The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series (45 page)

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Authors: Claudia Dain

BOOK: The Holding - Book 1 in The Medieval Knights Series

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"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 or 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.

She did not look up. She did not stop her prayers. He had not expected such from her. A woman given to prayer would not mark the approach of a man, even though that man be her betrothed.

He watched her as he knelt at her side. There was a strength to her, a clarity of purpose that radiated from her eyes, a resolve that was unusual in a woman. She was small. And she was young. Yet those traits did not diminish her. A woman, this woman, would need her strength for what he planned to do in her life. Nay, he found no fault with Elsbeth. God and Baldwin had chosen well for him.

He bent his head to his own prayers, his words blending with hers to form a strange sort of spiritual song. If she heard it, she gave no sign. He did not think Elsbeth was given to showing signs.

In time, when the candles had burned down, their wax leaving smooth puddles on the floor, their prayers were silenced. Even Elsbeth, it seemed, could not pray all day. At least not while her betrothed waited at her side in her father's chapel.

"I have not yet bathed," she said, staring up at the rood. Christ upon His cross did not look down at them but cast His eyes upward, toward the Father and His reward. A fine lesson for them all in the way a man's eyes should be fixed upon the prize.

"I will wait," Hugh said, studying her profile. Her lips were full and her brow strong, yet her eyes were soft and deep.

The silence stretched out between them, a silence marked by nothing more significant than the sound of the wind in the rafters and the motion of the birds. Still, it was peaceful. Had he been born a woman, he might have found much solace in prayer and continual contemplation. But he was not a woman.

"I was not..." she began and then faltered.

He waited and did not press for more. Let her speak when she had found her words. Such gentle chivalry would go far with her, according to all Gautier had said.

"I did not pray to delay our marriage," she said, her eyes on the floor under her knees.

"I did not think you had. I would never think so ill of you, Elsbeth. I believe you to be a woman who does not give her words to the air, to be snatched off when the wind blows a different course," he said.

She looked up at him then, a fleeting look that showed first her surprise and then her pleasure at his words. Had she heard so few pleasing words in her life that these few would turn her head?

"Do you?" she asked and then turned away from him again, her eyes once more on the rood. "Do you know me so well and so quickly, then? Or do you only hope?"

"Perhaps it is only hope," he said, standing, giving her his arm to assist her.

She laid her hand upon his arm slowly, cautiously. It was their first touch, and well they knew it. Yet it was only a hand upon an arm. Only a hand, yet she hesitated. He could not fathom it. She had seemed more bold than to hesitate at this.

"And perhaps," he continued, taking her hand in his and laying it upon his arm, "perhaps it is that I trust. I trust in God, Elsbeth, as must you. I trust that He has gifted me with a bride who will suit. I trust that our lives will mesh, becoming one, as the Lord God intended. As Adam was given Eve, so I am given you."

Her eyes widened and she snatched back her hand. "Eve sinned grievously. Do not compare me to her, I beseech you. She did not do her husband any good turn that I can see. I would be better."

"It may be so," he said, taking back her hand and holding it in his, "and yet, she was fashioned for him and from him. And she peopled the earth, as God commanded. I find no fault with that."

"You are a strange sort of knight," she said, her dark eyes smoky with wonder.

"I am a knight of the Levant, Elsbeth. That is all I am," he said, meaning every word.