The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series) (9 page)

He was too swift in words. He scoured her heart with his words of longing and tenderness, leaving her blood-raw and aching for what would never be. For what she could not allow.

"Let me tell you what I need, my lord. You are now a married man and you should know these things. I will not lie abed all night, with you or without you. I will be up again and yet again to change the padded sling I wear that catches my blood-fall."

She hoped to shock him, or at least repulse him. He looked neither shocked nor repulsed.

"Then I will stay and talk with you the night through. I will wipe the blood from you, cleansing you. I will hold back the dark fall of your hair so that it will not hinder you in your self-ministrations. I will not leave you, Elsbeth. Let us share this bloody night together. A man expects no less than blood on his wedding night."

He was impossible. Worse, he had managed to embarrass her. He was beginning to remind her of her father.

"The church has rules about such things," she said. "I am not clean at such a time."

"Blood is blood, Elsbeth," he said. "No man wants to wash in it, though sometimes he must. I will not be defiled by sharing a bed with you," he said, stepping away from the door. "I will not touch you, if that is what you wish. I only will not leave you. That is my vow and my desire. What fault in that, little wife?"

God had given her this miracle of blood, and Hugh soiled its beauty by his presence. Had not God intended for him to leave her to herself? It was her desire, and her desires were ever in line with God's own divine will. She truly would make a most perfect nun, if only her husband would open his eyes and see that truth for himself. They could have the marriage annulled in time for Prime. It was a prayer worth praying. Let him stay, then, and see what manner of holy woman he had bound himself to. This night of blood and prayer might serve her cause well.

"Stay, then," she said, throwing her soiled garments in the corner.

He smiled his pleasure and his victory; yea, she saw it for what it was, and then he said, "Now may we light the taper?"

Oh, aye, he was the victor. None but the victorious would laugh so.

"Aye, and the fire as well," she said. "I would not leave you in the dark, since you seem to fear it so."

"Oh, wife," he said, laughing as he bent to the fire, fanning the chill embers. "You are a warrior at heart to strike so at a man you little know. I had not thought it of you—you who are given to much prayer and little speech. Or so it is said."

"I had not thought you a man to listen to gossip. It is not the way of the righteous."

"Say, then, that I have listened to the tales of you, Elsbeth, Prayer Warrior."

"You have said it. Prayer Warrior. I seek no other life. I do no other battle."

"Except with husbands," he said, straightening. He had kindled the fire, casting red and gold light throughout the small chamber.

"I know nothing of husbands," she said, her back to the wall, her bloody garments at her feet.

"Yet," he said, grinning. "But that will come, in time. You do know something, if the tales be true, of men and what they must risk in their quest for holiness."

"You speak of Richard of Warefeld," she said.

"Aye, I do," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, studying her in the flickering light.

"That is not my tale to tell."

"You are wise to say so, Elsbeth. Never would I urge it from you. Yet many in Christendom know what he did and marvel at his courage and his purity of heart. I wish I had been there."

"Nay, you do not," she said. "It broke the heart to see it, yet lifted the spirit to heaven itself."

"So it is said of all journeys to sanctity. The Lord of Hosts calls us to a narrow way, rocky and treacherous, yet there is no other path."

"Nay, there is not," she said. "It is the path I long with all my soul to tread. That path and no other."

She did not want to be a wife. She did not want a husband. She did not want anything he could give her.

He was a golden force in that darkened chamber, glowing with health and strength and holy purpose. It was this vision of him she feared the most, even more than his beauty. Her mother had not prepared her for this, and she felt ill-equipped to fight against holy ardor. It seemed immoral even to try.

Yet he was not pure. He was mortal, and mortal man could claim much, but never purity. Never perfection. No matter what the eyes declared or the ears heard, he was a man, and she would have naught to do with men.

"You would have it no other way, I think," he said, coming toward her, the size of him great with the fire at his back and the darkness all around him. She held her ground. She would not give way.

"There is no other way," she said. "I do not wish for what is not. I only pray for what can and should be."

"You are wise to spend your time so," he said, closing the distance between them. "God has instructed us to pray without ceasing; there can be no better way to spend a life."

Yet how could she be a goodly wife if she spent her time so? Did he not see that? She could not pray without ceasing and be a wife. Unless matters were different in Jerusalem. She had not considered that.

He knelt at her feet and picked up the bloody garments, and she gasped in shock. This she did not want of him. It was too foul and too... intimate. He was not her servant. He was a stranger, though a husband. No man should tend to such. What manner of men did Jerusalem birth?

"It is how I would spend my life," she said, "if I were freed from the bonds of marriage."

"This I understand, Elsbeth," he said, looking down at her. He held the soiled garments in one hand. "But I can do nothing as to that. We are bound, the contracts signed, our oaths given. Let be, little wife. Let God direct you. Only trust, and all will be well."

"I do trust," she said. And she did. But not him, not a husband, not a man. Her trust was all for God.

"Then rest in that trust, and tell me where to put these," he said, lifting the bloody garments. "I would help you, if and when I can."

In all he said, he seemed to say more, as if there were a deeper meaning just below the golden light of his beauty. But she never looked for hidden meanings unless they were in holy writ; she did not want anything approaching meanings from the man before her eyes. Only fools looked for the meaning behind raw temptation.

"If you would help me, then bring me a pail of water, not too full. I must set the fabric in it and let it soak. Also, I need more cloth for binding. Is this the work of a knight of Outremer, my lord, to fetch and tend the needs of a woman?"

She was angry, vulnerable because he made her so and would not let her tend to herself. In all things, she was a woman who did not need a man.

He only smiled, as was his way. Was there aught that could topple him from his calm complacency?

To tend to your needs is all I need know of duty, Elsbeth," he said. "Now I will leave and see to your requests, but you must vow that you will stay behind this door. I will not share you with any tonight. You are mine, wholly. It is our night, no matter what blood comes between us. Only blood shall separate us, and only for a time."

"I will stay," she said. "Only hurry."

He grinned and bowed to her, surely a mockery of all chivalry. "I will away and return as the hawk, so glad am I that you hunger for my return. Your desire for me grows upon the hour."

"'Tis the padding I desire," she mumbled as he closed the door behind him. "Not you!"

He stuck his golden head back in, grinning as was his way. "If you will allow me to instruct? 'Twill only serve you well to flatter me."

"I have said I do not lie," she bit out.

He laughed as he closed the door. "I know you do not lie, little wife, yet I am not blind. I see what you feel for me. Your eyes reveal what your lips will not."

The door closed with a soft thud. If she were the type of maid to throw things, she might have thrown the stool against the hard surface of the door. It would have made a mighty sound. But she was not that sort of woman, though it appeared that he could drive her to it.

Her eyes revealed what her lips did not?

She should never have allowed him to light the fire; darkness served her better.

Chapter 5

Gautier was waiting for him in the long dark of the stair. He looked hard at the bloody garments in Hugh's hands.

"What are you about?" Gautier said.

"I am about the winning of a woman's heart," Hugh said. "She is in flux. There will be no bedding this night, nor for many nights."

"You have a task before you, then, to keep the marriage from being annulled."

"Aye, I do," Hugh said, passing him on the stair and going through the hall, heading for the kitchens outside the tower. He could only wish that Gautier would remain behind in the dark gloom of the smoky hall. Gautier chose to follow as far as the outer stair.

"She will fight you, but softly. It is her way," Gautier said.

"Aye, I know it," Hugh said to the night air. "She is a soft warrior, but still she fights."

It was no condemnation, though he wondered if Gautier understood that as the older man returned inside without a word.

"My lord?" Raymond, Hugh's squire, asked, coming to him from the stables. "May I attend you?"

"Nay, I need no aid, not in this," Hugh said.

"There is something amiss?" Raymond said.

Hugh smiled. "Nay. Aye. All is amiss, and yet 'tis nothing calamitous. Elsbeth has her courses upon her. I can do naught tonight, nor for many nights. The timing is most ill, yet God will test a man. So I am tested most hard."

Raymond chuckled and then swallowed the laughter building in his throat. He choked and then coughed, covering all. Covering nothing.

"You laugh?" Hugh said. "You can find mirth in it? 'Tis not your wedding night."

"Oh, my lord, it is hard duty to which you are called," Raymond said, laughing in spite of all his efforts.

"Speak not to me of hard. I am hard enough, and there is no escape from it."

"Yet how does Elsbeth fare in such a pass? Is she not as dismayed by this turning as you?"

"Dismayed? She is giddy with triumph," Hugh said.

"My lord?" Raymond said in sudden seriousness. "She will not seek an annulment. Not from you."

Hugh ran a hand through his hair and looked up at the sky, swaddled in clouds. "I think it may be in her to do such a thing," he said slowly. "She is a maid unlike any other I have known."

"My lord, 'tis not possible," Raymond said in suppressed outrage.

Hugh grinned and punched Raymond softly on the arm. "All things are possible, Raymond. Especially with this woman, I think. She has a core of steel to her that is uncommon, and her outward manner is cold and hard as well. In between, she is soft and womanish, yet how much of her is so? How much of her is able to be turned by a pleasing phrase or a timely kiss? That is what I do not know." Hugh smiled suddenly and said, "Yet the battle of Elsbeth will be a rare thing. I find myself looking forward to the challenge of her."

" 'Twill not be much of a challenge, not for you, my lord," Raymond said.

"Your confidence inspires me, boy. Now I had best be about the business of Elsbeth."

"How can I aid you, my lord?"

"By keeping your distance, and by ensuring the distance of all others who would stand between me and mine. I will keep her to myself. There shall be no escape for her from Hugh, no chance to rebuild her tattered defenses. I will encompass her complete. She will fall into my hand, but it will be a soft falling."

"Aye, my lord. I comprehend you."

"I go now to serve her needs. Do what you can, as far from me as you can. My time is hers. If I have need of you, I will call."

"As you say, my lord Hugh," Raymond said, disappearing into the murky edges of Warkham.

Hugh found what he needed in the laundry—bucket and linen binding, water and soap. In the kitchens he found things to win her—apples and honey and bread, mead and wine, nuts and cheese. All for a wife who would not leave her chamber; they would have a banquet in their bed.

Their bed, for he would make it so. He could not claim her body, that way was lost to him, but he could claim her heart. That way, though she fought his every word, was open and open wide. He would win her and win all in the winning of her. Her trust and her love he had to have. All depended upon it.

He knew well his part. He would not fail. He had never yet failed, especially in such matters as this.

She would fight him; she fought him even now, but she would not win. She was half lost now, lost in his smile and his beauty and his name. Aye, he knew what he brought to the battle plain, and he knew his opponent. Gautier had told him much of Elsbeth, one man to another, one man passing a woman of his house to another man of another house, giving her freely. A gift given, one man to another. Such was Elsbeth. A gift of bone and sinew and dark, liquid eyes. A woman given against her will, against every prayer that issued from her full, solemn lips.

His wife. His wife now and for as long as she lived.