as her father's pawn in a game against her husband.

"I ask you to forgive me, my lord, for my suspicions," she said. "I did not understand the depth of your devotion to your king. I understand now."

Hugh instantly frowned and studied her. She wondered what she had said wrong. Had she managed to misspeak her apology?

"What is it you understand?" he asked.

"I understand that you have a bond with your king that I do not have with mine," she said, striving for a lighter mood. If she could get him to speak of Baldwin and Jerusalem, he would forget her entirely and she would be safe from his attentions. For now. "I have never met Henry."

"I have," Hugh said, smiling with her. "A most able king, is he not?"

"He must be. Those who know him, speak well of him. More of Henry I cannot say," she said.

"You are prudent in your praise," Hugh said.

"Better if I were prudent in my condemnations," she said wryly. "Will you forgive me, my lord? I know little of the world."

"You know enough," Hugh said.

"I think not," she said, smiling.

"Enough for me," he answered, "yet not enough of me. I do not know why you would think such of me, Elsbeth. I have given you no cause. Yet mayhap I have. I am a husband who knows not his wife in the very way that God commands I should know you. And you do not know me. There is the sin I carry, Elsbeth. We must become one flesh, as God commands. We must not deny each other the fullness of desire and satisfaction. That is our sin. Come, Elsbeth, learn the man who has taken you for his own."

"What must I learn that I have not yet done?" she asked, pulling away from him, keeping just far enough off so that he could not touch her. He turned their physical union into a matter of obedience and divine directive; she had no ready answer, no counter-assault which would aid her.

"Learn
me
," he whispered.

"My lord?"

"Learn my name, for a start," he said with a smile.

"I know your name."

"Then say it. Say it, Elsbeth. Touch me with even that intimacy and I will be charmed."

"I do not seek to charm you," she said.

"Say it," he said. "No more games between us, no more tests, or sparring, or distrust. Let us begin anew. Let us start with my name."

Yet was this not a new game? This smiling intimacy, this cordial conversation, this easy forgiveness; he wielded all in order to win her body and her will, that she knew. He labored on and on for the thing she would not give him—herself—and still he smiled and charmed and wooed.

A man would always want most what he could not reach.

She considered him. He stood before her, his strength and size an easy weapon, yet he stood weaponless. Or so he wanted her to believe. And so she could believe, for a man's strength was only a weapon against a woman if he chose it to be so. In other places, with other men, in other times, a man's strength was a woman's greatest protection. But not for her. Not in this time. Not in this place.

He asked for his name. She could give him that. She lost nothing in giving him that.

"Hugh," she said. It sounded like a sigh of longing on her lips when it was no such thing. She had had good cause not to call him by name when his name sounded so seductive on her lips.