“Does your wife demand such nonsense?”
Graelam ran his hand over his brow, smoothing out the troubled frown. “Nay, but she demands more of me than I am able to give.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew they were not true. What had she demanded of him? Naught save gentleness and kindness and affection. An angry inner voice repeated the refrain he had struggled with for months. She left you. She lied. She is not to be trusted. She lost your babe. He rose abruptly and paced about the duke’s solarium, the confusion of his thoughts clear on his face. He stilled momentarily at the sound of the duke’s voice. “And just what, Graelam, does your gentle wife demand of you?”
I should have known the old man would pry, he thought. “I believe,” he heard himself say, voicing his inner thoughts, “that she wants me to love her.” He slammed his fist against his open palm. “Damn her! I told her I forgave her lies!”
The duke raised a bushy gray brow. “Lies? What is this?”
Graelam saw no hope for it. He eased himself into the high-backed chair opposite the duke and quickly related the happenings at Wolffeton, omitting nothing. When he had finished, the duke was silent for many moments. “Odd,” he said finally, “I would have thought that Dienwald de Fortenberry would be a merciless, rutting beast, even with a gently bred lady. But no matter. Why, my lord Graelam, do you not believe your wife?”
“Do you know,” he said slowly, astounded at the words that were taking form, “I have come to think that it matters naught, not anymore.” But for the first time, he allowed himself to consider that Kassia had been telling him the truth.
“Excellent. I might add that it is possible you saw Blanche as she wished you to see her. I myself received the impression that she was not at all what she seemed, at least in her dealings with you.” The duke actually had no idea if this were true or not. But he had overheard Queen Eleanor say something to her husband of Blanche’s unkindness to Kassia.
Graelam shrugged. “I did not come here to speak of my marital problems, my lord duke. She is my wife and will remain so, no matter what her feelings.”
“And what of your feelings, my lord?”
“Dammit! I wish to speak no more of it. Mayhap I will fall in your damned tourney. If you believe my wife to be such a paragon, you may take her!”
The duke merely smiled, pleased with what he saw. They proceeded to discuss in detail Edward’s plans, then enjoyed an excellent meal. The duke offered Graelam a girl for his bed, and to his amusement, Graelam refused. The more unyielding the warrior, the duke thought, the more mightily he succumbs.
Graelam did not leave the duke’s fortress for a week. During the days, he forced his thoughts to planning the duke’s tourney, but at night, alone in his bed, he could not prevent Kassia’s image from coming into his mind. He could practically feel the softness of her slender body, hear her passionate cries as he gave her pleasure, smell her delicate woman’s fragrance. He jerked upright in his bed, his body taut with need, his hands clutching at the bedcovers. He thought to rut the girl the duke offered him. He shook his head in the darkness. Nay, there was but one woman who would satisfy him. The admission surprised him, and at the same time brought him a great measure of peace. I love her. He began to laugh, seeing himself for the first time as Kassia must have seen him. Gentle and loving one day, harsh and unforgiving the next. How could she have come to love him when he had treated her thus? He flinched, remembering his rape of her so long ago. Yet she had forgiven him that. And you, you bloody fool, you were so magnanimous in offering to forgive her!
He jumped from the bed and strode naked to the shuttered windows. He opened them, and breathed in the crisp cold night air. The moon was a silver sliver in the black sky, as clear from Wolffeton as it was from here. Are you thinking of me now, Kassia? Is there anger at me in your mind? I will win you back when I return to Wolffeton.
It was a woman’s place to yield, to surrender; a man’s place to demand and dominate. He had spent nearly thirty years without a thought to a woman’s needs. Oh, her physical needs, to be sure, for that but added to his sense of dominance. It chilled him to admit that he had acted the ass, utterly selfishly. Telling himself it was not too late, he felt a surge of confidence. Soon he would yield to her. The unexpected thought gave him great pleasure.
Dienwald rode beside Kassia up the winding path to Belleterre. He had journeyed in easy stages, trying not to weary her too much. He felt the tension mount in her as they neared the mighty keep.
“Be easy, little chick,” he said gently. “All will be well, you will see.”
Nay, Kassia thought, nothing would ever be well again. She thought of Etta’s likely anguish at finding her gone from Wolffeton, even though she had tried to explain her actions in a message to her old nurse. Would Graelam care? She shook her head. It did not matter. She must put him behind her. She must look to the future.
The muted gray stone of Belleterre gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Kassia tried to take pleasure in her homecoming. She gazed at the naked-branched trees she had climbed in her childhood, at the deep-cut embrasures in the wall along the north tower where she had played so many years before. What would her father say? Would he forgive her? Would he insist she return to Graelam? She shivered, refusing to consider those possibilities.
They pulled to a halt in front of the mighty gates.
“I will leave you now, little chick,” Dienwald said. “I do not intend to wait and see if your father wishes to thank me or slice my head from my body. I am not, after all, your esteemed husband.”
Kassia turned in her saddle, her gratitude to him shining in her eyes. “I am lucky to have a friend such as you,” she said. She reached out her hand and he grasped it in his. “Thank you. God go with you, Dienwald.”
“Good-bye, little chick. If ever you have need of me, I will come to you.”
With those words he whirled about his destrier and galloped down the winding path to where his men waited.
Kassia looked up and saw the surprised faces of the men who had known her since she was a child. Shouts of greeting rose even as the great iron-studded gates swung open to admit her. She rode into the inner bailey, forcing a smile to her lips. These were her people. They loved her, trusted her, and respected her. Children cavorted around Bluebell and she leaned down to speak to each of them. She was dismounting from her mare she heard a welcoming shout from her father.
“Kassia! You are here, child!” He gathered her into his arms, squeezing her so tightly that she yelped. She felt her father’s love flow into her, and began to know again a measure of peace and comfort.
“Where is Graelam, poppin?” He held her back as he asked his question, studying her weary face.
Kassia’s eyes dropped. “Can we speak alone, Father? ’Tis a long story, and one that should be talked of in private.”
“As you wish,” Maurice agreed. His arm tightened about her slender shoulders as they entered the great hall. “My love . . .” he began, then paused, clearing his throat. “There is something I must tell you.”
“Aye, Papa?” she prompted as he again paused, her head cocked to one side.
“I was on the point of sending you a message.”
“What message?” Kassia stared at her father.
“I have someone I wish you to meet,” he said gruffly. “She is my wife.”
“Wife!”
Maurice nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “Her name is Marie, and she hails from Normandy. I met her in Lyon, actually. She is a widow . . .” He drew to a relieved halt at the sight of Marie. “My dear,” he called, relieved to have assistance.
Kassia’s mind was reeling with her father’s completely unexpected news. She had a stepmother! She watched a graceful woman of some thirty-five or so years walk toward them. Her hair was as black as a raven’s wing, her eyes a soft brown, her complexion fair. There was a questioning smile on her face.
“My love,” Maurice said, releasing his daughter. “This is Kassia, come for a visit!
”
“How very lovely you are!” Marie said, holding out a beautiful white hand. “Maurice speaks so much of you— and your husband, of course.” She gazed around expectantly.
“My husband did not accompany me,” Kassia said, feeling tears choke in her throat. She would not make a fool of herself in front of her father’s new wife!
“No matter,” Marie said complacently, as if a wife traveling without her husband were the most common occurrence. “I hope we may be friends, Kassia. Come, my dear, I will take you to your chamber. You must be weary from your journey.” She smiled gently at her husband. “We will join you a bit later, Maurice.”
“You are quite a surprise,” Kassia said frankly as she accompanied her new stepmother up the winding stairs to the upper chambers.
“Your father and I just returned to Belleterre three weeks ago. I believe he intended to send a message to you and your lord in the next day or so. Oh dear, I had hoped we would have a few moments of quiet!”
Three children, two young boys and a girl, were racing toward them.
“My children,” Marie said, lifting her dark brows in comic dismay. “I fear now we shall have little peace.”
“They are beautiful!” Kassia exclaimed as she stared down at a doe-eyed little girl of about seven years. The two boys hung back. “How very lucky you are.”
“Now I am,” Marie said quietly. “Gerard, Paul, come and greet your sister. And you, Jeanne, make your curtsy.”
“Oh dear,” Kassia said, bursting into merry laughter. “I am overcome!”
“My lord, there is an encampment ahead.”
Dienwald drew in his destrier. “Are they French? Did you see a standard?”
“Aye, my lord. Three black wolves, upright and snarling against a background of white.”
Dienwald shook his head, bemused. “The Wolf of Cornwall,” he said softly. Graelam. Well, he had told Kassia her husband would come after her. It would be easy enough, he thought, to ride unseen around Graelam’s camp. It was on the tip of his tongue to give that order, but he did not.
Graelam stretched out on his narrow cot, pulled a single blanket over himself, and commanded his weary body to sleep. Tomorrow, he thought, watching the lone candle spiral its thin light to the roof of the tent, he would see Kassia. His fury at her disappearance had faded, leaving only a numbing emptiness within him. He though again of her message, and it chilled him. “You must not worry about my safety, my lord,” she had written, “for I will be well-protected.” By whom? he wondered, but the answer gnawed clearly in his mind. She had hired Dienwald de Fortenberry once; likely she had done it again. “It is likely that my father will not blame you for my failure. Belleterre will doubtless be yours in any case. I trust, my lord, that you will find a lady who will please you.”
And that was all. Nothing more. Did she really expect him to let her go? Did she really think so little of herself that she believed Belleterre the only reason he had kept her as his wife? Damned little fool!
He gave not two farthings for Belleterre at the moment. He wanted his wife. He wanted to beat her, kiss her and crush her against him. He wanted to hear her tell him that she loved him, that she forgave him. He laughed mirthlessly. How he had changed, and all of it wrought by a skinny little girl whose smile would melt the heart of the most hardened warrior. Except yours, you fool! Until now.
Graelam heard a soft rustle as the tent flap raised. He sat up, instantly on guard, and reached for his sword.
“Hold, my lord Graelam,” he heard a man’s deep voice say. He saw a flash of silver steel.
“What is this?” Graelam growled, not loosing his fingers from his sword.
“I mean you no harm, my lord. I am not your enemy. I have too healthy a wish to keep my body intact.”
“Who the devil are you?”
“Dienwald de Fortenberry. Your wife spared me the only other opportunity I had of meeting you.”
Graelam sucked in his breath, his eyes glittering in the dim light. So he had been right. The bastard had taken Kassia back to her father. “Just how did you get past my men?” he asked, his voice coldly menacing.
“A moment, my lord. I beg you not to call for you men. I have no wish to run you through.”
Graelam released his sword, and Dienwald watched it fall to the ground. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at Graelam de Moreton closely. He was naked, save for the blanket that came only to his loins. He was a powerful man, his chest mightily muscled and covered with thick black hair. Dienwald could see the ribbed muscles over his flat belly. Aye, he thought, a man women would admire, and desire. His eyes roved over Graelam’s face. It was not a handsome courtier’s face, he thought, but it was strong, proud, and at the moment harsh, the dark eyes narrowed on Dienwald’s face. His mouth was sensual, the lower lip full, his teeth gleaming white and straight. Dienwald was probably a fool to take this chance, slipping into this man’s camp, but he had decided it was a debt he owed to Kassia. He shook himself from his examination, aware that Graelam was studying him just as closely.
Graelam eyed the man. His features are the color of sand, he remembered Kassia telling him. It was true. “What do you want?” he asked coldly. Oblivious of his nakedness, he rose and poured two goblets of wine. He quirked a black brow toward Dienwald.
Dienwald accepted the goblet of wine. “Please sit down, my lord. You must excuse my distrust, but I am not the fool I must seem. When my men told me of your encampment, I was pleased that you came so quickly for your wife. Of course, she did not believe me. She fancied you would be pleased to see no more of her.”
Graelam tensed, his eyes narrowing. He wanted to leap at the man and tear his heart from his chest with his bare hands. But Dienwald held the upper hand, for the moment at least, and Graelam had no idea how his men were situated outside his tent.
“You have interfered mightily in my life,” he said after a long moment, his voice a sneer. “So she paid you yet again to take her from me.”
Dienwald gently caressed the razor-sharp edge of his sword. “You are a fool, my lord. Your wife’s gentle heart is pure and honest. If she would have me, I would willingly take her from you. I crept into your camp for one reason only. I owe a debt to your wife.”
“What did she use for payment this time?” Graelam hissed. “The necklace again?”
“Aye,” Dienwald said, his lips a twisted smile. “I did not want the damned thing, but she insisted. I have laughed at the irony of it, my lord. Now, you will heed me, for I imagine that I have not much more time. Your wife has never lied to you, at least to my knowledge. ’Twas Blanche who first paid me the necklace to rid herself of your wife. But I could not do it. When I asked her what she wished, she told me to return her to Wolffeton, to you, her husband. Then that whoreson Sir Walter captured me by a ruse, using Kassia’s name. She released the manacles, my lord, because she hated to see me in pain. She was, of course, too trusting. I had to leave her there, for I had no wish to die by your hand.” He paused a moment, then said in a self-mocking voice, “I asked her to come away with me, but she would not. She loves you, though I do not think you deserve it.”
Graelam stared at the man whose words rushed through his mind in a torrent. “You could be lying for her even now,” he said, his voice a menacing snarl. “Perhaps you are even her lover, as I have always suspected.”
Dienwald smiled, encouraged at the fury in Graelam’s face. “I could certainly have ravished her. Perhaps ’tis what Blanche expected, even wished me to do. But I found that even I, a rough and conscienceless rogue, could not harm so gentle and trusting a lady. It is you she loves, my lord, though by all the saints in heaven you do not deserve such tender feelings from her.” He fingered his sword edge for a long moment. “I first believed her the most gentle, biddable of creatures. But ’tis not so. There is a thread of steel in her, my lord, and a pride that rivals any man’s. She left you because she could see no more hope for herself living as your wife. Her sadness would smite the mos
t closed of hearts. As I said before, you are a great fool.”
To Dienwald’s utter surprise, Graelam looked straight at him and said, “Aye, you are right. I realized it myself but days ago. It is more ironic than you believe, de Fortenberry. I found I no longer cared if she had lied to me or not. I want her, and if I can convince her of the truth of my feelings, I will take her back to Wolffeton with me, as my true wife.”
Very slowly Dienwald sheathed his sword. “I trust you have a smooth tongue, my lord, for she is adamant.”
“She will obey me!”
“I foresee a battle royal. Forget not, my lord, that she is in her father’s keep, not yours. I imagine he would protect her from your . . . ah, demands.”
Graelam began to pace furiously about the small space, his powerful naked body gleaming in the gentle candlelight. Suddenly he turned to Dienwald and smiled. “Aye, you’ve the right of it. But she will obey me. I am her husband.” Graelam paused a moment, chewing at his lower lip. “How did her father greet her?”
“I did not enter the fortress with her, fearing some retribution from her father. I have learned never to count on a peaceful welcome from a stranger.”
“It goes against the grain to thank a man I have always considered my enemy. Now that you are no longer a stranger to me, Dienwald de Fortenberry, I will welcome you at Wolffeton. Keep your sword sheathed.”
Dienwald smiled, shaking his head. “Can I really be assured that you will not wish to see my body severed in bloody pieces for your sport?”
Graelam stretched out his hand to Dienwald. “I call you friend. And I thank you for protecting my wife. You are welcome at Wolffeton, I swear it.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“May I now know how you managed to get into my camp and into my tent without any of my men noticing?”
Dienwald chuckled. “ ’Tis not so difficult for a lone man to enter where he wishes, my lord. But leaving intact is a different matter. I am mightily relieved you do not wish to see the color of my blood!”