The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series)

by Claudia Dain

  * * *

  "There is blood in the bed, Elsbeth."

  Elsbeth woke with a start and the beginnings of a curse on her lips. She stifled the curse in time, but the blood from her sodden wrappings bled onto the linen sheet of her bed.

  She was not a woman given to cursing. But being in her father's household seemed to have an ill effect on her. She was also not a woman given to sleeping so soundly. She could blame that on having a husband who was wont to talk and talk through the night, leaving her no chance to rest.

  Aye, most of the problems she faced could neatly be placed at the feet of men.

  She jumped up and waddled to the bucket. It was clean and empty of soiled linen. She had Hugh to thank for that, she supposed. Well, it was the least he could do since he tormented her at every opportunity. She hurriedly unwrapped herself, then began the tedious process of binding herself anew.

  She still bled, though more hesitantly now. Still, the way to her was barred for the time. She had only hours now to wrest herself free of Hugh; her reprieve would not last much longer. Only hours, yet she could not find the urgency required within herself.

  She was becoming comfortable as his wife. That was the stark truth of it. He was possessed of a firm and solid tenderness that burrowed into her heart with more force than passion ever could. Ardeth had taught her about passion, but of tenderness she had known no words. In Ardeth's life there had been no lessons in tenderness, and so her daughter stood weaponless in this unexpected battle with her husband.

  She was half in love with him.

  He could have taken her; knowing her father, she knew Hugh had been urged to take her many times in the past days. And he had not. He had not. He had honored her and not forced himself against her will and her blood.

  But when her blood was stopped and her will was hanging by a thread?

  Then he would take her. What would she do then, when all defense was stripped from her?

  What could she do but pray?

  "You are in flux?" Denise asked, buried within the blankets except for her eyes and nose.

  "Aye. You have good eyes about you, Denise. I am in flux," she said with just the smallest bite of sarcasm.

  She had not bled in her bed in an age. She had learned the lesson of light sleeping years ago.

  "Does it hurt?"

  "Nay, it does not hurt. Be not afeared of that," she said, her wrapping done.

  "I am not afeared," Denise said. "I only wonder." She was silent, watching Elsbeth look through her trunk for a bliaut. Then she said, "Does it hurt when Lord Hugh... pokes you?"

  Elsbeth slowly straightened from her trunk, a deep rusty red bliaut in her hands, and turned to look at the girl.

  "Pokes me? That is an... unpleasant word. Where did you bear it?"

  "From Walter," Denise said.

  "Walter Miller?" Elsbeth asked. "Why would Walter Miller speak to you of such? He speaks out of place. You stay away from the village, stay inside the gates, keeping to your prayers, Denise."

  "With Father Godfrey? I do not like him very much," Denise said.

  "He is our priest, Denise," Elsbeth said. "He deserves our respect, our reverence."

  "I still do not like him. His breath is sour and he stands too close."

  "Denise," Elsbeth said, "this is not proper."

  Denise shrugged and buried her face in Hugh's pillow.

  "I learned another word you will not think is proper," Denise said into the pillow.

  "Oh?"

  "'Sticks you.' I think it must hurt when a man sticks you," Denise said, pulling the blankets up over her head, her body a small lump in the center of the bed.

  Elsbeth slipped on a white linen chemise and then pulled on a wine red pelisse, lacing it up slowly as she considered what to say. Over all she slipped on the rust red bliaut and fastened a golden girdle about her hips with absentminded attention. This was not a conversation she wanted to have; such talk was very discomforting. She had no answer to give Denise, and she would not have wanted to give her the answer if she had one. Odd questions and unwelcome in one so young.

  "What makes you ask?" she said, delaying.

  "I am only... curious," Denise said from beneath the blankets.

  Elsbeth sat on the bed, lifting her bare feet from the cold floor, and pulled back the covers.

  "Why are you curious?"

  "Because... because... it will happen to me one day."

  "That is true, but not for many days."

  "I suppose. But... it will hurt and... I will bleed."

  This was most definitely a conversation she did not want to have.

  Elsbeth sighed and lay down on the bed, laying Denise on her chest and wrapping her arms about her, holding her against all knowledge and fear of pain. As if she could.

  "But not for long," Elsbeth said, hoping it was the truth. "And not very much."

  Denise lay quietly, her breath a thin echo of Elsbeth's own. After a time, she whispered into the cold air, "What about... the blood?"

  "It is not very much blood," Elsbeth said, repeating what Isabel had told her and praying it was the truth. "And it is only for the one time. The first time."

  "But still, there is blood," Denise said. "I do not want to bleed."

  Aye, and blood every month and blood upon childbirth and blood in dying. But there was no need to say such things to such a small girl. Those truths would come in their own time, a time far from now. Ardeth had held her just so, whispering the same comforts, the same hopes, in this very bed. And look where she had landed.

  "Aye, there is blood," Elsbeth said, stroking Denise's flaxen hair, so soft under her hand, so smooth and cool. "And no one wants to bleed, and yet we must and do. Try not to think of it."

  They were quiet after that. A cold wind from the east whistled past the wind hole and a stray gull was visible, white against the building clouds of gray. A silent and solitary traveler, far from the sea, yet riding the sky contentedly, unconcerned that another storm was building. Joyous in flight, untroubled by future storms; there was a lesson to be learned in that, most surely.

  Yet was there not, in this bed, in this hour, trouble enough?

  What was it in Denise's words that made Elsbeth tremble, her thoughts cast back to dark and shadowed memory? This talk of blood—that was what had set her back upon a path she had long forgotten, running hard from it as she had then. Even now, that path was shrouded and dark; she could not see what terrors lay at the end of it, and she did not want the gift of sight. That path was better left dark. Better left forgotten.

  Except for the girl in her arms, who suddenly wanted to know about pain and blood and men who poked their fleshy sticks at her.

  In the dark.

  Always in the dark.

  Elsbeth turned her face to the wind hole and filled her eyes with the light of day, gray though it was, damp and cold. Still, it was day and there were no shadows in the day. There were Matins and Prime and the Morrow Mass and then Terce and Sext and None and Vespers; prayers and chants in the solemn sanctity of the church to keep all shadows in their place. Compline was last, the last service before the dark, long hours of sleep. She stayed at Compline longest. She liked Compline least because then she had to leave and face the darkness on her own. Hours upon hours until Nocturn. Hours upon hours alone, fighting shadows.

  Fighting fear.

  "What made you fear last night?" she asked, holding the girl tight against her, molding her thin bones into a warm cocoon of safety. "Why did you run to us?"

  Denise held her breath for a moment and then said softly, "I was afraid."

  "Afraid of what?"

  Denise said nothing for a long time. The gull had gone. The wind had died, the clouds held in their place by an unseen hand. All the world was still.

  "Just afraid," she said.

  Elsbeth stroked her hair and did not press. Some things were best left in the dark.

  * * *

  Gautier awoke with a throbbing head and a dry mout
h. At least, he imagined he was awake. All was dark. It took him a moment to realize that all was dark because his eyes were closed. He cracked open his eyes with some difficulty and was instantly blinded by the dim, gray light of his hall on a dim, gray day.

  Some things were best left in the dark. And he was one of them.

  He closed his eyes again and took a shallow, sour breath. What he needed was ale. Ale would open his eyes and moisten his mouth. Ale would make all look and feel as it should; not this hard and bright awakening. Tonight he would sleep in his bed, leaving all memories of Emma in the grave, where they belonged.

  That issue settled in his mind, he lifted his head from the table and looked about him. There was nothing much to see. It was uncommonly quiet. Another storm was building to soak all in rain and mud. With Hugh of the Bathwater in residence, rain provided rare amusement, watching him skip to avoid puddles.

  He was not worthy of the rank of knight. Which suited Gautier very well. Hugh was the perfect man for Elsbeth. Between the two of them, they could open an abbey, their bodies barred from bonding by their very vows. That would suit Elsbeth well enough, he knew. She was a woman to despise the touch of a man. He knew that very well, though she would submit. She knew the value and the necessity of submission. It was in her submission that Hugh placed his trust, and in his pretty face. It was in her submission that Gautier placed his trust, though the untimely arrival of her flux confused his plans. Still, there were other plans that could be put into play to see his will accomplished.

  Gautier smiled and lifted his head to rest against the back of his tall chair, the only chair in the room, as befitted his importance. If Hugh did not achieve his stated goal? Then all would still be well. Truly, he did not see how he could lose in this game of wills and power.

  That knowledge alone was enough to clear his head and make him forget the sour foulness of his mouth.

  * * *

  Jovetta awoke with a hand across her breast. It was an unpleasant awakening because the hand was not her own.

  "I must be up," she said, lifting herself from the straw. The hand pushed her back down.

  "I am up," Edward said. "First things first."

  He said that every time. She did not know why she bothered to let Edward lift her skirts, except that he was Gautier's chief man. That was why, if she were honest.

  "Be quick, then, or John will be cross with me all day," she said, relaxing into the straw. It was moldy with such frequent raining.

  "I am ever quick," Edward said.

  That was true enough, and one of the reasons why she let him have her. He was quick and done and then a warm body at her side through the night.

  He fit himself inside her, grunted into her hair while she listened to the birds calling from the rafters, and then slipped out of her. He was ever quick. Edward Quick they should call him, and some girls did, out of his hearing. He had a fearsome temper. It was a jest best left for women's ears. Edward would not have seen the humor of it.

  "You will have to do without me one of these days," he said, kneeling between her opened legs and readjusting his braes.

  "Oh?" she asked in mild interest, pushing down her skirts.

  "Aye. I have Lord Gautier's ear, as you know, and his trust. I may do something for him which will earn me something special."

  "Something special?" Jovetta asked. "You mean money?" Perhaps some would sift down to her. She was very accommodating with Edward, after all, and he was so very, very small and quick. She deserved something special, if she could judge.

  "Aye, or favor," Edward said, standing. He did not help her with her clothing, which was just as well. Best if he kept his distance when he was not actually doing his quick duty. She did not like Edward very well, but when a man signaled his desire to a woman, what was she to do but lift her skirts and put on a smile of willing submission? 'Twas all that was required, and she knew it very well. "I watch Hugh even now, to give Gautier the word. He relies on me."

  Watching Hugh? Hugh and his lovely squire? Nay, this was not good.

  "Watch him do what?" Jovetta asked.

  "Just watch him," Edward said with a smug smile.

  "I think many in Warkham watch him," Jovetta said. "He is a man to watch by any maid's standards."

  "Watch him all you may," Edward said. "The more you look, the less you will like what you see. He is not a man as they fashion them here."

  "I had noticed that," Jovetta said wryly. Her humor was completely lost on Edward, which was just as well.

  "He will not be here much longer, so look your fill now. Tomorrow..." He lifted his massive shoulders in a shrug.

  "He cannot leave tomorrow. He cannot leave until Elsbeth's flux is past and—"

  "Ugh. I will not hear talk about a woman's flux. 'Tis beyond the ken of men, or should be. Leave your woman’s curse among yourselves. A man need not abide it."

  "A man who abides with a woman must abide it," she said, standing up and kicking the straw back into the corner.

  Edward was already walking away from her, his need for satisfaction and bragging well met. He would talk with her again when he had need of her and not before. Which suited her well also.

  But Elsbeth and Hugh to leave on the morrow? That she had not anticipated. That meant Raymond would leave as well. Lovely, blond Raymond. She would just seek him out and ask him straight. If she had interesting news for John, he would forgive her for being late. Perhaps. It was worth trying, as she was late already.

  Jovetta left the stable, picking straw out of her hair as she went. The sun was struggling against a bank of low and heavy cloud that was yellow and pink in the morning light. Perhaps it would not rain today, though the smell of rain was in the air.

  She found Raymond and his lord Hugh almost immediately. They were in the middle of the bailey, their heads lowered in quiet conversation, their manner thoughtful. Elsbeth was not to be seen, which was odd, as Hugh was ever hovering over his wife. If only Raymond and Hugh would part and each go to his own function; she had no desire to face Hugh, no matter what she had said to Marie. He was too far above her reach and he had never looked at her with anything close to lust. She was not a woman to reach beyond her grasp. But that was not true of Raymond. He was well within her grasp, and he had looked and looked again at her. Raymond she could approach.

  At the thought, they parted, Hugh back to the tower and Raymond to the kitchen. She caught up with him before he entered and before John saw either of them. He slowed when he saw her coming. Aye, she could approach Raymond.

  "Good morrow, Jovetta," he said. "You are in good time for Prime this day."

  "As are you," she said. "But I did not seek you out to talk about the Morrow Mass, Raymond."

  "You sought me out? I am flattered," he said, taking a step closer. "Let me now flatter you."

  "Will you be in Warkham long enough to flatter?" she said, letting him gently pull a strand of straw from her hair.

  "Oh, surely. Let me prove it to you," he said, running a fingertip down her arm.

  "You can prove nothing to me now, Raymond, as the day builds all around us and I must be at my tasks or lose my place. Only tell me this for now—I have it from Edward, who is ever upon Gautier, that you are shortly to leave Warkham."

  Raymond dropped his hand and his smile; he dropped all poses of flattery and adoration and stood straight and severe, looking down at Jovetta.

  "What exactly did he say to you?" he asked, looking more the man and less the youth with every breath he drew. He became more attractive by the moment, though she would have not thought it possible.

  "He does not expect you to be here on the morrow," Jovetta said. "Why?"

  Jovetta answered more than she was answered, yet she could not turn aside from such firm questioning. Raymond looked ready to kill, he was so wary and so suddenly sharp.

  "He has some task set before him by Gautier; he thinks to be paid for it, and he thinks you will be gone from here, no matter the state of Elsbeth's flu
x."

  "He said nothing more?" Raymond said, grasping her by the arm and pulling her close.

  "Nay, nothing."

  "You are certain? This is most important, Jovetta."

  "I am certain," she said. "What befalls that you act so, Raymond? I did not think it in you to be so hard."

  Raymond smiled slightly and set her from him. "Nothing befalls, Jovetta. It is only that my lord and I do not like tales told of us. We do not leave on the morrow. That is no part of my lord's plan."

  "I am glad of it," she said, looking at him with hungry eyes. "You are a man I would know better. I am glad you stay in Warkham for a time."

  Raymond smiled and ran his fingertip over the back of her hand. "I will stay. For a time."

  Yet all he wanted now was to fly away to Hugh and tell him what he had discovered. This was not good. Gautier plotting with his chief man-at-arms; Edward boasting that he would have coin in his purse soon; and all tied to the departure of Hugh. Nay, it smelled of foul intrigue. It was a smell he had learned as a boy in the Levant, as had Hugh. They knew well how to act in such times.

  "Jovetta! The bread will not leap out of the ovens!" John called from the midst of the kitchen.

  Jovetta jumped and hurried through the door, Raymond forgotten. It suited Raymond well. He had to find Hugh. Hugh was always and ever with Elsbeth. Elsbeth was always and ever at her prayers or at her bucket. Raymond ran to the chapel; it was close upon Prime.

  Chapter 19

  Hugh was in the chapel, praise God, and Raymond hurried to his side, the priest looking on with definite interest at such an eager entrance into the Morrow Mass.

  "My lord, a word," Raymond said. There was no need to say more; Hugh understood his urgency at a look.

  They withdrew to the shadowed quiet of the north aisle of the chapel.

  "My lord. Gautier has whispered to Edward, who has murmured to Jovetta, that this is our last day in Warkham."

  "Our last day? When he knows that I will not leave his holding without our bargain met in full? Aye, he plots mischief," Hugh pondered, running a hand through his hair. "Yet," he said, lifting his head, "yet I think I understand him. Does a man give up power unless forced? Nay."