Fire Song (10 page)

Kassia was not deaf.
A whore!
She turned angry eyes toward the women, but no words came to mind. Her husband still had said nothing. She felt herself again begin to tremble. What was going to happen to her? The light seemed to grow dimmer. The terrible women seemed to weave before her eyes.

“I . . . I am sorry,” she gasped, her frantic eyes going to her husband’s face. For the first time in her life, she welcomed the blessed darkness that was welling up within her, letting her escape from this nightmare. For the second time in her life, Kassia collapsed where she stood.

Kassia felt great weariness, but the blackness that had engulfed her was receding, forcing her back to consciousness. Slowly, fearfully, she opened her eyes. For many moments everything was a blur. Then she saw a man—her husband—beside her, his dark eyes expressionless on her face. She made a small gasping sound and tried to pull herself up. She felt covered with shame that she had fainted like a silly sheep in front of all those people.

“Nay,” Graelam said, “lie still.”

She obeyed, heeding more his tone than his words. His voice was gentle, unlike his roaring, mocking laughter.

“Where am I?” she asked, hating herself for her pitifully wavering voice.

“In my chamber, or rather I should say, our chamber. Are you still ill?”

His voice was still gentle and she managed to meet his eyes. She could read nothing. His face was impassive, giving her no clue.

“I am sorry. I am not given to fainting. The journey was long.”

She felt his fingers lightly touch her arm and she tensed. He released her, a slight frown marring his forehead. “There is much we have to say to each other, my lady. Your arrival was . . . unexpected. But first, I will leave you to rest and regain your strength.”

“I am sorry,” Kassia said again. “There was no time to give you warning. Please do not blame my father. He sought only to protect me.”

“Doubtless he did,” Graelam said dryly. He picked up her hand and gently slid his ring back on her third finger. “Your nurse, Etta, is squawking loudly outside for her baby. Shall I bring her to you?”

Kassia’s head throbbed, and she blinked rapidly to keep his face in focus. “What will you do?” she asked.

“That, my lady,” Graelam said, standing to stare down at her, “will be most interesting to see. I but hope that you will not become a widow just as I believed myself a widower.”

He turned with those words and strode across the chamber to the thick oak door. He did not look back at her.

Kassia was aware of Etta bending over her, gently soothing her brow with a damp cloth. “Rest, my baby,” she heard her nurse croon softly, and she willingly obliged.

Graelam left his chamber thoughtfully. Lord, what an ungodly mess! Never, he thought, for as long as he
breathed, would he forget his first sight of Kassia, standing beside Guy, holding herself so straight, fear dilating her huge eyes. Yet she had come, bravely. Nor would he ever forget the sight of her quietly crumbling, all life gone from her. Nor the feel of her slight body in his arms as he carried her to his chamber. His wife, he thought, shaking his head. A scrawny girl, no larger than a child, and now she was his responsibility. He gave another spurt of laughter. He had, after all, succumbed to Maurice’s arguments, and done himself in! He pictured her face again, so quiet in repose, for he had studied her carefully before she had regained consciousness. He had wanted to feel anger, to rage at her, but when she had finally awakened and he saw the deep uncertainty in her eyes, he had felt compelled to treat her gently. He was a fool. What in God’s name was he to do? He had ignored his gloating sister-in-law and the moaning Joanna, and carried Kassia out of the hall. He supposed, as he took the final step into the hall, that he would rather face an army of infidels than this group.

The thread of flame from a single candle broke the darkness. Kassia blinked, stared a moment into the flame, remembering quite clearly everything that had passed since her arrival at Wolffeton.

“How do you feel, my baby?”

Kassia smiled wanly at the sound of her old nurse’s soft voice. “Alive, Etta,” she said, “alive. Is it very late?”

“Nearly ten o’clock in the evening. You slept for six hours. I have food and mulled wine for you.”

Kassia slowly pulled herself up and Etta quickly came to place pillows behind her head. “What I really want,” she said, staring at her dirty fingernails, “is a bath.”

“First you eat,” Etta said firmly, “then I will have those lazy sluts bring you hot water.”

“Lord Graelam,” Kassia said, hearing the thin thread of nervousness in her voice, “where is he?”

To her surprise, Etta laughed. “Ah, your lord! What a man that one is!”

“What do you mean?”

“I will tell you while you eat. I kept the victuals warm over a small brazier. This great keep will vastly improve with you as mistress, my baby. The food is barely edible, and the servants do naught unless Lord Graelam is about.”

“You are too stern, Etta,” Kassia said, but the pork was clearly stringy and overcooked.

Etta regarded her young mistress with a worried eye. She had been raised in the midst of people who loved her and obeyed her because they loved her. But Wolffeton was vastly different from Belleterre. “Tell me now, Etta,” she heard Kassia say. “What happened whilst I slept?”

Etta eased her bulky frame into the one chair in the large chamber. “Well, after I was certain that you were all right, my baby, I slipped into the hall below. I have never heard so many people arguing at once in all my life! And the screeching from Lord Graelam’s betrothed!”

Kassia felt a surge of guilt, but it was tempered with the anger she had felt at the insults that lady had hurled at her. She sipped at the warm wine. “I hope her heart is not broken.”

“Ha, that one! Lord Graelam should kiss your feet, for you saved him from a wretched existence. As to the other one, well, we shall have to see.”

“What other one?”

“Lady Blanche, Lord Graelam’s sister-in-law.”

Kassia frowned, wondering if her wits had gone begging.

“Lord Graelam, I discovered from one of the servants, was married before, a long time ago. His wife’s half-sister came to Wolffeton some three or four months ago to live. Why, I don’t know.” Etta shrugged. “She
did seem quiet enough and quite the lady during all the shrieking and arguing. Eat the potatoes, my lady,” Etta added, her eyes upon Kassia’s trencher.

The potatoes were half-cooked, Kassia found, but she would not give Etta the pleasure of admitting it.

“Now, where was I? Aye, your husband is quite the man. He had to roar for quiet but once, and all obeyed him, even the Duke of Cornwall. Aye, you stare, my baby. The king’s own uncle! ’Twas he, according to what I heard, who arranged the marriage with the heiress. His face, I tell you, was a bright crimson! As for Lord Thomas, Lady Joanna’s father, he looked for all the world like a boiled turnip. But Lord Graelam soon put all of them to rout. Told them, he did, all that happened at Belleterre. He even produced the marriage contract so there could be no doubts as to your status as his lady wife. At that, Lady Joanna was forced to close her mouth, but her mother kept wailing in the most ridiculous way. Lord Thomas finally slapped her. That shut the old harridan up, you may be certain! He announced to the Duke of Cornwall that he would not remain at Wolffeton another day. Then he took his wife on one arm and his daughter on the other and marched them out of the hall. I know Lord Graelam was smiling, though he tried to hide it. Praise be to Saint Anne that you’ll nay have to see any of them again.”

Kassia did not admit her overwhelming relief at Etta’s words. She still shuddered at the thought of standing before them in her travel-stained clothes. It appeared that her husband had protected her.

“Etta,” Kassia said abruptly. “Where is Lord Graelam? Is this not his chamber?”

“He is in the hall, speaking, I believe, to the Duke of Cornwall. All the others have retired, thank the Lord!”

Kassia shoved the trencher off her lap. “My bath, Etta. I will not face him again looking like a dirty urchin. Nay, do not argue with me! I am not ill!”

Graelam sat in his ornately carved chair across from the Duke of Cornwall, a goblet of wine in his hand. The hall was quiet at last, with but the two of them.

“St. Peter’s bones, Graelam, this has been a fine day!” the duke said acidly, his thick gray brows drawn ominously together.

“Aye, it has certainly been a day I shall not quickly forget.”

“This girl, Kassia de Lorris—”

“Lady Kassia de Moreton,” Graelam said quietly.

“Aye, ’tis true you only saw her once?”

Graelam nodded. He felt oddly exhilarated, as if he had just fought in a battle. “She was near death. I would not have recognized her save for my ring and her short hair. Her hair had been shorn, you see, from her fever.”

“She is quite young, Graelam,” the duke said thoughtfully. “Aye, quite young. You never bedded her.”

Graelam arched a thick black brow. “Indeed, my lord.”

“Then you can still be rescued from this mess,” the duke said. “Annulment. The marriage was never consummated. ’Twill be an easy matter, and the girl will soon be on her way back to Brittany.”

Graelam looked thoughtful, then said slowly, “Belleterre is an impressive holding, my lord duke. The keep is magnificent, the lands rich. Upon Lord Maurice de Lorris’ death, it will come to me. If you will, the girl is as much an heiress as Joanna de Moreley.”

“But she is French!”

Graelam merely cocked an incredulous brow at the duke.

“You will not have this travesty of a marriage annulled?”

Graelam stroked his fingers across his jaw. “I will speak to the Lady Kassia again tonight. Tomorrow, my lord duke, I will tell you my decision.”

But the Duke of Cornwall was not finished. His incredulous fury had calmed, but he still felt the fool, a feeling he did not appreciate. “I do not know why you couldn’t have told me of the damned girl,” he growled, “and your ridiculous midnight marriage.”

“As I said, my lord duke,” Graelam said patiently, “I believed her dead. What reason was there to tell you?”

“I cannot believe you prefer her to Lady Joanna,” the duke continued, ignoring Graelam’s question. “She has not half Joanna’s beauty. Indeed, she looked like a skinny boy, and a dirty one at that.”

“She has been quite ill,” Graelam said mildly. “Some food will fill her out and a bath will take care of the dirt.”

The duke knew he was losing, and it galled him. Abruptly he said, “What if her illness rendered her barren? Ah, I see you had not thought of that!”

Graelam did not immediately reply. He was seeing Joanna’s distorted features, hearing her venomous words. Even a barren wife would be preferable to that shrew. “Nay,” he said finally, “I have not given that any thought as yet.”

“You must,” the duke snapped, rising from his chair. “Give it much thought, Graelam, before you make your decision. You told me yourself that your only reason for marrying was to breed sons.”

“Aye,” Graelam said. “That is what I told you.”

Graelam saw the duke to his chamber, then drew up
suddenly outside his own. By God, he thought, his wife was within. His
wife.
He quietly opened the door and stepped inside. He blinked rapidly at the sight of Kassia in his wooden bathing tub. He could see naught but her thin white shoulders. Slowly he backed out and firmly closed the door. At least the girl didn’t appear ill.

He returned after some fifteen minutes. “My lady,” he said softly, not wishing to frighten her.

Kassia jumped, dropping her tortoise shell comb to the floor. She tried to rise, but Graelam waved her back into the chair. He glanced at her old nurse and curtly nodded toward the door. “I wish to speak to your mistress,” he said.

The duke, Graelam thought, would perforce change his opinions if he were to see her now. She looked like a small impish child, with her great eyes staring at him, unblinking, and her short damp curls framing her pixie face.

“How old are you?”

Kassia stared at his abrupt, harsh tone. “Seventeen, my lord,” she managed at last. He continued to regard her, and Kassia touched her fingertips to a thick curl that fell over her forehead. “ ’Tis my hair.” She raised her chin. “Father told me I must not be vain. My hair will grow, my lord.”

He wanted to laugh aloud at her pitiful show of defiance. Instead, he only nodded and walked to the bed. He saw her wary look, but ignored it, and sat down. “I saw your nurse below during the discussions. I imagine she told you what happened?”

“Aye,” she said, nodding.

Graelam saw her clutch her bedrobe across her breasts, her great eyes never leaving his face.

“Are you cold?”

“Nay, my lord,” but she pulled the protecting cover over her legs.

“I am nearly twenty-nine, Kassia,” Graelam said. “A great, venerable age to one so young.”

“My father is forty-two,” Kassia said. He saw the barest trace of a dimple near her mouth when she added, “ ’Tis Etta who is the venerable age, my lord. She is near to fifty.”

Graelam was silent for a moment. “The Duke of Cornwall wishes to have this marriage annulled.”

Kassia cocked her head to one side, and he saw her incomprehension. “I do not understand, my lord. My father told me that our priest wed us.”

“Aye, but our marriage was not consummated.” Still she gazed at him with those great innocent eyes.

“That means, Kassia, that I did not take you to my bed.”

He watched a flush creep over her pale cheeks.

“It means that we are not truly man and wife until I do.”

He saw her pink tongue trail over her lower lip and her eyes flew to his face in consternation.

“Are you a virgin?”

“No man has touched me, my lord.”

He was tempted to smile at the display of defiant pride in her wavering voice. He had never doubted she was a virgin, yet he had purposefully embarrassed her. He was not certain why he had done it.

“Enough of that for the moment,” he said. “Now, you will tell me why your father did not send me a message that you lived.”