Fire Song (6 page)

Graelam pulled his attention from Guy and nodded. “I have news for you, Blanche. The Duke of Cornwall is paying us a visit next week. I do not know the extent of his retinue, but doubtless he will bring half an army with him, ’tis his way. At least,” he continued, now to Guy, “the barracks will be finished, so his men will not have to sleep in the keep. We will go hunting again before he arrives. Let us pray we bag more than a rabbit.”

“A deer at least, my lord,” Guy said, “if we divide the men into three separate hunting parties.”

“Some ale, my lord?” Blanche asked softly.

Graelam nodded, his thoughts elsewhere. “Ah, and some for Guy too, Blanche.”

Blance saw Guy grinning at her, and she frowned at him, but she nonetheless left the hall, her discomfiture kept to herself.

Guy waited until Blanche was out of hearing. “Have you heard anything from France, my lord? From Maurice de Lorris?”

“Nay, but then, what would I hear? If there is a message ever from him, it will doubtless be to inform me that Geoffrey is trying to steal Belleterre from him. I pray that de Lacy will keep his treacherous sword sheathed until Wolffeton is fully restored.”

“I doubt he would try an outright attack,” Guy said dryly. “ ’Tis more his way to sneak about and hire men to do his dirty work.” He fell silent a moment, then sighed deeply. “That poor girl,” he said at last. “I, of course, did not ever see her, as did you, my lord, but the servants talked to me of her, as did her father’s
men. They all believed her a sweet child and kind and full of laughter. Aye, ’tis a pity to die so young.”

Graelam pictured Kassia’s lifeless fingers held in his hands as the priest droned out the marriage words. He had only time to nod when Blanche reappeared carrying a tray with two goblets filled with frothy ale.

“Thank you, Blanche,” Graelam said, his tone holding dismissal. Blanche saw Guy quirk a fair eyebrow at her and for a moment she glared back at him. Damn him, he guesses my very thoughts!

“Certainly, my lord,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps, Graelam, when you have finished speaking with Guy, you can spare me a few moments? To speak of the entertainment for the duke.”

Graelam.
She had used his name but the week before and he had not seemed even to notice her familiarity. Perhaps she was making headway with him.

“Perhaps this evening, Blanche,” Graelam said as he wiped the white foam of the ale from his upper lip. “I have a new mare to inspect.”

Guy laughed aloud, his eyes on Blanche’s face. “Do you mean, my lord, that lovely little Arabian, or that equally enticing little two-legged filly named Nan?”

“Both, I fancy,” Graelam said, and rose from his chair. “Nan you say her name is, Guy?”

“Aye. No virgin, but again, lovely as a rose whose petals sparkle with the morning mist. And quite young, my lord,” Guy continued, knowing that Blanche was listening to their conversation. It was not that he disliked Blanche, he thought, following Graelam from the great hall down the thick, well-worn oak stairs. She was indeed lovely, his body recognized that, but she felt she must needs playact with Graelam. Guy knew she wasn’t the meek, gentle creature she showed to Graelam
when he had come upon one of the serving wenches in tears, a livid bruise on her cheek from the slap Lady Blanche had given her. He had told Graelam of the incident, but his master, after speaking to Blanche, had told him that the wench had deserved the slap for insulting his sister-in-law.

It was odd, Guy thought as he walked beside Graelam into the inner bailey, how his master enjoyed women in his bed, pleasuring them until they squealed with delight, but had little understanding of them outside his bedchamber. To Lord Graelam, women were soft bodies and little else, save for the one, Chandra de Avenell, Graelam had tried to steal and wed nearly two years before. But even that beautiful creature, though she had doubtless intrigued Graelam with her warrior ways, had been only a challenge to him, like an untamed mare to be covered and broken by a stallion. He suspected that Graelam’s black fury following his failure had resulted more from wounded pride than injured feelings. But now Chandra de Avenell was Chandra de Vernon, and Graelam had made peace with both her and her husband in the Holy Land. She was nothing more to him now, Guy knew, than a vague shadow of memory.

The wench Nan appeared none too clean, Graelam thought as he watched her, her arms pressed against her breasts to better entice him, as she drew the bucket of water from the well. Her thick long dark brown hair would be lovely were it not lank and stringy from lack of washing. Her face was a perfect oval and she smiled at him pertly.

“If she were bathed,” Graelam said to Guy, “I wouldn’t kick her out of my bed.”

“Nor would I,” Guy said, laughing.

“How many men have enjoyed her favors?”

“Not many, my lord. She was married quite young, when she was fourteen, to a young man who worked with the armorer. He died some two months ago from the wasting disease. According to my knowledge, she has kept her legs together, awaiting your return.”

Graelam gave the girl a long, slow smile, then turned away toward the newly repaired stables. “Now, Guy,” he said, “ ’tis time to see the four-legged mare.”

A gale blew in that evening, and the shutters banged loudly in Graelam’s bedchamber. He had spent the past two hours trouncing Guy in a game of chess and drinking more ale than was his habit. He was not overly surprised to find Nan lying in his bed.

Indeed, he thought, she did have lovely hair. It was now clean and shining and he wondered idly how long she had spent in a bathing tub to prepare herself for him. He strode to the edge of the bed and smiled at her as he stripped off his clothes. He watched her eyes widen when they fell to his swollen manhood.

“Ye are huge, my lord,” she gasped.

“Aye,” Graelam laughed, “and you’ll know every inch of me.”

He drew back the cover and studied her plump white body. “Aye,” he said, his dark eyes caressing her, “every inch.”

He fondled her and kissed her, pleased that her breath tasted fresh. Her soft flesh was silky and giving beneath his fingers and his mouth. When she was throbbing and hot, he pressed himself between her open legs. She sheathed him to his hilt, wrapping her legs about him, drawing him even deeper, and he realized vaguely, not particularly displeased, that she was as experienced as any whore. He reared back, thrusting deep, and felt
his body explode. He rolled off her onto his back. He wondered if her soft cries of pleasure had been real or feigned.

“My lord?”

“Aye?” he said, not turning to her.

“May I rest with ye the night? ’Tis cold and the storm frightens me.”

“Aye, you may stay.”

He felt her fingers running through the thick tufts of hair on his chest. “But expect, my pet, to be awakened during the night. My appetite for you is but momentarily sated.”

Nan giggled and stretched her length against his side, hugging herself to him. She had pleased him, she thought. Now life would be better for her. Aye, much better. She smiled into the darkness at the thought of the sour looks Lady Blanche would cast her. The old bitch wouldn’t dare to touch her now.

“Well, Graelam,” the Duke of Cornwall said as he tilted his goblet to his mouth, “I have seen several wenches’ bellies swollen with child.”

“And you’re wondering if it is my seed that grows in their bellies?”

The duke shrugged. “It matters not. What does matter is that you have legitimate heirs for your lands, not bastards.”

“Ah,” Graelam said with a crooked grin, “I was wondering when you would tell me the reason for your visit to Wolffeton. Not, of course, that I am not delighted to greet you.”

The duke was silent for a moment. He and Graelam were alone in the great hall, sitting opposite each other next to the dying fire. The trestle tables were cleared of
the mountains of food from dinner. The jongleurs Graelam had hired were long in bed, as were all of Graelam’s men and the duke’s.

“I have heard from Edward,” the duke said. “He and Eleanor are still in Sicily. I carry the responsibility for his children whilst he must travel. And England’s coffers pay for his adventuring.”

“I have certainly paid my share!”

“That you have, my boy.”

“It is because of your strength and honor, my lord duke, that Edward need not come running back to England to fight for his throne. The barons are content. England is at peace. He knew great disappointment in the Holy Land, and if he chooses to travel to mend his weary spirit, so be it.”

The duke sighed, raising an age-spotted hand. “Aye, ’tis true. Edward has grown into a fine man. Men follow him and trust him. Once I feared that he would be weak and vacillating, much like his poor father.”

Graelam said quietly, “As much as you hated Simon de Montfort, my lord duke, ’twas from him that Edward learned his administrative ability. It held us in good stead in the Holy Land. There is no doubt in any man’s mind that Edward the king can be trusted and obeyed. He is also a valiant warrior.”

“Aye, I know.” The duke shook his white head. “I become an old man, Graelam, and I am weary of my responsibilities.”

“And I weary you with this late night. Perhaps, my lord,” Graelam continued, a glint in his dark eyes, “before you retire, you would care to tell me the reason for your visit.”

“I have found you a wife,” the duke said baldly.

Graelam was not surprised by his words. Indeed,
during the past five years, the Duke of Cornwall had upon several occasions presented him with likely heiresses. Graelam cocked his head at the duke, saying nothing.

“Her name is Joanna de Moreley, daughter of the Earl of Leichester. She is young, comely, rich, and above all, appears to be a good breeder. ’Tis time you wed, Graelam, and produced heirs for Wolffeton.”

Graelam remained silent, staring into the graying embers in the fire.

“You still do not hold Lord Richard de Avenell’s daughter dear, do you?”

“Nay,” Graelam said. “Do you forget, my lord, the Lady Chandra wed Sir Jerval de Vernon? He, not I, managed to tame her. To my ultimate relief, we all parted friends.”

“So I hear,” the duke said dryly, “which brings me back to the Lady Joanna. Do you deny that you have need of heirs, Graelam?”

“Nay,” Graelam said slowly, his thoughts upon his second wife, dead within hours of their marriage.

“Is there another lady who has caught your fancy?”

Graelam smiled at the impatience in the duke’s voice. “Nay,” he said again, and shrugged. “A wife is a burden, my lord duke, a burden that chills my guts.”

“You are nearing thirty years old, Graelam! Do you wish to be an old man like me before you see your sons become men?”

And there must be an heir for Belleterre, Graelam thought suddenly.

“You begin to convince me, my lord,” he said, “with your terrifying logic.”

“Forget not,” the duke continued, more tolerantly now, for he scented victory, “that even the wealth you
brought from the Holy Land does not go far enough to provide you comforts within your keep.” He looked pointedly at the bare stone walls and the reed-covered floors, and doubted not that there were lice mixed with the refuse and bones. The furniture was scant and roughly hewn, with no soft cushions for a man’s weary buttocks. The beamed ceiling was black from years of neglect, and the wall sconces were as black as the mutton-fat rushes they held. “A wife who brought a fat dowry and housewifely skills would make Wolffeton a truly noble keep.”

“But a wife,” Graelam said wearily, leaning his head back against the high-backed chair. “ ’Tis something that haunts a man all his days.”

“As I said,” the duke interrupted, “the Lady Joanna is comely. Perhaps you would learn to care for her.”

“Care for a woman?” Graelam arched a thick black brow up a good inch. “If she were a good breeder, ’twould have to be enough. Why does Leichester choose me?”

“As one of the king’s closest friends,” the duke said with weary patience, “as well as being my vassal, Leichester need look no higher. Any of his neighbors would think twice before encroaching on Leichester’s lands with such a powerful son-in-law.”

“You have yourself seen this Lady Joanna?”

“Aye, once about six months ago. As I said, she is comely, and built just like her mother. And, I might add, that woman has borne with ease five sons, four of whom have survived.”

“I suppose she would expect to be wooed and have songs written about her eyebrows.”

“You are a hard man, Graelam. I offer you a rich plum and you complain about playing the suitor.”

“And if I beat the wench for disobedience, I suppose I can expect tears and reproaches and her father upon my neck!”

“Just keep her belly filled with children, and she’ll have no time for disobedience. As to wenches you take to bed, it would be wise to be somewhat more discreet once you have a wife.”

Graelam thought of Nan, who was now likely to be sleeping peacefully in his bed. “I must think on it, my lord,” Graelam said, rising and stretching.

The Duke of Cornwall rose also and faced the young man he loved more than his own worthless son. He gave him a wide smile. “Think quickly, my lord, for the Lady Joanna will arrive next week . . . for a visit. She will be accompanied by some of her father’s men as well as her ladies. If you suit, the wedding will be attended by her parents and me, of course.”

“You wicked old man,” Graelam said, a dull flush of anger rising over his face. “You woo me with reason, then clamp down your chains!”

“Plow the wench in your bed well, Graelam, for it would be wise to forgo your appetites once the Lady Joanna has arrived.” He clapped his hand to Graelam’s shoulder. “Don’t be angry with me, my boy. ’Tis for the best.”

“Christ’s bones,” Graelam growled. “Best for whom?”

But the Duke of Cornwall only laughed. “You’ll make a lusty husband for the girl, Graelam. Be content.”

“The Duke of Cornwall has arranged a marriage for me,” Graelam said to Blanche. “Lady Joanna and her retinue will arrive next week. Can you make preparations for her comfort?”

Blanche stared at him, unable to take in his words. Married! She wanted to scream and cry at the same time, and strike Graelam until he bled like she was bleeding inside. She lowered her head, running her tongue over her suddenly parched lips, and listened to him continue, his voice as indifferent as if he were discussing the weather.