from her so that she might live her new life in poverty of all but spirit. Yet she would not think of that now. It was a gift unlike any other, and she cherished it. Besides, if she managed all well, she could finger her cross in her solitary life in Sunnandune, forgetting the giver while she cherished the gift.
"I rejoice that it finds such favor with you," he said.
"It does. It ever will. I will not forget this gift, my lord."
"Nor the giver?" be said, smiling, going back to his stool.
"How could I forget my first husband?" she said lightly.
"Ah, she wounds," he said, laughing. "Now I am to be the first of many? Yea, you would prick me with my own words, clumsily spoken, haltingly defended."
"You defended yourself very well," she said, coming out of her corner and into the light. Her hand still stroked the cross.
"I am pleased to hear you say so. Am I not a valiant warrior? I have learned to defend and to attack, but never against so soft an adversary and never with only words."
"Say not 'only words,' for words can be a mighty weapon, their meaning sharp and their weight heavy."
"Aye, 'tis so, yet never would I have my words wound you, Elsbeth," he said, lifting his hauberk from him, leaving his torso bare. "Say I have not."
"You have not."
He had not. He was a man, a mere man; he could not touch her with words. Yet her thoughts trailed away to nothing as he stripped off his clothing.
She could only stare, his words and hers a dim buzzing in the corners of her thoughts. He was a mighty man, wide and well muscled and as golden as her cross. Here the depth of difference between a woman and a man was revealed. Two, separate, as God had created them in His garden, yet made to come together. Out of man a woman had been formed. How they were to come together again she could not see, though Isabel had explained all very well and very enthusiastically. Yet he was too large, too strange. There was no place in her for him.
Yet was it not in every man to find his place in a woman?
But he would find no place in her. She bled, blocking him, shutting him out. She bled, and, as Christ had bled upon His cross, it was her salvation.
Her mother would have been most pleased.
Chapter 6
He had wooed her with soft words and gentleness and gifts. She knew him now as she had not known him at their joining. Her fears were lessened, her tongue loosened, her humor on the rise.
It was time they were to bed.
"Come, Elsbeth," he said. "Let us lie together."
"I have explained—"
"Keep your chemise and your virginity," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "I give them to you for this night and the next, for as long as your courses shall continue. Look well now, wife, for you shall see the man who claims you for his own."
He slid his braes off, baring himself to her. He was on the rise as well, his manhood high and hard with no release to be had in this chamber.
It would be a long, cold night.
Her eyes were on him and he rose higher. Let her look her fill. She needed to learn him; 'twould ease whatever maiden fears had settled in her heart.
"Come, be not afraid. I will not harm you, nor hurt you."
He stood before the fire, the warmth a welcome friend, and drew her to him. She was small; he could have lifted her with one hand or hidden her complete behind his back, which he would not do. He was saving the fire for himself. Elsbeth seemed to feel none of the chill of the room. Northern blood ran hot, mayhap. He was eager to find the truth of that.
"You are very hot," she said, echoing his thoughts. "Why do you say you are so cold?"
She stood before him, a hand's breadth away, her breasts a dark weight he could see and almost feel through her thin chemise.
"I am hot only when you are near," he said. "You are the fire that warms me."
"I am not," she said, looking down at the floor. "I am no man's fire."
"You are mine," he said, lifting her face with his hands. Her eyes were dark pools of confusion and caution—a
"I rejoice that it finds such favor with you," he said.
"It does. It ever will. I will not forget this gift, my lord."
"Nor the giver?" be said, smiling, going back to his stool.
"How could I forget my first husband?" she said lightly.
"Ah, she wounds," he said, laughing. "Now I am to be the first of many? Yea, you would prick me with my own words, clumsily spoken, haltingly defended."
"You defended yourself very well," she said, coming out of her corner and into the light. Her hand still stroked the cross.
"I am pleased to hear you say so. Am I not a valiant warrior? I have learned to defend and to attack, but never against so soft an adversary and never with only words."
"Say not 'only words,' for words can be a mighty weapon, their meaning sharp and their weight heavy."
"Aye, 'tis so, yet never would I have my words wound you, Elsbeth," he said, lifting his hauberk from him, leaving his torso bare. "Say I have not."
"You have not."
He had not. He was a man, a mere man; he could not touch her with words. Yet her thoughts trailed away to nothing as he stripped off his clothing.
She could only stare, his words and hers a dim buzzing in the corners of her thoughts. He was a mighty man, wide and well muscled and as golden as her cross. Here the depth of difference between a woman and a man was revealed. Two, separate, as God had created them in His garden, yet made to come together. Out of man a woman had been formed. How they were to come together again she could not see, though Isabel had explained all very well and very enthusiastically. Yet he was too large, too strange. There was no place in her for him.
Yet was it not in every man to find his place in a woman?
But he would find no place in her. She bled, blocking him, shutting him out. She bled, and, as Christ had bled upon His cross, it was her salvation.
Her mother would have been most pleased.
Chapter 6
He had wooed her with soft words and gentleness and gifts. She knew him now as she had not known him at their joining. Her fears were lessened, her tongue loosened, her humor on the rise.
It was time they were to bed.
"Come, Elsbeth," he said. "Let us lie together."
"I have explained—"
"Keep your chemise and your virginity," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "I give them to you for this night and the next, for as long as your courses shall continue. Look well now, wife, for you shall see the man who claims you for his own."
He slid his braes off, baring himself to her. He was on the rise as well, his manhood high and hard with no release to be had in this chamber.
It would be a long, cold night.
Her eyes were on him and he rose higher. Let her look her fill. She needed to learn him; 'twould ease whatever maiden fears had settled in her heart.
"Come, be not afraid. I will not harm you, nor hurt you."
He stood before the fire, the warmth a welcome friend, and drew her to him. She was small; he could have lifted her with one hand or hidden her complete behind his back, which he would not do. He was saving the fire for himself. Elsbeth seemed to feel none of the chill of the room. Northern blood ran hot, mayhap. He was eager to find the truth of that.
"You are very hot," she said, echoing his thoughts. "Why do you say you are so cold?"
She stood before him, a hand's breadth away, her breasts a dark weight he could see and almost feel through her thin chemise.
"I am hot only when you are near," he said. "You are the fire that warms me."
"I am not," she said, looking down at the floor. "I am no man's fire."
"You are mine," he said, lifting her face with his hands. Her eyes were dark pools of confusion and caution—a
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