by Claudia Dain
"If she be a woman, then she is won if you seek to win her."
"Your confidence cheers me; still, she is not yet won."
"You have only to wait, my lord. When her flux is past, then the way will be clear."
But he did not dare wait. Elsbeth was too strong against the match, her very soul striving against the married state. If he waited to win her by the claiming of her body, she might yet escape him. He could not wait, nor count on the stirrings of her loins to tie her to him. Nay, he needed to hold her heart; if he could do that, then her body would perforce follow.
He understood a woman's heart, and this woman, with her father's careful counsel echoing in his ears, he understood better than most. The way to win her was through the chapel and the nave, keeping the office of a monk with the caress of a lover. Well, and he could do that. Was he not from holy Jerusalem? A little girl from England could not beat him at a game of holy ardor.
* * *
The nave was cool, and it suited well her mood. The memories of last night had risen new and hungry with the questioning by Emma, as she had feared. The cold dim of God's own house would press the images from her. Her prayers were soft in the gloom, yet her heart was firm.
She felt him enter long before she heard his step upon the stone.
"I thought I would find you here," Gautier said, his voice just behind her. She did not turn; she was at her prayers, or was supposed to be.
"Here I will ever he," she said, struggling to be free of him in even this small way.
"If your husband so decides," Gautier said at her back. He did not kneel. She felt very small and vulnerable with him rising up behind her, but that was foolish. She was in God's own house. She was perfectly safe.
"I will abide by his decision for me," she said, her head bent more to avoid the sight of him than out of holiness. "I am content."
"I would only that you be content, Elsbeth," Gautier said. "As any father would for any child, so I am for you. I chose well for you, did I not? He is a man to make a maid swoon."
"I did not swoon because of him," she said, lifting her head. "I had not supped. 'Twas hunger that made me light of head, nothing more."
"Hunger?" Gautier asked, and she could hear his silent laughter. "I will not argue it. He is a man to make a maid hungry, and there are many kinds of hunger. Has he taught you that?"
He excelled at this form of verbal sparring; she had learned long years past that she could never win such a game with him. All was turned to his purpose, and his purpose ever seemed to be to find amusement in her embarrassment.
"If I could return to my prayers?" she said, lowering her head again, shutting him out. She could hear him chuckling and stiffened her spine against the assault of his humor.
"Aye, I would keep no woman from her divine duty. But remember also your duty to your husband. He has a hunger of his own that must be met, Elsbeth. Do not forget it. He most certainly shall not."
"I need no reminder, Father. I know my duty."
"Then may you find the joy of it. I wish you that. I wish for little else."
"And if I wish for more?" she said against all wisdom and experience.
"Then do what you must to achieve all your desires, Elsbeth," he said. "Give Hugh what he wants from you. God willing, he will then answer your every desire, even your desire for the abbey. But deny him and he will give you nothing. Remember that. Be only wise and submissive and you will win what you desire most."
"I know what I must do," she said, keeping her head bent against him.
"I know you do, and I know that you will do it very well," he said, laying a hand on her head in benign approval.
She did not move, she scarcely breathed, and then he moved off. She heard his footsteps fading, and then he was gone and she was again alone in the chapel. Alone with her thoughts and what should have been her prayers. Yet she could not pray. All her thoughts were of Hugh and the battle that was even now being set before her.
She did not know how she would succeed, but she must. Hugh was the temptation of a lifetime. If she could stand against him, her body and her heart intact, she could stand against Lucifer himself.
She heard him come and breathed deeply in resolve.
"I knew I would find you here," he said.
"Here I will ever be," she said in rote repetition.
"Then here I will be, at your side," he said, kneeling next to her. "I will pray the day away with you, a warrior of blood and prayer at your side."
She did not need a warrior at her side. She needed only God. She would tell Hugh so, when she could find her breath. Her heart raced and pressed against her ribs. It was most difficult to remember the words of her prayer when all she could remember was the feel of his hand running up her thigh.
There are other things which must call you," she said, her voice a whisper.
Let him think that she was devout, not consumed by flaring desire to have him so near. She did not even dare to turn her head. The sight of him would be more temptation than she could bear right now.
"You call to me," he whispered. "You, Elsbeth. I want to hold you. I want to talk with you, learning your mind and thoughts and heart. Let us look on this week of waiting as a blessing most divine. I will know you before I possess you, and I will not fault the time. I see God's hand in this delay of our physical union. Do not you?"
Yea, but not the way he meant. God's plan was for deliverance. She was certain of it.
“Yea, I know this is of God," she said, her head bowed in prayer, her hands trembling.
"All is of God. A man is a fool who fights against His will and His ways. I will not fight," he said, his voice a thread of feeling in the middle of her prayer. "I would not fight. He has given me you. God's ways have never before seemed so perfect in my eyes and in my heart."
She would crumble into dust if he did not stop. No man wanted a woman he did not know with such ardent longing and such willing devotion. She did not slight herself, but she knew enough of men to know that what he said could not be.
But it was so tempting to believe.
"It is good that God's ways are now seen perfected in your sight. That, surely, is His will for all of us, that we see and acknowledge His perfection and His power," she said.
"Yea, Elsbeth, and you are the vessel He has used in my life," Hugh said, running a hand over the length of her hair. "I am blessed."
"We are all blessed," she said, leaning into the touch of his hand without volition. Where was she in her prayers? She had forgotten. All was lost in the heat and light of Hugh.
"Keep to your prayers, my little wife," he said. "I will stay at your side, my voice in harmony with yours. Did Jesus not say that where two or more are gathered together, He hears our prayers most well? I will make the pairing. Our prayers will find God's ear. Pray on, little warrior—I stand guard at your back."
Pray? She could not pray with him so near. God Himself seemed to be receding like mist in the sun.
"You must have tasks of your own," she said.
"None so dear to me as this," he said.
"But... should you not practice arms? Your skills will grow dim if you linger in the shadows of God's sanctuary."
"I lose them willingly. To be at your side and in God's presence more than makes up the lack. Besides, will God not give me strength and skill when I need them? I trust in Him to keep me strong. I will abide here, with you."
Nay, he could not. She did not want him so near. She did not trust his intent. His words were all of worship and prayer, yet she did not believe a man could be so devout, even if he be from holy Jerusalem.
"Then I will leave, my prayers done," she said.
She did not want to share this place with him. Her time with God was sacred and private. She would not let Hugh turn God's house into a place to tempt a woman into sin.
He rose as she did, his arm on hers, leading her from the nave without hesitation, his purpose revealed. He had not wanted peace. He had only wanted to destr
oy her prayer. That was so like a man.
"Then I will follow you, our paths one," he said. "What now, Elsbeth? The day is young. I think," he said, poking his head out of the portal, looking up skeptically at the leaden sky. "I cannot tell. Is the sun up? Can you tell the hour?"
She did not find his complaints about the weather charming; had not God created England as well as Jerusalem? The air was soft with rain. She found it most pleasing.
"It is not yet Sext. The meal will be upon us after that."
She did not look forward to eating. Hugh would be at one side, her father hemming her in place on the other. Nay, she did not yearn for the meal.
"What shall we do until the hour for prayer at Sext?" he asked, still holding her arm.
"You might enjoy warming yourself by the fire," she said. "I know how the chill of autumn has buried itself into your very bones."
"You are cross that I have shortened your hour of prayer," he said, smiling ruefully. "Be not cross with me. I only want your company."
"I fear I am not available, nor am I pleasing company today. I must away."
"Away to where?"
She tried to walk away from him, but he would not obey her will. He stayed at her side, all concern and care. She believed none of it. Rather, he was all temptation and deceit.
"I think you must know," she said.
"Ah, is the bucket full again? Need I fetch you another?"
"You need do nothing. I can take care of myself and my needs very well, my lord. Occupy yourself as you will."
It was the wrong thing to say. She knew it as the words left her tongue.
"My will is to stay at your side. There is no other occupation I seek, Elsbeth. Let me help you."
"For someone who seeks to stick to my side like a burr, you have remarkable trouble remembering my words. I do not need help. Seek your amusements elsewhere."
"Your flux has soured your temper," he said soothingly.
"It has not!" she snapped, pulling her arm out of his grasp. "My temper is constant. I am calm," she said. "I only remark that you do not seem to be listening to the words you beg from me."
"I listen. I have heard you," he said, his eyes going a bit cold. "You do not seek the married state. You seek a life behind abbey walls."
"I have not deceived you," she said, slightly alarmed that he sounded offended. Would he repudiate her if he were insulted? That might serve her purpose, though it did not seem a man's response. It was more likely he would want to keep her close and punish her for giving him offense. That was like a man—all pride and little tolerance. "I wanted the cloister long before I even knew your name."
"Ah, so now that you have come to know me, you are content in your marriage to me," he said.
If she were of a more suspicious nature, she might believe he was goading her. "My heart does not turn so quickly, my lord. Nor my vows. And never my will." Let him chew on that. She was determined and devout; there was no more to her than that.
"Yet you have taken a vow before God to me, Elsbeth. I will not let you forget that. And wills can be turned, even at the eleventh hour. Do you not remember the thief upon his cross? Did he not turn and was he not welcomed into Paradise that very day?"
He looked very severe, in a seductive sort of way. How was that possible?
"I have not forgotten," she said, staring up at him.
How that he could talk of Christ's crucifixion, her binding vow of marriage, and death... and still manage to seduce a ragged breath from her?
Where had she been going? It was difficult to remember. He seemed to drive out every thought which did not center on him. She had never felt so confused in all her life.
"That is good," he said, taking her chin in his hand, holding her gaze up to meet his. "Though it would not be amiss to remind you of the bond we share, the caresses we have exchanged—"
"I have not caressed you!" she interrupted.
Hugh paused and seemed to consider it. "Do you know, you are correct in that. That is something we must change. We will go now to our chamber, and after you have seen to your needs, you will see to mine. I will be caressed by my wife. I must insist, Elsbeth. You will touch me." He smiled. "You will enjoy it."
"Because you say it, does not make it so!" she said. She was a fool even to talk to him; he twisted everything to his own design.
"Oh, yea, it does," he said, grinning. And then he kissed her lightly on the lips. He took her hand in his and crossed the bailey with her in tow like an errant child.
The only reason she went with him, she told herself, was that she did need to change her padding, after all. She only hoped he remembered that.
"Hurrying back to your chamber?" Emma said from the top of the stair.
Elsbeth held her tongue. Emma would only think one thing, no matter what was said. Unfortunately, she would be right in this instance.
"My wife has need of privacy. I go to assure her of it," Hugh said, gifting Emma with a warm and winsome smile.
Emma looked starry-eyed. Emma had no call to look starry-eyed; she was a fortnight away from delivering herself of a babe.
Emma was left behind as they crossed the hall, empty but for the servants setting up the board in the misty light. The torches burned softy, steady and quiet in the rain-soaked air. She was only glad her father was not about to note her progress and her company as she was hurried up to her chamber.
"Should I carry you again?" Hugh said. "We could make a tradition of it."
"Nay, I need no such traditions in my life."
"You have little romance in you," he said, looking back at her as they came to the stone stair that led to the upper floors.
"I have little need for it," she said, meeting his gaze.
"Then perhaps you should have it all the more," he said, his eyes suddenly very solemn.
He turned from her then and did almost carry her up the stair, so rapid was his ascent. Her progress would have been easier if he had let go of her hand. But he did not let go. She should have been more annoyed than she was. Yet she was not.
Such was the depth of her danger.
They came to her chamber, coming out of the dark of the stair to find Raymond within. He was lighting the fire. A pile of cord wood was next to the hearth, fragrant and fresh, smelling of pine and oak.
Elsbeth turned to Hugh in the doorway and said, "You have prepared for this. You knew. You planned to bring me here. Now. At just this hour."
Hugh did not even have the grace to look repentant. He waved Raymond out of the room and when the door had closed behind him, said, "Of course I did."
At those words, he threw the bolt, locking them inside.
Chapter 9
"You are not even contrite!"
"Contrite? Because I want to be with my wife? Because I want to have her hands on me, her mouth, her hair trailing over my skin—"
"Stop!" she said, putting her hands over her ears and turning from the sight of him. "There is more to me than hands and hair, my lord. If you cannot see that—"
He turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders, and wrapped his arms about her. She was pressed to his body, her face buried in his chest. She should have pushed him away, but suddenly she was drowning in weariness.
He never could let her rest; always he came at her, with his hands and his flattery and the weapon of his beauty. She was so very weary of fighting the battle of Hugh. It felt so good to rest against his strength, just for the moment, finding a temporary succor with her foe. Naught would come of it; they were fully clothed.
"Of course I see that there is more to Elsbeth than hair and hands and even mouth," he said, his chin resting on the top of her head. "You are soul and mind and heart. And I would know all of you, little wife. I want to know you. I want to find all there is to love about you. Your beauty I already know," he said, smiling. She could hear the smile in his voice.
"Do not mock," she said, fighting the urge to wrap her arms around him and just rest, buried in his warmth.
"I do not," he said, his voice the gentle hum of distant waters, soothing and calm. "I never would. You are beautiful. And... I am commanded to love my wife by God Himself. How can I disobey? I do love you, as commanded, but I also look to find a way to love the Elsbeth in my arms, to make obedience easier. I am human. I do not look for the stony path climbing to the mountaintop when the sandy path leading to the meadow is within my reach. I want to know you, wife, so that I may love you better."
Words of deceit, surly. No man wanted to love his wife; there was no chivalry, no honor, in that. And she did not want his love. She only wanted release. Why did he speak of love?
Because he understood women. What woman did not yearn for words of love?
She was that woman.
Ardeth had made sure of that.
"Better? You mean to say easier."
He pulled back and lifted her face with his hands. "Better and easier. Now it is you who mock me."
"Nay," she said, aware she was losing herself in his eyes and unable to find the will to stop. "I do not mock. Or I will not."
"A truce, then?"
"Were we embattled?"
He smiled and kissed her brow. "You know we were."
"I do not want to battle you," she said, and it was the truth. But what other way was left her?
"That is a fine beginning to any marriage. Firm footing," he said, kissing her again just at the crest of her cheek.
Firm footing, he said, when all was crumbling beneath her feet. Worse, she did not even fear the fall this rest in his arms would cause. He was so strong, so sure, so smiling-bright. It was easier to resist temptation when temptation was dark and cold.
So said all who had fallen.
He kissed her face, gentle kisses on brow and cheek and chin. Her mouth tingled for a taste of him, a sign of the crumbling path she walked. He was temptation, and she yearned to fall into him. Was it only yesterday that she had stood so firm against him?
There was little of the warrior left in her; she had not been very mighty, after all.
Hugh kissed her softy on the mouth, and his hands rose up to caress her breasts. They tingled and grew heavy, aching, swelling at his touch. A sudden response that seemed ages old. She leaned into his kiss, sighing her submission to his touch, watching her resolve fade into the mist.
