Fire Song (14 page)

“I will not hurt you,” he said.

She remembered his huge naked body, his swollen member thrusting toward her. She remembered his strange abruptness with her that morning. She said nothing.

“Perhaps you misunderstood this lady,” he said. “There is a bit of pain the first time when your maidenhead is rent. But if the man is gentle, pleasure quickly follows and the pain is forgotten.”

She was gazing at him, disbelief written clearly in her eyes.

“There is no reason for you to disbelieve me. I am your husband.”

“You are . . . different from me,” she whispered.

“Aye, God willed it so.” His voice was clipped, for his patience was near an end. Still, it bothered him that she should fear coupling. “Kassia, you have seen animals mate.” She continued staring at him, mute. “You have seen me naked. My rod will enter you. Do you understand?”

“I have seen a stallion cover a mare. Will it be like that?”

He wanted to laugh. “Sometimes,” he said. “But usually you will be on your back, beneath me.”

“Oh,” she gasped, her cheeks flushed.

“The proof will be in the doing,” he said, and rose.

She stared up at him. He blocked out the sun, and she shuddered.

“Kassia,” he said, “you cannot remain a child. Come, it is time to return.” He stretched out his hand to her. She hesitated a moment, then thrust her hand into his. “Your hand is cold,” he said as he drew her to her feet. He pulled her against him. She was stiff as a board. Slowly he began to stroke his hands down her back. “A wife is her husband’s responsibility,” he said. “I will take care of you.” He felt her ease against him and lay her cheek trustingly against his chest. “Tonight you will become a wife. No, don’t stiffen.” He smiled over the top of her head. “Did you not tell me that your father trusted me to be kind to you?”

He felt her hesitation, then felt her nose nodding up and down against him. “It is not your monthly flux, is it?”

He heard a small gasp; then she shook her head, burrowing her face into his tunic.

“Look at me, Kassia.” When she hesitated, he gently cupped her chin and raised her face upward. “Now, hold still and relax.” He touched his fingertips to her lips, then slowly lowered his head.

Kassia jumped when his mouth touched hers. It was not unpleasant. His lips were warm and firm. She felt his tongue glide over her lower lip, and she frowned, wondering at the sudden spurt of warmth low in her belly. She felt his fingers tangling in her hair; then he released her. “That was not so bad, was it?”

“Nay,” she admitted, her head cocked to one side, her eyes studying his face intently. “My stomach feels warm. It is very odd. I’ve never felt that before.”

He grinned, a boyish grin that made him look very young. “Come,” he said. He lifted her onto her mare’s
back and swung into his own saddle. During their ride back to Wolffeton, he wondered at himself. Never had he had such a discussion with a woman. But there was something so vulnerable about Kassia, and it made him furious at himself, yet still protective of her. He supposed it was simply her candid innocence that made him babble on like a chivalrous fool, or, he thought, his lips twisting in a rueful smile, a besotted father. Oddly, he did not want her to fear coupling with him. He would arouse passion in her, he had the skill and he would force himself to patience. She was young, malleable, and he did not doubt that she would be easily molded into an obedient, gentle wife. The future stretched out pleasantly before him in his mind.

Graelam wooed his young wife that evening. He gave her all of his attention at dinner, ensuring that she drank two goblets of sweet wine and ate most of the spicy stew that he shared with her. And he touched her, light caresses that brought color to her cheeks.

“You have eaten almost enough,” he said, and sopped a bit of bread in the remainder of the stew and fed it to her himself. She smiled at him and he felt an unusual warmth pervade him. He drew a deep breath, and it was her sweet scent that filled his nostrils. Her chestnut curls glowed with reddish glints in the rushlight.

“My hair will grow,” Kassia said, aware that he was staring at her.

He wrapped a loose curl around his fingers. “Your hair is so soft,” he said. “As fine as a babe’s.”

A dimple he had not noticed before deepened beside her mouth. “But, my lord,” she said impishly, “you do not want a babe for your wife.”

He chuckled and ruffled her curls. “You are right, my lady, particularly tonight.”

Her eyes widened, but she did not draw away from him. He was pleased. He turned and nodded to a minstrel, Louis, a Frenchman he had invited to stay at his castle in Cornwall for several days. The small darkeyed man, sun-baked from his travels, had been playing softly throughout the meal, and now moved forward to sit on a stool in front of Graelam’s daised table. He smiled toward Kassia and played several haunting cords on his lute. “To your lovely bride from Brittany, my lord,” he said, and bowed his head, strumming the strings lightly. “I have christened it
Fire Song.
”

’Tis a fire in the blood that draws me
to thee, my maid of Brittany.
A softness in your eyes that makes me
dream of nights in your gentle arms.

His voice, gentle as spring rain, filled the silent hall. At his words, Kassia smiled shyly at her husband.

Your woman’s beauty meets my hungry eyes
calling me, my maid of Brittany.
’Tis a fire in the blood that makes me
yearn to hold thee close.

Graelam pressed his shoulder against hers and gently squeezed her hand. “A fire, my lady?” he teased her softly. “Soon we will know if he speaks true.”

The sweetness in your smile draws me
to thee, my maid of Brittany.
’Tis a fire I long to give thee
the fire of my song and my heart.

Louis kept his head down as he softly played a
crescendo of minor chords. At the finish, he raised his eyes and bowed his head to Kassia.

“ ’Twas well done, Louis,” Graelam called out over the enthusiastic clamor of the men. “I am pleased as is my lovely bride.”

“It is my pleasure, my lord,” Louis said. He began again, this time a song of the great Roland and his death fighting the Saracens at Roncesvalles.

Graelem said quietly to Kassia, “Go to our chamber, Kassia. I will come to you soon.”

Kassia rose and nodded to Blanche, who was sitting quietly beside Blount, the steward.

“God give you sweet sleep, my lady,” Guy said, smiling at her. He watched her wave a slender hand at him, then turn and walk from the hall. His eyes went back to Graelam. He had never before seen his master treat a woman so gently. It boded well, he thought.

Graelam lifted his goblet to his lips and sipped slowly at the sweet wine, his eyes thoughtful. A woman should want a man. He would make Kassia respond to him, make her moan softly, and make her forget her maiden’s fear. The fire in his body would warm her. He downed the rest of his wine and rose from his chair when Louis finished his song. He saw a speculative look on Blount’s craggy face, an open smile on Guy’s, and knew that all his men were in no doubt about how he would spend his night.

“Please continue, Louis,” he said to the minstrel. “As to the rest of you louts,” he called out to his men, “listen well and learn.” He strode from the hall, feeling something of a fool, for everyone knew he was going to his wife. He took the stone steps two at a time. He opened his chamber door and saw Kassia seated on the bed, wrapped in her blue wool bedrobe.

“Come here, Kassia,” he said.

She slipped off the bed, clutched her robe closely to her, and padded to him on bare feet. He held out his arms and she moved against him, wrapping her arms about his waist. He closed his arms about her back, and began to gently stroke away the tension he felt in her shoulders.

“You smell so sweet,” he said, inhaling the lavender scent of her. He stroked his long fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp and tangling the soft curls about her ears. He drew her more tightly against him, lifting her against his hardening manhood.

Kassia raised her head from his shoulder and gazed into his dark eyes for a long moment. Slowly, without instruction from him, she closed her eyes and pressed her mouth against his. She felt his exquisite hardness against her belly and felt again that strange tremor of warmth flow through her.

Graelam swung her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her on her back and sat beside her. Slowly, he untied the sash about her waist. She gave a soft distressed gasp, and he stopped.

“Did I tell you about my destrier, Demon?” he asked.

She stared up at him, blinking in surprise. “Nay, my lord.”

“He was bred near York,” Graelam said softly. “His sire was called Satan and his dam, Witch.” He lowered his head and gently kissed her closed lips. He caressed her lower lip with his tongue, all the while talking quietly about his stallion. “He saved my life in the Holy Land when a Saracen would have carved me. He reared up and stomped the fellow.” He realized belatedly that though he spoke softly, his words were anything but seductive and soothing. Why the devil was he talking to
her about his damned horse? He shook his head at his own foolishness. “I want to see you, Kassia,” he said, and drew her robe apart.

Her hands fluttered up, but he stilled them, clasping them lightly above her head. “You have beautiful breasts,” he said.

“I—I am small,” Kassia said, “but I will be larger when I gain flesh.”

“You are perfectly shaped,” he said, surprising himself. He did not like slight women, but somehow, Kassia’s delicately rounded breasts appealed to him. And the soft pink nipples, so smooth now, not yet tautened with passion.

“You are staring at me,” Kassia said.

“Aye.” He grimaced at the memory of Maurice tearing the leech from her breast and flinging it across the chamber.

“I do not please you, my lord?”

“You please me well,” he said. “I feel well the minstrel’s words.” He lowered his head and kissed the column of her throat. Slowly he touched his lips to her soft flesh until he lightly flicked her nipple with his tongue. She gasped and he raised his head to see her staring at him, a stunned look on her face. He smiled and lowered his head to suckle her gently. He could feel the pounding of her heart against his cheek.

“Someday,” he said, lifting his face to look at her, “our babe will suck at your breast thusly.”

He felt her hands stroking in his hair, pulling him closer to her breast.

“Oh!”

A look of pain flashed across her face.

“What is the matter?”

“I—I don’t know,” she gasped. A cramp twisted in her belly and she cried out.

Graelam sat up and laid his hand to her cheek.

She suddenly lurched up, her face ashen. “I am not well,” she cried.

He handed her the chamber pot just in time. She retched until there was naught left in her belly.

“I am sorry, my lord,” she whispered, and moaned, drawing her knees up against the vicious cramps.

“Hush,” he said. What had she eaten that he had not, he wondered, worry gnawing at him. Had he forced her to eat too much? Had her fear of him made her ill? He dampened a cloth and gently wiped her sweating face. “Lie still. I will get your nurse.”

He watched helplessly as Etta crooned over Kassia, feeling her belly with gentle hands.

“What is wrong with her?” he demanded.

Etta shook her head. “She ate something that was bad, I think.” She rose. “I will make her a potion, my lord.”

At that moment, Graelam felt a cramp in his belly, and doubled over. “Christ,” he muttered, and strode quickly out of his bedchamber.

At least, he thought a few minutes later, his belly empty, it wasn’t her fear of him that had made her vomit. He checked with his men in the hall. None were ill. The cramps continued and he gladly drank the potion Etta handed him.

“ ’Twas the stew,” he said. “Only Kassia and I shared it, and she ate the most of it.”

She was moaning pitiably, her arms wrapped around her stomach. His cramps were lessening, yet he knew what she felt and it frightened him. She was so slight,
and had not half his strength. He sat beside her and pulled her into his arms, rocking her.

“She will sleep soon, my lord,” Etta said, hovering protectively close to her young mistress. “And she has nothing foul left in her belly.”

Kassia’s head lolled back against his arm. She said vaguely, “I shall hang the cook up by his heels with his head in the stew.”

Graelam was thinking of a more ferocious punishment for the hapless cook.

“You will be all right tomorrow, my baby,” Etta said, gently wiping the damp cloth over Kassia’s forehead.

“I am so ashamed,” Kassia whispered, and burrowed her face against Graelam’s arm.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said sharply. “Can you sleep now, Kassia?”

“Aye,” she muttered.

He laid her on her back and drew the covers over her. “I will call you if she worsens,” Graelam said to Etta.

The night was a long one. Kassia awoke every several hours, her belly convulsed with cramps. Graelam forced her to drink, but she could keep nothing down. Finally, toward dawn, she fell into a deep sleep, and he allowed himself to relax.

It was near to noon the next day when Graelam entered to find Kassia awake. The chamber reeked of sickness and he felt nausea rise in his belly at the stench.

“She has drunk some broth, my lord,” Etta said proudly at Kassia’s accomplishment.

“She will not keep it down if she must remain in here,” Graelam said. He strode over to his wife and wrapped her up in blankets. “I am taking her outside.
Clean the chamber and open the windows. Burn incense, whatever, just get rid of the stench.”

Graelam carried his wife out of the keep. He ordered Demon saddled.

“What are you going to do with me?” Kassia asked, clutching at Graelam’s sleeve. Now that the cramps were gone, she felt mortified. He had held her whilst she had retched. All night he had cared for her. She wanted to bury her face in his shoulder and never look him in the face again.