Fire Song (35 page)

Graelam felt her slender arms go around his back, and he smiled grimly as he kissed her throat. He knew how to arouse her, and he watched her face as his fingers found her moist softness. She moaned softly, arching up against him. He moved down her body, touching and stroking every inch of her soft flesh. When he gathered her hips in his hands and lifted her to his mouth, he looked at her face. He could see the building passion in her eyes, and something else, a flicker of pain. He lowered his head and brought her closer to her release. She cried out, thrashing wildly, her head arched back against the pillow.

But he did not allow her release. He left her abruptly, raised himself above her, and thrust into her. He cupped her face between his hands, holding her still, willing her to look at him.

“Tell me the truth, Kassia. Tell me, and I will forgive you.”

Her body froze, and all pleasure disappeared as if it had never awakened.

“Tell me,” he said more harshly, his voice matching the rough thrusting into her body.

“I have told you the truth!” she wailed.

He had filled her, made himself a part of her, and she hated it and him and herself. She lay like cold marble beneath him, suffering him in silence, unmoving. She was separate, apart from the helpless woman who lay beneath the man.

Graelam cursed her, his words catching in his throat as his seed exploded deep within her. He rolled away from her immediately and lay panting on his back.

“Your love is short-lived, I see,” he said, not turning toward her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose it must be. How can love survive cruelty and distrust?”

He cursed again softly.

Kassia rose shakily from the bed, walked to the basin, and quickly bathed herself. She knew he was watching her, but she said nothing, did not acknowledge him. She hugged the side of the bed, pulling the covers to her chin, but she could not get warm. She realized vaguely that the coldness was coming from deep within her. She would probably be cold for the rest of her life.

“Edward’s coronation is in a week and a half.”

“When will you leave, my lord?” Kassia asked, finishing the fresh peas from her trencher.

“I, my lady? Do you not recall that the both of us are invited? Do you find my company so distasteful that you would even forgo such an exciting event?”

She raised pitifully hopeful eyes to his face. He watched her pink tongue flicker over her lower lip, and cursed himself silently for wanting her, wanting her simply because she sat beside him, and in a hall full of people!

“I am to come with you, my lord?”

“I do not dare risk leaving you here,” he drawled, effectively dampening the sharp edge of his desire for her. He saw a flash of anger in her eyes, and added lazily, his eyes roving over her body, “And do eat more, wife, else I will have naught but sympathy from Edward when he sees I am wed to such a skinny child.”

He watched with great interest when her hand closed
about the stem of her goblet. “Go ahead,” he taunted her softly. “Toss your wine in my face. I at least would enjoy my retaliation.”

Her hand fell away from the goblet as if it had burned her.

He laughed harshly. “It matters not, Kassia. Coupling with you gives me little enough pleasure. If you continue as you are, you will soon enough look like a boy. Then perhaps I will think of myself as a pederast.”

She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached.

“What?” he mocked. “You will not even raise that little chin of yours?”

Kassia picked up a ribbed piece of pork. She raised it to her mouth and slowly began to nibble off the meat. She heard him suck in his breath, and let her tongue lick the gravy from the bone. She eased it deeper into her mouth, sucking at the tender meat.

Once, so long ago, it seemed, he had taught her to give him pleasure. He had laughed at her, teased her at her clumsy efforts until he had moaned, and laughed again at her obvious delight. She saw his eyes fastened on her mouth, and felt the momentary power of revenge. She withdrew the bone and tossed it carelessly to her trencher. She raised her chin.

“Bitch,” he said softly.

He rose abruptly from the table and strode from the hall.

It had begun to rain, and she nearly called to him. You are such a stupid fool, she chided herself, worrying that he will take a chill!

Graelam strode at a furious pace up the winding wooden stairs to the ramparts. He leaned forward against the harsh cold stone and looked toward the sea, but the sliver of moon showed him no more than an occasional
white-topped wave. The rain was warm on his face. At least, he mocked himself silently, it cools my passions.

He realized that he was tired, tired to the depths of his being of baiting Kassia, tired of watching her show alternately her fear and her hatred of him. None of it was his fault, damn her! But he knew that it was. She would never have left him if he had not driven her to it. The events of the past months careened through his mind. The weeks of warmth and caring they had shared when he had decided to forget what she had done, forget her lies, excusing her by blaming himself. Dienwald de Fortenberry. The knight’s name rang like a death knell in his mind.
I did not leave with him because I love you.
His eyes darkened, anger at himself flowing through him for believing her even for a moment.

Graelam pounded his fist hard against the stone. He hated himself for his feelings of deep uncertainty. He had never experienced the emotions she had evoked in him. If Edward called for another crusade, he would have agreed immediately. On the heels of that thought he saw her face, her dimples deepening as she smiled at him, saw her eyes widen with bewildered astonishment when he had first brought her pleasure.

“Saint Peter’s bones, but I am weary of all this!” he muttered. He strode back into the keep, shaking off the rain like a huge mongrel dog.

It would take them six days to travel to London, but Kassia didn’t mind. She was filled with excitement, and even her husband’s distance did not overly upset her. He had simply ignored her, leaving all preparations to her. The string of details and decisions to be made allowed her to bury her feelings for him, and her hurt, until she lay in bed at night, listening to his even
breathing. The day before they were to leave, Graelam had walked into their bedchamber unexpectedly. He paused a moment, watching Kassia twirl around in her new blue satin gown. She looked utterly beautiful, despite her fragile slenderness. Her hair lay in thick soft curls about her small head, now falling to her shoulders. Her laughter died in her throat when she saw him.

“My lord?”

“The gown becomes you, my lady,” he said harshly.

Her face went carefully blank. “Thank you, my lord.”

“You will wear the necklace with that gown.” He could see the frisson of distaste in her eyes before she lowered her head.

He walked to his trunk and dug it out. He held it up, watching the precious gems gleam in the sunlight that poured through the small windows. “Come here,” he said.

She walked slowly to him and turned around, lifting her hair off her neck. She felt the weight of the necklace as it rested upon her chest, felt the chill of the thick gold against her bare neck. He fastened the clasp and stepped back.

She looked like a barbaric princess, he thought. He watched her lift her hand and lightly touch her fingers to the necklace. It did not particularly surprise him when her fingers fell away from it as if it burned her.

“You will be thus gowned for the coronation,” he said, and left the bedchamber.

He took her that night, quickly but not roughly, and she thought she heard him curse her when he stiffened over her. She lay very still even after he had rolled off her. When she made to rise to bathe herself, he closed his hand around her waist, pulling her back.

“Nay,” he said, “you will not wash my seed from your body.”

She was shocked when she quivered at his words, and had to remind herself that he saw her now as naught but a brood mare. She tugged and he released her wrist.

“Go to sleep, wife, we leave early on the morrow.”

Is there no way I can reach you?
she cried out silently.

They arrived in London a full week later, filthy and weary, their horses and wagons splattered with mud. Kassia had ridden most of the way, even when it had rained, once she had convinced Graelam that riding in a wagon made her ill.

She didn’t know what to expect, but the sight of so many people packed into such a small area made her blink with surprise. And the filth! There was a constant stench of human excrement and rotting food. And there was so much noise from vendors screeching at the top of their voices at passersby.

“All towns of any size are like this,” Graelam said when he saw her cover her nose. “It is not so bad where we will stay. The compound is on the Thames, but north of the city.”

“This is the house the Duke of Cornwall gave to you?” she asked.

“Aye, he deeded it to me upon my betrothal to Lady Joanna,” he said dryly.

Her eyes flew to his face.

“He insisted I keep it once he had deemed you worthy.”

A fine, misting rain was falling steadily and the ground
was slushy mud. Bluebell slipped and Graelam’s hand shot out to grasp the reins and steady the mare.

Kassia started to thank him, but he said merely, “You are filthy enough. I do not wish you to have a broken leg as well.”

“Then you would have to wear that wretched necklace yourself,” she muttered under her breath.

“There,” Graelam said to her, pointing to his left, “is Westminster Abbey, where Edward will have his coronation.”

“It is beautiful,” Kassia said.

“Aye, King Henry spent much money to reconstruct it. He is buried there.”

They passed the White Tower, where Edward and Eleanor were now staying. “I do not know when Edward returned to London,” Graelam said. “But I imagine that immediately the Duke of Cornwall heard he was coming, he set the coronation into motion.”

Kassia was weaving in the saddle, so weary she could no longer appreciate the vivid sights. At last they reached a high-walled fortress. A thick-barred iron gate swung slowly open and their caravan passed into a muddy, utterly dismal yard. The two-story wooden building in front of them was square and looked gray and uninviting in the growing darkness.

“You will see to the inside, my lady,” Graelam said as he lifted her off Bluebell’s back.

She nodded, imagining with growing depression what awaited her within. To her utter astonishment, once inside the house there were scores of lighted candles and a huge fire burning in a fireplace at the far end of the long, narrow lower chamber.

“Lady Kassia?”

A plump gray-haired woman approached her and proffered a deep curtsy.

“I am Margaret, my lady. The duke told us to expect you.”

“I am so pleased you are here,” Kassia told the woman with a tired smile.

Margaret clucked around her, much in Etta’s manner, and Kassia allowed herself for some minutes to be cosseted. She was led upstairs to a comfortable chamber, where another fire burned.

“For you and your lord,” Margaret said.

There were fresh reeds on the stone floor and a tapestry of vivid colors covering one wall. A large bed was set upon a dais, and there were several high-backed chairs surrounding a small circular table.

“I believe I have died and gone to heaven!” Kassia exclaimed.

“I will kiss the duke’s feet,” Etta said fervently.

“I will have the wenches bring you hot water for a bath,” Margaret continued placidly. “My husband, Sarn, will assist your lord to see to the horses and wagons. You need do naught, my lady, but see to yourself.”

Etta hurrumphed when Margaret started to assist Kassia out of her wet cloak, and the woman merely smiled, curtsied again, and left the chamber, saying over her shoulder, “The duke sent an entire pig for your first meal. After you have rested, my lady, we will have the evening meal.”

“Etta,” Kassia scolded her old nurse, “you are wet through! You see to yourself. I am not helpless, you know.”

Kassia was immersed to her chin in a wooden tub filled with blessedly hot water when Graelam entered the chamber.

She forgot the restraint between them, forgot she was naked, and said happily, “The duke must be the most thoughtful man in all of England! I do not even have to see to the preparation of dinner! And this room is so pleasant and so very warm! Was all as you wished, my lord?”

He smiled at her wearily. “Aye, everything is fine. I will give you five more minutes in that tub, Kassia.”

She flushed, and quickly ducked her head underwater to wet her hair. When she emerged from the tub, Graelam was wearing his bedrobe, seated in front of the roaring fire. She quickly toweled herself dry and wrapped a small linen towel about her wet hair.

“I was very dirty, Graelam,” she said, eyeing the bathwater.

“I called for clean water,” he said, not turning.

Kassia heard the heavy footsteps outside their chamber and scurried to pull on her bedrobe, drawing the belt tight about her waist.

She was combing out her hair in front of the fire when Graelam said from the tub, “We will have our meal here this evening. Tomorrow we will go to the tower.”

Kassia paused a moment in her combing and said tentatively, “I should like to see everything, my lord. I fear I was too tired today to appreciate England’s capital.”

“Aye,” he said, closing his eyes, “it has been a long time since I was here. I remarked changes. We will see everything you wish to see.”

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Do you wish me to assist you, my lord?”

“Bring me a towel,” he said, rising.

She tried to avoid looking at his body, but failed dismally. Her fingers itched to tangle themselves in the
thick mat of black hair on his chest, to stroke over the velvet smoothness of his back. It had been so long! Her mind warred with her body, and in that moment she hated him for teaching her pleasure, for teaching her body to respond to him. Her eyes fell to his groin and she felt heat suffuse her loins. But he hated her, she reminded herself, forcing her eyes upward. She met his dark gaze and gulped.