Fire Song (43 page)

“Thank you, Dienwald. Please, keep the necklace. Any merchant will pay you greatly for it.” Her voice rose with cold determination as she saw him still hesitate. “I wish never to see it again.”

He nodded, then asked curiously, “How did you manage to leave Wolffeton without your husband’s knowledge?”

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “He left to visit the Duke of Cornwall, for what reason I know not. He was growing restless at Wolffeton. Perhaps there is some dispute the duke wishes him to settle. I did not even see him.”

Dienwald ignored the pain in her voice. “Good. Now I do not have to look over my shoulder! Come, little chick. We have some distance to go!”

“So, Graelam, you came more quickly than I had expected,” the Duke of Cornwall said as he eyed the younger man over his wine goblet.

“As your loyal and dutiful vassal, is it not what you would expect?” Graelam asked dryly.

The duke chuckled. “Aye, you are in the right of it, of course. Actually, I wished to have your opinion on Edward’s grandiose plans.”

“Ah, he chafes already under the weight of his kingly robes? I take it he is ready to journey to Wales?”

“Aye, I imagined he had spoken to you of it. He is ready to begin building. Unlike his father, his plans do not include cathedrals.”

“It is well,” Graelam said, sipping at the sweet red wine in his golden goblet. “The Marcher barons have not the strength to keep the Welsh raiders in check.” He grinned at the duke. “Now that you have my opinion, my lord duke, you wish me to leave?”

“Nay, you impudent rascal. Actually, I have planned a tourney and wish you to take part. Does that interest you?”

Graelam rubbed his hands together, his dark eyes lighting up. “It interests me. I have grown bored with naught to do but see to the reparations of Wolffeton. When will the tourney take place?”

“I had thought of April. It gives me no pleasure to think of knights floundering about in foot-deep snow and slush.”

“Will Edward deign to come?”

“Can you doubt it, Graelam? This building of his will cost dearly, and his nobles, of course, must dig into their coffers.”

“I imagined as much. Still, it is wiser to have his nobles bashing each other’s heads in a tourney sponsored by the king’s uncle than attacking each other without his permission.”

“What do you think your lady would say to your fighting, my lord? She would accompany you, would she not?”

Graelam stiffened, his dark eyes narrowing. He forced himself to ease, and sipped negligently at his wine again before answering. “She has been ill. We will have to see when the time grows near.”

“Ill? Does the child do better now?”

“She lost our babe,” Graelam said evenly. “She is well now, at least in body.”

“A pity, but she is young and appears quite healthy. She will bless you with many sons.”

Graelam held himself silent, and the duke continued after a moment. “I have heard from Sir Guy. It appears that his new bride, Blanche, is with child. He is most pleased.”

“I will visit him soon. He is a good man and a valiant warrior. I miss him sorely.”

“But it pleases you that he is now landed, does it not?”

“Aye, it pleases me.”

“How did your lady lose her babe?”

Taken off guard, Graelam said, his voice filled with
anger, “She was playing at being the man. My master-at-arms, Rolfe, had taught her how to shoot the bow. He arranged a competition with the most clumsy of my men, to make her look good, of course. One of the horses attacked her mount and she was thrown.”

The duke leaned forward in his chair, a questioning smile on his face. “I do not understand. What made her do such a thing?”

“She met the Lady Chandra at Edward’s coronation. She was most impressed with Chandra’s prowess. She thought to . . . impress me.”

“And did she?” the duke pressed quietly.

Graelam sighed, the truth coming easily now, for he was beset with guilt. Still, his voice was hesitant. “Aye, but ‘twas not necessary. I was coming to admire her without such ruses.”

The duke felt as though the world had taken a faulty turn. He knew he was staring, but he could not help it. He had always believed Graelam a warrior without equal, a proud man, a man who took what he wanted, be it possessions or women. But there was always a part of Graelam he knew to be lacking. He said quietly, “My lord, to love a woman does not weaken a man or make him a mewling fool. The stronger the man, the more gentle he is with his lady. Your father was quite wrong, you know.”

Graelam gave a snort of disdain. “You sound like the troubadours, my lord duke. Can you see me kneeling before a lady and vowing her eyes are brighter than the stars and her complexion a rival to the fairest rose?”

“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.”