Fire Song (33 page)

She pushed Bluebell into a gallop, leaving Sir Walter and his three men behind her. At the protected cove, she dismounted and stared out over the churning water. A summer storm was building to the north. It would strike tonight, she thought, while she would be alone in the great bed. She shivered.

“If you are cold, my lady, perhaps we should return to Wolffeton.”

She jumped, for she had not heard Sir Walter approach. She shook her head. “Nay, I wish to walk about for a while.”

“If you wish,” he said, and offered her his arm.

She ignored him and walked to the edge of the cliff.

“Is it your lord you miss, my lady?”

At his snide tone, she stiffened. Her hand itched to
strike him, but she said only, “My feelings are none of your business, Sir Walter.”

“Perhaps not, my lady, but I heard about your . . . misadventure. Perhaps you did not plan your escape well enough.”

“I wish to return to Wolffeton,” Kassia said, and walked quickly away from him.

Sir Walter wanted to shake her and wring her proud neck. Little bitch, treating him as if he were vermin, of no worth at all! He watched one of the men help her into her saddle. Soon, my lady, he thought, smiling. Very soon now.

Kassia felt a brief surge of excitement as she stood at her post in the crenellated embrasure in the eastern outer wall, watching the riders come nearer. She sighed deeply, recognizing Sir Walter riding at their head. He had left the day before, claiming that there had been an attack on a demesne farm. She had not believed him, and seeing him now, she wondered where he had gone and what he had done.

One man was huddled over his saddle as if he were hurt, and three men were obviously dead, slung over their horses’ backs like bags of wheat. As they drew nearer, she could see that the hurt man was bound with heavy rope. Speeding down the narrow stairs, she made her way into the inner bailey. As Sir Walter shouted to the porter, she prepared to step forward, but something she could not explain stopped her. She waited in the shadows of the cooking shed and watched the men enter the inner bailey. The wide smile on Sir Walter’s face made Kassia shiver.

He pulled the bound man off his horse. The man staggered, then stood straight. “Behold,” Sir Walter
called out to the gathering men. “We have caught a prize!” He pulled the hood back from the man’s head. “Dienwald de Fortenberry, knave, murderer, and . . . taker of other men’s women!”

Kassia felt herself go cold. It was Edmund! She remembered Sir Walter’s venomous words about de Fortenberry, remembered clearly Graelam telling him that de Fortenberry had made no forays onto Wolffeton land, and was thus of no interest to him.
Taker of other men’s women.
Somehow Sir Walter had discovered that Dienwald de Fortenberry was the man who had taken her. Her head spun. She saw Sir Walter draw back his fist and smash it into Dienwald’s ribs. That decided her. She ran forward.

“Hold, Sir Walter!” she yelled.

Sir Walter spun around, as did the other men.

“My lady,” he said, bowing to her deeply, the sarcasm in his voice clear for all to hear.

“Is it a knight’s code to strike a bound man, Sir Walter?”

“It is a knight’s code to crush vermin, my lady.”

She drew herself up to her full height. “I believe you called this man Dienwald de Fortenberry. I remember my lord telling you that he was no threat to Wolffeton. Why have you brought him here, Sir Walter?”

He could denounce her in front of everyone, Sir Walter thought. But no, he quickly decided. The proud little bitch was too popular among the men and the servants, and he couldn’t be certain of their backing. Oh no, he would wait for Graelam to return. Graelam would be enraged; he would kill the miserable de Fortenberry for him, and, Sir Walter thought, he would be thankful to him for bringing the whoreson to him. Land, he thought, his chest expanding in anticipation;
Graelam would doubtless award him land and his own keep.

“I have brought him here, my lady,” he said, quite calmly now, “to be held for Lord Graelam’s return.”

Kassia felt a surge of relief. Dienwald de Fortenberry would tell Graelam that it was Blanche who had hired him. At last he would know the truth. At last he would believe her.

She turned to Dienwald de Fortenberry, who was struggling to regain his breath. She wanted to go to him, to help him, but she knew she would be a fool to do so.

Dienwald knew that several of his ribs were broken. He met Kassia’s worried gaze for a moment before a surging pain ripped through him and he crumpled to the cobblestones.

Kassia listened numbly, her fingernails digging into palms, as Sir Walter ordered the men to carry de Fortenberry to the dungeon.

“Sir Walter,” she said in a loud, calm voice, “I trust that Dienwald de Fortenberry will be alive when my lord returns.”

“Slut,” Sir Walter hissed between his teeth. Did she believe she had that much power over Graelam? Tales of Graelam de Moreton’s prowess were legendary. He could not imagine such a warrior allowing his wife to escape unscathed when he was confronted not only with her lover but also with the man she had hired to help her escape him.

Kassia went directly to her bedchamber, closed the door, and sat in her chair to think.

At the evening meal, she appeared serene and concerned only with the taste of the roast pork and the fresh green peas. She chatted easily with Blount and
Father Tobias, aware that many eyes were observing her, watching her very closely. She could feel the dislike emanating from Sir Walter, but she could also sense his uncertainty at her calm behavior. You will pay for this, she vowed silently. It was odd, she thought as she replied to a question from one of the serving wenches, but she should be thanking him. Were it not for his hatred and his bitterness, she would never have known that Edmund was Dienwald de Fortenberry.

She returned to her bedchamber to wait. It was near to midnight when Etta slipped into the chamber, nodding silently.

“There was but one guard?”

“Aye, my baby, and soon he will be fast asleep. There is no need for any guards down there,” she continued, shivering. “The saints could not escape from that place.”

“Sir Walter is taking no chances,” Kassia said. “How very surprised that knave will be when Dienwald tells my lord the truth of the matter!”

Etta gripped Kassia’s arm. “Must you go to him, my baby? Can you not wait for Lord Graelam’s return?”

“Dienwald de Fortenberry is many things, Etta, I know that, but he was kind to me. Had Blanche paid another man to take me, I would likely have been raped and killed. If he dies from his wounds, I will gain nothing. And I must speak to him. I must be certain that he will speak the truth to Graelam.”

Etta knew she could not sway her mistress. “All the men are asleep. I heard no one.”

“Excellent,” Kassia said stoutly, though she felt gooseflesh rising on her arms in her fear. “I do not wish you to wait for me, Etta. Go to bed now.”

She waited until her old nurse had left, then drew on
her cloak. Saying a silent prayer, she slipped from her bedchamber and made her way out of the great hall. The dungeon was in the base of the southern tower.

Soundlessly she moved beyond the thick oak door, sucking in her breath when she saw the guard. But he was fast asleep, his head cradled on his arms. Carefully she eased the huge iron keys from his tunic and dropped them into the pocket of her cloak. Then, clutching the lone candle, she walked down the deeply worn stone steps to the lower level. The air became more fetid and foul, and she could hear the rats scurrying from her path. It smelled of human misery, she thought, though she knew that no prisoner had been held here for many years. Her hand shook as she fitted one of the keys into the rusting lock. It grated so loudly that she whipped about, expecting to see all of Sir Walter’s men bursting in upon her.

But only rats were about.

The door swung open and she stepped into the cell, holding the candle high. She felt nausea rise in her throat at the stench. The stone walls were green and slimy with dampness, the earth floor was strewn with ancient straw reeking of human excrement. She raised the candle higher, gasping when she saw Dienwald de Fortenberry. His arms were pulled away from his body, his wrists manacled to the walls.

“Dienwald,” she said softly.

Slowly he raised his head. For a long moment he stared at her blankly. Then a slow smile twisted his mouth into a painful grimace.

“Little chick,” he whispered. “Why did you send me a message begging that I help you?”

Kassia stared at him. “I do not know about any message,” she said finally.

A spasm of pain wiped his mind of words and it was some moments before he said, “No, I do not suppose that you do. I was a fool, and now I will pay for it.”

“No, you won’t!” She rushed to his side and quickly unlocked the heavy rusted manacles from his wrists. He managed to steady himself and sank down onto the straw.

“It was Sir Walter,” she said, dropping to her knees beside him. “He hates you, but I had no idea that it was you he hated.”

He raised his head and smiled at her. “Only I would know what you mean, little chick.”

“When my lord returns to Wolffeton, all will be well, I promise you, Edmund . . . Dienwald.” She touched her hand to his shoulder. “You will tell him it was Blanche who hired you, will you not?”

“You have had a difficult time making your husband believe you?”

“Very few people here believe that I am innocent, but now, Dienwald, they will know the truth.”

“Ah, little chick, you are so innocent and trusting.”

“No,” she said firmly, “no longer. I will see that my lord punishes Sir Walter for what he did to you. Where are you hurt?”

“Several ribs are broken. Sir Walter is a vicious man. I begin to see now why he did not simply kill me as he did my men.”

“I do not understand.”

He lifted his hand and touched his fingers to her soft hair. “No, likely you would not understand. I will explain it to you. Sir Walter doubtless wants land. What landless knight does not? And it is true that my father killed his and took his birthright, though from what I remember, his action was justified. But had Sir Walter killed me there would have been no reward for him, no gain at all if, that is, he kept his neck in place. Your husband, little chick, is a very powerful man with very powerful friends. Were he to kill me, there would be no retribution, and Sir Walter would most likely gain from his trickery.”

Kassia shook her head, saying vehemently, “Graelam would not kill you.”

Dienwald gave her a tender look that held pity. Slowly he drew her forward, and before Kassia knew what he was about, he had fastened one of the heavy manacles about her wrist.

“Little chick,” he said ruefully, “I beg you will forgive me, but I do not wish to die. If I stay, your husband will kill me without a second thought. Even if I were able to fight him with all my strength, he would still likely put an end to me.”

“He has no reason to kill you. Please, Dienwald, you must not leave me!”

“Kassia, listen to me, for I must escape, and very soon. Your husband believes that you paid me to help you escape him. If I were to tell him it was Blanche, he would still kill me, for I accepted his barbaric necklace as payment to rid Wolffeton and Blanche of your presence.” He gave a pained laugh. “Were I your husband, I would kill me. I know that when you are found here, in my cell, you will be blamed for releasing me. I am sorry for it, but your husband will not kill you. Were there another way, little chick, I would not leave you. But there is no choice for me. Forgive me, Kassia.”

She looked at the harsh manacle about her wrist. “I forgive you,” she said. “But you have sentenced me to hell.”

He grasped her chin in his palm and lightly kissed her. “I can take you with me, little chick.”

He saw the helpless pain in her eyes, and drew back. “Ah, so that is the way it is.” He rose and stood over her a moment. “Graelam de Moreton is a harsh and ruthless warrior. He can have no understanding of something as delicate and honest as you. Please, little chick, do not scream until I am gone.”

“It would do no good,” she said dully. “My old nurse drugged the only guard. Evidently Sir Walter believed no more guards were necessary.”

“I will leave you the candle,” he said. “Good-bye, little chick.” She watched him slip through the cell door and pull it closed behind him. She leaned back against the damp wall as the rats moved closer to her, their small eyes orange in the wavering candlelight. When the candle sputtered out and the cell was plunged
into blackness, she whimpered softly and drew her legs up to her chest.

She heard heavy boots approaching, and then the cell door was shoved violently open. A rushlight torch filled the darkness with blinding light. Kassia had prayed that Etta would come for her, but her prayer was not answered. For a moment her dazed eyes could only make out the outline of a man. Sir Walter, she thought dully. What would he do to her?

“Kassia.”

She froze and pressed herself closer to the slimy wall, moaning softly in her throat. “What are you doing here?” she asked finally.

Graelam gave a harsh laugh. “No, I do not suppose you expected me until tomorrow night. I missed you and pushed my men to return.” He laughed again, a cruel sound that made her flinch. He handed the torch to a man behind him and strode toward her. She cowered away from him. He dropped to his knees and unlocked the manacle.

“Did your lover really need to chain you? Could not even he trust you?”

Kassia rubbed her bruised wrist, concentrating on the slight pain to block the terrible words from her mind.

“Look at me, damn you!” Graelam grasped her shoulders and shook her.

“I am looking now,” she said, staring directly into his furious eyes.

“Dienwald de Fortenberry. Did he appreciate your calling him Edmund, my lady? How very surprised you must have been to see him. Sir Walter is something of a fool, unfortunately. He never dreamed that my soft,
fragile lady would be so daring as to release her lover. He is now . . . distraught.”