Fire Song (34 page)

“Dienwald de Fortenberry is not my lover,” she said quietly, hopelessly.

His fingers tightened about her shoulders and he felt her small bones twisting beneath his strength. Damn him for a fool! He had ridden back to Wolffeton like a maniac, his only thought of Kassia and holding her, seeing her, listening to her laugh, feeling her soft body beneath him, opening to him. His fingers ground harshly into her shoulders and she whimpered from pain. He released her abruptly and stood.

“Come,” he said roughly. “I do not wish you to die from a fever.”

She staggered to her feet and pulled her cloak more closely about her. She saw Sir Walter standing in the narrow doorway, a look of hatred contorting his features. She said in a loud, clear voice, “Did Sir Walter tell you how he managed to capture Dienwald de Fortenberry? Did he tell you how he beat him viciously whilst he was bound and could not defend himself?”

Graelam turned slowly to face his knight.

“Did he tell you that he trusted you to kill de Fortenberry and then reward him for bringing him to you?”

Graelam said in a cold voice, “I will speak to Sir Walter, wife. Now, my lady, you will come with me.”

He drew away from her a moment and spoke in a quiet voice to Sir Walter. The man nodded and withdrew. He hates me because I am a woman and thus not to be believed or trusted, she thought. She said aloud, “I did not betray you, Graelam. I have never betrayed you.”

She saw the fury building in his dark eyes. She threw
back her head, raising her chin. “Will you kill me now? Just as you would have killed Dienwald?”

He looked at that proud tilted chin of hers and turned quickly away, his hands clenched at his sides. He did not want to strike her, for if he did, it would likely kill her.

“That is why he escaped, Graelam. It is true that I released his chains, but my thought was only to spare him more pain. I trusted him to tell you the truth, that it was Blanche who had paid him the necklace to be rid of me, but he said you would kill him regardless of what he told you. He did not wish to die.”

“So he left you here, chained, to face me. An honorable man.”

“Was he right? Would you have killed him?”

“Come, Kassia,” he said, striding to the cell door.

She followed him silently, feeling blessedly numb. She did not wonder about the future; it could be naught but the cold misery of the present.

There was utter silence as she walked beside her husband through the great hall. She felt the servants’ eyes upon her. She imagined that she could even feel their fear for her. But she felt no fear. She felt nothing. Everything was over now.

Graelam paused a moment and gave orders for hot water to be brought to their bedchamber. She saw the lines of fatigue in his face for the first time, and the filth of his chain mail and tunic. She wanted to ask him if he was all right, then almost laughed aloud at the wifely spurt of concern she felt for him.

When they reached their bedchamber, Graelam ignored her. Evian helped him strip off his armor. After he dismissed the boy, he peeled off the rest of his
clothes and sank down naked into his high-backed chair. Still he said nothing.

Two serving wenches came into the room and poured hot water into the wooden tub. Graelam rose and walked to the tub even as they filled it, seemingly oblivious of his nakedness. He dismissed them with a curt nod and climbed into the tub.

He felt the hot water seep into his muscles, easing his soreness and bone-weariness. He wondered vaguely whether Sir Walter would have left her locked in de Fortenberry’s cell if Graelam had not returned until the following night. No, the knight would not have dared. Graelam sighed, easing his body deeper into the water. Thoughts of his joy at seeing Kassia mingled with knowledge of her deception, and he felt suddenly old and very tired. His father was right. Drake, his armorer, was right. He had been a fool to have begun to doubt his sire’s wisdom. Women were good for breeding, and only if a husband kept his wife away from other men to ensure whose seed filled her belly. Had de Fortenberry taken her before he had escaped? He sat up in the tub and turned his head to see her sitting quietly, as still as a statue, in a chair. “Kassia,” he said quite calmly, “take off your clothes. I wish to see if de Fortenberry’s seed is in your body or still clinging to your thighs.”

She could only gape at him, furious color flooding her face, as his words gained meaning in her mind.

“Damn you, do as I say!”

“Graelam,” she said, clutching the arms of the chair until her knuckles showed white, “please, you must believe me. Dienwald de Fortenberry was not my lover!”

“If you do not obey me, I will rip off your clothes.”

“Why won’t you believe me?”

His jaw clenched. He quickly washed his hair and his
body and just as quickly rose from the tub and dried himself. From the corner of his eye he saw her rise from the chair and dart toward the chamber door. He caught her as her hand touched the brass handle.

“Please,” she panted, “for once, please believe me!”

“Do you want me to rip your clothes off?”

She stared up at him, knowing he was implacable. She would not let him cow her again. Slowly she shook her head. “You will not humiliate me,” she said. “My only crime was feeling concern for a man who was kind to me.” Her chin went up. “I am glad he was wise enough to escape. I am glad he did not stay so you could kill him.”

He drew back his hand, but then got a grip on himself and slowly lowered it to his side. Very slowly he turned away from her. He said over his shoulder, “If you leave this room, you will wish you had not.”

He tossed on his bedrobe, belted it, and returned to her. “Take off your clothes,” he said very softly.

“Nay,” she said, her voice a croak.

He shrugged, and very deliberately tore away her olive-green wool gown. She tried to struggle against him, but it was useless and she knew it. She would only hurt herself. When she was naked and trembling before him, he stepped back, a cruel light in his dark eyes, and thoughtfully began stroking his chin. “Aye, you have become quite the woman, have you not, wife? Such lovely breasts you have now. And that soft little belly of yours.”

She did not try to cover her body from his eyes. Instead, she clapped her hands over her ears to block out his cruel words.

He laughed, picked her up in his arms, and carried her to the bed. He tossed her down upon her back.
“Hold still,” he said coldly. There could be no greater humiliation, she thought, as he pulled her legs apart and looked down at her. She flinched when he ran his hand over her.

“So,” he said, straightening. “if a child does grow in your belly, it will be mine. At least this time.”

Kassia rolled over onto her side and drew her legs up. Great sobs built up, pounding against her chest, tearing from her throat.

Graelam stared down at her, hating himself for the pain he was feeling at her suffering, hating himself for wanting to gather her into his arms and stroke her and soothe her and caress her.

“Get under the covers,” he said harshly. When she did not move, he lifted her roughly and placed her beneath them himself.

“There is no choice, my baby. You cannot remain here longer.”

Kassia sighed and nodded, knowing Etta was right.

Still, she clutched Etta’s arm before she stiffened her back and walked down into the great hall. She heard the clatter of horses’ hooves from the inner bailey and wondered with a mixture of relief and pain if Graelam were leaving again. She stood quietly at the top of the steps and watched Sir Walter and three men preparing to ride out. Had Graelam dismissed the man from his service? Hope leapt in her breast. She started forward, only to stop abruptly when Graelam, as if sensing her presence, turned to look at her. The bright morning sun gleamed down on his thick dark hair. For a brief moment she saw him as she had when he had held her so tightly against him, whispering love words whilst he gave her pleasure. Her hands clenched, remembering
the feel of his flesh, the tautness of his muscled body. He strode toward her and she remained where she was, watching him in wary silence.

He said nothing, merely looked at her, his face expressionless. Finally he said, “Do you not wish to know where Sir Walter goes?”

“Aye,” she said.

He remained silent and she burst out, “Have you dismissed him?”

He gave a brief, harsh laugh. “Nay, wife, I have made him the new castellan of Crandall. He goes to relieve Rolfe, who now holds the keep.”

“You have . . . rewarded him? After all that he did?”

“Tell me, Kassia,” he said quietly, striding up the steps toward her, “tell me once again why you had Dienwald de Fortenberry return you to Wolffeton. Tell me why you did not stay with him or have him take you back to your father. Tell me why you did not leave with him last night.”

She closed her eyes against the dull anger in his dark eyes. “I never left you, Graelam. When he asked me if I wished him to take me to Brittany, I told him that I wanted to go home.” Her voice was singsong, as if she was reciting a litany.

“And did he refuse to take you with him last night?”

She shook her head.

“Ah, so he did want to take you with him when he escaped?”

She stared at him like a wounded animal who knows that the hunter taunts, waiting to deliver the killing blow. She nodded. The blow came quickly.

“Why did you not go with him?”

“I told him that he was sentencing me to hell if he escaped.”

“Why did you not go with him?” The repeated words, though softly spoken, held such menace that she shivered.

It did not occur to her to lie. She said quietly, “I could not go with him because you are my husband, and I love you.”

Graelam sucked in his breath as if he had been struck in the belly. For an instant, something deep inside him seemed to expand, filling him with inexplicable joy. The feeling quickly shriveled and died. “That was quite good, my lady,” he said, the sneering sarcasm in his voice making her flinch. “So, your handsome lover did not ask you to go with him. Did he suggest to you that you might tell me that lie to calm my . . . ire?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Lies, quite good ones actually, flow so easily from your pretty mouth, my lady. Such a pity that you did not wed a man who is a gullible fool.”

Anger flowed through her and she thrust her chin up. “I did not marry any man. If you will recall, my lord, I had no choice in the matter. And it appears that my husband is a fool!”

“Get out of my sight,” he said in a deadly voice. “Go, before I thrash you.”

She clutched her gown in her hands and fled back up the stairs.

Kassia did not see him until the early-evening meal. The tension among the men was palpable, as thick and tangible as the slabs of beef on the trays. Graelam said nothing to her, and she listened while he and his men discussed the situation at Crandall. There had been some fighting by the few soldiers loyal to the castellan, de Cercy, who held the keep.

She heard Ian, a young man-at arms who worshiped
Graelam, say reverently, “You dispatched that whoreson so quickly, my lord. He was no match for your strength.”

Who, Kassia wondered. De Cercy?

“He had become lazy from greed,” Graelam said in a dismissing voice.

She wanted to ask him what he expected Sir Walter to do, but she held her tongue. As the men recounted in great detail each bout with the enemy, Kassia lost what little appetite she had. She left the table very quietly while Graelam was held in close conversation with Blount.

The gown she was sewing awaited her, but she did not touch it. Why should she? There would be no place she could wear such a beautiful garment. And it was beautiful, special. Blue satin, its sleeves long and closely fitted, its skirt flowing, fitted to her waist with a leather girdle threaded with gold and silver. She paced across the thick carpet, her thoughts in a blank whirl.

“I thought I had made it clear to you, Kassia, that you were not to leave unless you had secured my permission.”

How could he walk so silently, she wondered frantically, and he was so large?

“Forgive me,” she said. “You appeared very interested in your talk. I did not wish to disturb you.”

Graelam said nothing. His eyes lit upon the luxurious blue satin material, and he walked to it and lifted it, stroking it in his hands. “You will look quite lovely in this. I told you, did I not, that the cloth came from Acre?” He continued to caress the material, looking thoughtful. Suddenly he tossed the material aside. “You will need some ornament to wear with it. I believe this
will look quite dramatic.” He pulled something from the inside of his tunic and tossed it to her.

She caught it, and stared down at the heavy golden necklace studded with gems of incredible beauty. “It is lovely,” she began. She raised bewildered eyes to his set face. “Why do you give it to me, my lord?”

“Will you forever playact with me, my lady? I fancy you recognize the necklace. You should. It has caused you a great deal of difficulty.”

She sucked in her breath, dropping the necklace as if it were a snake that had bitten her. “It is the necklace Blanche gave to de Fortenberry,” she said dully, staring at the tangled heap of gold on the carpet at her feet. The gems winked up at her, taunting her. “Where did you get it?”

“A groom found it in de Fortenberry’s cell, hidden in some straw. I imagine that it must have dropped from his clothing. I also imagine that he was bringing it back to you.”

Kassia raised pain-filled eyes to his face. “Aye,” she said slowly. “He must have forgotten about it.”

Graelam regarded her silently. He was a fool, he realized, to feel cold and sad at the sight of her pain. He said finally, “Have you bathed away the stench of the dungeons?”

She nodded blankly.

“Get into bed. I have gone many days without a woman.”

She did not argue with him, or attempt to plead with him. It would gain her naught, she knew. Slowly she removed her clothes, folding each item carefully. She slipped into bed, naked, and closed her eyes.

She felt his hands stroking over her cold flesh. She thought he would simply force her quickly and be done
with it. But he did not. He was undemanding, finding her mouth and kissing her slowly, gently, while his hand cupped her breast, his thumb caressing her nipple. To her horror, she felt her body leap in reponse. He had taught her well, too well, and her body was not in her mind’s control.