The Temptation (The Medieval Knights Series)

by Claudia Dain

  "I think my lord Hugh can defend his head right well," Elsbeth said, digging around in her trunk for a smallish shift that the girl could wear until a bliaut could be found. But in her heart, even as she said the words, she wondered. How much did a man fight in the Levant? They were known for their holiness, aye, but also for heir love of luxury and for their softness. Did he not now even wash a child? What sort of knight did that?

  A most strange one, certainly.

  "Thank you, lady," he said, bowing his head in her direction as she came back with the shift. "I am a knight from a faraway land. My prowess here is not known, I think."

  He said that true enough. She had heard of Hugh's friendship with Baldwin and his beauty. Of his warcraft, little was spoken beyond the siege of Ascalon. Perhaps he was not much of a warrior; he did not have the scars to mark his trade, that was certain.

  "You must be a very good knight," Denise said. "You have not a mark upon you."

  Elsbeth flushed to have her thoughts echoed by the girl, yet her own conclusion could not have been more different.

  "Ah, all my wounds are upon my heart, and in this very room is the little warrior who slices me," Hugh said, pointing at Elsbeth.

  "Elsbeth?" Denise said, her eyes round.

  "Nay, not Elsbeth," Elsbeth answered, frowning at Hugh. "My lord enjoys a jest, Denise. There is no more to his words than that."

  "And there you see, Denise, another wound inflicted. My wife does not believe I have a heart to bruise, nor does she believe a word I say in praise of her. It must be a trait of English women, for I have ne're had this trouble before."

  "I would believe you if you praised me," Denise said.

  Hugh laughed and motioned for her to stand in the tub and be dried. "Would you now? And you claim to be English? Hmmm, I shall have to make a test of it, I think," he said, rubbing his chin in thought while Elsbeth dried Denise with a length of clean linen.

  "You truly do have flaxen hair, Denise, and eyes the color of a Southern bay. You will break many hearts with those eyes, my girl," he said.

  Denise poked her head through the opening of the shift. "I will?"

  "Aye, you will. Do not say you doubt my word and break my heart. I have had enough wounds to my heart since landing on these shores."

  "I believe you!" Denise said. "Do you believe him, Elsbeth? Will I break many hearts?"

  Elsbeth looked down at her; her hair lay in a wet trail which Elsbeth dried with the linen strip. She was a most comely child, bright of eye and white of skin. Her hair was the pale yellow of flax, as her mother had said. And she believed every word from Hugh's mouth, or wanted to. They were not so different, the two of them, for did Elsbeth not want to believe Hugh as well?

  "I think," Elsbeth said, looking at Hugh, "that you may believe what my lord tells you."

  "I do," Denise said, as if invoking a vow.

  I do; Elsbeth felt an echo in her own heart. I do. I want to believe you. I have fallen that far.

  “Then the testing is done?" Hugh said, looking at Elsbeth.

  "Aye," she said, holding his gaze.

  The testing was done. She would believe him when he praised her, though she would never understand his need to pour sweet words over her like costly perfume. Perhaps it was the fashion in Outremer to speak in honeyed words, to woo and win when all was won, to praise and pet a wife who needed no petting. She knew who she was, and she knew her value. And she did not need wooing.

  "Did I pass?" Denise asked.

  "Aye, you did pass," Elsbeth said, smiling down at the girl. "Yet there is more to be done. You must have shoes and a new bliaut, and you must learn at least some of your soaps, or else Emma will find my lord a liar."

  "I would not be found a liar, even if I am a giant," Hugh said. "Come, Denise, what was the scent you were bathed in?"

  "That is easy. Lavender."

  "Exactly." said Hugh.

  "And this?" He held a bag to her nose and let her sniff.

  "Rose," she said.

  "Ah, but not just any rose. This is Damascus Rose, and you will not quickly find its match in all of England."

  "May I have a bath in Damascus Rose?" Denise asked.

  "Nay, for I brought it as a gift for Elsbeth. It is for her, when she next bathes."

  "Oh, I cannot wait to smell you after your bath in Damascus Rose, Elsbeth," Denise said.

  "Nor can I, Denise," Hugh said, laughing.

  "Well, all must wait," Elsbeth said, looking uncomfortably at the floor. "But we cannot wait for your shoes and bliaut. Let us go and find something for you. Did your family send a trunk with you to your fostering?"

  "Aye, but I know not where it is," Denise said.

  "Well, we shall find it," Elsbeth said, leading her from the room. When Hugh made to follow them, she said, "My lord? If you would not be found a liar, you must bathe, for did you not tell Emma you required assistance at your bath?"

  "Aye, and if you do not assist me, will you not be found a liar?" he said.

  "But, my lord, I do not care if I am found a liar," she said, grinning as she walked out with Denise's hand in hers.

  "Proof indeed, since that is surely a lie," Hugh said. Hugh's laughter followed them down the winding stair, lightening their steps and giving smiles to their faces.

  Raymond awaited in the stair hall outside their chamber. He stood as silent as a torch, and they passed him by with a nod and a smile. He nodded in return, but did not return their smiles.

  When the ladies were well gone, Raymond entered the chamber as Hugh was slipping off his tunic.

  "My lord, Lord Gautier would speak with you."

  "I am about my bath," Hugh said, tossing his tunic onto the bed.

  "My lord," Raymond said.

  Hugh looked at his squire, his expression curious.

  "He is most insistent," Raymond said.

  "Lord Gautier is consistently insistent, is he not, Raymond?" Hugh asked with a sigh. "It seems my bath must then wait. It would not do for Baron Gautier to find his insistence ignored."

  "Nay, my lord, it would not," Raymond said, helping Hugh back on with his tunic.

  "Tell me, Raymond, how do you find Lord Gautier?"

  "My lord?" Raymond said.

  Hugh walked behind him and closed the heavy door. "How do you find this man who holds our plans and our purpose in his hands?"

  "He is..." Raymond said, his brow furrowed in thought at the seriousness of the question. "He is a powerful man. He can give us what we came to England to find."

  "Aye, he is a powerful man," Hugh agreed, fastening his belt "And powerful men are wont to accrue power, not give it away."

  "My lord? You do not think he will renege?"

  "Renege? Nay, perhaps not that. But I do not think he is eager to meet his end of our bargain. I cannot think what man would be, yet the deal is struck. We must make certain that he fulfills his vows. I would not return to Baldwin defeated, empty of all we came to find."

  "Nay, my lord," Raymond said. "It will not come to pass. Baldwin put his trust well in you. You will succeed. Gautier will meet his bargain."

  "Aye, he will, though I begin to wonder if he knows it," Hugh said as he ran a loose hand through his hair.

  "You do not trust him."

  "Nay," Hugh said, laying a hand on his arm. "I do not, yet we are here and not leave until we have in our hands that which we sought," he said, smiling at Raymond. "I would that this were all past and we were on our way back home."

  Away from Elsbeth who was growing in his thoughts like a weed in constant rain. He was beginning to think of her too much, to seek her smile, to find joy in her very nearness; she was a temptation, and he had no room for temptation now. For all he had come to England to find, he had not thought to find such a woman as Elsbeth. There was no place for her in his plans, and so there should be no place for her in his thoughts.

  "Aye, and I as well. Before the winter sets down its cold hand on this isle."

  "You do not find the d
amp pleasing?" Hugh said with a laugh, once again forcing his thoughts away from his wife.

  "My lord, the walls sprout mushrooms!"

  "Aye, that they do. Let us finish here. With God's aid, we will be home for Epiphany."

  "With God's aid," Raymond echoed, sending that prayer to heaven.

  They ran down the stairs and across the hall. Elsbeth was in the hall, Denise at her side; they faced Emma, who sat with her feet upon a stool before the hearth. Emma was in for a reckoning from Elsbeth. Hugh did not envy Gautier's wife.

  Quiet Elsbeth was, but she was an unrelenting and unyielding warrior. With a wave to Denise, who watched him as he passed out of the hall, Hugh left the cold comfort of stone behind and ran down the outer stair to the bailey below. Raymond whispered and pointed, and Hugh turned toward the practice yard, finding his wife's father testing his blade against the air.

  At his approach, Gautier looked up.

  "Does she still bleed?"

  Hugh stood his ground, literally, and smiled into the older man's curious face. "You know she does. It has been too soon for aught else."

  Gautier shrugged and studied his blade. "Difficult for a man to win a woman when he can't get at her."

  "For some men, perhaps."

  "But not for you?"

  "But not for me," Hugh said.

  "I would not have given her to you if I thought that you could not find your way with her."

  A lie. Gautier would have given Elsbeth to any man who would suit his purposes best. Hugh was that man—the right man for the right time. Elsbeth was his now. There was no other truth for any of them. It was past time for Gautier to understand that his daughter was not his concern any longer. She belonged to Hugh, and Hugh would see to her.

  "I will find my way. I find it even now," Hugh said.

  "Do you?" Gautier said, lifting his head. "A different sort of man, then, they breed in Outremer."

  "Aye," Hugh agreed. He could not have agreed more or been more joyous at the differences. "There are many ways to possess a woman's heart. Elsbeth is nearly mine."

  "Well, when she is all yours, then you will have something to tell me," Gautier said.

  Hugh swallowed his retort. He needed this man too much to strike an offense when discretion better served his purpose.

  "Yea, I will. I will come to you and tell you when this thing is done. The matter of your daughter's blood need not concern you," Hugh said stiffly, holding on to his anger.

  "Need not?" Gautier asked, smiling. "Perhaps you are right yet Elsbeth has always been the daughter of my heart. We were close once, before her fostering, before Ardeth stepped between us, souring the sweetness we shared."

  "You have told me this. I sorrow for you that your wife's temper became uneven. Yet that is past now. Elsbeth is mine. I will see to her," Hugh said. He had heard all about Ardeth and the destruction she had wrought in Gautier's house, but Ardeth was dead. Those days were done.

  "Elsbeth is yours?" Gautier asked sharply, his smile wiped away by his sudden anger. "She is not yours. That is the problem. Make her yours, and then I will be content."

  "Let lie, Lord Gautier, I will manage all. For now, shall we battle?" Hugh asked, looking for another, safer outlet for his rising temper.

  "Do you battle?" Gautier asked. "I have seen little sign of it."

  Hugh could feel Raymond shift behind him, his breath expelled in outrage. Hugh only smiled. "Only when I must. Still, I would not like to have my calluses go soft; it takes so much blood and toil to rebuild them, does it not?"

  Gautier grunted and lifted his sword in answer. Hugh lifted his sword free of its jeweled scabbard and advanced upon his bride's father. With his sword in hand, even foggy England began to feel like home.

  With a cold grin, he advanced, eager to show Gautier the skill he had brought north from Outremer.

  * * *

  Elsbeth and Denise had found Emma sitting by the fire in the lord's chair with her feet up. Her ankles were swollen to the size of loaves, and she looked miserable.

  "You have bathed her," Emma said, her hands rubbing lazy circles on her abdomen. "She is quite pretty, is she not? Lord Gautier remarked on it when she first did come to Warkham."

  "Yea, she is pretty, though she needs a clean bliaut," Elsbeth said, holding Denise's hand. The girl's hand was chill and tinged with blue. It was no pleasure to walk without shoes in such damp cold. "If you will tell me where you have put her trunk, I will attend to her. I can see that you are much occupied."

  "Aye, this babe takes all of me. I do not know where to find my next breath," Emma said.

  She truly did look most uncomfortable and as big as a carthorse.

  "When is the babe due?" she asked.

  "At Martinmas, I think," Emma said. "Though it could be sooner. I would not complain of it."

  "You do not fear the birthing?" Elsbeth asked.

  "Nay, I want him out of me too much for fear," Emma said, "though I would not have said the same even a sennight ago."

  "You are very big," Denise said.

  "I am," Emma said on a breathy laugh. "I wish to be smaller and quickly."

  "If you would tell me where you have put Denise's things, I will attend to her," Elsbeth repeated. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable in your bed? I will bring you whate'er you need."

  "Thank you, Elsbeth," Emma said. "But I cannot lie abed. My legs tingle and my back aches. Nay, I have slept sitting up for the past month. Yet I would be most thankful if you would see to Denise and keep her close by you. She has not had the best of me of late. Her things are in my chamber."

  "I will see to it," Elsbeth said. "And I will bring you a cup of wine when I have seen to Denise. Perhaps that will ease your breathing."

  "I will never turn my face from a cup of wine, Elsbeth," Emma said. "Thank you."

  Denise was shivering by the time they turned to the stairway.

  "I did not think it would take so long. I should have left you in my lord's bed," Elsbeth said in apology to the girl.

  "I would rather stay with you," Denise said. "Emma looks very bad, does she not?"

  "Bad?" Elsbeth said, looking down at the child's bright head. "She looks uncomfortable."

  "I think she looks bad. Her breath is loud and harsh. Her feet are swollen. Her face is red."

  "It will pass when the child comes out of her," Elsbeth said as they entered the lord of Warkham's chamber. "Now, which is your trunk?"

  "The red one," she said, pointing.

  Elsbeth got down on her knees in front of the small red trunk and opened it. It was not locked. It should have been. Inside were two bliauts, two pelisses, three shifts, four pairs of stockings, and a pair of well-worked boots. Below all was a beautiful comb of carved rowan wood.

  "My comb!" Denise said, reaching for it.

  "It is lovely," Elsbeth said.

  "A gift from my father," she said, running it through her damp hair.

  "A most fine gift," Elsbeth said. "Now, on with your boots and stockings. Which bliaut would you prefer? The green or the amber?

  "Which do you think suits me best?"

  "Suits you best? I would say the warmest, to judge by the color of your lips. Here, wear the green bliaut with the blue pelisse. A striking combination. It suits you well."

  "Do you think Lord Hugh will like the green?" Denise asked.

  "Lord Hugh?" Elsbeth said, burying her smile. "I do not see why he should not. When you next see him, you can ask him how he likes the look of you in the green. I am certain you will like his answer."

  "You do not mock me?" Denise said as she pulled the bliaut over her head.

  "Nay, I do not mock you," Elsbeth said, arranging the girl's hair down her back.

  "You are not... jealous of his attention?" Denise asked, passing Elsbeth the comb when she reached out her hand for it.

  "Jealous?" Elsbeth said. "Nay, I am not."

  "Why not?"

  "Because... because... he is mine," she said, shocked by her ans
wer. Unhappy with the deep weight of contentment that settled on her with the words.

  "I think that you are very kind."

  Elsbeth stopped combing and put the comb back into Denise's small, white hands. "I am not kind. It is no great mark of kindness to see a child properly dressed. It is no great deed to bring a cup of wine."

  "Yet you did not have to," Denise said, stroking her comb. "My mother says that if you do not have to do something for someone and yet you do, then that is kind and generous. You are generous, too."

  "You put too much on me," Elsbeth said with a laugh. "The clothes are yours, Denise; the wine is Emma's."

  "But you did not have to."

  "It was easily done."

  "You did not have to," Denise insisted.

  "Nay, I did not have to," she said, giving up the battle.

  "I like you," Denise said, looking up at her. "I like you almost as much as I like Hugh."

  "High praise," Elsbeth said, "and most welcome. Now, put on your boots."

  Denise did, with effort. They were a bit small.

  "You could try them without the stockings—that would help," Elsbeth said.

  "But my legs would be cold."

  "Aye, it is a choice, and I leave you to make it. The toes are yours."

  "I will wear the stockings. Mayhap the leather will stretch," Denise said.

  "Very wise," Elsbeth said. "Now, will you assist me in bringing wine and perhaps a small cheese for Emma, or will you hunt for Lord Hugh to show him your green bliaut?"

  Denise chewed her lip in thought and then said, "I want to find Lord Hugh, but the kind thing would be to take care of Lady Emma first."

  Elsbeth said nothing as Denise looked up at her.

  "You will not press me to be kind?" Denise asked.

  "If I have to press you to it, how much of kindness is there in such an act?" Elsbeth answered.

  "Humph," Denise said. "I will assist you with the wine, but I wish now I had never spoken of kindness. I think my mother knew this would happen."

  Elsbeth smiled and laid a hand on the girl's back as they left the chamber. "I think she probably did."

  Chapter 12

  Gautier was sweating heavily, his arm shaking with exhaustion by the time Hugh was finished with him. 'Twas a lesson he had longed to lay upon Gautier's head since first meeting with him, yet he even now wondered at the wisdom of his action. He had listened with a strangled tongue to Gautier's soft insults cast upon the sons of the Levant, to the rumors of their debauchery, their soft lives, their love of luxury. Their baths. These men who had held off the Saracen for fifty years, to be held in scorn by this lordling of a dreary isle? 'Twas intolerable. Yet he had tolerated it.