Claudia Dain (54 page)

"Meet your betrothed, Elsbeth," Gautier said into the silence that had laid hold of her heart. "Meet Hugh of Jerusalem."

Hugh of Jerusalem. Who had not heard the tales of him? This man before her eyes was squire Ulrich's most favored topic, if William le Brouillard and Rowland the Dark were discounted. He was ever close to the side of the very King of Jerusalem, Baldwin III. A man, a Christian knight, born in the city of God. Could a man be any but holy with such a birthplace and such a calling? It was a match to make a maid's heart sing for joy, if the maid knew the tune to call a husband to her side.

She did not. She had no voice to sing for any husband; there was no such melody in her, and she had no will to learn. She knew only how to pray and in her praying, to plead for release from the married state and from the grip of her father.

And Hugh, not God, had heard her. He had heard her plead for an escape from this very marriage.

Nay, not plead, only tender a reason most reasonable as to why she should be free of betrothal. And that spoken before she knew the name of her betrothed. Or his look.

She faced him, this man who would be hers, and met his gaze. He studied her as she studied him, and she saw no condemnation in his eyes. She was no beauty, that was certain. She could not hope to match him in that. His look was solemn, not amused and yet not angry. She thanked him for that in her heart, that he should not take offense or unkind pleasure in the role her father had thrust her into. She was no prophet who could look about a hall and discern her husband at a glance. Nay, not even by the tumbled beating of her heart.

Her heart tumbled now. He was so very beautiful.

His hair was blond, golden from the sun for the roots were darker, almost brown. His eyes were the green of pine boughs in the sunlight, glistening and bright. He was tall, as she had known he must be from the tales of him; his tunic was the white linen of the Levant, with the emblem of the holy cross sewn near the region of his heart.

He was beauty and righteous holiness—twin temptations to which she must not submit, the very temptations to call most loudly to her heart. Her father had known it would be so. He knew her. He knew what would appeal to her, his daughter of no beauty and striving holiness. This man was all she could ever want. Her father must have known that well. This husband, this betrothed, would require a new kind of strength, a new type of serenity to keep him in his place. To keep herself intact.

For a moment, looking at him as the torchlight picked out the shining strands of his golden hair and the clean lines of his features, she wondered if she could do it. And then the moment passed and she knew she could. He was but a man, after all. Ardeth had taught her all there was to know of men and their ways.

She could not fail and would not. She faced Hugh of Jerusalem with her resolve in firm possession of her heart. She would not fill to a lovely face and form. She would not. She had more strength in her than that, and more faith.

"My daughter Elsbeth," Gautier said, introducing them finally. "She will not disappoint you, I think," he said to Hugh.

"Nay, I cannot think that she would," Hugh said. His voice was low and soft, like the wind in the trees after a rain. "Greetings, lady," he said.

"My lord," she said, lowering her eyes to the floor in a calculated display of feminine modesty. Even his boots were beautiful.

"Your daughter does not need time to adjust herself to this newfound marriage you have contracted for her?" Hugh asked her father.

"Nay, my daughter is adept at obedience, as all daughters should be," Gautier said.

Elsbeth raised her eyes and looked at her father. Yea, she heard his warning. She must be obedient if she was ever to find her way to the cloister. And Hugh of Jerusalem was now the door through which she must pass to reach it; he, as her husband, would either allow or disallow it. Her task was before her.

Hugh must allow her to find her way to sanctuary, the sanctuary of a world of women, their hearts and minds, their very bodies, given to God. If he found her unfit to be a wife, her hours devoted to prayer, her every thought and word given to God, he would release her. His repudiation of her was her dearest prayer. She would rather be free to live in peace at Sunnandune than in the cloister, but either would serve. She only wanted to be free of him.

What man wanted a nun for a wife? What man wanted a wife he could not possess? How she would escape his possession, his invasion into her body, she did not yet know. Yet she did know God, and He was able to keep her safe. Somehow, she would be safe.

"Then I follow your word, my lord," Hugh said, turning away from her completely to face Gautier, "for you know the heart of my betrothed better than I. I would cause her no dismay."

"You will not, but ask her yourself, if it please you," Gautier said.

Hugh took her hand in his and she let him. She was obedient to his will, showing them all the perfection of her submission, trying even now to find her way to the place where no man could find her.

"Show me your eyes, Elsbeth, for I would read your heart in them," Hugh said.

Her first act of obedience, and she felt the struggle within herself to perform it. He was too beautiful and the temptation to fall into him would be too great. Yet God was greater still.

She obeyed.

"Our path is marked for us, lady," he said, "but I would not have you stumble upon it, not being ready for the journey every marriage surely is. Would you wait, Lady Elsbeth, or will you trust that my arm is strong enough to sustain you, even as my heart yearns to fulfill our pledge? I stand upon your will, knowing that the God we both serve will guide you."

Perfect. Had any knight ever shown such well-balanced blending of courtesy, chivalry, and holy ardor? Nay, not even Ulrich in all his impassioned wooing had spoken so skillfully.

Yet she would not let a perfect speech from a flawless face move her, at least not overmuch. She must persuade him to relinquish her, she would be no man's wife. But he could not relinquish what he did not hold, and so her answer was clear. As clear as it was that her father would never let her remain unwed. If she could manage for Hugh to repudiate her, then Sunnandune would still be hers. If she could manage to convince Hugh that she was better suited to the cloister, then he would release her into it. Either way, she was free of the control of men. Either path led to freedom. Either path led away from her father.

"You are kind, my lord, to stand upon the will of a woman. Thank you for that courtesy." If her father heard a rebuke in that for him, let him. "I hear no call to wait, my father's will and God's being plainly heard. We marry at your will, the day and hour in your hands, as surely as my life resides in God's."

"Did I not tell you that you would suit each other well?" Gautier said.

"Aye, and you spoke true," Hugh answered. "Elsbeth is a comely damsel, her heart and mind set upon God's holy will. No man could ask for more of any wife."

"Aye, he can," Gautier said, grinning. "That her womb bear him many sons to carry his name and his blood forward. That is the best reward for a man in this life."

"In this life, perhaps," Elsbeth said with the smallest whisper of rebellion.

"My reward rests in God's hands," Hugh said, looking down at her, his expression solemn. "Let Him give me what He will. Or will not. I am content within His grasp."

It was a perfect answer. She could not have dared even to dream for more. She had no words to speak against the match or the man.

A most troublesome beginning to a marriage she did not want.

* * *

It was a marriage he wanted with all his heart, though he doubted Gautier knew it. Which was all to the good. No man would be invited into the dark and shadowed corners of his heart, nor any woman, even if she be a wife.

Hugh sat next to his future father-in-law in the vast, dark, drafty hall Gautier seemed so proud of. What was more, he was drinking bad wine, though Gautier did not seem to mark it. A most strange place, this England. He had heard the stories of it all his life, but he had not quite been prepared for the reality of the place.

It was damp. All over, it was damp. Within and without. A cold damp that settled in the very pit of his stomach and that no fire could burn away. And the sun was a weak thing here, shrouded in cloud and fog and mist and defeated by them all. He longed for the strong white light of Jerusalem and found it only in his dreams.

Ah, well, he had his duty to perform in England and then he was off, home again, to the land of God Himself. He would find solace in his dreams until then.

Elsbeth had gone to pray before the marriage ceremony and to bathe, rather like a man performing the vigil that marked the beginning of his knighthood. Well, and he could see the reason in it. Her life was about to change, and there would be no going back. Aye, let her pray through her fears; he would not condemn her.

According to her father, and even Lord Richard, she was a woman much given to prayer. He could see no fault in it. A woman's life was a secluded one. If she marked the hours by attending the Mass, sending her Latin heavenward, he would only praise her.

Aye, 'twould be a fair marriage, each of them content in getting what they wanted. And was that not the root of contentment? That she was comely was a boon unasked for; perhaps all the sweeter for that. She had the dark took of a woman of the Levant, dark of hair and eye, though her skin was the color of rich cream. Her features were bold and full and her gaze direct, which was not a feature of a woman reared in the land of Christ. He did not fault her for it. These Northern women did not have the same ways as the women of his own life.

He was very far from home, but it did not serve to dwell upon it. He was halfway to winning his goal; he dare not falter now by falling into dreaming of home.

Turning to his host, he said, "How did your daughter come by her name? It is new to me," he asked Gautier, pulling himself out of his longings.

"She comes from a royal Saxon house," Gautier answered. "Her mother, Ardeth, was descended from a Saxon king. I married her to firm my bond to this isle and to gain good land. A wise marriage. Too bad she did not live to see Elsbeth wed."

"When did she die?"

"Two years past. She died in childbed, with Elsbeth at her side," Gautier said, licking chicken fat from his fingertips. "I married again and she is plumped, so all is well. Five sons I have, a rich legacy for any man."

"Aye, that is true. You are rich in sons. And in daughters. Elsbeth is lovely."

"It is good you think so," Gautier said. "A man finds pleasure in a pleasing face... and between soft thighs."

Hugh smiled and drank again of his wine, holding his tongue, keeping the peace.

"You do not wish to break free of the match, even knowing that she would prefer the convent?" Gautier asked.

Hugh smiled and set down his wine. The tablecloth was frayed and thin, much like the wine. "I do not fault her for having dreams as to how she would spend her life, especially a life devoted to prayer. She will make me a fine wife. I will not break free."

"Nor will she," Gautier said.

Hugh only nodded.

"You can have her today. I give her to you. The contract is written, the priest waits only upon my word," Gautier said.

He was a most anxious father, most anxious and eager to give his daughter into marriage. Still, Elsbeth was of an age to marry and Hugh eager to take her to wife. There was no cause to delay.

"I am ready. When she comes, I will take her. Let me only say my own prayers to my divine creator before I join myself to your daughter. I would come to her clean of all sin," Hugh said.

"As you say," Gautier said. "Go to your prayers. I will not hinder you nor any man in his converse with God. Would that more men were of your temper, Hugh. The world we live in would have a different shading than it does now."

"Aye, it may be so," Hugh said, rising from his seat. There was a smudge of dirt on his white tunic from the dusty underside of the table. He turned his eyes from it and smiled his departure at Gautier.

Gautier smiled to watch him go and stroked the dog pressed against his side with negligent affection.

* * *

The chapel of Gautier's holding was against the east wall, a squat and dark building of stone and mortar scoured by wind and mossy with time. It looked like a stable. Hugh sighed and let his eyes find instead the beauty of the place. There was some small patch of brilliance, if one looked long and hard. He had. He had been in Warkham for a sennight, awaiting the arrival of his betrothed. The chapel did boast a splendid floor of cut stone and shimmering quartz laid in a design that awkwardly mimicked the brightly colored mosaics of the Levant. Still, it had a certain severe beauty, and he let the sight wash through him.

The chamber was quiet and still, the birds of winter cooing softly in the rafters, the air pleasantly scented by beeswax candles. It was a place to find God, to hear His voice amid the clamor of living. It was where he found Elsbeth.

She knelt in the nave, her dark hair a shining wave that flowed over her back. Her spine was straight and her head bent to her prayers. The sound of her voice was a soft murmur in the air, as pleasant and soothing as birdsong. He approached her softly, his boots silently marking his passage over the stone floor.