The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series) (5 page)

"You will be more than content with such a man in your bed," Emma said. "He looks able to get you with child by a look, and I can promise you, more than looks will be shared by you this night."

"Do you seek to counsel me, Emma? I can promise you, Lady Isabel and my mother were quite thorough in their education of me. I know what the marriage bed entails. It
will
require more than a look."

"Oh, nay," she said, laughing, holding on to the great bulk of her belly, "I do not seek to counsel you, only to encourage you. He is a worthy man, Elsbeth. He will bring you joy."

"I do not seek marital joy when I can have sanctity. The world has little to offer me that God, and God alone, cannot supply."

"Oh, Elsbeth, you are too serious," Emma said, grinning and running a fond hand down Elsbeth's hair, which tilted her headband. "Did not God supply the world with men and women and command them to multiply? There are some things that God cannot supply."

"You blaspheme. God is god of all," Elsbeth said, straightening her hair adornment.

"Aye, and yet He has made it so that a woman needs a man to bring forth a child, which is in the center of His will, is it not? You cannot throw men away, Elsbeth. They must have a place in God's will as surely as you. And they are here to stay," Emma said, laughing lightly.

"Yea, I will agree to that," Elsbeth said, curbing her tongue. With Emma's runaway tongue, this was all sure to find its way into Gautier's ear. "As I said, I am content. Hugh of Jerusalem is a worthy man. I am most honored."

It was perhaps to be hoped that Emma would remember only what she had most recently heard and forget all the rest in her recitation to her husband and lord. It was not beyond hope. Gautier might never hear of her momentary rebellion. Even if he did, she would be gone, well in her husband's keeping, no longer the possession of her father. Aye, there were, after all, some good things to be said for marriage.

Mayhap one. Or two. She could be generous.

They had left the hall, which was oddly still and empty, and walked down the wooden stairs that led to the bailey. The wind was cold and wet, though it was not yet All Saints. A hard winter it looked to be. How her own holding fared, her dower lands of Sunnandune, she did not know. Her father had taken the keeping of it during the years of her fostering, though it was far from Warkham. It would be fine to see Sunnandune, again, though a husband would share the moment with her now. It was his right, however, and she would not begrudge him that. Nay, not that.

Emma was still talking gaily, as if there were reason to be gay. Elsbeth was not gay. She was serene, composed, stalwart—all that a wife should be. Or at least the sort of wife she meant to be.

They entered the chapel and were confronted by a throng of bodies. She had not expected this, and it must have showed upon her face.

"Come, Daughter," Gautier said, "you did not expect anything less of me than the most public, the most celebratory of marriages? It is not often that a man of Hugh's merit comes into a damsel's life, taking it for his own. All want to see this joining."

So many witnesses, so many faces she almost remembered from her youth. When had she left Warkham for her fostering? Ten years and more ago, yet some faces rose in her mind and memory, a cotter, a blacksmith, a reeve, until she pushed all memory from her and remembered only her father at her side. So many witnesses. Aye, she understood him. None would say that the marriage between Hugh of Jerusalem and Elsbeth of Sunnandune had not been lawful.

"I would deny no man celebration when the cause has such merit," she said. "Have you taken names, Father, so that the clerk can record the number and weight of the witnesses?"

"Come, Elsbeth," he said, grinning and taking her by the arm. Perhaps so she would not run for the door. "You are too severe. This is your wedding day, long anticipated. We only want to rejoice with you."

She had nothing to say to that, nothing that would serve her present course, and so she kept silent. And she was not severe. She was serene.

Hugh stood at the front of the nave, his height and coloring like a beacon on a hilltop in that smoky, murky light. He watched her come to him, his eyes never leaving hers, his smile soft and warm, so unlike the cold amusement of her father. It was a welcome change, and she allowed herself to appreciate it.

Hugh was dressed as he had been, and she was glad to see it. They made a well-matched pair in their white and crimson, looking something like pilgrims about to set off for far-off lands. And so they were, in their fashion. Marriage was their destination, as he had said. If neither one knew quite what that meant or how to reach those shores safely, they kept their ignorance to themselves. As to that, none in the chapel, and it seemed to be the whole of Warkham, seemed to doubt that all would be well. On the contrary, they all appeared to find the whole notion quite exhilarating.

Of course, she was the one getting married, not they.

With her father on her arm, she was led to Hugh. If she had passing thoughts of a lamb being led to the slaughter, she suppressed them and kept her silence. As the lambs did. It would do her no good to fight now. Her course was set, and she would find her way through it. God was faithful. She had no doubts as to that.

"You are lovely, Elsbeth. A rare sight in this place," Hugh said.

It was kind of him to say so when be had no reason to be kind. Or pretend to be.

"Thank you," she said and then retreated again to the silence of composure.

Her father stood at her back, which was unnecessary. She was not going to run, even if she could find the door through all the people blocking her path. Could he not see her serenity?

"The contracts have been signed, Elsbeth," Hugh said. "Your portion declared, and mine. Will you hear the reading of them, or shall we proceed with the ceremony?"

She knew her father. All had been set down most thoroughly and most legally. He would have made certain that nothing would hinder this marriage and that there would be no cause for repudiation. A most thorough man, her father.

"Nay, I trust that all has been done according to the law. I have no complaint... or hesitation. I am yours, my lord; let the priest perform his function. I await your pleasure," she said, sounding exquisitely serene to her own ears. Let her father chew on that.

Her father chuckled.

The priest did not.

She remembered this priest from other days. He had been here when she was a girl. He had been young then and fair to look upon, his features finely molded and his smile quick and white. He was older now, as was she. She could not remember his name. It did not matter.

The ceremony proceeded, and she listened when she could; her attention was concentrated on appearing serene and composed. She had not much left in her for anything else.

She did hear the priest ask if they both consented to the marriage. She waited for Hugh to answer, wondering if he hesitated or if it was the pounding of her own heart which slowed time for that moment. Nay, he did not hesitate and so then, neither must she. She would match him, even in this. No one would be able to accuse her of anything less than cheerful obedience, a most necessary trait in any nunnery. It was all to her favor that there were so many witnesses in Warkham to testify to her willing obedience to her father and her husband.

Her husband. He was her husband now. The ceremony was complete. The kiss of peace was given to Hugh, and Hugh was turning to her, stooping from his great height to kiss her. It would be her first kiss from a man. A kiss she had hoped never to take. A kiss that sealed her place in life, shutting out all other possibilities.

But there were no other possibilities, only wishes. There never had been. She was a woman with a healthy dowry and a healthy body; she was bound for marriage.

And now marriage had her in its grasp.

Hugh's lips brushed against her own.

A shiver passed through her, from his lips to her heart; a shiver of foreboding, surely. A shiver to mark the end of hope. A shiver to mark the beginning of... what? A man, a husband, now had possession of her.

And she knew him not at all. She only knew the name of him.

And the beauty. Aye, she knew the beauty of him.

Which was nothing. The eyes deceived. God had declared it to be so, and so she believed, even as she watched him raise himself from her, his eyes soft and gentle, his expression calming and encouraging.

But she did not want calming. She was as beautifully serene as the altar of Christ, as undefiled as Christ's tomb, as untouchable as—

Elsbeth's knees collapsed beneath her; she would have tumbled into a womanish faint if not for her husband's arms about her.

Her last thought before all went gray was that her father would find it all very, very amusing.

* * *

"You are well, Elsbeth?"

It was Hugh, her husband.

Her husband.

Elsbeth kept her eyes closed and drew a heavy breath in through her nose. She did not know where she was. She did not want to open her eyes and find all of Warkham watching her. She did not want to open her eyes and see her father.

She did not want to open her eyes. Still, it was very quiet. She did not think it in her father's nature to be so very quiet.

"Where am I?"

"In the chapel," he said.

His arms were about her. She could feel them. Her next breath was shaky. It was difficult to be serene lying on the chapel floor.

"Alone?" she whispered, pressing her eyes closed.

"Alone," he said, lifting her into a sitting position.

Slowly she opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, and the full impact of his green eyes and golden beauty assaulted her senses. She felt disoriented and closed her eyes again. Better. Except that she could feel his arms on her back and his chest pressed against her breasts. She took another breath, shadow, but sufficient.

"I have not often had a woman faint at my kiss upon her lips," he said.

Her eyes snapped open.

"I did not faint because you kissed me," she said, pushing his chest away from her, opening the distance between them. "And what do you mean, 'not often'?"

" 'Tis just a manner of speaking," he said, shrugging. “Then you fainted because you were overcome with joy at our union?"

He was teasing her. She hated to be teased. Her father was a master of it, and it had stopped being amusing years ago.

"As you say," she said. "I was overcome."

"I believe you," he said, helping her to stand. It was a blessing to be away from his overbearing heat. "I believe that too much has happened this day and that a maid, even if she be a wife, needs time to..."

"Needs time to what?"

He shrugged. "She just needs time," he said, holding on to her hand and staring down into her eyes.

What did he see? Did he think he saw some weakness in her? He did not. She was as ready for this marriage as he, as devoted to God's law and God's will as he. She did not need anything he did not need.

"I do not need anything," she said.

He smiled and turned with her, turning from the argument she longed to begin. "Then take what I offer, even if you do not need. Take time, Elsbeth."

"Tune for what?"

"Time for... prayer?" he said, cocking a brow at her.

There was only one answer she could give, and she gave it gladly. This was the way out of a marriage that had barely begun. Let him see who she was and where her devotion lay. "I will always and gladly take time for prayer, my lord. Would you join me?"

"Aye," he said, "I will join you. After the meal. Can we pray after the meal or must we bend our knees immediately?"

He was teasing her again. She could feel it. She was very attuned to this sort of thing, being her father's daughter.

"We shall do what pleases you, my lord, in this and in all things. I am, you will find, a most dutiful wife."

"Aye, and most... obedient?"

"Aye."

She had only to prove to him that she was better suited to the abbey, and then she could be free of him. Or too nunnish to bed, and then he would repudiate her, and she would fly on wings to Sunnandune. He was a righteous man from the holy land; surely he could see that she did not belong in the married state. He would lose nothing, nothing but a wife, and he would soon be awash in women. He was Hugh of Jerusalem—any woman would be glad of him. Except for her. She had mapped her life, and he could be no part of it. Even if he be Hugh of Jerusalem.

"Come, Elsbeth, I do not mock you," he said. "I only look to find your smile."

They were crossing the bailey, the afternoon wind blowing hard from the sea. The very air looked gray with water. Hugh shivered and pulled his cloak about him.

"Is it never warm here?" he muttered.

"It is warm now, my lord," she said. And smiled at his whining complaint.

"Ah, your smile comes out when you see your husband tremble in harsh weather. I think you will find much to smile upon, Elsbeth. I have been cold since I arrived here."

“This weather is not harsh," she said, trying not to laugh. He was a strange sort of knight.

"Not harsh? The sun has hidden its face for an age. The earth is ever wet and sloggy. I cannot keep my boots clean and I set great store in my boots. Fine red leather, they are, and well tooled. They have come as far as I and, I can tell you, they have no liking for this harsh clime any more than I."

"My lord, the earth is wet because it has rained," she said, biting her lip to keep her smile in bounds; men snared women by luring them to smile. Did he not try to snare her into warm camaraderie now? "There is no more to it than that. The weather does not conspire against you. Or your boots."

"Aye, you can laugh, lady, but I come from a land that sees little rain. And I like it so. The sands are warm, Elsbeth, and the trees silvered in the light of a pearl-white moon. A beautiful place is the Levant, and you would be a beauty there, as you are here."

She completely lost all urge to laugh that he could mock her so.

"I am no beauty, my lord. And I like the rain."