Fire Song

  “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.

  Graelam felt her slender arms go around his back, and he smiled grimly as he kissed her throat. He knew how to arouse her, and he watched her face as his fingers found her moist softness. She moaned softly, arching up against him. He moved down her body, touching and stroking every inch of her soft flesh. When he gathered her hips in his hands and lifted her to his mouth, he looked at her face. He could see the building passion in her eyes, and something else, a flicker of pain. He lowered his head and brought her closer to her release. She cried out, thrashing wildly, her head arched back against the pillow.

  But he did not allow her release. He left her abruptly, raised himself above h
er, and thrust into her. He cupped her face between his hands, holding her still, willing her to look at him.

  “Tell me the truth, Kassia. Tell me, and I will forgive you.”

  Her body froze, and all pleasure disappeared as if it had never awakened.

  “Tell me,” he said more harshly, his voice matching the rough thrusting into her body.

  “I have told you the truth!” she wailed.

  He had filled her, made himself a part of her, and she hated it and him and herself. She lay like cold marble beneath him, suffering him in silence, unmoving. She was separate, apart from the helpless woman who lay beneath the man.

  Graelam cursed her, his words catching in his throat as his seed exploded deep within her. He rolled away from her immediately and lay panting on his back.

  “Your love is short-lived, I see,” he said, not turning toward her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I suppose it must be. How can love survive cruelty and distrust?”

  He cursed again softly.

  Kassia rose shakily from the bed, walked to the basin, and quickly bathed herself. She knew he was watching her, but she said nothing, did not acknowledge him. She hugged the side of the bed, pulling the covers to her chin, but she could not get warm. She realized vaguely that the coldness was coming from deep within her. She would probably be cold for the rest of her life.

  26

  “Edward’s coronation is in a week and a half.”

  “When will you leave, my lord?” Kassia asked, finishing the fresh peas from her trencher.

  “I, my lady? Do you not recall that the both of us are invited? Do you find my company so distasteful that you would even forgo such an exciting event?”

  She raised pitifully hopeful eyes to his face. He watched her pink tongue flicker over her lower lip, and cursed himself silently for wanting her, wanting her simply because she sat beside him, and in a hall full of people!

  “I am to come with you, my lord?”

  “I do not dare risk leaving you here,” he drawled, effectively dampening the sharp edge of his desire for her. He saw a flash of anger in her eyes, and added lazily, his eyes roving over her body, “And do eat more, wife, else I will have naught but sympathy from Edward when he sees I am wed to such a skinny child.”

  He watched with great interest when her hand closed about the stem of her goblet. “Go ahead,” he taunted her softly. “Toss your wine in my face. I at least would enjoy my retaliation.”

  Her hand fell away from the goblet as if it had burned her.

  He laughed harshly. “It matters not, Kassia. Coupling with you gives me little enough pleasure. If you continue as you are, you will soon enough look like a boy. Then perhaps I will think of myself as a pederast.”

  She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached.

  “What?” he mocked. “You will not even raise that little chin of yours?”

  Kassia picked up a ribbed piece of pork. She raised it to her mouth and slowly began to nibble off the meat. She heard him suck in his breath, and let her tongue lick the gravy from the bone. She eased it deeper into her mouth, sucking at the tender meat.

  Once, so long ago, it seemed, he had taught her to give him pleasure. He had laughed at her, teased her at her clumsy efforts until he had moaned, and laughed again at her obvious delight. She saw his eyes fastened on her mouth, and felt the momentary power of revenge. She withdrew the bone and tossed it carelessly to her trencher. She raised her chin.

  “Bitch,” he said softly.

  He rose abruptly from the table and strode from the hall.

  It had begun to rain, and she nearly called to him. You are such a stupid fool, she chided herself, worrying that he will take a chill!

  Graelam strode at a furious pace up the winding wooden stairs to the ramparts. He leaned forward against the harsh cold stone and looked toward the sea, but the sliver of moon showed him no more than an occasional white-topped wave. The rain was warm on his face. At least, he mocked himself silently, it cools my passions.

  He realized that he was tired, tired to the depths of his being of baiting Kassia, tired of watching her show alternately her fear and her hatred of him. None of it was his fault, damn her! But he knew that it was. She would never have left him if he had not driven her to it. The events of the past months careened through his mind. The weeks of warmth and caring they had shared when he had decided to forget what she had done, forget her lies, excusing her by blaming himself. Dienwald de Fortenberry. The knight’s name rang like a death knell in his mind. I did not leave with him because I love you. His eyes darkened, anger at himself flowing through him for believing her even for a moment.

  Graelam pounded his fist hard against the stone. He hated himself for his feelings of deep uncertainty. He had never experienced the emotions she had evoked in him. If Edward called for another crusade, he would have agreed immediately. On the heels of that thought he saw her face, her dimples deepening as she smiled at him, saw her eyes widen with bewildered astonishment when he had first brought her pleasure.

  “Saint Peter’s bones, but I am weary of all this!” he muttered. He strode back into the keep, shaking off the rain like a huge mongrel dog.

  It would take them six days to travel to London, but Kassia didn’t mind. She was filled with excitement, and even her husband’s distance did not overly upset her. He had simply ignored her, leaving all preparations to her. The string of details and decisions to be made allowed her to bury her feelings for him, and her hurt, until she lay in bed at night, listening to his even breathing. The day before they were to leave, Graelam had walked into their bedchamber unexpectedly. He paused a moment, watching Kassia twirl around in her new blue satin gown. She looked utterly beautiful, despite her fragile slenderness. Her hair lay in thick soft curls about her small head, now falling to her shoulders. Her laughter died in her throat when she saw him.

  “My lord?”

  “The gown becomes you, my lady,” he said harshly.

  Her face went carefully blank. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “You will wear the necklace with that gown.” He could see the frisson of distaste in her eyes before she lowered her head.

  He walked to his trunk and dug it out. He held it up, watching the precious gems gleam in the sunlight that poured through the small windows. “Come here,” he said.

  She walked slowly to him and turned around, lifting her hair off her neck. She felt the weight of the necklace as it rested upon her chest, felt the chill of the thick gold against her bare neck. He fastened the clasp and stepped back.

  She looked like a barbaric princess, he thought. He watched her lift her hand and lightly touch her fingers to the necklace. It did not particularly surprise him when her fingers fell away from it as if it burned her.

  “You will be thus gowned for the coronation,” he said, and left the bedchamber.

  He took her that night, quickly but not roughly, and she thought she heard him curse her when he stiffened over her. She lay very still even after he had rolled off her. When she made to rise to bathe herself, he closed his hand around her waist, pulling her back.

  “Nay,” he said, “you will not wash my seed from your body.”

  She was shocked when she quivered at his words, and had to remind herself that he saw her now as naught but a brood mare. She tugged and he released her wrist.

  “Go to sleep, wife, we leave early on the morrow.”

  Is there no way I can reach you? she cried out silently.

  They arrived in London a full week later, filthy and weary, their horses and wagons splattered with mud. Kassia had ridden most of the way, even when it had rained, once she had convinced Graelam that riding in a wagon made her ill.

  She didn’t know what to expect, but the sight of so many people packed into such a small area made her blink with surprise. And the filth! There was a constant stench of human excrement and rotting food. And there was so much noise from vendors screeching at the top of their voices at passersby. r />
  “All towns of any size are like this,” Graelam said when he saw her cover her nose. “It is not so bad where we will stay. The compound is on the Thames, but north of the city.”

  “This is the house the Duke of Cornwall gave to you?” she asked.

  “Aye, he deeded it to me upon my betrothal to Lady Joanna,” he said dryly.

  Her eyes flew to his face.

  “He insisted I keep it once he had deemed you worthy.”

  A fine, misting rain was falling steadily and the ground was slushy mud. Bluebell slipped and Graelam’s hand shot out to grasp the reins and steady the mare.

  Kassia started to thank him, but he said merely, “You are filthy enough. I do not wish you to have a broken leg as well.”

  “Then you would have to wear that wretched necklace yourself,” she muttered under her breath.

  “There,” Graelam said to her, pointing to his left, “is Westminster Abbey, where Edward will have his coronation.”

  “It is beautiful,” Kassia said.

  “Aye, King Henry spent much money to reconstruct it. He is buried there.”

  They passed the White Tower, where Edward and Eleanor were now staying. “I do not know when Edward returned to London,” Graelam said. “But I imagine that immediately the Duke of Cornwall heard he was coming, he set the coronation into motion.”

  Kassia was weaving in the saddle, so weary she could no longer appreciate the vivid sights. At last they reached a high-walled fortress. A thick-barred iron gate swung slowly open and their caravan passed into a muddy, utterly dismal yard. The two-story wooden building in front of them was square and looked gray and uninviting in the growing darkness.

  “You will see to the inside, my lady,” Graelam said as he lifted her off Bluebell’s back.

  She nodded, imagining with growing depression what awaited her within. To her utter astonishment, once inside the house there were scores of lighted candles and a huge fire burning in a fireplace at the far end of the long, narrow lower chamber.