Fire Song (20 page)

Why then did he feel as if he had destroyed something precious, as if he had wantonly crushed a rare flower underfoot before its petals had unfurled?

He rose slowly, like an old man, and straightened his clothes. He paused, seeing blood on his member. He cursed softly to the silent chamber.

Blanche smiled and said gaily to the stone-faced Sir Guy, “Such a shame, is it not, Sir Guy?”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” he said coldly, not looking at her.

She laughed. “Ah, such a pity! But I do not suppose you heard her screams? And look at her now. No longer the proud, preening little fool she was!”

Guy had been looking at Kassia. She looked dazed, her face so pale as to be waxen. He saw Graelam lean toward her, and felt himself stiffen as she jerked away. Everyone in the castle knew that Graelam had abused his wife. To Guy’s surprise, only a very few of the men had appeared untouched by his actions. Most of them had been tensely silent. Even Blount, Graelam’s crusty steward, had tightened his thin lips in anger. Of course Blanche was delighted. He turned to her, and felt his own anger near the boiling point at the smug smile on her lips. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled and kiss her until she was breathless.

“To anger Graelam so quickly,” she said, shaking her head in mock sorrow. As to her own stirring performance, she firmly repressed her guilt, saying over and over in her mind that she must see to herself and her children, for there was no one else to. She didn’t understand why she acted such a witch in front of Guy.
It is because he champions Kassia.
It angered her that he did, but she refused to examine why this was so. After all, he was merely a landless knight. She saw him gazing toward Kassia, and the words flowed angrily from her mouth. “I heard that she had stolen some precious cloth from his trunk. Perhaps he will send her back to her home, where she belongs. Surely, Guy, you do not defend her?”

She supposed that she achieved what she wanted. Guy’s lips were drawn in a thin line and his fine eyes glittered at her. His calmly spoken words took her off guard. “Do you know, Blanche, I am tempted to marry you myself. Were you my wife, I would beat you senseless.”

“If the girl were not such a fool,” Blanche said finally, wishing his words did not dig so deeply, and hating the shuddering response they aroused in her, “Graelam would not have struck her. She thinks herself above all of us. My lord would not long tolerate such airs.”

Guy closed his eyes a moment against the temptation to haul Blanche over his shoulder that very instant and carry her from the hall. What he would do with her once he had done this, he didn’t know. He forced his attention back to Graelam. He could not understand the lord of Wolffeton. Until today, Graelam had been so gentle toward his lady. There was no doubt in Guy’s mind that he had missed Kassia during their absence
from Wolffeton. His greeting of her upon their return was proof enough. What, he wondered, was in his lord’s mind?

Graelam speared a bit of tender fish on his knife, and thrust it into his mouth. He could feel the tension radiating from Kassia. The fish tasted of fear, her fear, of him.

Damn her! He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. He wanted to hear her laugh again, to see the dimples deepen in her cheeks.

I have no choice, Kassia was thinking. No choice at all. I do not understand him, yet I must bear whatever he metes out to me. The events of the day had effectively destroyed all the budding happiness she had known since she had come to Wolffeton as his wife. Why had he been so gentle with her at first, if it was his intention to become a ravening beast? She closed her eyes, knowing that soon she would have to share his bed. Would he force her again? She picked up her goblet of wine, but her hand was shaking so badly, she quickly lowered it back to the table. Where is your pride, you spineless wench? Will you spend the rest of your days cowering, wondering if he will turn on you again if you serve him a meal not to his liking or speak to Blanche in a voice that pleases him not?

Her chin went up, and she sat straight in her chair. Slowly she turned to face her husband.

“My lord,” she said quietly, drawing his attention from his baked heron.

He looked at her intently, and she had to call upon a strength she had not known she possessed not to cower. “Aye?” he asked, his expression impassive.

“I would like to . . . understand my role at Wolffeton.”

He saw the firmness in her eyes, and felt a moment
of pleasure at her defiance. But she is but a woman, his mind told him. A woman, especially a wife, must never dictate to her husband. “Your role,” he said calmly, “is to see to my pleasure.”

Her eyes remained steady on his face. “You told me that you had allowed me to play at being mistress at Wolffeton. I know that I am young, my lord, but I managed Belleterre since my mother’s death, a holding just as vast as this keep. Is it your pleasure that I indeed be the mistress of Wolffeton?”

She saw his eyes go briefly toward Blanche, and felt a surge of fury wash through her. She spoke without thought. “Why did you not wed her, my lord? Why did you not allow our marriage to be annulled?”

It was odd, Graelam thought, but he did not have an answer to her question. Indeed, his thinking continued, how dare she even question him?

“You are the mistress of Wolffeton,” he said coldly. “But you will not harm those less fortunate than you. Do you understand me?”

Again she blurted out her thoughts, sarcasm thick in her voice. “I, fortunate, my lord?”

“Enough, Kassia!” His voice, a low hiss, washed over her. He clutched her arm, and her courage, illusory at best, faltered. She knew she could not try to jerk away from him, not in front of fifty people! Not in front of Blanche or the serving wench, Nan.

“As you wish, my lord,” she said, bowing her head. “As mistress of Wolffeton, I will need funds to see to improvements within the keep.”

“There are none,” he said shortly.

“Soon you will sign the charter with the merchant Drieux. In my experience, the charter will bring you immediate access to goods.”

He stared at her a moment. “In your experience? A woman should not understand those things,” he said slowly. He saw the mounting frustration in her eyes, and shrugged. “Very well, you have my permission to speak with Blount. But, my lady, you will not instruct him.”

“Aye, I understand,” she said, her head still bowed. “He is a man, and thus far superior to me. I am not to annoy him with my silly questions and demands.”

“You understand well,” he said sharply. “See that that sarcastic tongue of yours stays quiet in your mouth.”

Her hand balled into a fist in her lap.

“Aye,” he added softly, “and watch Blanche. I find her . . . attitude and demeanor much to my liking.”

“As you wish, my lord. It will be just as you say, my lord. May I now be excused now, my lord? I wish to retire.”

Even though her words reeked with meekness, Graelam knew that she was mocking him. Her submissiveness was feigned. It both pleased him and angered him. She was unlike any woman in his experience. She was gently bred, and yet he had treated her cruelly. He sighed. “You may go.”

Kassia endured Etta’s worried frowns and clucking advice all during her bath.

“Please, leave off, Etta,” she said finally, wrapping her bedrobe securely about her.

“But, my baby, you cannot continue to challenge your lord!”

“I did not say that I had,” Kassia said sharply.

Etta shook her head sadly. “There is no need. I know you.”

“Would you prefer that I lie down upon the floor and let him tread over me like a rug?”

“He is not your father, my baby. He is a man who is used to command, a man who—”

“Odd,” Kassia said in a low voice, cutting Etta off, “until this day I had begun to believe him as kind and gentle as my father. I was a fool.”

“He owns you!”

“Aye, what a joy to be owned by a man who hates me!”

Graelam paused a moment, her words searing through his mind, then pushed the bedchamber door open. “Go,” he said to Etta, his eyes upon Kassia.

Etta cast her mistress a pleading look, and took herself off.

Kassia could not look at him. She felt utterly vulnerable, clothed only in the flimsy bedrobe, and alone with him. He took a step toward her, and she flinched, stepping back.

“Get into bed,” he said, standing motionless before her. “And take off that robe. You will wear nothing unless it is your monthly flux.”

She did not move. She saw herself as she had been today, lying helplessly beneath him. She winced anew at the memory of the pain.

“Is that order so difficult for you to understand?”

Even as the words flew from her mouth, she knew that she was a fool to try to bargain with him. “Only if you swear to me that you will not force me again.”

“Damn!” he swore. “I will take you whenever it pleases me to do so!”

“No!”

The small defiant word held him frozen for an instant. He took another step toward her, only to halt again when he saw tears swimming in her eyes.

“Go to bed, Kassia,” he said shortly, and turned away from her.

He heard no sound or movement. “Do as I tell you,” he said over his shoulder.

“I . . . I am afraid of you.”

The whispered words made him close his eyes over an elusive pain that he did not understand.

“I swear I will not force you,” he said finally. Perversely, the moment the words were out of his mouth, he felt that he had given in to her, and saw himself as one of those weak men he despised. He added, knowing well the cruelty of his words, “You are a child, and as unresponsive as a nun. It would give me no pleasure to take you again. You do not have a woman’s grace, a woman’s yielding, or a woman’s softness.”

She wanted to scream at him:
Like your slut Nan?
But she said nothing. She walked slowly to the bed, slipped between the covers, and pulled them to her chin.

She listened to him splash in the tub. Slowly, without wishing to, she stroked her hand over her body. I have the body of a child, she thought. Would he have been more pleased with her if she were full-fleshed like Blanche? Her hand paused a moment in the valley of her belly. Her pelvic bones were still prominent when she lay upon her back. She tensed and quickly whipped her hand away when her fingers lightly touched the nest of curls. She did not want to touch herself where he had. When she saw him step from the tub, she tightly closed her eyes.

She heard his firm footsteps toward the bed. She held herself rigid, terrified that he would not keep his word.

But he did nothing. He lay on top of the covers on his back, motionless for many minutes. Suddenly he turned toward her. Startled, she whimpered softly, and rolled to the side of the bed.

He cursed softly, but made no move to touch her. Kassia did not ease until she heard his breathing become slow and regular in sleep.

“What lovely stitches,” Blanche said. “I can scarce see them. You sew them much more proficiently than I.”

Kassia’s fingers froze over the material. She looked up warily at Blanche. “Thank you,” she said finally, her voice clipped. The last thing she wanted to endure was more baiting and insults from that lady! But Blanche was smiling at her.

“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while? I have a rent to mend in my tunic. Perhaps I can improve my stitches if I watch you closely.”

“What do you want, Blanche?” Kassia asked without preamble.

Blanche lowered her head a moment. She said softly, “I want us to be friends, Kassia. I know that I have not been kind to you.”

Kind! You have treated me like a blight!

Blanche persevered, her voice liquid with shame. “ ’Twas jealousy that made me act as I did. I wanted Graelam, but he chose first Joanna, then you. It was
not well done of me. I wish there to be peace between us.”

Kassia did not think herself a gullible fool, but she was lonely, and terribly unhappy. The past week and a half had dragged past even though Blount had enthusiastically approved everything she wished to do within Wolffeton, and work had begun. It was not that she was bored or felt useless. No never that. She was the mistress of Wolffeton. she felt herself go tense remembering how Graelam had watched the great hall scrubbed clean of years of filth, sniffed at the fresh reeds that were scattered with a special mixture of sweet rosemary, lavender, and other herbs and flowers handed down from Kassia’s grandmother. She had waited for him to say something, anything, but he had merely grunted, ignoring her.

Blanche saw Kassia looking wistfully toward the far whitewashed wall and guessed the direction of her thoughts. She said with gentle praise, “You have performed wonders. I had not believed Wolffeton could be so beautiful.” She forced herself to sigh softly. “And the servants respect you and obey you. I wanted to make changes, you know, but they would not heed me. And the cushions you are making! How often I have wished to be more at ease in my chair!”

That brought a reluctant smile to Kassia’s lips. “Aye,” she said with a bit more enthusiasm, “I have felt the same way.”

“Will you let me help you?” Blanche asked humbly. “I do have some skill with a needle.”

“Aye,” Kassia said again slowly, still wary of the incredible change in Blanche. “If you would like, ’twould make us all more comfortable that much sooner.”

The two women sewed together companionably until
the light faded. “Just a few more minutes,” Kassia said, “and I shall be through with this cushion.”

“It is for your lord?” Blanche asked, her voice sympathetic.

“It is,” Kassia said shortly, wondering what Graelam would say, wondering if Graelam would even notice.

She started when Blanche reached over and gently patted her hand. “All will be well between you, Kassia. You will see. Graelam is a man unused to gently bred ladies, but your care of him will soon change his thinking.”

Kassia felt tears cloud her vision. “Perhaps you are right, Blanche.”

“Of course I am right,” Blanche said stoutly. “Whilst you finish your lord’s cushion, is there something you would like me to do?”