Balian was relieved to hear that, even though he knew it was both foolish and futile to care about something that had occurred so long ago. “What, then? Surely you did not want him to . . . ?”
“No, I did not. But I expected him to, for a Greek husband would have claimed my maidenhead that night. I was afraid that I’d offended him in some way, or that he did not find me desirable. I was too proud to talk to my ladies about it, so I suffered in silence for months. By then, I’d become friends with William, yet I was surely not going to discuss that with him! I finally found out from Amalric himself that the Franks do not believe in bedding very young brides, and that did not happen until he’d decided I was old enough to be a wife. He was surprised by my ignorance, explaining that a girl of twelve or thirteen is more likely to die in child-bed and the baby, too, so it is just common sense to wait. In my case, he said, if he put me at risk by getting me with child too soon, he’d be putting his alliance with the emperor at risk, too.”
“That sounds like Amalric—the soul of sentiment,” Balian said dryly, shaking his head despite realizing how pointless it was to judge a dead man. “For certes, we will not allow Isabella or any of our other daughters to marry so young. I think they ought to wait until they reach . . . oh, at least thirty or so.” And while he’d ended with a jest, he found no humor in his sudden awareness of a daughter’s vulnerability.
Maria was touched that he sounded so protective of the young girl she’d once been. What mattered even more to her was that he already viewed Isabella as one of “our daughters.” Rising, she looked up into his face, so intently that he felt as if she were seeing into his very soul. “I think,” she said softly, “that William was right. We are going to have a good marriage.”
She gave a surprised laugh then as he swept her up into his arms, almost as easily as he’d lifted Isabella, and carried her to the bed. She’d wondered if she might be nervous when this moment came, for she knew only what Amalric had taught her. She was reassured now when he showed himself willing to take his time, confirming her suspicions that her new husband had considerable experience in carnal matters. Removing her gold slippers and then her garters and stockings, he began an unhurried exploration of her body, his caresses so light that they made her yearn for more. Her chemise soon fluttered to the floor. By then she was sitting up, helping to rid him of his belt and tunic. When he pulled his shirt over his head, she startled them both by blurting out, “You are so beautiful, Balian!”
“I’ve been called many things in my life, Maria, but never that,” he said, laughing.
“You are,” she insisted, understanding for the first time how a man’s body could stir a woman’s desire. Amalric’s heaviness had not been due to an unbridled appetite, for he’d been moderate both in drink and diet. But his excess weight had given him pendulous breasts that reached almost to his waist and she’d sometimes felt as if she were being smothered beneath a mountain of quivering flesh.
She felt some lingering loyalty to Amalric, having been both his wife and his queen, so she did not want to reveal this to Balian. She did want to caress and kiss his chest, to feel that firm, smooth skin against her breasts. Until now, she’d not had such an intimate view of the male body as it was meant to be, sinewy and lean, with the athletic grace that came from years of practice in the tiltyard, in battle, and on horseback. “Not beautiful, then,” she conceded, knowing that was not a compliment men were likely to appreciate. “But if I’d seen you naked ere this, I’d have been the one to propose marriage to you.”
He’d not been sure what to expect from her in bed, assuming there had been little passion in her marriage to Amalric and she might need time to overcome the inhibitions natural for a child bride who’d been an unloved wife. “Good God, woman,” he said, only half in jest, “if you say things like that, all my good intentions will fly out the window and I’ll not be able to pace myself.”
In response, she reached out to stroke his chest, her fingers tracing the faint path of a scar that angled from his collarbone to his nipple. “Did you get this in battle?” she asked, frowning at the thought. It was one thing to know that all men were vulnerable in war, quite another to see the evidence with her own eyes.
Rising to his knees, he began quickly to undo the ties fastening his chausses to his braies. “I wish I could relate a story of my battlefield heroics that would have you dazzled by my daring exploits. The truth is that you’re looking at a childhood injury. I’ve been blessed so far in battle, never suffering a serious wound, just the usual bruises and scratches and cuts.”
She murmured something in Greek and, recognizing the word Theos, he assumed she was either thanking God for his past good fortune or asking Him to let it continue. This seemed an opportune moment to impress her with one of his Greek endearments, but she was helping him with the ties, and as her fingers brushed his thigh, he could wait no longer. Sliding his braies down over his hips so hastily that he heard the linen rip, he gathered her into his arms.
As familiar as he was with the physical ecstasy to be found in bedding a woman, he discovered that it was different—more intense and overwhelming—when the woman was one who’d laid claim to his heart. He did his best to keep his urgency under control, but his body was no longer heeding his brain, and too soon he was crying out, spiraling into a swirling vortex of pure sensation, pleasure so acute it was almost akin to pain.
When he slowly returned to reality, his first coherent thought was concern for Maria. Although priests warned that females were more susceptible to lust than males, being sinful daughters of Eve, he’d learned that a woman’s body was usually slower to catch fire, and he was not sure he’d given Maria enough time to reach her peak, not unless it had occurred during his own.
But when he raised himself on his elbow, he saw that she was smiling. “That was wonderful, Balian. Is it always like this?”
“If it is done right,” he joked, glad that she’d found pleasure, too, in their first coupling. “I wanted it to last longer, but my cock had ideas of his own. Next time I’ll try to rein him in a bit.”
“If it gets better than this, I’ll not want us ever to get out of bed.” When he leaned over to kiss her, she nestled against him, pillowing her head on his chest. Amalric had never wanted to cuddle afterward, although in honesty, neither had she. It was different now. All in her life would be different with this man in it.
Balian threw the sheet aside, for they had no need of it, not yet. “Give me a chance to catch my breath and I’ll show you that it gets better.”
“Promise?” she murmured drowsily, turning her head to kiss the pulse beating in his throat. She knew she’d not experienced what he had, that moment when pleasure peaked and he’d spilled his seed into her womb. She also knew that women were capable of it, for many believed that a woman could not become pregnant unless she did. Her two pregnancies had disproved that myth, but she felt confident that this fulfillment would not keep eluding her, not with Balian sharing her bed.
“Promise,” he said, smiling as he saw her lashes drift down to shadow her cheek, reminding him of Isabella at the wedding feast. “Sleep well, Marika.”
She was surprised to find herself suddenly so sleepy. But at that, her eyes flew open. “That is a pet name for Maria. How did you know that?”
“I have my ways,” he said, and she gave him another drowsy smile. She could not remember being as utterly relaxed as she was now, her bones so light that she felt as if she might float off the bed if she did not hold on to Balian. She could hear his heart beating against her ear and, lulled by its soothing rhythm, she soon slept.
He would eventually have to move, for he could not sleep on his back. But for now he was content to hold her in his arms, admiring the curve of her breast and hip, the softness of the thigh pressing against his. After a while, he laughed silently at the sheer absurdity of it, that he should owe such happiness to Agnes de Courtenay of al
l people. When he finally turned onto his side, Maria rolled pliantly with him, not awakening. He usually fell asleep soon after lying with a woman. But tonight, sleep would not come. While his body was ready to let the day go, his brain continued to race, his thoughts coming as fast and furious as a flock of birds startled into flight. It took him a while before he realized why.
He had grown up in a land at war, had never known a peace that was not fleeting, as ephemeral as the morning mists, and he’d accepted that as the natural order of things. It was different now. From this night on, he was responsible for the lives of the woman beside him and the little girl asleep in the chamber below. Maria and Isabella and the children they would have, God willing, would all be dependent upon him for their safety and their happiness. When he thought of his new wife and daughter exposed to the dangers he’d always taken for granted, he felt a hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. To be a husband and father in Outremer was to learn to live with fear.
CHAPTER 17
November 1177
Jerusalem, Outremer
Maria had been staring down at the parchment for some time. She’d decided to wait until after she was wed to break the news to the emperor, for then she’d not have to defy him should he forbid the marriage. But finding the right words was not easy. Her great-uncle would not be pleased; that she never doubted. When the Greek Royal House sent their daughters off to wed foreign princes, those daughters were expected to continue serving the empire. She could make a cogent argument that marriage to Balian would benefit her and Isabella; it was more of a challenge to convince Manuel that it would benefit him, too. By the time she finally completed the letter to her satisfaction, her fingers were cramping and she felt a headache coming on.
Laboring over her letter, she’d been vaguely aware of a murmured conversation at the far end of the solar, where her ladies were seated. She glanced up with a frown as their voices rose. Her women had been shocked by her marriage to a man of inferior rank, baffled that she would agree to such a mésalliance. They’d known better than to express their misgivings in her presence, of course, and Balian had shown her what a formidable weapon charm could be, for he’d soon won them over—with one notable exception. Eudoxia was indifferent to his smile, not impressed by his gallantry, and she was hard put even to be polite to him, so strong was her disapproval. Although Balian seemed untroubled by her coldness, Maria had taken Eudoxia aside and told her that her rudeness would not be tolerated. She’d expected Eudoxia to heed the warning, yet it was becoming obvious to her that the disgruntled widow was continuing to criticize Balian to the other women, no doubt angered that they had gone over to the enemy.
One more warning, Maria decided, only this time she would make the consequences clear to Eudoxia: unless she treated Balian with the respect he deserved, she’d be sent back to Constantinople in disgrace. Still scowling, Maria put the letter aside for her scribe to copy and then reached for another sheet of parchment. She had to write to her mother and brother, too, and she did not expect them to welcome her marriage, either.
For a moment, she found herself wondering how they’d react if she were to confide that she’d never been happier. She knew the answer, though; what mattered most to them was retaining Manuel’s favor. She could not admit that her heart skipped a beat at the sound of Balian’s voice or that she’d laughed more in her three weeks as his wife than she had in seven years as Amalric’s queen. No, she must stress the political advantages of marriage into the powerful d’Ibelin family; that they could understand.
She’d just picked up the pen again when muffled noise echoed from the courtyard below. Rising, she moved to the window, wiping away the glass’s condensation with her fist. “My lord husband has returned,” she said, and her ladies started to rise, knowing she’d want to be alone with Balian. On several occasions, they’d scandalized her household by disappearing into their bedchamber during the daytime. The women were still gathering up their needlework when Maria heard the sound of boots on the stairs. She was surprised that Balian was back so soon, for he’d left only an hour ago to tell Baldwin that they would be riding to Nablus at week’s end so she could formally introduce him to his new vassals. But his eagerness to see her was very flattering and she was already smiling by the time he burst through the solar doorway.
Her smile disappeared, then, for she was learning to read the subtle indicators of his moods. The tautness of his mouth, the set of his shoulders, his perfunctory acknowledgment of her women—all alerted her that something was wrong even before he said a word.
As soon as her ladies departed the solar, he strode to her side. “Maria . . .” He hesitated and she felt a sudden chill, for he always called her Marika in private. “I have bad news,” he said, taking her hand in his.
“Has Baldwin’s health taken a turn for the worse?”
He shook his head. “No . . . he got word this morning that Saladin has crossed the border with a large army.”
Maria had known when she married Amalric that she’d be living in a land always at war. She’d not feared for the kingdom’s survival while Amalric lived, but Baldwin’s youth and leprosy had brought home to her just how vulnerable Outremer was. She’d never experienced the sort of fear that she did now, though, gazing up at her new husband and realizing that she could be widowed again ere the year was out. “Is it a raid or a full-scale invasion?” she asked, grateful that her voice sounded so natural, as if her heart had not begun to thud against her rib cage.
“Baldwin’s scouts said it is too large a force for just a raiding party. Saladin clearly intends to take advantage of the absence of so many of our fighting men and inflict as much damage as he can.”
Maria knew that Baldwin could call upon the services of less than seven hundred knights, and at least a hundred of those men were in northern Syria with Count Raymond and the Count of Flanders. So were all of the Hospitallers and most of the Templars. Doing some quick mental math, she came to a frightening conclusion—that even if every knight and serjeant still in Outremer responded to Baldwin’s summons, he could not muster more than four thousand men. “How large is Saladin’s army?” she asked, and this time her voice was not quite as steady.
Balian’s hand tightened on hers. “We cannot say for sure,” he hedged, but he’d promised there would be honesty between them and finally admitted that their scouts estimated the Saracen army at around fifteen thousand men.
Maria looked so horrified that he wished he’d lied. Knowing there were no words of comfort, none that she’d believe, he drew her into his arms and held her close as she struggled to maintain her composure. “What will Baldwin do?” she asked at last.
“He intends to gather as many men as he can and race for the coast. With luck, mayhap the Templars can hold Saladin at Gaza long enough for Baldwin to reach Ascalon, the next likely target.” He had more bad news to share, delaying as long as he could before he told her that they would be facing Saladin without the most formidable battle commander in the kingdom, the constable, Humphrey de Toron. “He and his wife are both gravely ill, said to be near death.”
Maria closed her eyes for a moment. She knew Baldwin would summon Count Raymond, the Hospitallers, and the Templars. She also knew they could never return in time. The defense of their kingdom rested upon the shoulders of a sixteen-year-old boy stricken with the worst of ailments and a handful of highborn lords. Balian was speaking again, saying that he wanted her and Isabella to remain in Jerusalem, and she quickly agreed, for at least she could spare him that worry; they’d be much safer in Jerusalem than in the unwalled town of Nablus.
“Promise me, Balian,” she said, “promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” He nodded and she managed a wan smile, realizing how meaningless such a promise was under the circumstances. “Remember . . . I do not look good in mourning black.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” he said with a smile no more convincing than hers had bee
n. And then, because there was no more to be said, he kissed her. Passion and despair and fear proved to be as combustible as Greek fire. They separated only long enough for him to bar the solar door and removed just enough clothing to feel flesh on flesh. The settle had none of the comforts of their marriage bed, but they could not wait. Their lovemaking was as intense as it was urgent, for they desperately needed this brief respite from reality, from what awaited them on the other side of the solar door.
* * *
The sky was the color of slate, but the day was dry; the winter rains had not yet begun. Balian and his men had set a demanding pace since sunrise, wanting to reach Ascalon by dark. His tension was growing with each passing mile. Would they be in time? It had taken him several days to ride to Nablus, summon the knights and serjeants who were now his vassals, and then head west to join the king. So much could have happened in those three days. Had Gaza fallen to the Saracens? What if Baldwin and his men had encountered Saladin’s army on their way to Ascalon?
“We’ll halt for a brief while,” he called out, raising his hand. All around him, men were dismounting, taking out their waterskins. Balian handed Smoke’s reins to his new squire, Piers, and looked around for Rolf. The youth had wisely stayed some distance from the others, as he was leading Demon, Balian’s fiery black destrier, who was a formidable weapon in battle but a terror to deal with off the field, for he had never met another stallion he did not want to kill. Rolf looked relieved when Balian started in their direction; Demon was already baring his teeth at a nervous bay courser, who’d begun to shy away.
“No, you bloodthirsty brute,” Balian admonished, taking the reins from Rolf, who marveled that Demon now seemed content to put aside his murderous plans until later.
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