by Claudia Dain
Nothing Hugh could say would change that truth.
He lifted her to stand, and her skirts fell down to cover her. It was cold comfort as they were sodden and soaking. The sky was the dark of twilight and the rain was not abating. It was going to be a long, cold, sore walk to Warkham. She had to get back to Warkham and to her prayers. This had been a mistake. She needed to pray, asking for forgiveness for such a fall as she had taken.
She shook out her skirts, her back to him, her thoughts her own, and then she turned. There was something in his silence which struck her as false. He was upon his knees in the mud, looking at his cock. What there was to see, she could not have said.
He looked up at her. "There is no blood."
"Aye, my wrapping was clean. You marked it yourself, my lord. I bleed no more."
"And what of your maiden's blood? Where is that to mark me as the first to find my way into you? What of your blood, Elsbeth?"
Chapter 22
She had no answer to give him.
"I do not know, my lord. Washed away, perhaps?"
He seemed to consider it, looking up at her, speculating.
"'Tis possible, I suppose," he said.
"What other explanation is open to us, my lord?" she said, her anger rising like smoke from a damp wood fire at his tone, his face, his very question. "I am no expert in these things, as you seem to be. What cause can there be for a virgin not to show her blood on her husband's cock?"
"You are angry?" he asked, rising to his feet, tucking his clean, white cock away from view. Small blessing.
"You are very astute," she said dryly, lacing her bliaut. The laces were leather and were slippery in the wet chill of the day.
"By the saints, Elsbeth, a husband has the right to know such a thing. There is no blood to mark my way into you. 'Tis something for a man to ponder, is it not?"
"Is it? I only know that you seem much taken with my blood, my lord. First, there is too much. Now, there is too little. You are very difficult to please in the matter of my bleeding."
Hugh took her by the arm, but she shook him off. Her patience and forbearance, certainly approaching legend, were thinned to breaking. He had pulled her off the roadway, stripped her naked in the rain and taken her virginity in the mud. And now he was angry, and all because there was not enough blood to soothe his vanity and pride? Had she not given him enough? Did he want still more of her, her very blood?
"A virgin bleeds, Elsbeth. There is no mystery in that. But if she does not bleed..."
"Then she is no virgin?" she snapped. "I am, or was, a virgin, my lord Hugh. No man had made his way into me. I was pure and would have joyously stayed pure, yet you would not give me that, would you? You would not let me have my heart's desire. All my life, all I have ever wanted was to keep my distance from men, yet you had to take and hold and touch and make me your own, by blood. By my blood. What have you lost here today? Nothing. And yet you will gain nothing. I will not give you Sunnandune to toss into my father's keeping. If you thought that you would take my will when you took my body, you were wrong. This seduction has gained you nothing you sought."
"Do you mock me, little one?" he asked sharply, taking her arm again and helping her over the bracken to the roadway. "I would not mock what we have shared just now, and let me say again what I sought from you in this joining. Not Sunnandune. Not knights. Not power. I sought only you, Elsbeth. I wanted only you. Will you say now that you regret your choice? Will you mock this bonding we have forged in our heat?"
"You would not mock? Yet you question my very purity. I was a virgin. No man had touched me, until you. No man had fouled my purity, until you. No man! None! Only you,” she said, her voice hard and harsh with the first true anger he had seen in her. "What more would you have of me than that? You have taken me, entered me, branded me with your touch and scent. I never wanted such. I only sought to be free, and now I am..." she said, her voice sliding into soft despair.
"Mine," he finished for her. "Mine, Elsbeth. Always you will be mine."
She looked up at him, her eyes furious and black. "Always? By your very words your wish is to leave me to my father, broken of my will and of my wealth while you seek fame in Jerusalem. How do you find 'always' in that? Did you give no thought to me at all when you plotted with my father and spoke your marriage vows?" she finished softly.
"Aye, I thought of you," he answered her. Too much he thought of her. Too little was there of Baldwin in his thoughts of late, and much too much of Elsbeth.
"And now you think I have deceived you. You think I was no virgin, yet when have I ever lied to you, my lord, and why would I lie over this? Is this not the perfect escape for me? If I had told you that my maidenhead was a memory, would you not have sought nullification of this marriage, and is that not all I have ever wanted of you? If I had not been a virgin, my way would have been clear. I would have told you. I would have been served most well by telling you."
A telling point, yet why should he believe her? There had been no blood, and a man counted much on such a sign.
He looked down at the ground at his feet, at the mud that rose to engulf his ankles, and sighed. He knew Elsbeth. She sought prayer, not men, and she did not lie. He had never known a woman who held so hard to truth. Besides, she was a woman who did not run to temptation and the fall that surely followed. His wooing of her was the boldest proof of that. If ever there was a woman who would not tumble heedlessly into passion, it was Elsbeth.
He would believe her. She had been a virgin, a bloodless virgin. In any other woman, he would have doubted. But not Elsbeth.
"I believe you," he said, looking down at her. "You were a virgin. A man looks for blood, yet Elsbeth is more than blood, and her word is all the proof I will ever require."
"You take me at my word, my lord?" she asked, looking at him, understanding the weight of what she asked of him. It was a rare man who would take a woman at her word, especially in the matter of her purity. Indeed, he could not think of a one who would do it.
"Your word is all I require. I do not doubt you. You were a virgin until I found my way into you. You never knew a man's kiss or a man's touch or the flare of desire."
"Until you," she said, looking into his eyes.
"And so it shall remain," he said softly.
"And so it shall remain," she said, sealing the vow.
If he lived out his life alone in Jerusalem, she would be his English wife. If she lived out her life in the abbey, she would be the wife of Hugh still. Whatever befell, they were one. He would take no other wife, and he would never release her to take another man. Even if he could only have her distantly, still she would be his.
They stood in the rain, letting themselves be washed of all anger and doubt. It did not take long; the rain was falling heavily, and there was more trust shared between them than he had known.
How that she had come by his trust?
He did not know how he had come to this place with her; it had been no part of his plan. He was vulnerable in such a place, this trusting of a woman, yet he could not climb back to where he had been.
"So, then," he said lightly, forcing the weight of his vulnerability behind him, "let us make our muddy way back to Warkham. I will need a bath and dry clothes and a hot fire, in that order. And a new pair of boots. Does Warkham have a proper bootmaker?"
"My lord, I do not know," she said, a grin slowly finding its way to her face.
"Well, I shall find out, and soon, I cannot be about in these poor boots for another day. They are fit for the ashes and nothing else. I shall mourn them, Elsbeth. 'Twould not be amiss for you to say a prayer that my sister will forgive the destruction of her gift. I would not face her wrath on earth or heaven," he said, grinning and taking her by the hand. "You will pray for me, my boots, and my sister?"
"Aye, my lord, I will pray," she said as they walked hand in hand together in the rain. "Yet what of Sunnandune and your bargain with—"
"Let us leave all that for now.
Let us stay in this place of only Hugh and Elsbeth for a while more. Let us think of nothing beyond the rain, my pitiful boots and our next step upon this muddy track."
But it was not to be.
"You have lost," came a voice from out of the wood.
Hugh turned and pulled his sword free in one motion, pushing Elsbeth behind him as he faced the man who owned the voice.
Edward came out of the wood noisily, his sword out, his hair hanging on his brow. Edward, as was his way, had been too quick. Silence would have served him better.
"The day is done and you do not have Sunnandune," Edward said. "My charge is clear. I bear you no offense, Lord Hugh, yet still, I have my duty to my lord."
Hugh wasted no words in reply but charged the man who stood with drawn sword, while his wife shivered at his back. He knew what this was about. He knew the man who had set all in motion, and he knew that there was no more need for courtesy. When next he saw Gautier, they would face each other over steel.
Hugh lunged before Edward could leave the wood, his feet mired in brush and mud, his sword arm shadowed by low overhanging branches. For just a moment, Edward could not strike. It was in that moment that Hugh cut him down. A single thrust and Edward fell, his blood springing up from a wound to his neck where it joined with the shoulder, his mail buried into the flesh in bloody rings. With a grimace, he stumbled into the bracken, wet and slippery. His purchase lost, he tumbled to the ground, his sword still up and seeking, yet his legs collapsed beneath him.
He was done.
"You are quick," Edward said as he stared up at the sky. He dropped his sword and clutched his wound, but there was no stopping the flow of blood. Nay, it sprang from him with a will and charged down his body to slide into the mud, dark and wet. "I had not thought it of you, a Poulain."
"Nay?" Hugh said, holding his sword to be washed by the rain. "You are proven wrong. A hard lesson."
Edward smiled on a sigh and then he died. The rain came down. Elsbeth shivered at Hugh's back and said nothing.
Hugh turned to her, his sword still out and shining in the uncertain light, and clasped an arm about her shoulder.
"My father did this," she said through chattering teeth.
"Aye," he answered, smoothing back her hair with a single hand. "He wants Sunnandune, his wanting taking him beyond all caution and all reason."
"We must go to Sunnandune! We cannot stay in Warkham," Elsbeth said. "Even now he could be out there, looking for us, searching..."
Her skin was white with fear, and Hugh took her in his arms and closed her against the sight of Edward and his blood and the chill rain washing over them all. If he could have swept her up and away into the clouds, he would have done so, yet he was but a man, his place upon the earth.
"We shall go," he assured her. "Yet can I leave without Raymond and the trappings of my knighthood?"
"Nay, I suppose you cannot," she mumbled distractedly. "Yet we must fly from here. Warkham is not safe."
"And so we shall fly, but first we must return and make a proper departure."
"But—"
"I will not lose you, Elsbeth. I will defend you with my life," Hugh said, stroking her arms and back. "I will not leave you to him. Trust me for that. All will be well. I have some skill at arms, if I may boast."
Elsbeth laughed and shook her head at him. "You jest, and I know it is done to ease me, yet you do not know him as I do. We are not safe. We must away."
"And so our leaving begins with our preparations," he said, turning them to face the return walk to Warkham. "I will let no harm befall you."
He believed every word he spoke, yet he did not know Gautier as she did, and so his sincerity, his certainty that all would be well, did not give her any peace at all. These were the fears which dragged at each step on the long, wet walk back to Warkham Tower.
* * *
"Here they are!" Denise said, running across the bailey, leaving Raymond behind her. Raymond followed more sedately, if no less eagerly.
"Here we are," Hugh said, reaching down to rub a hand across Denise's hair. He looked at Raymond, and they shared a glance of meaning and flickering alarm. "Where is Gautier?" Hugh asked quietly.
"It is almost dark! Where were you?" Denise said, pulling at Hugh's hand.
"My lord, he rode out past the gate at None and has not returned," Raymond answered.
"Did he ride alone?" Hugh asked, handing Denise over to Elsbeth.
"Aye, my lord," he answered.
"Keep watch then upon the gate while I stay close upon Elsbeth. We leave at once, for Gautier has broken all bargains."
"You leave at once?" Denise said plaintively. "Where are you going?"
"My lord, I have much prepared even now. It will take me but a moment to saddle the horses," Raymond answered and then ran off into the darkness.
"Where are you going?" Denise demanded of Hugh, her voice becoming shrill. "Do not go! Do not leave me."
"We must, Denise," Elsbeth said, caressing the girl's head. "You will be safe here."
"I am not!" Denise said sharply. "I do not want to stay without you."
"Yet you must," Elsbeth said. "This is the place of your fostering. You must remain. You will be well."
"Elsbeth, do you not go to collect your things?" Hugh asked as he watched the gate for the arrival of Gautier, watched the men-at-arms for signs of aggression, watched the skies for the emerging stars and the end to endless rain.
All for Elsbeth. Every thought for her. When had she captured him so completely? There was no room for Baldwin in his mind when Elsbeth had so firmly entrenched herself within his heart. He had no plan for Sunnandune or for his promised knights or even for Jerusalem; he only sought her safety, certain he could make good on his promise.
"Please," Denise said, her voice rising into tears, "do not leave me. I hate Warkham."
Elsbeth looked down into Denise's shining eyes, something pulling hard at her heart with the girl's words. She felt the same. She hated Warkham. Even now, she longed to run past the gates, empty of all but speed, her hands free of every possession, every bliaut, every girdle, every comb, all to rush free of Warkham and her father. Could she blame Denise for feeling the same?
"Can we not take her?" she said to Hugh.
"She is not ours to take," Hugh said softly.
"I will take her," a voice said from out of the darkness. It was Father Godfrey, and he was holding a torch whose flame was swept wildly in the swirling wind. The rain disappeared in an instant, leaving behind only wind. "She should not be left alone to Warkham's courtesy. I will watch over her."
"Nay, I want to go with you," Denise said, burying her face against Elsbeth's ribs.
"Thank you, Father," Hugh said briskly, content that the matter was settled so well.
Yet Elsbeth was not content. What could the priest do? Was not his life circumscribed by prayer?
Should not prayer be enough?
"Do not leave me with him! Please take me with you," Denise cried, hanging onto Elsbeth's skirls.
"We cannot, Denise," Hugh said, taking her arms from Elsbeth and kneeling in the mud to face her. "We dare not. There is much amiss between the lord of Warkham and the lady of Sunnandune. Would you make it worse? For so it would be if we stole you from your proper place."
"I do not care," she sobbed, burying her face against his shoulder. "I only want to go with you.'
"Denise," Father Godfrey said, laying a hand upon her head, "God will suffice for this. You must trust in His goodness and His bountiful provision for you. All will be well for you in Warkham. God will see it so."
God would see it so? Nay, these words struck dull and deep in Elsbeth's heart. Nothing was ever well in Warkham. Not even prayer could surmount Warkham's walls and escape the grip of Warkham's lord.
'Twas blasphemy to think it, and she shook the ache from her heart. God was mightier than Gautier. God was a strong tower and a fortress for the righteous. It was so. It had always been so.
&
nbsp; Yet it was not so, not in Warkham when Warkham's lord was in residence.
"I do not believe you," Denise said, her crying becoming wildly desperate. "I do not believe anything you say."
Hugh looked at Elsbeth in expectation. Would she not soothe the child, admonish her not to speak so to their priest and guide in the affairs of heaven? He looked in vain. Elsbeth had no words to speak against that charge.
"In belief there is rest, Denise," Father Godfrey said, unoffended. " 'May the Lord of peace Himself give you peace at all times and in every way.' So he gives us His promise, for all times and in all ways."
Aye, God gave His promise, yet what was a promise but a vow, and did not vows shatter? Would God's word shatter when thrown against Gautier? 'Twas blasphemy to think it, yet she could not find the strength to control her thoughts. Her shattered vow to Ardeth seemed to break all vows, all controls within her heart and mind.
"All is ready, my lord," Raymond said, coming from the darkness into the torchlight. He had prepared three horses, one for his lord, one for himself and one pack animal. There was no horse for Elsbeth.
Elsbeth turned to look at Hugh, and within her arose the same plaintive cry that had come from Denise's mouth. Do not leave me. Take me with you. Yet she said nothing, she only stared.
The bargain with her father was broken, had been broken upon Hugh's sword. There was no hope of his getting Sunnandune, and so there was no hope of claiming the knights of Gautier's promise. Hugh had no more need of Elsbeth. He had even taken her body, proving his manhood upon her. Nay, of what more use was Elsbeth?
"Elsbeth? You are staying?" Denise asked, sniffling. "I do not mind staying if you are with me."
Still, she said nothing. She could only stare at Hugh in the darkness.
Hugh stared back at her, frowning. "You thought I would leave you," he said softly. And then, "You thought I would leave you?" he growled. "You are my wife. I swore to you time and again that I would not betray, and I will not. I will not, Elsbeth," he whispered. "You are mine. Did I not swear that I would keep you? Did I not tell you that we had traveled far beyond Sunnandune? Did you believe none of it?"