by Claudia Dain
Well, he was the man to turn her toward her rightful place. She could pray away her years when her hair turned silver. Now, she was for bed. His bed.
He had no doubt that he could get her there, eager to give him all he asked of her. He looked down at her now, at her dark and petite beauty, at the uncertainty and fear that hovered like gray mist in the blackest night, shrouding her heart and all her thoughts. Why such fear? Why this yearning hunger for the cloister? She was devout, aye, but so was he, and he was content to live in the world of men. He had no yearning to hide.
Little Elsbeth, so serious and severe, so vulnerable and afraid. In all his words designed to win and woo, he had spoken true. He would take care of her, love her, for she was his wife and he saw the value of her. But they would consummate the marriage, despite her blood if he must. He would not relinquish her, no matter her fears. No matter what she said to the priest of Warkham.
Turning to her, wrapping an arm about her waist, he began walking back toward Warkham Tower.
"Do you still wish to see the priest?' he asked.
He felt more than heard the hesitation in her answer. "Aye, I do."
"What will you say to him, or is it a question you wish to ask? I may be able to answer you myself. Will you not trust me with your confidence?" he asked, smiling down at her.
She kept her eyes on the horizon, green and golden in the sunlight, the grass heavy with seed and swaying in the coastal breeze.
"Do not make this a matter of trust," she instructed, her spine rigid as she walked at his side. "There are certain things which must find the ears of a priest. This is one of them."
"Oh, so you have sinned since Sext?"
She stopped and glared up at him. "I have not. Not all matters having to do with priests are of sin."
"Praise be to God," he said in mock seriousness.
"Praise Him indeed," she said, nodding.
"So, it is a matter of repentance, then? You wish some penance to observe?"
"I have done nothing requiring penance, at least today," she said.
"Ah, I do not doubt it, little wife. You are most unrepentant today."
"I think you find yourself very amusing today, my lord, but I do not jest about matters divine. Repentance is no man's game. Not even if he be from Jerusalem itself."
"Elsbeth!" he said, clutching his heart and falling back a pace. "A strike! A strike upon my soul, my honor, and my very home, the home of our blessed Savior. You are a brave maid to strike so. And most in need of penance."
She pressed down a smile and tried to ignore him, her mud-stained skirts swinging heavily against her legs as she walked away from him. "I will leave that to the priest," she said. "It is his province."
"Aye, leave it to him; he will decide if repentance is called for this day."
"And by whom," she said.
"And still she bites," he said, patting her on the derriere. "When shall it be my turn to bite into glorious Elsbeth?"
She swung away from his touch to face him. "My lord! This is not seemly."
"Perhaps not," he said easily, "but I want my wife, now, under the sun, and later, under the stones of her father's tower. When shall my needs be fulfilled?"
She stood still, her breathing shallow and uneven. "I cannot answer as to that."
"Then what will you answer to, Elsbeth? Will you say you want me? Will you say that your body will lie unresisting beneath mine as I learn the depths of you? Will you give yourself to me?"
She stared up at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted. "Do not ask that of me."
"Why not?" he said softly, taking her hands in his.
"I do not know the answer," she whispered, looking past his shoulder to the sky above them. "I do not want to know."
She did not know the answer, but he did. She would in time. She would give herself to him, not because he demanded it, but because he would bring her to the place where she would want no other path before her. She would want him. She would want him as much as he wanted her.
She was halfway there now, and perhaps that was the root of all her fears. She did not want to be a wife, and he was making her a wife. All her dreams for herself were fading in the sun, and all she did to hold the shadows to her failed. She was a wife, his wife, and he would not relinquish her. If only she could accept that, all would be well.
"Be at rest, Elsbeth," he said, pressing his hand to her back. "Find your ease in me. I will not betray."
They walked along, the breeze freshening the air, blowing through the trees on their right hand. To the left lay the long slope of the sea, hidden now by earth and bush and clumping grass turning golden and heavy with seed in the autumn air. 'Twas the twilight of the harvest season and they were nigh onto November, the blood month when all the livestock that could not be overwintered would be killed and preserved through the lean months.
She hated November.
"What are winters like in Jerusalem?" she asked, ignoring the touch of his hand on the small of her back. Or pretending to.
Hugh smiled. "You ask much of Jerusalem," he said. "Are you truly so interested?"
"It is your home, is it not?" she answered. "It is the home of our Savior, for that reason alone I would ask."
"Hmm," he said. "A worthy answer. Tell me, Elsbeth, are you not attempting to flatter me?"
"Humph," she said, lifting her skirts and skirting a puddle. "I am not."
"You do not need to say it with such pride."
"Pride? First I flatter and now I am prideful? Nay, my lord, Jerusalem is the prize we fought for and won, to reclaim the land of Christ. I would hear of it from you, who have seen it from your first toddling steps. I do not flatter. You did not choose the place of your birth."
Hugh laughed and slapped her lightly on the derriere. She tried to ignore that, too. "Well said. Well met, Elsbeth. I stand abashed for so provoking you," he said. "I will not further insult you by remarking that your eyes glow like the eyes of a wolf when you are provoked. So," he said, "you would hear of Jerusalem. Well, I could speak of Jerusalem and her king all the hours of daylight."
"You are close to Baldwin?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the ground before her.
"Closer than a brother," he said softly.
"He is a handsome man, they say."
"Aye, he is that, but there is more to him than beauty. He is a man of great heart. Let him meet you but once, and your name is not forgotten by him, even to the lowliest servant. He reads constantly, his head full of the knowledge of things past and present, and yet he is the finest horseman I have ever seen." Hugh paused and looked into the middle distance. Warkham was a gray shape on a hill, but he was not seeing Warkham. "He is the first king of Jerusalem to have been born there, and there is a rightness to that. He knows her and loves her, yet he is not blind to her faults."
"What faults can there be in the holy city?" she asked.
Hugh blinked, pulling himself back to England, and looked down at her. He smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Even if something be loved, it does not mean it is without flaw. Even the kingdom of Jerusalem has its flaws."
"And Baldwin? Does he too have flaws?"
Hugh smiled widely, all sadness gone from him. "If you can find any in him, you would be the first. He is loved by all. It is said of him that he came to the throne at exactly the right time and with exactly the right qualities. Do you know that when he took Val Moysis, built by his father and lost to the Turks, he won it back without the loss of a single man? Aye, he is well loved, and rightly so."
"You love him," she said, all her questions bound up in that statement, for it was no question. He had made it plain; still, she would be sure.
Hugh looked down at her, his green eyes mirroring the green all about him, his hair as golden as the waving grass, his form as mighty as the oak. She knew what he would say before he said it.
"Aye. I love him."
Chapter 11
They were just entering the gate of Warkham when a small girl ran out. She was dusty, h
er gown torn at the hem, and her light hair was a tangle. She was looking behind her as she ran and so hurtled straight into Hugh's legs. She would have fallen if his quick hands had not caught her.
"Hold, girl," he said as she fought his restraining hands. "I intend no harm."
Sniffing, she looked up at him, her head going back and back again to take in all of him. He was a tree of a man. Her small bliaut had the look of quality and the color, an intense blue, but she was shoeless and dirty. Elsbeth had never seen her before, yet she had an idea who she was.
"You are Denise?" she asked.
Denise hesitated and then nodded slowly.
"You are where you are supposed to be?" Elsbeth asked in a slightly reproving tone.
Denise suddenly looked like a bayed fox, all staring eyes.
"Come, which of us knows exactly where we are supposed to be, unless it be in the center of God's will," Hugh said, laying a large hand on the girl's slender shoulder. "Are you out of God's will, little one?"
Denise shook her head and then shrugged.
"Ah, a scholar," Hugh said seriously, his eyes alight. "Which of us can say the exact moment when we step out of the divine path? You are wise for one so small."
Denise giggled.
"You are also very quiet. A man likes that in a woman," he said, looking over her head at Elsbeth.
Elsbeth looked back, her brows raised.
"Come, Denise," Elsbeth said. "Where is it you should be?"
"In the solar," she said.
"Then you must return to the solar," Elsbeth said, taking her by the hand. "What occupies you there?"
"Nothing," Denise said.
"Come, that cannot be," Elsbeth said. "What is Emma teaching you? Embroidery? Weaving? Sewing?"
"Emma does not come often to the solar. I am supposed to sit there all day. She comes when she can," Denise said.
Elsbeth stopped walking and shared a look of concern with Hugh over the child's head. To be left so alone? It was not done. Denise had been committed to Emma and Warkham for her fostering, to be trained in all the duties of a lady. To be shunted off into the solar, solitary and silent, was not fostering done well.
"Well, she is grown great with her burden," Elsbeth said, continuing to walk into Warkham. "Now that I am here, I shall teach you.”
"But... but you are not here for long, are you?" Denise said. "You are to Sunnandune?"
'Twas a worthy question. When would they go to Sunnandune? She longed to return, to be out from under her father's watchful eyes, to go to the only home she had on this earth. She could as well convince Hugh to release her from this marriage there as anywhere.
Sunnandune.
She had been Denise's age when last she saw it, a well-placed manor with a single knight and a steward to hold it secure for her while she completed her fostering and came of age to hold it. Isabel and Dornei were behind her now, her fostering complete, and she came of age the day she married Hugh; Sunnandune was her future and her legacy.
"Aye, when are we to Sunnandune?" Elsbeth asked, turning to face Hugh.
"We are to Sunnandune," Hugh said, "but not today. Do not trouble as to that, Denise," he said, refusing to meet Elsbeth's eyes. "Now you have the Lady Elsbeth to yourself. Enjoy her, learn from her as you may. Do not worry about your tomorrows."
"God is in my tomorrow as surely as He is in my today," Denise said.
"Why, that is most correct, Denise," Elsbeth said, bending down to her, leaving the matter of Sunnandune to another, private time. The girl's eyes were an unusual shade of blue, almost green, and as light as her hair. "You are well spoken in matters spiritual."
Denise returned her look and then gazed up at Hugh, talking his hand in hers so that they formed a loosely connected threesome as they made their way deeper into Warkham.
"Except that God is not very much in my today," Denise said lightly.
Hugh and Elsbeth shared another look over the top of her small head. God's mercy, the child had been totally neglected! If Lord Gautier were not careful, he might find himself in legal trouble over the mismanagement of this child's fostering. Not to mention the sad slate of Denise's soul, to be so unaware and unconcerned about God, His place in the heavens, and her small place on His earth.
"God is in all of our todays," Hugh said. "There is much rest to be found in that truth. Surely you want that rest, Denise? To know that God will not abandon you? That He is ever at your side? That a single sparrow does not—"
"Fall to earth," Denise interrupted, continuing the verse, "but that God does not note it." She stopped walking and looked up at them. "Yet still, the sparrow did fall. And I would rather have a piece of venison than rest. I rest all the time."
Emma appeared at that moment, her face flushed as she hurried down the outer stair from the hall to the bailey.
"Denise! You are not in your place!" Emma said, rubbing her belly with a soothing hand. "My lord Gautier expressly told you to remain in the solar, and Lord Hugh does not wish to be bothered by such a one as you."
"Bothered?" Hugh said, keeping Denise's hand in his. "This beautiful, engaging girl could bother no man. Nay, I thought that she could attend me at my bath and learn her scents and soaps by doing so. It is time she learned how to attend a guest in her home, is it not?"
"Most assuredly," said Elsbeth, understanding Hugh's intent upon his first word. Her father had decreed that Denise was to remain behind the solar wall? Let Denise then come out and defy her father; she would only endorse the effort. "Let her come with us, Emma. She will be well tutored. You need not worry."
"Nay? Then I thank you. She is very much for me to manage just now," Emma said. "I will arrange for water to be brought to you."
But they had already passed her by, climbing the wooden stairs to the tower with Denise clutched between them.
"Am I truly to give you a bath?" Denise asked Hugh.
"Do you not wish to?" Hugh asked.
"Nay, it is only... you are very big. It will take a long time."
Hugh laughed. "Then I will make an offer. Shall I not bathe you? You are very small. It will only take a moment."
"My lord, it is not necessary," Elsbeth said. A knight to bathe a child? 'Twas not done, no man would stoop to it.
"Mayhap it is not," he said as they crossed the wide hall to the stair that wound its stony way up to the next floor. "Yet if Christ could wash the dirty feet of His disciples, then surely I can wash this small and pretty child. Why, she will hardly dirty the water, she is so small."
"I am not that small," Denise said as they entered the chamber.
The afternoon sun was low, slanting golden light across the stone, turning all to amber and topaz. Low-lying clouds hung like slivers on the horizon. Just above the waving trees. The sun would vanish into cloud ere long. Hugh would have lost his moment in the sunshine. Yet now he made the golden chamber glow by his very presence.
"Oh, nay," he answered, "not that small. Why, in Outremer, we have flies that are larger."
"You do not," she said as Elsbeth stripped off her bliaut.
"Your speech is not respectful," Elsbeth said softy. The child needed another bliaut; the one she wore must be washed.
"You do not... my lord," Denise said.
"Most polite," Hugh said, grinning. "I think that was much improved, do you not agree, wife?"
"Oh, aye, we have a long road here," Elsbeth said, shaking her head, but smiling nonetheless.
"All roads are long," Hugh said. "The trick is to make them smooth."
"Are you going to make me smooth?" Denise asked.
"I am going to make you exceeding smooth," he said, "and white. What color is her hair, do you think?" he asked Elsbeth.
"My hair is flaxen," Denise said. "My mother told me."
"Then you must be flaxen-haired," Elsbeth said. "A mother, by God's design, is always right."
"Your mother must have loved you well for you to say such," Hugh said. "Or is it that you only speak your wish? You
are close upon becoming a mother yourself, are you not?"
"Am I?" Elsbeth said, holding his gaze. "I would not have said so. And my mother was a noble lady who loved me well, her counsel to me most sound, most true."
"I but tease you, little wife; be at ease. I do not mock," he said, looking at her... tenderly. Aye, it was tenderness. She did not know what to do with tenderness. Her mother had told her many things, but had never spoken of tenderness.
"He thinks you are little, too?" Denise said, looking at Elsbeth.
The child was stripped of her clothes as the tub came in; it took only three men to fill it, but the buckets were unusually large. In moments, the bath was prepared.
"Aye, he does," Elsbeth said. "I believe," she pretended to whisper, "that it is because he is so large. Even a destrier seems small to him."
"Ladies, I am no giant," Hugh said, his hands on his hips.
"Have you ever seen a giant?" Elsbeth asked him, winking at Denise.
"Well... nay," he said.
"Then how do you know you are not one?" Elsbeth said.
"Aye, how do you know?" Denise said.
"Well," Hugh huffed. "Mayhap, then, I am a giant, but I will be a good giant, and no soldier of God will have need to kill me with a stone."
"You can kill a giant with a stone?" Denise said, sitting upright in the water, her hands clasped around her knees. "A big stone? From a trebuchet?"
"Nay, a very small stone," Hugh said, scrubbing her back with a soap that smelled like lavender. "But in the hands of a godly man, even a small stone can do much."
"Of course, David also used a sword. It was with his sword that the giant was killed," Elsbeth said.
"Oh," said Denise, "well, if he had a sword—"
"Nay, nay, you must not discount David so quick. He got the giant to the ground, his wits befuddled, with a mere stone. Such is the greatness of God in a holy fight. It was with the giant's own sword that David cut off the giant's head. And then all the Philistines ran," Hugh said. "Which is only right."
"I would not like for your head to be cut off," Denise said as he scrubbed her left arm with a strip of linen.
"Most courteous of you, my lady. I should be very lonesome without my head," Hugh said.