by Claudia Dain
"Stop, little one," he said, wrapping her in his arms and burying her face in his chest. He smelled like lavender and leather. And man. He smelled like a man. "Stop."
"Stop? I cannot stop. I will not stop. Emma is dead. She is the one who is stopped."
"We all must die, and it is God who appoints our hour."
Elsbeth pulled slowly out of his arms and continued across the bailey.
"Elsbeth?" he said, walking just behind her like mud she could not shake off her skirts. "Elsbeth, you know that as well as I. This lies with God, not with you."
Aye, but it had not been God who had held Emma while she writhed in unrelieved pain. It had been Elsbeth.
He followed her up the stair and through the hall, quiet for the time, and up the inner stair to the chamber she was forced to share with him. Someone had left a pile of clean lamb's wool and linen for her. Someone had also emptied her bloody bucket of stained linen and water.
"I thought you would have need of more," he said when he saw her looking at the fabric.
"You did this?"
"Aye," he said.
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I thought you would have need. I am here to meet your needs, Elsbeth."
"I can see to my own needs," she said. "And I can see to them privately."
Hugh smiled and ran a hand over her head, smoothing her hair. "Did you know that your hair curls around your brow when it rains? I wonder if your hair would be as straight as a lance in Jerusalem."
"Will we ever know?"
Hugh started and then laughed softly at her. She did not laugh with him.
"Why should you not see Jerusalem? It is my home." He said it very nicely, very sweetly. But he would not look into her eyes, and her question was not answered.
"Aye, it is your home, yet England is mine. Tell me, my lord; we serve different kings in differing lands, how did you come to claim a wife in chilly England? How did you come to me?"
"I came to you on angel's wings, Elsbeth, guided by God Himself."
"A pretty answer," she said. "Yet not an answer. Let me ask another question, my lord. Where will we live?"
"Where would you like to live?" he asked, feeing her, yet looking at her hair, not into her eyes. Hiding.
"I would like to live in Sunnandune, my home. I have longed for it far longer than you have longed for distant Jerusalem."
"How long has it been since you slept within Sunnandune's embrace?" he asked gently, his face mirroring the compassion in his voice most perfectly.
"A decade, my lord. A long decade. I was just a small child, of fewer years than Denise is now, yet I long for my home as you long for yours. I ask you again, my lord, where shall we abide? With your king or mine?"
Always he spoke as if this marriage were a thing to be grasped and cherished, yet never did he speak of where they would live. Would he leave Baldwin? Nay, she could not see it. And she would not leave Sunnandune. Never would she relinquish the only home she had ever dreamed of. So she would stay at Sunnandune and he would run off to Jerusalem. Not a bad bargain, if she could only get him to speak of these things. Let them speak of this and not of his coming to her on angel's wings. She was no child. She did not need the comforting lie of empty flattery.
He did not answer; nay, he was spared an answer by the running arrival of Denise, with Raymond hot behind her.
"My lord!" she cried, wrapping her arms about his legs. "My lord, I will not go!"
"Where will you not go?" he asked, unleashing her arms and taking her hands in his. He looked down at her with tenderness and good heart. Of course with good heart, Elsbeth thought; had he not Denise to thank for her distraction?
"She will not go to the solar," Raymond said. "I have told her that is where all ladies must abide."
"Aye, it is where ladies spend their days," Hugh agreed. "What is amiss in that, Denise?"
"I do not want to," she said.
"A life is not constructed of wants, Denise," Elsbeth said. "Best to learn that early." As she had.
Hugh looked up at Elsbeth, his eyes soft and warm. "Let her stay," he said, speaking to Raymond. "If that is your will?" he asked Elsbeth.
With Emma gone, the matter of Denise was in her hands now, the girl her charge until another fostering was arranged for her. Yet Elsbeth would leave Warkham in a matter of days, if she followed her will. What Hugh's will was she did not know, but this was a way to find out what he had planned for her.
"Denise will need a new fostering," she said. "I will take charge of her until she is away from Warkham, or until I am away from Warkham. How long will that be, my lord?"
"I know nothing of her fostering," he said, "That is for a future time. For now, can she not be released from her bondage to the solar? Is it in you to grant her that freedom?"
How carefully he phrased it. How well he strung his words. How impossible he made it for her to do any but his will. He even made it so that she wanted what he wanted. How that a man could so form her to his will, making her the vessel for his desires? Ardeth had been right about that. Ardeth had been right about all.
Yet one desire he would not slake on her. Her blood still flowed, and in that blood was her deliverance and her salvation. For a time. In the time given to her, she must accomplish much. There was no time for delay or hesitation.
"You are freed from the walls of the solar, Denise," she said, looking into Hugh's green eyes. Hugh smiled his approval; it was the smile of a victor, and she felt resistance harden into resentment. "You will stay at my side. I will be your companion, teaching you what I know until another house is arranged."
Hugh's smile dimmed, and she smiled. Denise would be her shadow. Hugh and his torments would fade into nothing with Denise ever at her side.
"Surely—" he began.
"Surely such a small child, who has so recently lost the mother of her fostering, needs another woman now? Just for now," she said, pressing the word back upon him like a weight of stone.
"Just for now," he said, smiling grimly and shaking his head at her.
"Now is all that concerns me," she said, smiling slightly.
"Aye, I understand that very well," he said. "Raymond! Take my lady's small companion to the hall and make certain she has some ale and cheese. Surely her need for sustenance is great."
"I am not hungry," Denise said. "I want to stay with you." She pressed her face into his legs, burying herself in the tall strength of him.
"But I would stay with my lady," Hugh said, looking a bit frantic.
"But her need is so great and mine is so small," Elsbeth said, grinning in pure victory. "Surely you must see to her. Just for now."
"You put much reliance on 'now,' my little wife. I think you will find it will not support you for long."
"Yet long enough," she said softly. "And for now, you have won at least one heart in England. Have a care with it. She adores you."
"All hearts that I win into my keeping I treat with care," Hugh said, looking deep into her eyes.
"I am sure Denise is relieved to hear it," she said. "And now, I must encourage you all to leave."
Hugh smiled slightly, a crooked smile that went all the way to his eyes. "Come, Denise, let us see if Raymond has my sword sharpened. I would test it on something, for I find my blood is up."
Aye, it would be. She had thwarted him for the moment, and he could fault her not. This battle between them had been too much of victory for him and too much of torment for her. Denise in her adoration would tilt the scales in her favor.
They went down the stairs, a noisy trio, Denise talking happily, her every wish made real. Elsbeth did not linger to listen at the door. Hugh's blood may have been up, his sword hard and in need, but hers was flowing down.
She could not have been happier.
* * *
"But you said you would fight," Denise said. "I want to see you fight."
They had left the tower and were in the bailey. The sky was the color of charcoal, the warm gold of autu
mn earth a blanket of color at their feet. The trees were tawny spires thrust against the heavy sky, and the stones of the curtain walls gleamed pale in the spotty light. It would rain. Again.
"Would you have me fight in the rain?" Hugh said.
"Do knights only fight when the weather is fair?" Denise asked, her hand in his.
If the truth be told, he feared he held her heart as well. Somehow, he had won himself a very small, very lonely damsel. The wrong damsel. Yet he could but smile at Elsbeth's maneuvering. She was an adversary most resourceful, most resilient. He had not thought it possible for a woman to resist for so long with such heated ardor beating against her resolve. England truly did birth steely women. Though he had won Denise easily enough.
"In Jerusalem, the weather is always fair," Raymond said.
"Do you only fight in Jerusalem?" Denise asked, still looking up at Hugh.
"God willing," Hugh said on a chuckle. "The best fights are in the holy land, where the fighting is all of God and for God."
"Then God likes it when you fight," she said as they crossed the bailey to the armory.
"Yea, for I fight for His land, His home," Hugh said.
"I thought God lived in heaven," she said.
"Jerusalem is the home of God's son," Raymond said. "Do you know nothing of the Scriptures?"
"I know enough," she bit back. "Father Godfrey said so."
"An English priest," Raymond muttered.
"Are the priests of Outremer any better?" she said, her voice rising to match her anger.
"If Father Godfrey is content with your spiritual condition, then none shall gainsay him." Hugh said, giving Raymond a censorious look.
"Aye, listen to your priest," Raymond said, refusing to look at the girl.
"I shall," she said, ignoring him equally.
They entered the dark bastion of the armory, a chamber of stone and weapons, weapons that glinted with purpose and power even in the rapidly foiling light.
"There are the swords," Denise said, pointing. "You had best be about your duty to your lord," Denise said to Raymond.
"I know my duty," Raymond snapped. "I need no child to—"
"I am no child!"
"Ha," he said, his shout of derision loud within the stone. "You are all child, all mouth, all trouble."
"I am not! Lord Hugh likes me!"
"Aye, I do," Hugh said, stepping between them, shoving Raymond toward the swords with a scowl. "I like you exceedingly well. As I also like Raymond. I value him. He is my squire. I cannot allow you to berate him."
"Then I will not," she said. "Because you ask it. But only because you ask it. I do not like him."
"And I do not like you!" Raymond said, spinning around. "We have much to do here, and we do not need a child of two toddling at our heels!"
"Raymond!" Hugh said, his voice thunderous. "Enough."
Denise stood her ground as she faced Raymond, but her eyes held the smallest and most proud of tears at their corners.
"Aye, enough," Raymond said, breathing hard. "I forget myself, my lord. Forgive me."
"Done," Hugh said. "But hold your tongue and your impatience. All will be well if you do this."
"Aye, my lord," Raymond said, lifting a sword to hand to Hugh.
Hugh took the sword and weighed the balance of it in his hand. Denise was all but ignored. In fact, she was completely ignored.
"I forgive you, too. But only because it is my Christian duty to forgive up to seventy times seven. But I am counting," she said ominously.
"Denise..." Hugh warned, looking askance at her.
"Count as high as you can," Raymond said. "We will be gone before you can even count to ten."
"You will be gone?" she asked, looking hard at Hugh. "But where are you going?"
It was not a question Hugh was eager to answer. And Raymond knew it.
"Did you think Warkham was mine?" Hugh asked, evading her question with one of his own.
"Nay, but you are wed to Elsbeth," Denise said.
"And Sunnandune is Elsbeth's," Hugh said.
"Then you go to Sunnandune?" she asked.
Hugh held his tongue, throwing Raymond a look of deep irritation. Whate're was said to Denise would be repeated; she had neither the skill nor the desire to hold her tongue. He knew that well enough. A lie would be told as quickly as the truth, and he wanted neither to be bandied about Warkham's walls. This questioning was too close upon Elsbeth's own. What was it about women that made the place of their abiding of such devoted interest?
When his answer faltered, she asked, "But do you not have your own holding? Where is it? Will you go there soon? Will Elsbeth go with you?"
"Is Elsbeth not my wife?" he asked in answer.
"Yea." she said.
“Then that is your answer," he said. "Come, Raymond, give me a fight to test my skill and my nerve. I have much anger in me of a sudden."
"Aye, my lord," Raymond said, hanging his head in expectation of what was to come.
"I shall come with you," Denise said.
"Nay, you shall not," Hugh said, "and I will brook no argument on this. Go instead and find my lady. Give her aid, if you can. And if you cannot, give her comfort and cheer. Even if it be in the solar."
He was past indulgence with her and she read him well enough not to argue his edict. Denise turned, her shoulders slumped in resignation, and left the armory. She was a small weight of disappointment and depression, casting a heavy shadow upon the earth as she passed over it. Yet she did pass, leaving them alone. 'Twas all he wished for, at the moment.
"You spoke amiss and too clearly," Hugh said, the sword an easy weight in his hand. "There is no excuse for such laxity."
"Aye, my lord. I do know it. It is only that she pressed me—"
"She is a child! If you cannot control her and yourself with her, then you are not made of the stuff of knights and will remain a squire all your life. Is this your father's dream for you? Is this your dream for yourself?"
"Nay, my lord," Raymond said, his eyes earnest and shining. "I will control my tongue and my ways. Such will not happen again. I will not betray, even to the child Denise."
"Especially to the child Denise," Hugh said. "She will be ever under Elsbeth's hand now, and Elsbeth must not think of where we will dwell or when we shall leave Warkham. That is not to my purpose, as you know better than any. None shall hinder me in my task here. Including you, Raymond," Hugh said, his fierceness showing through his amiable charm like a ray of shining light through dark cloud. "Consider that."
"My lord," Raymond said, kneeling, "I am your man as you are Baldwin's. I will not speak amiss. I will not betray. I will not hinder."
"Good," Hugh said, clasping his shoulder in forgiveness. "Now, give me the fight I yearn for. My blood is high and hot, and I may slake my needs on none here but you, Raymond. Only you have that high honor."
Raymond smiled and bowed to his lord, obedient to his every will.
* * *
He was waiting for her in her chamber. But then, were not all the chambers of Warkham his? He could go where he would; there was no lock against the lord of Warkham.
She stepped into the room cautiously. Her father's temper was uncertain, and she had learned to walk carefully when walking in his way.
"You have denied him," he said. He was leaning against the bed, his arms crossed and his legs out before him. A most casual pose, yet nothing her father did was casual.
"I have not," she said. "I am in flux. I am unfit and unable, nothing more."
"Unfit?" he said, smiling. "You never could be unfit, Daughter. You are all that a wife should be. I am most proud of the woman you have become."
"Thank you, Father," she said, letting his words wash over her like water, sliding, smooth, and then gone.
"He is a well-favored man," he said. "And a fighter of some skill, I can attest."
"You fought with him?"
"Yea, and took his measure. Or perhaps he was taking mine," he said easily.
"But what was certain was that he was a man in need of a maid. He has needs, Daughter, and you must meet them."
"I will. When I can," she said, keeping the open door at her back.
"You can now. It can be done," he said. "If your mother were here, she could tell you."
"Yet my mother is not here," Elsbeth said abruptly. "And I will not go against church doctrine. Now is not my time."
"Yet what of his time? The time is hard and hot for him, Elsbeth," he said, grinning at her. "Does the church not say that a woman must give herself to the man who claims her? He has given you his name. It is your part to give him your body."
"I cannot."
"Will not says it plainer," he said, standing suddenly. He was a tall man, tall and dark and still in the prime days of his strength, or so it seemed to her. "Think, Elsbeth," he said. "Think what will serve you best."
"I know what will serve me best," she said grimly.
Gautier laughed softly and shook his head at her. "I know what you would say, Daughter, yet the contracts were signed before I knew of your passion for the cloister. What could I do? I would not make an enemy of Baldwin and his liege man over a simple betrothal. There is no wisdom in that course. Nay, I was trapped as surely as you. He stood in my very hall and heard you beg for release from the married state."
He would remind her of that.
"I did not know he was there. I did not know of the betrothal," she said.
"As I did not know how a betrothal to Hugh of Jerusalem would distress you," he said. "We were companions in our ignorance. Yet now you are his wife. And being his wife, you must perform your wifely function. If you would ever see the inside of an abbey, you must gain his goodwill."
Aye, she knew it. What did he tell her that she did not know?
