The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series) (6 page)

BOOK: The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series)
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He stopped her as she climbed the stair to the tower and held her back. "You are a beauty, Elsbeth. I have no cause to lie. If the rain-drenched eyes of those who inhabit this distant isle, eyes ruined by lack of sun, cannot see the dark power of your beauty, it is their loss. You are all a man dreams of when he dreams of beauty in Jerusalem."

Nay, he did lie. He flattered, the same as lying. She was no beauty. Her looks were too bold and too small and too dark all at once. Beauty was blond and ruddy and tall. As he was.

No man dreamed of her, not even in far-off Jerusalem.

"My lord, I ask for no flattery. I do not need it. I do not want it. I know who I am," she said.

"I wonder," he said and quickly kissed her fingertips.

It was not flattery, not with words, but it caused her heart to skip and her breath to stop. She did not like it.

He said nothing more, for which she said a prayer of thanks, and they climbed the stains to the hall. Supper had begun. Her father had not waited for her. She was not surprised.

"It was thought that you might have wanted to seal your marriage vows, Lord Hugh; hence, we did not wait," Gautier said loudly.

"Nay, I can and will wait, no matter my appetites or the appetites of my host," Hugh said, his green eyes cool. But only for the moment. In the next instant, he was smiling and guiding her to a place at the high table near her father.

She had little appetite. Hugh, at her side, ate lightly as well.

"You do not care for pork, my lord?" she asked.

"On occasion. Perhaps not this occasion," he said softly.

The meat was tough and the skin unevenly braised. Elsbeth passed Hugh a small tray of cheese.

"My father's wife cares more for the state of her womb than the state of the kitchens," Elsbeth said. "And my father has a hearty appetite; there is little that can dissuade him."

"And you, lady? What of your appetites?" Hugh asked, chewing a wedge of sharp white cheese.

"I fostered in Dornei, where the table is of supreme importance to Dornei's lady. I have eaten well in the past years and have learned the difference," she said, smiling in spite of herself. He was too quick to make her smile. It did not mesh well with her serenity.

"I, too, have learned to eat well. The tables in the Levant, especially in noble Jerusalem, are set with delicacies in bounteous quantity. I am spoiled, my palate ruined for other climes and other tastes."

"All things learned can be unlearned," she said, taking a sip of her wine. It was thin and had a sour aftertaste. Still, 'twas better than water. She was certain that Christ Himself had not been so particular about his food.

"As you say," he said, nodding agreeably.

She had rebuked him, even if softly. Should he not be angry, even to the lowering of his brow? But, nay, he turned the other cheek, as Christ had instructed. Elsbeth felt her serenity slipping away and blamed Hugh.

"Are you as others, other knights of Jerusalem?" she asked awkwardly.

He turned to look at her, his golden beauty making mock of her question. Was he like any other on the face of God's creation? Nay, there were not many like Hugh of Jerusalem. His beauty was a brand.

"I am Poulain, Elsbeth," he said. "The son and grandson of knights who took up the cross and followed in its way. There are many upon many like me in the Levant. We are Poulains. Children of the Holy Land."

"Men of blood," she said, her scant meal forgotten.

Aye, he was a knight in the most holy of places, fighting a foe only dreamed of in the North, surrounded by the Saracen and holding to the sepulcher of Christ.

"Men of blood," he echoed. "So the holy fathers name us and so we are."

"Men of blood," Gautier said. "I see more of bathwater in you than blood, Hugh. Though your blood may show itself in time."

It was an insult that none could mistake. No jest was this, but a sword smack to a man's honor and pride. None could doubt that.

None at that table did.

Hugh turned to face Gautier, his expression at peace though his eyes were once again cool.

"I could see little need to show you blood, my lord, when I was come to collect your daughter. A betrothal is surely the time for bathwater and not for blood, though if you would see me fight, name the time. Your daughter will be safe in my keeping. I can hold what I grasp. You need not fear for her," Hugh said, his voice low and soft.

"I do not doubt you," Gautier said. "You are the man for my daughter. There is no need to fight, not for me. You are called upon to prove nothing. Your very name proclaims your worth." Gautier smiled, breaking the tense moment. "I misspoke. You will forgive?"

"If you seek forgiveness, you shall have it, though you have done nothing to earn my wrath, Lord Gautier," Hugh said. "Yet forgiveness and blessing shall pour forth from me this day to any and all who have need of it. I have taken a bride today, and I tremble at the bounty of the gift."

All eyes then turned to Elsbeth, startling her. She knew not where to land her gaze; there was no soft and quiet spot on which to turn her eyes when all looked so resolutely and avidly toward her.

"Look upon me, Elsbeth," Hugh said softly. "I will be your haven when all others have flown."

"I need no haven," she said, looking down at her lap. "It is only that I am not at ease with such speech. I have said it; I have no need for flattery."

"Perhaps, then, it is your father who needed to hear from me that I would cherish his daughter. Sometimes, the need goes beyond ourselves."

She looked sharply at him, forgetting all thoughts of serenity at his prick. "I am not thinking of myself! Not in the way that you mean. It is no sin to run from empty flattery, my lord. I should think you would know that. And I can promise you that my father did not have need of any reassurance. He is well pleased with this union, if you had eyes to see."

"Oh, I have eyes to see," he said, his voice lowered to an angry pitch, "and ears to hear."

"My lord?" she asked, startled again by his intensity.

He had seemed to her all of courtesy and mildness, perhaps somewhat like the bathwater warrior her father had named him, though he came from Jerusalem. Perhaps
because
he came from Jerusalem. There were stories of their Levantine ways, an overfondness for bathing and good food, and the softness that was the inevitable result of such living. Yet no tales abounded of Hugh of Jerusalem's softness; nay, it was all his battle prowess and his golden beauty that were touted.

Yet what troubadour would sing of bathwater?

"I now must echo your father," he said, smiling. "I misspoke. Will you forgive me my harsh words and hasty anger? It is not the way of Christ—this we both well know."

"Yet it is of Christ to forgive, even to seventy times seven," she said. "I forgive and gladly. It is forgotten."

Except that she could not forget.

Who was this man she had married?

 

 

Chapter 3

 

He had married into a vipers' nest. The trouble was, he needed the viper's venom and so he must persevere. To have come so far and not to achieve his purpose would be a loss he could not bear, and one he could not bear to report to Baldwin.

All he did was for Baldwin and Jerusalem, and because it was for them, he would abide no regret and no defeat.

Hugh looked at the startled face his bride and smiled to soothe her. He understood much of what she was and what she attempted. Even knowing, he found no fault with her. She was a woman caught in a net fashioned by ambitious men, and she only thrashed to be free of it. But she was caught fast, and he would not let her go. Not now. Not when he had come to the far northern reaches of the world to this damp and dreary isle on the edge of nothing.

He had need of her. He would deal gently, or as gently as he could, and then, perhaps, if all went well, he would release her to the cloister she hungered for. But that was far off. Now, there were other things to be done, words to be spoken and a part played out.

Whatever else happened, he knew he would manage Elsbeth well.

She was a woman who needed careful and soft management. That such a woman of striking beauty and abundant wealth could not see her own value, that she had not found the measure of her worth in the eyes of a distant admirer or the words of a protective father, were her bane. She had been much ignored, much discarded, but no longer. He was her husband now, and he would see all repaired. He would leave her better than he had found her.

Aye, he smiled to soothe her; it was a gentle and simple thing to give a woman the soft security of a smile. He gave her his smiles with an open and liberal hand. She was his wife. He would take care of her.

"You are generous, Elsbeth," he said. "I am a skittish groom. Perhaps all men are so upon their first marriage. I will, it is hoped, get better at this with time."

"You expect to say the vows and sign the contracts again, with another bride?" she asked, lifting her goblet for a small sip of wine.

"I do not know what to expect. The Lord of Hosts will direct my steps along my lifepath. But I do know that it is rare beyond pearls for a man, or a woman, to live long with one spouse. The world is too hard a place and buffets human souls too often for long life, even when that life is shared as ours now are."

"What you say is true," Elsbeth said, setting down her cup. "We cannot know what tomorrow brings. You may well find yourself with another bride."

Did he hear hope in her voice? Aye, she could well hope for it. She had no great eagerness for this marriage, yet she had come into it well enough.

Her hands were as small as a child's, white and slender. The ring he had given her to mark her as his wife stood out upon her hand, a heavy weight of gold and sapphire that shone like darkest night and brightest day—the colors of Jerusalem. The colors of his pledge.

"But is it not odd to speak of next wives when your newest and first sits at your side? And at her bridal feast? she asked. "Perhaps it is only that you speak your wish."

There was a light in her black eyes, a hidden and smallish light of devilment. He grinned to see it. Elsbeth was too much solemn and too seldom smiling. He wanted an unblemished and holy wife, as did any man, but he wanted her joyous. Flashes of unexpected joy were all that made life bearable until the gleaming glory of eternal reward.

"Again you see how little experience I have at marriage and bridal feasts," he said, taking her hand in his. "You must be gentle with me, Elsbeth. I have no hunger for another wife. You meet all my desires and every hunger well enough."

She gasped at the contact, and he lowered his head to hide his smile. She amused him. She was so innocent and so wary, so unaccustomed to the ways of a man, even the gentle ways of chivalry. Her education had been somewhat lacking in those matters, though her religious instruction was above the mark. Well, and he was more adept at chivalry than religion; he would instruct her.

"It must be odd for a husband to ask for gentleness in a wife. I cannot hurt you, my lord. I have neither the skill nor the means for it," she said, resting her hand in his.

"You are wrong in that, little wife," he said, lifting her hand to his mouth. "A beautiful woman has many weapons with which to wound a man."

He kissed the inside of her wrist, a light meeting of lips and blue-veined skin. Her skin was as soft as silken velvet, and his hunger for her leapt up like pulsing flame, scorching them both in its sudden heat.

Her eyes, black as a moonless night over the darkest sea, stared at his mouth upon her wrist. Her sigh was soft. Her pulse raced.

"I am not... I will not wound you," she said, slipping her wrist away from him.

"Nay? You wound me even now," he said, looking deep into her eyes, "Can you not see the blood you spill, Elsbeth?"

"Nay, I have not."

"Then give me your hand again and let me feast upon the silk of your skin. I ask no more of you."

"It is too much," she whispered, her gaze sliding to where Emma sat giggling beside Gautier.

"Then I will not ask it of you," he said. "Give me only what you will, and I will learn to live with wounding."

"Stop," she said, lowering her eyes. "I am not able to jest in this fashion."

" 'Tis no jest," he said. " 'Tis only a husband speaking to his wife. A first husband to a first wife."

She looked up at him then, and he could see the smile that hovered near her expressive eyes.

"Only smile at me, little wife, and all bleeding will be stanched, all wounds forgiven."

"You put much power into a smile."

"Nay, only your smile."

She smiled then and shook her head at his extravagance and his arrogance. Her mother had warned her of this, of this deception, this lure. These words were empty, yet they glittered, and she was mesmerized by the glimmer of them and of him.

He was a strange man, unlike any other she had known; even wild Ulrich could not match the smooth beauty of his words. He spoke of wounding, but it was she who was in danger of being wounded. With all others, she had the possibility of retreat, but where and how could a wife retreat from a husband? She knew of no such place. He was the master of her body and her life, both church and king declared it.

BOOK: The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series)
4.65Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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