The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series) Read online

  She looked up at him then, a fleeting look that showed first her surprise and then her pleasure at his words. Had she heard so few pleasing words in her life that these few would turn her head?

  "Do you?" she asked and then turned away from him again, her eyes once more on the rood. "Do you know me so well and so quickly, then? Or do you only hope?"

  "Perhaps it is only hope," he said, standing, giving her his arm to assist her.

  She laid her hand upon his arm slowly, cautiously. It was their first touch, and well they knew it. Yet it was only a hand upon an arm. Only a hand, yet she hesitated. He could not fathom it. She had seemed more bold than to hesitate at this.

  "And perhaps," he continued, taking her hand in his and laying it upon his arm, "perhaps it is that I trust. I trust in God, Elsbeth, as must you. I trust that He has gifted me with a bride who will suit. I trust that our lives will mesh, becoming one, as the Lord God intended. As Adam was given Eve, so I am given you."

  Her eyes widened and she snatched back her hand. "Eve sinned grievously. Do not compare me to her, I beseech you. She did not do her husband any good turn that I can see. I would be better."

  "It may be so," he said, taking back her hand and holding it in his, "and yet, she was fashioned for him and from him. And she peopled the earth, as God commanded. I find no fault with that."

  "You are a strange sort of knight," she said, her dark eyes smoky with wonder.

  "I am a knight of the Levant, Elsbeth. That is all I am," he said, meaning every word.

  Chapter 2

  She had listened to him, this man who would claim her, and tried not to drown in him. He was beautiful. His words were perfect in chivalry and in Christian courtesy. He was everything a maid prayed for, and he was to be hers.

  She did not want him.

  She tried to remember why.

  By thinking of what was, of the hard terms and facts of her life and the counsel of her mother, Ardeth. That was the cure for muddy memory.

  Her mother had instructed her for just such times as these. Hugh was a handsome man, and he called forth longings and desires in her that would not serve. Ardeth had taught her well what men did best in a woman's life; she had learned those lessons fully and so had no longing for the role of wife. The abbey was a kinder, safer life. 'Twas the abbey she desired, not a comely man from Jerusalem. So she must make him believe.

  Yet why had he agreed to this betrothal? Why take Elsbeth to wife? There was an answer. There was always an answer, and it had nothing to do with Elsbeth and all to do with Elsbeth's worth.

  Her father had taught her that.

  Warkham was not the largest of her father's holdings, but it was still impressive. He was the holder of four great towers and two manors. A rich and mighty man who yearned to be richer and mightier still. His marriages had brought him more wealth, wealth in land and wealth in children. He had five sons and three daughters. He had known two wives.

  It was her mother's dower land that made Elsbeth such an attractive mate. It was not her looks. It was not her deportment. No matter how Hugh looked at her. No matter what he tried to make her feel.

  Elsbeth let the water of her bath slide over her skin, warming her. It was a chill day, dark and damp, the wind coming from the sea to the east and heavy with the smell of saltwater. She had missed the smell of the sea during her time at Dornei with Isabel. She would never see Isabel again. Her life as a bride would not require it, and her life as a nun would prohibit it. Nay, Dornei and all her people were past and could not be resurrected. Her future was in a different direction and bore a different name.

  Hugh of Jerusalem.

  He was a man who knew too well the words to woo a woman. How else to explain the way his words had touched her heart as surely as his hand had touched her own? His touch along with the words of warmth and welcome, had sparked a response in her that was only and always to be avoided. They were temptation and Hugh their wielder, though she would grant that he had not planned what he had aroused in her.

  Aye, aroused.

  For at that touch, that simple touch of hand to hand, her vision had clouded and her step faltered. 'Twas too simple a thing to cause a fall, the touch of a man's hand upon her own, though his hands be as callused and hard with fighting as her own were soft with prayer. She could not fall from a touch. Not even if the man be Hugh of Jerusalem. Not even for her betrothed.

  Most especially not for her betrothed.

  Elsbeth rose up out of the water, cold now, and reached for a length of linen to dry herself. She was clean and fortified with prayer, ready to say her vows and bind herself to the man chosen for her. Chosen by Cod, according to Hugh, and therefore accepted with peace and humility.

  Could any man be so humble as all that? Even a man from Jerusalem?

  He was a knight, first and last, a fighting man, a man of blood, as the church named all who fought their way through life. He was a man of blood, not heart, not soul... nay, she sinned by even thinking the thought. All men had souls, the most permanent part of their composition, enduring after all else wasted away in death. Yea, he was a man of soul, but so was she. And she did not yearn to be bound to a man of blood, no matter the gentleness of his words or the compassion in his eyes. Or his beauty.

  It would have been a blessing if they had lied about his beauty.

  He was so golden, so resolutely and perfectly golden. Even his eyes, as green as boughs in winter, held tiny flecks of gold in their deepest depths. A golden man with a golden name.

  Hugh of Jerusalem. He dwelt in the land of the Savior, had walked in the very streets where Christ Himself had trod a thousand years ago. Surely, to even touch the stones where Christ had walked was to be transformed into holiness. And so it seemed, for Hugh was bathed in holy righteousness that shone out from his vibrant eyes.

  Yet, he was still and always only a man.

  But such a man.

  He was close as a brother to Baldwin himself, the King of Jerusalem. He had been at the siege of Ascalon, or so the troubadours sang. Side by side with Baldwin, they had won the city after a siege of six months. Stalwart and patient, quietly relentless, they called him, and so he seemed to be.

  He was to be her husband upon the hour. Did she want a stalwart husband? Would even a patient man give her what she wanted?

  She did not know, and no amount of praying would divine the answer.

  How did he find her?

  He seemed well content with what he had seen of her thus far. Aye, and she was well-propertied, that was the extent of her attraction. The world was most predictable, once it was reasoned out. She would give him what he wanted: property. And she would then get what she wanted: a way out. He could give her that. He would have no need to withhold it from her. His place was in Jerusalem, his name made in this life, his course set. He had no need of an English wife.

  She could be patient as well as any man.

  If only she did not have to be a wife. Yet, to be the wife of Hugh might be an easier task than to be the daughter of Gautier. Hugh had to be easier to manage; none could be more difficult than her father. How best to manage a man? She had never learned the answer to that, though Isabel had tried to show her. Her mother's counsel had been easier: Learn to manage yourself. That she could do.

  With that thought in mind, she considered what gown to wear. Shivering in the linen wrapped around her torso, she dug through her trunk. The undergarment she had been searching for seemed to fly into her hand with a will; she chose to see it as a sign of benediction. Her choice was a wise one, God be praised.

  Over her white linen chemise, she wore a pelisse of rich and vibrant red, the wool supple, the neckline and the narrow wrists decorated with a pattern of flowing leaves in creamy yellow. Her bliaut followed, a simple garment of flawless white, much like the surcoat Hugh wore. She arranged about her hips a girdle of golden rings; she would not wear a jeweled girdle. She would not come to him glittering and eager, her hips, the mark of her ability to breed,
outlined, a sparkling temptation. She was just as holy as he, her garments and her soul just as pure as his, though she had lived her life in England.

  He would not best her in holiness.

  Her hair she brushed until it shone in waves to the middle of her back. About her head she fastened a headband set with small and modest garnets. It was her only adornment, worn in honor of their vows. Or so she hoped he would see it.

  She was no beauty, but she was arrayed as one. A holy and untouchable wife. A woman with the scent of holy incense in her hair instead of perfume. Let him find a way to deal with that.

  She would get what she wanted from him. She would, though he be her husband, though he be Hugh of Jerusalem.

  * * *

  Her father's wife awaited her in the hall. Emma was not much older than Elsbeth, with dark hair and blue eyes and a quick smile. She was also many months with child. Emma was happy about the imminent birth of what she was certain was a son. Gautier was not certain and, until he was, he was not overmuch interested. Emma still smiled.

  "Are you frightened?" Emma asked.

  "Nay, I am not," Elsbeth answered. She was not frightened. She was determined. Stalwart. Serene. She had hoped that it showed.

  “That is good," Emma said. "I was frightened, and I was foolish to be so. You will be most content with such a husband, Elsbeth. Your father has done well by you."

  He had also done well by himself, but Emma was not the sort of person to understand that. Pointing it out would not fit with Elsbeth's determination to appear serene and otherworldly.

  "I am content," she said. It was what was expected of her and would serve her well if Emma repeated this conversation to Gautier. Which she likely would.

  "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.<
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  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.