Fire Song (44 page)

“Now I am,” Marie said quietly. “Gerard, Paul, come and greet your sister. And you, Jeanne, make your curtsy.”

“Oh dear,” Kassia said, bursting into merry laughter. “I am overcome!”

“My lord, there is an encampment ahead.”

Dienwald drew in his destrier. “Are they French? Did you see a standard?”

“Aye, my lord. Three black wolves, upright and snarling against a background of white.”

Dienwald shook his head, bemused. “The Wolf of Cornwall,” he said softly. Graelam. Well, he had told Kassia her husband would come after her. It would be easy enough, he thought, to ride unseen around Graelam’s camp. It was on the tip of his tongue to give that order, but he did not.

Graelam stretched out on his narrow cot, pulled a single blanket over himself, and commanded his weary body to sleep. Tomorrow, he thought, watching the lone candle spiral its thin light to the roof of the tent, he would see Kassia. His fury at her disappearance had faded, leaving only a numbing emptiness within him. He though again of her message, and it chilled him. “You must not worry about my safety, my lord,” she had written, “for I will be well-protected.” By whom? he wondered, but the answer gnawed clearly in his mind. She had hired Dienwald de Fortenberry once; likely she had done it again. “It is likely that my father will not blame you for my failure. Belleterre will doubtless be yours in any case. I trust, my lord, that you will find a lady who will please you.”

And that was all. Nothing more. Did she really expect him to let her go? Did she really think so little of herself that she believed Belleterre the only reason he had kept her as his wife? Damned little fool!

He gave not two farthings for Belleterre at the moment. He wanted his wife. He wanted to beat her, kiss her and crush her against him. He wanted to hear her tell him that she loved him, that she forgave him. He laughed mirthlessly. How he had changed, and all of it wrought by a skinny little girl whose smile would
melt the heart of the most hardened warrior. Except yours, you fool! Until now.

Graelam heard a soft rustle as the tent flap raised. He sat up, instantly on guard, and reached for his sword.

“Hold, my lord Graelam,” he heard a man’s deep voice say. He saw a flash of silver steel.

“What is this?” Graelam growled, not loosing his fingers from his sword.

“I mean you no harm, my lord. I am not your enemy. I have too healthy a wish to keep my body intact.”

“Who the devil are you?”

“Dienwald de Fortenberry. Your wife spared me the only other opportunity I had of meeting you.”

Graelam sucked in his breath, his eyes glittering in the dim light. So he had been right. The bastard had taken Kassia back to her father. “Just how did you get past my men?” he asked, his voice coldly menacing.

“A moment, my lord. I beg you not to call for you men. I have no wish to run you through.”

Graelam released his sword, and Dienwald watched it fall to the ground. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at Graelam de Moreton closely. He was naked, save for the blanket that came only to his loins. He was a powerful man, his chest mightily muscled and covered with thick black hair. Dienwald could see the ribbed muscles over his flat belly. Aye, he thought, a man women would admire, and desire. His eyes roved over Graelam’s face. It was not a handsome courtier’s face, he thought, but it was strong, proud, and at the moment harsh, the dark eyes narrowed on Dienwald’s face. His mouth was sensual, the lower lip full, his teeth gleaming white and straight. Dienwald was probably a fool to take this chance, slipping into this man’s camp, but he had decided it was a debt he owed to
Kassia. He shook himself from his examination, aware that Graelam was studying him just as closely.

Graelam eyed the man. His features are the color of sand, he remembered Kassia telling him. It was true. “What do you want?” he asked coldly. Oblivious of his nakedness, he rose and poured two goblets of wine. He quirked a black brow toward Dienwald.

Dienwald accepted the goblet of wine. “Please sit down, my lord. You must excuse my distrust, but I am not the fool I must seem. When my men told me of your encampment, I was pleased that you came so quickly for your wife. Of course, she did not believe me. She fancied you would be pleased to see no more of her.”

Graelam tensed, his eyes narrowing. He wanted to leap at the man and tear his heart from his chest with his bare hands. But Dienwald held the upper hand, for the moment at least, and Graelam had no idea how his men were situated outside his tent.

“You have interfered mightily in my life,” he said after a long moment, his voice a sneer. “So she paid you yet again to take her from me.”

Dienwald gently caressed the razor-sharp edge of his sword. “You are a fool, my lord. Your wife’s gentle heart is pure and honest. If she would have me, I would willingly take her from you. I crept into your camp for one reason only. I owe a debt to your wife.”

“What did she use for payment this time?” Graelam hissed. “The necklace again?”

“Aye,” Dienwald said, his lips a twisted smile. “I did not want the damned thing, but she insisted. I have laughed at the irony of it, my lord. Now, you will heed me, for I imagine that I have not much more time. Your wife has never lied to you, at least to my
knowledge. ’Twas Blanche who first paid me the necklace to rid herself of your wife. But I could not do it. When I asked her what she wished, she told me to return her to Wolffeton, to you, her husband. Then that whoreson Sir Walter captured me by a ruse, using Kassia’s name. She released the manacles, my lord, because she hated to see me in pain. She was, of course, too trusting. I had to leave her there, for I had no wish to die by your hand.” He paused a moment, then said in a self-mocking voice, “I asked her to come away with me, but she would not. She loves you, though I do not think you deserve it.”

Graelam stared at the man whose words rushed through his mind in a torrent. “You could be lying for her even now,” he said, his voice a menacing snarl. “Perhaps you are even her lover, as I have always suspected.”

Dienwald smiled, encouraged at the fury in Graelam’s face. “I could certainly have ravished her. Perhaps ’tis what Blanche expected, even wished me to do. But I found that even I, a rough and conscienceless rogue, could not harm so gentle and trusting a lady. It is you she loves, my lord, though by all the saints in heaven you do not deserve such tender feelings from her.” He fingered his sword edge for a long moment. “I first believed her the most gentle, biddable of creatures. But ’tis not so. There is a thread of steel in her, my lord, and a pride that rivals any man’s. She left you because she could see no more hope for herself living as your wife. Her sadness would smite the most closed of hearts. As I said before, you are a great fool.”

To Dienwald’s utter surprise, Graelam looked straight at him and said, “Aye, you are right. I realized it myself but days ago. It is more ironic than you believe, de
Fortenberry. I found I no longer cared if she had lied to me or not. I want her, and if I can convince her of the truth of my feelings, I will take her back to Wolffeton with me, as my true wife.”

Very slowly Dienwald sheathed his sword. “I trust you have a smooth tongue, my lord, for she is adamant.”

“She will obey me!”

“I foresee a battle royal. Forget not, my lord, that she is in her father’s keep, not yours. I imagine he would protect her from your . . . ah, demands.”

Graelam began to pace furiously about the small space, his powerful naked body gleaming in the gentle candlelight. Suddenly he turned to Dienwald and smiled. “Aye, you’ve the right of it. But she will obey me. I am her husband.” Graelam paused a moment, chewing at his lower lip. “How did her father greet her?”

“I did not enter the fortress with her, fearing some retribution from her father. I have learned never to count on a peaceful welcome from a stranger.”

“It goes against the grain to thank a man I have always considered my enemy. Now that you are no longer a stranger to me, Dienwald de Fortenberry, I will welcome you at Wolffeton. Keep your sword sheathed.”

Dienwald smiled, shaking his head. “Can I really be assured that you will not wish to see my body severed in bloody pieces for your sport?”

Graelam stretched out his hand to Dienwald. “I call you friend. And I thank you for protecting my wife. You are welcome at Wolffeton, I swear it.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“May I now know how you managed to get into my camp and into my tent without any of my men noticing?”

Dienwald chuckled. “ ’Tis not so difficult for a lone
man to enter where he wishes, my lord. But leaving intact is a different matter. I am mightily relieved you do not wish to see the color of my blood!”

“Nay,” Graelam said, smiling easily now, “your blood can remain in your body, at least until the tourney. It would please me to face you on the field.”

“A tourney, my lord?”

“Aye, the Duke of Cornwall plans one for April.”

“Then I shall see you there. I bid you good-bye and good luck, my lord.”

Graelam stood motionless as Dienwald slipped quietly from his tent. He shook his head, bemused, and returned to his cot. If only, he thought, snuffing out the gutting candle, he had known the truth months ago. Now it didn’t matter. He pondered on the vagaries of fate before he fell into the first sound sleep he had enjoyed in more than a week.

The evening meal was boisterous, Maurice having allowed his stepchildren to join them. The men-at-arms pelted Kassia with questions she did not precisely answer, and all the servants stayed close, wishing to tell her all that had occurred to them during her absence. No one mentioned her husband. Kassia felt her father’s eyes on her, but she resolutely kept a happy smile pinned to her lips. Indeed, she was inordinately pleased to see him so blantantly happy with himself and his new family. Marie appeared as good-natured as Kassia had first suspected; that she loved Maurice, Kassia did not question.

“The stewed beef does not please you, Kassia?” Marie asked her after some time of watching her new stepdaughter push the food about on her trencher.

“Oh, of course, Marie. ’Tis just that I am too excited to eat. Truly, I shall be ravenous on the morrow.”

Marie was silent for a moment, then leaned close to Kassia. “I trust, my dear, that you are not displeased with your father’s marriage.”

Kassia blinked in surprise, and said honestly, “I am happy that my father has found someone to care for. My mother died so long ago, and I fear he has been particularly lonely after I left for England. And the children bring new life to Belleterre.”

“I would not have you or your husband concerned that Belleterre will pass from you to my children,” Marie continued quietly. “Indeed, both my boys will have lands of their own, bequeathed to them by my late husband. As for Jeanne, she will have sufficient dowry.”

“My husband will be pleased that he will not lose Belleterre,” Kassia said evenly.

“Maurice has told me much of Lord Graelam, particularly about your lord saving his life in Aquitaine. He holds him in great esteem.”

“As do I,” Kassia said, her eyes on her trencher. She waited tensely for Marie to ask her the obvious question, but her new stepmother said nothing further, merely spoke of the servants and their efficiency and kindness to her, their new mistress.

It was very late when the great hall quieted. Kassia saw Marie nod to her husband; then she approached Kassia and hugged her gently. “I will bid you good night, Kassia. If you are not too tired, I think your father would like some private words with you.” With those calmly spoken yet ominous words, she left, shooing her very tired children in front of her.

“You are to be congratulated, Father,” Kassia said with a tired smile. “Marie is enchanting, as are the children. You are most lucky.”

“Aye, I know it well. I am pleased, and relieved, that you approve, poppin.” Maurice slicked his hand through his gray hair in seeming agitation, then turned a gentle
eye to his daughter. “Kassia, do you wish to tell me why you have come to Belleterre alone?”

“I did not come alone, Father,” she said. “A dear friend brought me. My safety was never in question.”

“My men told me about this ‘dear friend’ of yours, poppin. Why did he not come to greet me?”

“He is not my husband. He feared you would not be overly pleased to see him.”

“Aye, likely,” Maurice said. “Come and sit down, Kassia. My old bones are weary, and you are looking none too spry yourself.”

Kassia did as he bid her, and eased into the chair opposite her father’s “Does Marie play chess?” she asked.

“A bit. She has not your quickness with the pieces or your strategy of the game.”

Maurice studied her for a long moment, noting the dark shadows beneath her expressive eyes and the tenseness of her hands, now clutched together in her lap. “You have left your husband” he said.

Kassia could only nod. Were she to speak, she knew she would burst into tears and shame herself.

Maurice sighed deeply, and turned his gaze to the dying embers in the fireplace. “I hope you will forgive me, poppin. ’Tis all my fault, wedding you to a man I knew scarce a week. But I truly believed him honorable, my love.”

“Papa, you believed I was dying,” Kassia said sharply, hating his spate of guilt. “And Lord Graelam is honorable. It is just that . . .”

“That what, poppin?” Maurice pressed gently.

“He does not love me,” she said quietly.

Maurice had always believed his daughter one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. He tried now to
see her objectively, to see her as a stranger might. Her glorious hair was in loose curls to her shoulders, thick and lustrous. She had filled out again, but she was still very slender, almost fragile in appearance. But the impish, whimsical quality about her was lost. “Then I must believe,” Maurice said slowly, “that Graelam is something of a fool.”

“Nay, Papa,” she said quickly, wondering at herself for defending her husband, “he simply has no place in his heart for a female. And I miscarried our babe.”

Maurice sucked in his breath. “Are you well?” he asked harshly.