Fire Song (45 page)

“I am well. Indeed, I did not even know I was with child.” She rose clumsily to her feet. “Please, Papa, I do not wish to speak more about it now. He will not come after me. He is likely well-pleased that I left him.”

He heard the harsh pain in her voice, and felt utterly helpless.

“May I stay here, Papa? I swear to you that I will not interfere with anything Marie does.”

“Of course. This is your home, Kassia.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

“You are weary, my love. We will speak more about this when you are rested.” He drew her to him and gently hugged her. He felt her womanly curves, her woman’s softness. It amazed him that he had not noticed earlier that his little girl had matured. Had Graelam abused her? he wondered, his body tensing. He pictured the huge man naked with his daughter, taking her as a man took a woman, and gritted his teeth. He leaned his head down and gently kissed her cheek. It was wet with her tears.

“Kassia,” he murmured softly. “Do not cry, poppin. All will be well now, you will see.”

“I do not deserve you,” she said, sniffing back the hated tears.

“Well, we are even, for your husband does not deserve you.” He patted her back and released her. “In the morning, poppin. Everything always looks brighter in the sunlight.”

Kassia smiled. It had always been one of her father’s favorite sayings. She turned to go, when his voice halted her in her tracks.

“Do you love Graelam?”

She turned slowly back to face him, and Maurice sucked in his breath at the tragic sadness in her expressive eyes. She said very quietly, “I am sick with love for him, Papa.” She gave a harsh, derisive laugh that made him wince. “I am a fool.” She turned quickly, lifted her skirts, and fled up the stairs to the upper chambers.

Maurice stood still for many long moments, listening to her light footfalls on the stairs. He had met Marie and lost his heart to her. How could any man not do the same for his daughter? Was Graelam so hardened a warrior that there was no giving, no softness in him? Maurice shook his head and walked slowly to his chamber, knowing that Marie would be there in his bed, ready to comfort him with all the kindness in her heart.

There were no more conversations with her father. Kassia knew she was purposefully avoiding him. She saw the questions in his eyes when she chanced to look at him, but it was too soon. The pain was too sharp within her. She spent the next day to herself, walking about Belleterre, searching out all her old childhood haunts. She spoke to all her old friends, savoring their
words, for they evoked happier times, when her life was simple and filled with love. How odd, she thought, walking up the steep wooden steps to the eastern tower, that she had always taken everyone’s love and approval for granted. Several times the servants had come to her with questions, out of long habit, she assumed, and she had sent them to Marie. She had no intention, just as she had assured her father, of wresting the management from her new stepmother.

She gained the watchtower and threw back her head to savor the gentle breeze from the sea and the bright afternoon sunlight on her face. She heard the men-at-arms joking with each other on the practice field. In other days, she would have skipped happily down to watch them, never questioning that she was welcome.

Her eyes widened at the sight of a group of men riding toward Belleterre. Her heart began to pound, and her breath grew short. No, it could not be he! Still, her feet moved along the walkway toward the great gates of Belleterre. She stood motionless, watching the clouds of dust kicked up by the horses’ hooves. She recognized Graelam’s standard, recognized his mighty destrier. He looked utterly resplendent in his silver mail and black velvet surcoat. He had come. But why? To assure himself that Belleterre would still be his upon her father’s death?

She stood directly above the gates, looking down at her husband as he halted his men. She heard Pierre, the porter, shout down, “Who are you, my lord? What do you wish at Belleterre?”

She watched Graelam jerk off his helmet and pull back the mesh hood from his head. “I am Graelam de Moreton. I have come for my wife,” he shouted upward, his voice firm and commanding.

Kassia felt a wave of dizziness flood through her. It could not be true, she thought, doubting it even as it passed through her mind. Her husband was a possessive man. Had her leaving him hurt his pride?

“I am here, my lord,” she shouted down at him, leaning forward so he could see her.

Graelam looked upward, and to her consternation, a wide smile crossed his face. “Madam wife,” he called up to her. “I trust you are well after your harrowing journey.”

“It was not at all harrowing,” she said coldly. “Dienwald was most careful of my well-being.”

There, she thought, let him realize the truth. She waited to see the fury turn his face to stone. His smile, to her utter surprise, did not falter.

“Have your men open the gates. My men and I are weary.”

She stood a moment, irresolute. He had but a dozen or so men with him. He could not force her to return with him. Her father would protect her. She called to the porter. “Allow my lord to enter, Pierre.”

She found herself smoothing her hair, wishing that she was garbed in a more becoming gown. Fool! she chided herself. It matters not if I look like a dairy maid. She flung back her head, her chin up, and marched down the stairs to the inner bailey.

He rides in like a conquering master, she thought, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. Her chin rose higher.

Graelam drew Demon to a halt some feet from his wife and dismounted. He handed the reins to one of his men, then looked back at her. It was not going to be easy, he thought, so pleased to see her that he had to hold himself back from grabbing her and crushing her
against him. He was aware of men and servants closing about them, all of them ready to club him to death if he threatened her in any way. Their show of loyalty pleased him.

“My lady,” he said, halting in front of her.

“Why are you here, Graelam?” she asked without preamble.

“It is as I said, Kassia. I have come to bring you home to Wolffeton.”

“There was no reason for such an action, my lord. I assured you that you would not lose Belleterre.”

“I do not give a flying damn about your father’s possessions, my lady,” he said very softly.

Her chin rose even higher. “Dienwald de Fortenberry brought me here. I paid him with the necklace.”

“Aye, I know it well.” He reached out his hand so quickly she had not time to jerk away from him. He cupped her chin in his palm. “Your pride pleases me, wife. Now, I would like something to drink, my men also. We have ridden hard this day.”

He released her chin, and she backed away. “You will follow me, my lord.”

Graelam watched her walk stiffly, her slender shoulders squared, up the steep oak stairs into the great hall.

What are his plans? she wondered, her mind spinning. Will he continue toying with me?

Graelam’s eyes narrowed upon the black-haired woman who approached them.

“My stepmother, Marie, my lord,” Kassia said in a clipped voice. “Marie, this is my . . . husband, Lord Graelam de Moreton.”

Marie eyed the huge man. He looked utterly fierce and unyielding. “My lord,” she said quietly. “Kassia,
your father is in the solarium with his steward. Would you care to fetch him?”

Kassia nodded, thankful to Marie for the chance to escape.

“So,” Graelam said agreeably after Kassia had left, “Maurice has found himself a new wife.”

“And three stepchildren, my lord.”

Graelam remembered Maurice telling him that his seed was lifeless. He had done well for himself. “Excellent,” he said

“Will you not be seated, my lord?”

Graelam sat himself in Maurice’s chair, and watched Marie give quiet orders to the serving wenches. He wondered idly what Kassia thought of her father’s new wife.

“My lord.” Graelam rose from his chair to greet his father-in-law. Maurice was looking at him warily, uncertain, Graelam imagined, just how he should greet his son-in-law.

“Maurice, it is a pleasure to see you again.” He clasped the older man’s shoulders and hugged him briefly.

“You have come to see your wife?”

“Aye, more than that. I am come to take her home to Cornwall.”

“Why?”

It was Kassia who had spat the word at him. He shifted his gaze from Maurice and drank in the sight of his wife. She was regarding him as warily as her father.

“Because,” he said quietly, “you are mine and will always be so. Your father gave you to me.” He saw her eyes narrow with fury, and smiled at her. “However, I understand your wish to visit with your father and your new stepmother for a while. If it pleases your father,
we will remain here at Belleterre for several days before we return to Wolffeton.”

Kassia looked helplessly toward her father. Maurice, for the first time in his life, had not a clue as to what he should do. He had to admit to great admiration for Graelam, for the man had ridden up to Belleterre, seemingly without a worry in the world. He would have known, of course, that Maurice’s men could have cut down him and his men had he wished it. But there was his daughter to consider. It was Marie who spoke in her gentle voice.

“We are pleased to welcome you, my lord. You may, if Kassia wishes it, speak to her.”

Maurice added more forcefully, “Aye, Graelam, but you’ll not force my daughter to do anything she does not wish to.”

“It is not my intention ever again to force Kassia to do what she does not want to do.”

I do not believe you! Kassia wanted to yell at him.

Marie said, “Would you care to bathe, my lord? The evening meal will be ready soon.”

Graelam nodded. “Thank you, my lady.” He sought out his wife. “Would you please show me to the proper chamber?”

Maurice saw Kassia hesitate, but he knew that Graelam had no power in Belleterre. “Aye, daughter,” he said crisply. “Accompany Graelam.”

Kassia bit her lip, knowing she had no choice. She tossed her head and marched toward the stairs. She heard Marie giving orders for a bath. She led him to her chamber, pausing a moment inside the room.

“Come in, Kassia,” Graelam said. “I need assistance with my armor.”

“I am not your squire!”

“True, you are my wife. Surely the sight of my body will not surprise you or offend you.”

She felt a wave of heat suffuse her face. It had been so long. She cursed him silently for teaching her passion. Then she dropped to her knees and untied his cross-garters. He pulled off his chaussures and stood naked in front of her. He did not move to cover himself when two serving girls entered, bearing buckets of hot water.

I will not look at him, Kassia swore to herself. She watched the tub filled with steaming water. When he stepped into the tub, she tossed him a bar of lavender-scented soap.

Graelam did not appear to notice the gentle scent. He leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes. “Ah,” he sighed, beginning to rub the soap over his broad chest, his eyes still closed. “You have led me a merry chase, Kassia.”

She said over her shoulder, still not looking at him, “Nay, my lord. I did nothing but leave a most unhappy situation.”

“With Dienwald de Fortenberry,” he added mildly.

“Why not?” she flung at him. “After all,” she continued in a snide voice, “he has helped me on previous occasions. Surely you cannot doubt our . . . devotion to each other.”

“I certainly do not doubt his devotion to you.”

“Then why are you here?” she snapped. “I have proved to you that I am not trustworthy, that I have no honor, indeed, that I have lied to you from the very beginning.”

“I suppose I could regard it in such a light.”

He was toying with her! She gritted her teeth. “I will not return with you, Graelam. I will no more suffer
your foul humor and your indifference to me. I will not play brood mare to your stallion.”

Graelam opened one eye and regarded her flushed face. “But, my dear wife, you have not yet proved to me that you can even fulfill that role.”

She sucked in her breath in fury. “I have no intention of playing any role for you, my lord! And you cannot force me. My father will protect me!”

“I imagine that Maurice would,” Graelam said lazily. He began to lather his hair, as if he had no other concern in the world.

“I repeat, my lord, why are you here?”

He did not reply, merely continued washing his hair, then rinsing it, cupping his hands in the hot water, and splashing it liberally. He shook his head, sending droplets of water flying toward her, then asked, “Will you scrub my back, Kassia?”

“No! Your dirt is your own, my lord. I will have nothing to do with it.”

He sighed. “You left Wolffeton in something of an uproar, my lady. Your nurse was so noisy in her tears that she could only hand me your message to her. As for yours to me . . .” He shrugged. “Well, it made me want to thrash you, but very gently.”

“You will not touch me, my lord!”

He cocked a thick wet brow at her. “I would not be too certain of that, Kassia.”

Before she could frame a reply, he rose in the tub, and her unruly eyes coursed down his body. She gulped, for his manhood was swollen. She whirled about, clutching her arms over her breasts.

“You are quite beautiful,” she heard him say softly behind her. “I have found that more generously endowed women no longer appeal to me.” She felt his
fingers touch her hair. “So soft. You will give me a daughter, Kassia, endowed with your beauty.”

“Stop it! Please, Graelam, I do not want—”

His arms closed around her, and he gently drew her back against his chest. His powerful arms prevented any escape. She stood stiffly, willing herself not to succumb. He did not love her. She was a woman, and he merely wanted her as such.

“Release me, my lord.”

He did, much to her bemused disappointment. “Have you a bedrobe for me, Kassia?”

She shook her head mutely.

“No matter. I am weary, wife, and wish to rest for a while.” He took her arm firmly and drew her toward the bed.

“I will not let you take me, Graelam,” she spat at him. “It will have to be by force. But then again, you are quite uncaring of how you take a woman.”