Fire Song (15 page)

“Perhaps I shall toss you over the cliff,” Graelam said, hugging her tightly against his chest.

“I would not blame you,” she sighed. “I have not been a very good wife to you.”

Graelam laughed deeply. “You have not been a wife at all. Now keep your tongue quiet in your mouth.”

He held her in his arms as he guided Demon over the lowered drawbridge. “Breathe deeply, Kassia,” he said.

He rode to the cliff and dismounted, tying Demon to a low juniper bush. He eased himself down against a bowed pine tree and settled Kassia in his lap. “Now,” he said, “you will think about being well again.”

“I am so ashamed,” she said.

“I was also ill. We have both survived. Now, I want you to be quiet and breathe the clean air.”

He felt her burrow trustingly against him, her fist closing about his tunic. He dropped a light kiss on her forehead and leaned back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

“My lord.”

Graelam opened his eyes and looked up at Guy. He shook away the remnants of sleep.

“It grows late,” Guy said quietly, for Kassia still slumbered.

“I will come soon, Guy.”

“Is she all right?”

“Aye, thank God. Did you speak to the cook? What is that varlet’s name?”

“I gave him—Dayken is his name—the flat of my sword against his fat buttocks! He swears the meat was fresh. I do not understand it. It’s almost as if—” He broke off, shaking his head.

“As if what?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

“If you have something to say, Guy, say it!”

Guy scratched his ear. “I like not that only the two of you fell ill.”

“I like it not either,” Graelam said softly. “The only question is who, Guy?”

“A woman’s jealousy can lead her to do vicious things, my lord.”

Graelam grunted. “So who is this woman, Guy?” he asked.

“Not Blanche, I am certain of that.” Indeed, he had spoken to her, watching her beautiful eyes for signs of deception. He did not want to admit to his profound relief when he realized she was innocent. Guy shook his head, perplexed. “All knew you were to bed your lady last night.” He flushed as his master’s eyes narrowed on his face.

“It need not have been a woman, Guy,” was all he said.

Kassia stirred in his lap and raised her head from Graelam’s shoulder. “My lord?” she whispered, her voice foggy with sleep.

“ ’Tis naught, Kassia,” Graelam said. “How do you feel?”

She smiled, and the dimple deepened beside her mouth. “Hungry,” she said.

“Excellent. I am certain that your nurse has a pot of broth awaiting you. Your belly isn’t cramping anymore?”

She flushed, seeing Guy, and shook her head.

Graelam rose easily, and shifted Kassia in his arms. The blankets fell away and Guy glimpsed the white curve of her breast.

“I’ll get Demon, my lord,” he said quickly, and strode to his master’s destrier.

The afternoon was overcast and a chill wind blew from the sea. Kassia stood watching Graelam, his powerful chest bared, wrestling with one of his men, a huge fellow who had the look of a mighty oak tree. The men formed a half-circle, calling out explicit and coarse advice.

Kassia moved closer. She saw the concentration on her husband’s face as he circled the other man. He lunged so suddenly that she blinked in surprise. He gave a fierce yell as he hooked his leg behind his opponent’s and toppled him to the ground. He slammed down on top of him, pinning his shoulders.

The men cheered and Graelam stood up, offering his hand to his man. He met Kassia’s eyes at that moment, and smiled.

She waved to him shyly and called, “We have a visitor, my lord.”

Graelam spoke to his men, then strode to his wife, flexing his shoulder muscles. He looked at her closely,
studying her face for any signs of lingering illness, and satisfied, asked, “Who comes, Kassia?”

“Blanche’s son, my lord.”

Graelam frowned a moment, having forgotten the boy.

“Blanche is smiling. I am pleased her son is here.”
Her son will give her something to think about other than you!

One of Graelam’s men tossed him his shirt and tunic. “Wash me down first, Kassia,” he said, and walked beside her to the well in the inner bailey.

Kassia filled the bucket and poured it over her husband’s head and back as he leaned over. He shook himself and donned his shirt.

“My tunic, Kassia,” he said.

“Oh!” She had been staring at his chest, wondering why it made her heart pound to think of tangling her fingers in the dark curling hair, or suckling at his nipples as he had hers.

Graelam wondered at the sudden delicate flush on her cheeks as he pulled his tunic over his shirt.

They walked into the hall. Blanche was talking to three men, all travel-stained and weary-looking. A slender boy, some eight years old, clung to the side of one of the men.

“My lord,” Blanche called out. “My son is arrived. Evian, this is Lord Graelam de Moreton, your uncle by marriage.”

The boy peeped from behind the man. The man gave him an indulgent smile and shoved him forward. “ ’Tis a bit shy he is, my lord. I am Louis, from my lord Robert’s household in Normandy.”

“I bid you welcome, and thank you for delivering the boy safely,” Graelam said, then squatted down to the
boy’s eye level. He had his mother’s dark eyes and dark hair, but was saved from being pretty by a square jaw and a broad forehead. “You will be my page,” Graelam said. “If you are competent at your duties, you will one day be my squire. Does that please you, boy?”

“Aye, my lord,” Evian said. He studied Lord Graelam with intelligent eyes and became his slave at that moment. Graelam dropped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, patted him, then rose. “You have already met my wife, Lady Kassia?” he asked.

Evian nodded, his eyes turning toward Kassia. She was giving him a welcoming, open smile, and he gave her a tentative one in return.

“You are most welcome, Evian,” Kassia said.

“I am nearly as tall as you, my lady,” Evian ventured.

“Aye, in another year or so, ’tis I who will be gazing up at you.”

Blanche grabbed her son’s hand. “He can sleep in my chamber, Graelam.”

“Nay, Blanche. Guy, come and meet my new page. The boy will sleep outside my chamber, on a pallet, and take his meals with the men.”

He is not like his mother, Kassia thought, and immediately chided herself.

“I have been living with my mother’s cousin,” Evian said confidentially to Guy, “in Normandy.”

“Evian, I would like to speak to you!”

The boy turned large reluctant eyes back to his mother, wishing she would not treat him like a little boy.

“Nay, let him go, Blanche,” Graelam said, to Evian’s immense relief. “You can cosset him later.” He turned to Louis. “Come have some ale, your men also. Nan, bring drink!”

* * *

“He is a fine lad,” Graelam said to Blanche that evening. “Your cousin has raised him well, but ’tis men’s company he needs.”

Blanche forced a bright smile to her lips. Graelam was pleased with her son, just as she had hoped he would be. But it was too late. “You are most kind, Graelam,” she said softly. Such a pity that Nan had not mixed more of the vile herbs in the stew. Blanche knew the wench had done it, for Nan was unable to keep the smug, triumphant grin off her face when she believed no one was looking at her. Blanche frowned, lowering her eyes. Jealousy was a terrible thing, and it made her writhe in self-reproach, hating herself for her feelings, even as she searched for ways to undermine Kassia. Life has not been fair to me, she would tell herself over and over, the litany her excuse.

Kassia watched Graelam and Blanche speaking together, and felt a strange burst of anger. Unlike her, Blanche was endowed with a full and rounded woman’s body and her long dark hair glistened in the rushlight.

“Your thoughts are not pleasant?”

Kassia turned to Guy “Blanche is very beautiful,” she said honestly, bewilderment at her jealousy sounding in her voice.

“That is true,” Guy said honestly. “But she need never concern you, truly. Lord Graelam could have wed her had he wished to.”

Kassia gave him a sad little smile. “It appears that my lord could have wed any lady he wished. ’Tis his misfortune that he came upon my father in Aquitaine, and that I didn’t die.”

“Lord Graelam saw much misery in the Holy Land,” Guy said pensively, “disease, starvation, butchery that seemed to know no end, but never did it really touch
him. Yet I tell you truthfully that after he came from your chamber, believing that you were dying, his face was drawn in anguish. You touched him as no other ever has—man or woman. Even now he treats you gently, carefully, and my lord is not a particularly gentle man. When you fell ill from the food, he was distraught. He told me that it was not fair that you should regain your health, only to come to Wolffeton and lose it again.” Guy paused a moment, watching Kassia’s brow furrow deeply in thought at his words. “Lord Graelam is also a man of strong appetites,” he continued carefully after a moment. “Yet he is more concerned with your well-being than his own needs.”

“But I am well now,” Kassia exclaimed, then turned scarlet at her loose tongue.

Guy grinned merrily at her and raised his goblet in a silent toast. “Your noble husband approaches, my lady.”

Kassia raised her face to her husband. She looked like such a naughty child that Graelam laughed.

“I have been telling her of your . . . prowess, my lord,” Guy said blandly.

Kassia choked at his double meaning, and Graelam arched a thick black brow. His eyes fell to Kassia’s trencher and he frowned. “What have you eaten?”

Kassia, who had consumed chicken, fish, and fruit, merely shook her head at him. “I have been a glutton, my lord. May I serve you now?”

He nodded and sat himself beside her. “The boy, Evian,” he said to Guy, “we must begin to toughen him up.”

Kassia looked down the trestle table at Evian, who was leaning sleepily against Drake’s massive shoulder.

“The lad seems willing,” Guy said, “though his mother would like to turn him into a lapdog.”

Graelam merely grunted, and talk turned to de Fortenberry and his ever-nearing raids. It seemed to Kassia that Graelam was looking forward to crossing swords with the man; indeed, he hoped that de Fortenberry would attack some of Wolffeton’s outlying demesne farms. She watched her husband, and saw that he was not eating as much as he needed. ’Twas the wretched cooking, she knew. She must see to her responsibilities as chatelaine soon. If only Graelam would cease treating her like an invalid! He still looked to Blanche, and Kassia found that she did not like that at all. She had noted during the day that the servants heeded Blanche’s orders, but slowly and sullenly. Her housewifely hackles rose. They would obey her, and promptly, or she would know the reason why.

She leaned over to pick up an apple from the plate in front of Graelam. Her breast accidentally brushed against his arm. She felt him stiffen and he paused perceptibly in his speech. She hung her head, embarrassed, and was unaware that he gazed at her speculatively for a long moment.

Graelam was surprised at the surge of desire he felt, thinking again that Kassia had scarcely enough womanly curves for his taste. Yet, thinking of her lying soft and yielding in his arms, her trusting eyes upon him, made him anxious, as he had never been before. Tonight, he thought, tonight, he would take her. He must take her.

“Your hand, Kassia,” he said, laying his own palm-up on the table beside her.

She tentatively laid her hand in his and watched as his fingers closed around hers. A frown crossed his brow and she held herself very still, not knowing what he was thinking.

She is so slight, he mused, curling his fingers around
her slender wrist. He had promised her there was no pain in coupling, and hoped he was right—that his size wouldn’t hurt her. He must go easily with her. He felt a renewed tightening in his loins at the thought of her naked beneath him. He said abruptly, releasing her hand, “Go to our bedchamber now, and ready yourself for me.”

Kassia knew that her cheeks were flushed. She remembered quite clearly the odd sensations she had felt before she had fallen ill, and she knew that Graelam wanted to make her his wife this night. She walked from the hall, imagining that all the men knew exactly what was in her mind and in her husband’s.

Etta awaited her in her bedchamber.

“Ah, my baby,” the older woman scolded her fondly, “ ’tis tired you are. You should have stayed abed as your husband wished you to.”

“Nay,” Kassia said on a nervous laugh, “I am not tired, but I would like a bath.”

Etta shooed Nan and another girl, Erna, pointed-chinned and scraggle-toothed, from the chamber after they had filled the wooden tub, then scented the hot water liberally with lavender, Kassia’s favorite scent.

As Kassia disrobed, her eyes kept flying toward the chamber door. She did not luxuriate in her bath as was her wont, but scrubbed herself quickly. She turned to ask Etta for her towel and became mute at the sight of her husband standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, gazing at her.

“Is the water still warm?” Graelam asked.

She nodded, sinking down in the wooden tub until only her head showed above.

“Will you scrub my back?”

He had moved out of her range, and Kassia eased up
a bit to see him again. “Aye,” she said, “I will.” He was tugging at the ties on his tunic. As he pulled it over his head, she scurried out of the tub and grabbed at the linen towel.

“Kassia, help me.”

The tie on his chaussures was knotted. She wrapped the towel securely around her and dropped to her feet before him, her nimble fingers on the knot. She could feel the heat from his body; had she the courage, she could touch the growing bulge in his groin. She stilled suddenly at the touch of his fingers in her hair.

“Soft as a babe’s,” he said quietly. The knot untied, Kassia lowered her arms, resting her cheek against his thigh.

“Come,” he said, and lifted her to her feet. He drew off his chaussures and strode naked to the tub. Kassia giggled at the sight of him, his knees thrust upward, as he settled himself into the tub.