Fire Song (30 page)

He made no move toward her. “Very well. Now you will come with me back into the hall and give Nan her orders. I will endeavor to find her a husband.”

Kassie followed him, her thoughts in a whirl. Why did he even bother? Why was it so important to him that she enjoy coupling? She did not understand him.

Nan gasped in disbelief, her eyes pleading on Graelam’s face. She pleased him, the whoreson, she thought venomously, and now he was choosing his skinny wife over her! It occurred to her that she had pushed Kassia too hard, challenged her too openly. She saw it in the eyes of the other servants. They were enjoying her downfall, rot them! She had to speak to Graelam alone.

Graelam took Kassia’s hand and drew her with him to the inner bailey. “You will begin to fulfill your bargain this night, wife.” He squeezed her hand slightly, and left her to stare after him, gooseflesh rising on her arms.

Later Graelam watched Sir Walter wash down his head and torso at the well. “All goes well, Walter?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“I wish you to ride with three men tomorrow morning to the demesne farm that lies due west three miles. The farmer’s name is Robert, I believe, and he has recently lost his wife. I want you to bring him to Wolffeton.”

Walter readily agreed, not caring why Graelam wanted the farmer brought to Wolffeton. He only wished he could travel farther than the three miles, toward Dienwald de Fortenberry’s stronghold.

Graelam decided wisely not to speak to Nan until the following day. He had no real faith that Kassia would hold to the bargain. He felt nothing in particular about Nan or the fact that she carried his child. He would provide support, of course, and pay the farmer well to marry her. It was his second bastard. The first, a girl, had died in her first year of life. His father had bragged about the wenches he had gotten with child, and claimed more than a dozen children. However, Graelam had never seen any resemblance to himself in any of the peasants around Wolffeton. He thought of Kassia’s small belly filled with his child and felt an intense jolt of pleasure. I am becoming a half-wit, he told himself, and roared furiously at one of his men-at-arms who had bungled his lance.

“Your hair is growing quickly, my baby,” Etta said as she brushed through the shiny tresses. “I believe it is
thicker than before your illness. Still, you should not wear a wimple or even a snood.”

Kassia looked into the polished silver mirror. Her chestnut hair fell in soft curls nearly to her shoulders. “Aye,” she said in a clipped voice, “I begin to look like a female again.”
In just a few minutes, I will have to pretend that I like being one!
Oddly enough, she remembered how she had liked her husband touching her and kissing her, until he had hurt her. Until he had shown how much he despised her. How could anything be different now?

“Your lord dealt well with that little slut, Nan,” Etta continued as she straightened the chamber from Kassia’s bath. “You will no longer have to put up with her tantrums.”

“No, I will not,” Kassia said.

“I have also heard that the new knight, Sir Walter, is not as popular with the men as was Sir Guy.”

“Where did you hear that?” Kassia asked sharply.

Etta shrugged. “From one of the men, likely. I do not remember. I find him a cold lout, and a secretive one.”

“I wonder what Graelam thinks of him,” Kassia said, more to herself than to her old nurse.

“Your lord is an astute man. If Sir Walter is not what he appears, he will soon be ousted.”

“I trust you are right, Etta.”

“Right about what?” Graelam asked as he came into the chamber.

Etta replied readily enough, “Right about Sir Walter.”

“Perhaps,” Kassia essayed bravely, “he is not what he appears to be.”

Graelam’s brows drew together in a mighty frown. “Has he bothered you?”

Kassia blinked at him. “Nay, my lord, it is just that I do not completely trust him. He reminds me somehwat of Geoffrey.”

“I see,” Graelam said. He dismissed Etta and stood quietly watching his wife fidget about the room, her hands going again and again to the sash at her waist.

“Are you still of the same mind, my lady?” he asked quietly.

She swallowed and nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“I promised you once that I would not force you again. You still believe that you will have to bear pain and pretend to enjoy me, do you not?”

“I have known nothing else,” she said, her eyes focused on her bare feet, sinking down into the soft carpet.

“You will tonight.”

“I . . . I will try, Graelam.”

There was a soft rap on the door and Graelam opened it. Evian handed him a tray upon which stood wine and two goblets.

“You do not have to make me drunk, my lord!”

He smiled at her. “Nay, but I do think you need to relax a bit, my lady. Here.” He handed her a goblet of wine, then poured himself one.

She sipped at the cool sweet wine slowly, wondering vaguely how it slipped down her clogged throat. She felt her face grow warm as she downed a second goblet. Everything seemed softer, her tongue loosened, and she spoke her thoughts aloud. “Why is it important to you that I . . . that I like coupling with you?”

“I do not want my child conceived in fear,” he said, knowing he wasn’t being honest with her.

“Does it matter?”

“To me it does.” He did not want to probe his own
reasons, and said abruptly, “Enough wine, Kassia. Get into bed now.”

She obeyed him, forcing herself not to burrow under the covers.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as he quickly undressed. Indeed, he thought, why did it matter what she felt? She was but a woman, and his wife. But it did matter, and for whatever reason, he was pleased that he had thought of a way to ensure her compliance. He saw her face pale when he eased into the bed beside her. She thinks I will savage her now, he thought. He smiled wryly, stretched upon his back, and pillowed his head with his arms. After a moment he asked, “Did Nan do your bidding?”

“Aye, but unwillingly.”

Her reply was barely above a strangled whisper. It was time, he decided, to see if she would hold to the bargain. “Kassia, come here.”

He did not look at her, but felt the bed sink down as she moved toward him. “Now,” he said quietly, turning his head to look at her, “I want you to kiss me.”

Kassia frowned a moment, wondering at him. He hadn’t moved. His hands were still pillowed beneath his head. Slowly she rose on her elbow, leaned down, and quickly pecked him on his mouth.

“Excellent,” he said gravely. Still he did not move. “Now I want you to kiss me again, only this time, part your lips just a bit.”

He felt her warm breath, sweet from the wine, as her lips brushed his mouth again. He looked up into her eyes and smiled. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

She shook her head.

“I want to feel your tongue on my mouth. It will not hurt, I promise you.”

As Kassia, filled with embarrassment and wariness, did as he bid her, she became aware, very slowly, of her body pressed against him. He is so large, she thought vaguely, for the first time feeling his tongue lightly touch hers. She drew back an instant, but as he made no move, joined her tongue with his. It is the wine that is making me feel warm, she thought. She was unaware that her hand now rested on his chest, and her fingers were tentatively winding in his thick mat of hair.

When she raised her head, she was panting slightly, and there was a look of profound worry in her eyes. He wanted to laugh and at the same time to crush her against him, but he did neither. “Again, Kassia,” he said softly.

He allowed her to do just as she wished, and was delighted when she deepened the kiss, her hand now on his shoulder, her fingers digging into his flesh. He felt her soft breasts pressing against his chest, and wondered if he could control himself. Very slowly he brought one hand from beneath his head to rest lightly on her back. He felt her start and draw back, wary again. He began to stroke her soft hair, steeling himself against the raging desire she was raising in him.

He thought he would explode when her hand drifted over his chest, downward to his belly.

“Do you like the way I feel?” he asked her, the words warm in her mouth.

He answer was a small gasp as she whipped her hand away. She did not know why she had wanted to touch him. It was as if her body was no longer taking orders from her mind.

“I . . . I do not mind kissing you,” she managed after a breathless moment.

“I am pleased,” he said, hearing the rough huskiness in his voice. St. Peter’s bones, he thought, barely stifling a groan, this was a torture he could never have imagined.

She was kissing his chin now, her fingers sliding beneath his head to bring him closer to her.

When she made another foray into his mouth, he felt her quiver when his tongue touched hers. Her bare thigh was rubbing lightly against his, and he could feel her tentative urgency. If he allowed her to continue, he knew that he would lose control.

He gently brought his other hand down and clasped her shoulder, pushing her away from him. “You have done well,” he said, looking closely into her vague eyes. “Go to sleep now, Kassia.”

She stared at him stupidly, aware of the coiling heat in her belly, aware that her breasts felt tingly and swollen, aware that she did not want to stop what she was doing. “I . . . I don’t understand,” she gasped.

“Go to sleep,” he repeated. He pushed her gently away from him and rolled over onto his stomach, his head turned away from her. He knew that she had not moved. He smiled painfully, and added quietly, “I want you to take off your bedrobe. When you become cold during the night, I want you to come to me for warmth. Good night, wife.”

Kassia’s numbed fingers pulled at the belt, flinging it away from her. She slipped out of the bedrobe, and with a deep, confused sigh, curled up on her side. “I will never understand you,” she said into the darkness.

Perhaps, he thought, still striving to calm his breathing, he would never understand himself.

The farmer Robert was delighted with the offer of a new wife. That she carried the lord’s child bothered him not a bit. She was a comely wench and quite young. With the sons she would doubtless bear him, his farm would prosper, and him along with it. As for the lord’s child, that one would be well taken care of. He realized quickly that she was not at all pleased with the prospect of becoming his wife, but he thought tolerantly that would quickly change.

Nan was at first disbelieving, then utterly furious. She shot venomous glances at Kassia, saving her pleading looks for Graelam. But it was all to no avail. As for the farmer, she hated him on sight, though, objectively, he was neither old nor ill-looking.

Wolffeton’s priest, Father Tobias, married the couple with dispatch, and Graelam presented the farmer with a cask of his finest wine, as well as a dowry for Nan.

If Kassia believed Graelam to be rather cold-blooded about casting off his mistress, she had to admit to
overwhelming relief that the girl would be gone. Even during the brief ceremony, she found her thoughts going over and over what had happened the previous night. It both galled and frightened her that she had felt something whilst she had kissed him, something that made her feel very warm and . . . urgent. Yet Graelam had pushed her away. Rejected her. This morning when she had awakened, he was gone, and he had greeted her in the hall as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred between them. For a moment she had felt an overwhelming urge to kick him.

She stood quietly beside him, watching Nan and her new husband ride in an open cart from Wolffeton, the cask of wine set up beside Nan like a plump child. She toyed briefly with the notion that she would tell him the bargain was off. He could no longer threaten her with Nan’s insolence. She bit her tongue. She was no longer certain that she didn’t want the bargain to continue, if continue it would. Why, she berated herself silently, hadn’t she asked her father to explain men to her?

Graelam wished fervently for a fight. His energy was inexhaustible, his mood violent. He would have even welcomed Dienwald de Fortenberry pillaging his lands if only he could meet the man in battle. Since his wish wasn’t to be granted, at least that day, he rode off with a dozen men to the village of Wolffeton, and worked frenetically to finish the defensive wall. He was utterly exhausted when he returned late that afternoon, pleased that he had exorcised his wife from his thoughts during most of the day.

But he didn’t feel as exhausted as he had believed when Kassia entered their bedchamber while he was bathing.

“I have come to assist you, my lord,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. He was relieved that the water level hid his desire from her.

“You may wash my back,” he said abruptly, and leaned forward.

Kassia stared at the broad expanse of back. She could feel the movement of sinewy muscle beneath the bathing cloth. To her surprise, she felt a rising warmth, coming, she believed, directly from her belly.

“What did you do today?” Graelam asked rather desperately, trying to distract himself.

“I have finished your new tunic. I trust you will approve.”

“What about your gown?”

“I will begin it shortly.”

Her hand dipped down below the water toward his hips, and he whipped his head around. “That is enough, Kassia. Go see to our meal.”

He thought he saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes, but it was quickly masked.

“I will be down shortly.”

She nodded, unable to speak, for there was a knot of misery forming in her throat. She left the bedchamber, and severely berated a serving wench when she carelessly dropped a silver platter.

Sir Walter de Grasse turned his gaze again to the raised dais, to Lady Kassia. He sensed her dislike of him, and found it angered him. So proud she was, the lord’s wife, who had willingly taken up with Dienwald de Fortenberry. He had heard the description of the man Edmund she had given her husband in her attempts to appease him. Features the color of coarse sand. Aye, it could be none other than de Fortenberry.
Just how she had managed to meet him was beyond Walter, but he supposed that women were devious and more capable of deceit and cunning than most men believed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on either side of his trencher. Soon, he thought, as soon as he had the opportunity, he would bring de Fortenberry here to Wolffeton. He wondered how the proud Kassia would react when she saw her lover. He frowned a moment, thinking of the men who had professed to believe her unlikely tale. No, he was certain she had lied. He only wondered why Lord Graelam seemed so gentle with her. Had she been his wife, he would have beaten her to death for such an offense.