The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series)

by Claudia Dain

  She jerked away from him, pulling her hair free of his hand. He let her. There was nowhere for her to run in their small, smoky chamber. She would not escape him. "I do not like to be told what to do," she said.

  Hugh laughed in spite of his determination not to. "I know that very well, Elsbeth; there are few in this life who enjoy obedience. Yet it is required of us all."

  "Whom do you obey, my lord?" she said.

  "I obey God and I obey my lord Baldwin," he answered readily.

  "And do you find your obedience burdensome?"

  "Nay. Do you think to trap me into blasphemy? How shall I answer such a question? Or do you even want me to try?"

  "I do want you to try," she said, her voice suddenly small and tight.

  "It will not delay what is to come," he said, his voice soft with a compassion he had no wish to feel. Her father had warned him of this, of this softness, of his loss of purpose. He could not bend to her will now.

  "Do not speak of what is to come," she said. "Speak instead of your bond with Baldwin."

  Hugh stared down at her, his brow furrowed in suppressed anger. "Speak of Baldwin? There is no hesitation in me to speak of Baldwin; often have I done so with you. Why this weight upon your heart concerning Baldwin? And why now?"

  She looked up at him, and he could see that she trembled. Her eyes were wide with unwelcome expectation.

  "If you will speak of Baldwin, will you also speak of Raymond?" she asked.

  "What is this you ask?" he said, grabbing her up against him. "What dark snakes writhe in your heart, Elsbeth? What sins whisper my name?"

  She stood in the face of his anger, expecting the worst and ready to face it.

  "Why will you not answer?" she whispered.

  "Why will you not name my sins? Tell me, of what am I accused?"

  "I do not accuse you," she said softly. "I will not judge."

  "You judge me even now, lady wife," he ground out. "You want me to confess to... what? Can you name my sins, or would you have that of me, too?"

  "We all have sinned," she said. "All have fallen far short of God's glory. I do not judge you," she said again.

  "Then what would you have of me if not judgment and condemnation?"

  "I only want the truth. Please, tell me the truth. For once, Hugh."

  Hugh considered her. The width of the chamber separated them, yet, in some strange way, he knew they had never been so intimate or so close. She wanted the truth? Which truth?

  "If my answer is what you fear, will you seek to annul the marriage? 'Tis what your father thinks you will do. He has warned me of it many times," he said, watching her carefully.

  How deep did her plotting and her fears run? Did her father manage her as he tried to manage him? Did she seek a way into the convent that would not rely on his goodwill? Did she seek to leave him at any price?

  Had he won her heart not at all?

  "Did he?" she asked, her eyes hard as granite. "My father has warned you of me, has he? Well, he does not know me as well as he would like to think."

  She paused, and he could feel the workings of her mind. She had not wanted a husband; she had plotted a different path for her life. Yet she did not want to bend to her father's will; that way of escape carried too high a price. Or so he gambled.

  He had not yearned for a wife, at least not the sort of wife a man could find in the Levant. But Elsbeth? He could yearn for her. She was a woman unlike any other.

  "Speak true, Elsbeth," he said. "Let us have this settled between us."

  "Speak true? I ever speak true. I will not seek an annulment," she said.

  "No matter what truths pass between us this night?"

  She held his eye and shook her head, her hair shivering with the motion.

  "No matter what truths, my lord."

  Hugh straightened and lifted his chin. He was prepared to answer her charge. She would not like his answer at all.

  Chapter 16

  "Baldwin is my friend and my king. I love him. My heart is bound to his will and his fortune, as his is bound to the future and sanctity of Jerusalem. Our goals are one."

  It was as she had feared.

  Hugh continued, "Raymond is my squire, the son of my uncle's wife. I have known him long and cherish him as family. He and I share a trust that goes deep, our minds and hearts focused on the same goal: the preservation of Jerusalem."

  Yea, they were close, she could see that. All could see who had eyes for such a thing. Sin did not hide well from eyes seeking the truth.

  "I have committed the sin of sodomy with neither Baldwin nor Raymond. I have never committed sodomy, Elsbeth," he said. "I am no soft man from Outremer, a Levantine who seeks soft pillows of silk and whose best sword hangs from the center of his hips. I have not sinned, not in this way of man to man. I am a knight for Christ, my thoughts and will and strength given to God and king. I am not the man you thought me. I am not the man your father thought me."

  Elsbeth's head jerked up. "My father? Where does he fall in this?"

  "I have answered your questions, Elsbeth. Is it not time you answered mine?"

  "What part in this has my father played?" she said again, her efforts at composure falling away from her like leaves in an autumn gale.

  "The same part any father plays in the betrothal and marriage of his daughter. He only seeks to protect you, as any father would," he said, his anger fading. "What fears haunt you, Elsbeth? What is the source of this suspicion?" he said, coming near to her, his hand out.

  He touched her and she kept herself from flinching, holding very still, breathing very slowly. Had her father said anything to make her think so ill of Hugh? She could not remember. It would be like him if he had. He loved nothing better than stirring up discord.

  "Did he accuse you of sodomy?" Elsbeth asked. "Did my father lay this charge upon you?"

  "The only charge your father laid upon me was the proper husbanding of his daughter," Hugh answered, an answer which could be interpreted in many ways.

  Her father. Would he care if she was properly husbanded? Nay, he cared only that she be a proper wife.

  And if Hugh now lied to her and he was guilty of sodomy, there was nothing she could do. She had promised him that she would not seek an annulment, and she would abide by that vow. Her father had sparked this confrontation somehow; she could feel his hand in it, and she would not play in any game he started. It was her father who could not be trusted. It would have been just like him to whisper some remark that set her mind on sodomy. She wanted to find a way out of this marriage, but she would do it without acting as her father's pawn in a game against her husband.

  "I ask you to forgive me, my lord, for my suspicions," she said. "I did not understand the depth of your devotion to your king. I understand now."

  Hugh instantly frowned and studied her. She wondered what she had said wrong. Had she managed to misspeak her apology?

  "What is it you understand?" he asked.

  "I understand that you have a bond with your king that I do not have with mine," she said, striving for a lighter mood. If she could get him to speak of Baldwin and Jerusalem, he would forget her entirely and she would be safe from his attentions. For now. "I have never met Henry."

  "I have," Hugh said, smiling with her. "A most able king, is he not?"

  "He must be. Those who know him, speak well of him. More of Henry I cannot say," she said.

  "You are prudent in your praise," Hugh said.

  "Better if I were prudent in my condemnations," she said wryly. "Will you forgive me, my lord? I know little of the world."

  "You know enough," Hugh said.

  "I think not," she said, smiling.

  "Enough for me," he answered, "yet not enough of me. I do not know why you would think such of me, Elsbeth. I have given you no cause. Yet mayhap I have. I am a husband who knows not his wife in the very way that God commands I should know you. And you do not know me. There is the sin I carry, Elsbeth. We must become one flesh, as
God commands. We must not deny each other the fullness of desire and satisfaction. That is our sin. Come, Elsbeth, learn the man who has taken you for his own."

  "What must I learn that I have not yet done?" she asked, pulling away from him, keeping just far enough off so that he could not touch her. He turned their physical union into a matter of obedience and divine directive; she had no ready answer, no counter-assault which would aid her.

  "Learn me," he whispered.

  "My lord?"

  "Learn my name, for a start," he said with a smile.

  "I know your name."

  "Then say it. Say it, Elsbeth. Touch me with even that intimacy and I will be charmed."

  "I do not seek to charm you," she said.

  "Say it," he said. "No more games between us, no more tests, or sparring, or distrust. Let us begin anew. Let us start with my name."

  Yet was this not a new game? This smiling intimacy, this cordial conversation, this easy forgiveness; he wielded all in order to win her body and her will, that she knew. He labored on and on for the thing she would not give him—herself—and still he smiled and charmed and wooed.

  A man would always want most what he could not reach.

  She considered him. He stood before her, his strength and size an easy weapon, yet he stood weaponless. Or so he wanted her to believe. And so she could believe, for a man's strength was only a weapon against a woman if he chose it to be so. In other places, with other men, in other times, a man's strength was a woman's greatest protection. But not for her. Not in this time. Not in this place.

  He asked for his name. She could give him that. She lost nothing in giving him that.

  "Hugh," she said. It sounded like a sigh of longing on her lips when it was no such thing. She had had good cause not to call him by name when his name sounded so seductive on her lips.

  "I thank you," he said softly.

  She smiled and ducked her head against the look in his eyes. Such tenderness she seldom saw. It did not help her now to see it. She had no ready weapons to defeat tenderness.

  "What else must I learn?" she asked.

  "Are you eager, then, for lessons?" he said, grinning comically.

  She knew he played with her, yet the game had snagged her and she could not turn from it or him. He was a rare man to so work a woman to his will.

  "I was only curious."

  “Then your curiosity shall be sated. As shall I. As shall you," he said, his smile fading like a dwindling fire extinguished by a cold wind.

  "Sated?" she said, taking a step away from him. It was not a word she liked.

  "Sated, yet do not fear," he said. "'Tis only another lesson. There is nothing in this chamber to harm you."

  He was wrong. He was in the chamber. He could harm her, hurt her, tear holes in her that God Himself could not unmake.

  "What is the lesson?" she asked.

  "Learn the color of my skin," he said.

  "My lord?"

  "My lady?" he mocked.

  "Your skin is white. There. The lesson is learned."

  "Is it? White, you say? White like milk? White like soft churned butter? White like bleached linen? White like—"

  "White like the sand at low tide," she said almost against her will.

  "Ah, and yours is the golden white of flour as it rises in the heat of the day. Hot white, that is what you are, and yet I know that your skin is not hot, but only warm and smooth like butter or cream or—"

  "I understand you," she interrupted.

  "Do you?" he said, and his voice was low and hoarse, his look intense.

  "Aye, my lord. I put you in mind of food."

  Hugh laughed, and she smiled with him. "You have said it better than you know. When I am with you, Elsbeth, I am ever hungry and you are the banquet on which I long to feast."

  Nay, that was not good. Such words were all against her purpose. She would be no man's meal nor sate any man's appetites.

  "Warkham's larder is full, my lord. Sate your appetites there."

  Hugh took a step toward her, his humor flown, all playing behind them. "Do not even hope for such an escape, little wife. All my desires shall be met in you."

  "That is not possible, my lord. My blood—"

  "Your blood will not stop me, Elsbeth. It is time for us to fulfill the vows we took before God. I must make you mine. I must find a way into you."

  "There is no way into me," she said coldly.

  "Ah, you speak your wish, but you do not speak what is true. I can find my way into you. And I can even tell you how to satisfy me. Your blood is no barrier to that."

  Images filled her head, shadowy and disjointed. Dreams of terror from the darkest of nights closed about her like an instrument of torment. Panic filled her throat like thick smoke, and her chest closed against the invasion of his words. She could not breathe and began to cough against the pressure on her throat. She could not seem to get any air into her otherwise.

  "My lord, I am not well."

  "You are well enough," he said.

  "I cannot get my breath."

  "Then take mine," he said as he took her in his arms and kissed her. She began to choke into his mouth, turning her head from him, frantic for air and space. He released her with a frown, studying her in the dim light.

  "Your pardon. I cannot—" she said.

  "You can," he said. "You are bound by fear. Needless fear. I will not harm you. I only want to—"

  "To what? To take my body? To use me to meet your desires? To sate yourself on me?" she asked, her panic still fresh and new upon her.

  She threw at him the most vile charges she could. The taste of the words was bitter on her tongue as she accused him of what she knew he was guilty of. This was wrong, all out of joint. She did not want him. He could not make her want him. He could not make her have him.

  "Elsbeth, there is nothing amiss in those words. I am your husband. You are my wife. It is as God designed. We are to meet each other's needs, sate each other's desires. This was the vow we took before God, and, before God, we shall accomplish it."

  "I cannot," she said. "It is not in me to do this thing. Can you not see that? I am not fit for this life. I cannot do this!"

  "You can. I will see that all is done by God's holy will."

  Her anger rose up at his arrogance. He would not use God against her. "He is my God as well as yours, and He has set before you a blood barrier that it is forbidden to cross. You must wait. You know this is so. To do otherwise is to sin. Would you force me to that? Would you?"

  She could feel tears itching behind her eyes and had no thought as to why such an entreaty should make her cry. She spoke only the truth. There was no need for tears. Hugh was a godly knight; he would not plunge them into sin. She could trust God for that. Could she not?

  The tears escaped from behind her eyes and slid down her face. She wiped them away, signs of her weakness, and faced the man who had taken her life into his keeping.

  "I must have you, Elsbeth," he said.

  "At any cost? For any price?" she said, swallowing hard against her tears.

  She had heard the echo of those words before and she had cried then, too. Yet she could not remember more; all was lost in mist and shadow. Happily lost in the darkest corners of forgotten memory. She turned from those shadows.

  He considered her, his eyes soft and shimmering green in the shadowy darkness of the chamber. He was as bright as a beacon on a stormy night, shining gold and warm in a cold, dark world. Yet in darkness was safety; she did not need the light he cast upon her. She needed him not at all.

  With a low voice, rough in its intensity, he answered her. "Aye. At any cost."

  "Nay! You must not sin! You must not cast me into sin!"

  Had she said those words before, in some long-ago time? She did not know, but they rang within her, stirring old fears and dark terrors.

  "I must take you, Elsbeth. You must be mine in truth, your body pierced by mine; even if your blood covers me, I must have you.
Let us do what penance we must for this tomorrow. For now, I must have you."

  "For now, you must," she said, rubbing away her offending and demeaning tears. "Aye, for now. What a man wants, he must have, even if it be only for now. But what of tomorrow? What of me?"

  "What of you?" he asked as he lifted off his tunic, revealing the width of his chest and the muscled length of his arms. "You are my wife."

  "For now," she said sharply. "That can change if you only release me, Hugh. I do not want to be a wife."

  "I will not release you," he said on a soft growl.

  He stood before her in his braes, the firelight turning his skin and hair to molten gold. She did not care how he looked. She could not let him touch her. He must never do that. She had other plans for her life, a life untouched by any man, even a golden husband.

  "You married me and gave me no thought; my plans for myself are nothing to you. Am I supposed to let you ride me hard, taking your pleasure at your will and whim? What of my needs? What of me?"

  "You are my wife," he said, stripping off his braes in one smooth motion. “That is who you are and who you will remain. All else is in God's hands. All else is for tomorrow. Now you are mine. I will not give you up, not even to your dreams."

  "I am my own," she said, staring into his eyes, refusing to look at his nakedness and the power of his form. "For now and for always, I am my own," she said, her voice ending on a crack of humiliating emotion.

  "God says you are not. Will you fight Him, Elsbeth? Will you question His will, for has He not brought us together in the divine perfection of His will? Is He not working out His plan for your life? Will you doubt the very omnipotence and omniscience of God?"

  "You will not turn this carnality into theology," she shouted. "You will not turn the achieving of your will into divine obedience and the seeking of my will into abject sin. You will not rob me of my faith and my devotion by a twisting of words. Lucifer did the same in the Garden. I will not play Eve for you."

  "How have I turned my words?" he said, his anger a pulse of raw flame. He came near her, laying his hands hard upon her arms, lifting her up on her toes to meet his eyes. "If God be God in truth, then He moves us where and when He wills. I am your man, my vow spoken before God. What trick is in that? You pledged your body and your life to me. Did you lie when you spoke that holy vow?"