“My lady!”
“Nay, nay,” she managed, getting hold on herself. “I am fine, Stephen.” She smiled at one of her father’s oldest and most trusted retainers. “Just tired, that is all. It has been a long journey.”
Too long for his slight mistress, Stephen thought, gazing at her with worried eyes. And what would her reception be like? His jaw hardened. No one would insult his young mistress, no one! His gloved hand dropped unconsciously to his sword.
He saw the uncertainty in her wide eyes, and the fear. She was only a young girl, he thought. How could Lord Maurice have allowed her to journey here without him? But of course, Stephen knew the answer to that. That whoreson Geoffrey!
“Rest a moment, my lady,” he said to Kassia. “I will see that the men look fit to greet Lord Graelam.”
Kassia nodded, nearly beyond words now. She gazed back toward the small litter and wondered what Etta was thinking now. She watched Stephen ride among their twenty-odd men, doubtless cursing some, praising others. Their journey had been thankfully uneventful. No brigands would dare to attack such a large force. But she was so tired; she wanted to do naught but fall from her saddle and sleep. But she could not. She could not shame her father or her men. Kassia forced her back to stiffen. She felt dirty and travel-worn. She was afraid to ask Stephen how she looked.
She waited patiently for Stephen to join her at the head of their troop. She lightly tapped her heels into Bluebell’s fat sides and her mare broke into a rocking canter.
They rode through the small fishing village of St. Agnes, so like the villages along the coast of Brittany that Kassia felt no ill-ease at the dour glances of the villagers. The only difference, Kassia thought, smiling to herself, was that at home the villagers would pull their forelocks at her presence. The rutted road continued eastward from the village, up a winding incline toward Wolffeton. Kassia became more impressed and awed the closer they drew to the thick, massive outer walls. No one, she thought, could take this castle. She felt a moment of pride, then laughed at herself. This great keep was not hers. She felt her blood curdle at the thought that had not been far from the surface during her journey. What if Lord Graelam de Moreton had already married?
Stephen raised his arm for the men to halt. Kassia watched him ride toward the man who was leaning from one of the great towers. She did not hear their conversation. The man disappeared and Stephen rode back to her.
“The fellow thinks me mad,” Stephen said, a half-grin splitting his wide mouth. “I told him that his master’s bride was below.”
Kassia gave him a dry smile. “Mad indeed,” she said. She turned back at the sound of the thick oak drawbridge being lowered. It came down over the dry ditch with a heavy thud. She urged Bluebell forward, but Stephen’s hand came out to clutch at the reins.
“No, my lady, not yet.”
They watched in silence as the iron portcullis was slowly winched upward.
Stephen eyed her for a minute. “Remove your cloak from your head, my lady. No man would attack when a woman was present.”
Kassia obligingly lowered the rabbit-lined hood from her dusty curls.
Stephen nodded slowly, but motioned her to ride behind him. They rode over the drawbridge, the horses’ hooves pounding with a deafening roar on the thick wood planks. It was a warrior’s keep, Kassia realized vaguely as they slowed their horses to a walk. The outer courtyard was not precisely filthy with its dry mud ground, it was simply that there was no sign of care. They continued through another, narrower arch into the inner bailey. There were at least fifty men, women, and children staring at them silently. Loudly squawking chickens strutted about and several cows mooed impatiently, doubtless wanting to be led to the grassy field outside the castle walls. A dog barked loudly at a black cat. There were several old outbuildings, for cooking, laundry, and storage, Kassia thought, and a new barracks sat next to a low thatched-roof stable. She became aware of the soldiers, standing stiffly all around them, eyeing them as possible enemies.
Kassia had no more opportunity to examine her surroundings. Her eyes went to a tall blond man, quite handsome, who stood on the lower steps of the keep, waiting for them to come to him. She felt a tired smile come to her lips. Her father had told her that Lord Graelam was comely. He was indeed. And he looked gentle and kind.
He came down the steps when they halted and she had a moment to admire his graceful carriage. He was younger than she had expected. He walked directly to her and raised his arms to help her down from Bluebell.
He stared at her for a long moment, as if trying to remember her, Kassia thought.
“Lady Kassia,” he said, more a question than a statement.
“Aye, my lord.” She saw he had deep blue eyes, kind eyes that laughed, she thought, and relaxed even further.
“You are something of a . . . surprise, my lady. We had believed you—”
“Dead? Nay, my lord, I survived.” Kassia looked down at the chipped cobblestones beneath her feet. “I am pleased that you are not angry, my lord. But I could not allow you to wed, not when you had a wife who still lived.”
“You mistake the matter, my lady.”
Kassia raised huge eyes to his face.
“I am not your husband. I am Sir Guy de Blasis, one of Lord Graelam’s knights. At your service, my lady.”
Guy bowed to the slender young girl before him. It had not occurred to him that she would mistake him for Lord Graelam. But then again, she had never even seen his master.
Kassia swayed where she stood and Guy quickly caught her arm to steady her. “There is no reason for you to be afraid, my lady,” Guy said gently. “Lord Graelam is within and he is not yet wed. Your timing, in fact, is exquisite. The wedding is tomorrow.” As he spoke, the enormity of the situation broke over him. Poor Joanna! Poor Blanche! He wanted to laugh, but he saw the pain of utter weariness in Kassia’s eyes, and gently cupped her elbow, pulling her forward. He spoke to one of Lord Graelam’s men and motioned him toward Stephen.
“Your men will be taken care of, my lady. Now it is time for you to meet your husband.”
Kassia felt the warmth of his hand through her cloak. But still she felt cold, icy to her very bones. Pride, my girl, she wanted to shout. Her feet obeyed, yet each step upward was a terrible obstacle to overcome. She stepped into the massive hall. It was darker and cooler within, and for a moment she could see nothing for the dim light. She shook her head, allowing Guy to lead her toward the end of the hall. She saw a man seated in an ornately carved high-backed chair. Next to him, seated in a smaller chair, sat a young woman with blond hair so light that it looked nearly white. There were at least fifty men and women standing about, some richly garbed. She became aware suddenly that all the voices were dying away. Closer and closer they came to the man. She could see him clearly now. He was as dark as Guy was fair. He appeared huge, even seated, and his face looked stern and forbidding. Oh no, no! she thought frantically. Not this man!
“My lord,” Guy said in a loud voice, “may I present your wife, Lady Kassia de . . . Moreton, to your guests.”
The young woman seated beside Graelam let out a shriek and jumped to her feet. Lord Graelam merely gazed at her, his face telling her nothing.
There was a suddenly furious babble of voices, all of them raised, all of them outraged. Kassia was vaguely aware of an older man, richly garbed, stepping toward her.
It took a moment for Guy’s words to sink in. Graelam looked at the slight girl, covered from throat to toe in a dusty cloak. He saw the short curls capping her small head. He ignored the strident, angry voices about him, ignored the cries from Joanna and the guttural moans from Joanna’s mother, Lady Eleanor. Slowly he rose from his chair, his eyes never leaving her face. It was the short, curling chestnut hair that made him believe it was Kassia de Lorris, for he could not place this girl into the wraith’s body he had seen at Belleterre.
Suddenly he could not help himself. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Laughter at himself
, laughter at the uproar this girl had caused, laughter at the sudden inevitable turn his life had taken.
Kassia gaped at the huge man whose whole body was convulsed with laughter. She felt the hostility and the blatant disbelief of the people around her.
“I carry your ring, my lord,” she said in a loud, clear voice.
She slid it off her finger and thrust it out toward him.
Graelam stopped laughing. He stared down at his ring, banded with thick horsehair to keep it on her slender finger.
He heard Lord Thomas shrieking like an idiot woman, demanding to know the meaning of this outrage. He heard Joanna or perhaps Blanche, he couldn’t tell which, yelling insults at the girl. Another woman, likely Joanna’s mother, was wailing with piercing loudness.
“Graelam,” the Duke of Cornwall said in a voice of awful calm, striding forward, “perhaps you will tell me the meaning of this? Who is this girl?”
Graelam ignored him. He stepped closer to Kassia and gently cupped her chin in his hand, drawing her face upward.
Kassia felt his dark eyes searching her face. She could not bring herself to look up at him. Why did he not say something?
“My lord,” Joanna cried, “I will not allow you to have your whore here! How dare you!”
Blanche was laughing, her eyes alight with malicious joy on Joanna’s contorted face. “Well, my lady,” she said softly to Joanna, “it appears your wedding must be to another.”
“You bitch,” Joanna said furiously, turning on Blanche, “she is but a whore! She will be gone soon, and forever! My father will not allow her to remain!”
Kassia was not deaf. A whore! She turned angry eyes toward the women, but no words came to mind. Her husband still had said nothing. She felt herself again begin to tremble. What was going to happen to her? The light seemed to grow dimmer. The terrible women seemed to weave before her eyes.
“I . . . I am sorry,” she gasped, her frantic eyes going to her husband’s face. For the first time in her life, she welcomed the blessed darkness that was welling up within her, letting her escape from this nightmare. For the second time in her life, Kassia collapsed where she stood.
Kassia felt great weariness, but the blackness that had engulfed her was receding, forcing her back to consciousness. Slowly, fearfully, she opened her eyes. For many moments everything was a blur. Then she saw a man—her husband—beside her, his dark eyes expressionless on her face. She made a small gasping sound and tried to pull herself up. She felt covered with shame that she had fainted like a silly sheep in front of all those people.
“Nay,” Graelam said, “lie still.”
She obeyed, heeding more his tone than his words. His voice was gentle, unlike his roaring, mocking laughter.
“Where am I?” she asked, hating herself for her pitifully wavering voice.
“In my chamber, or rather I should say, our chamber. Are you still ill?”
His voice was still gentle and she managed to meet his eyes. She could read nothing. His face was impassive, giving her no clue.
“I am sorry. I am not given to fainting. The journey was long.”
She felt his fingers lightly touch her arm and she tensed. He released her, a slight frown marring his forehead. “There is much we have to say to each other, my lady. Your arrival was . . . unexpected. But first, I will leave you to rest and regain your strength.”
“I am sorry,” Kassia said again. “There was no time to give you warning. Please do not blame my father. He sought only to protect me.”
“Doubtless he did,” Graelam said dryly. He picked up her hand and gently slid his ring back on her third finger. “Your nurse, Etta, is squawking loudly outside for her baby. Shall I bring her to you?”
Kassia’s head throbbed, and she blinked rapidly to keep his face in focus. “What will you do?” she asked.
“That, my lady,” Graelam said, standing to stare down at her, “will be most interesting to see. I but hope that you will not become a widow just as I believed myself a widower.”
He turned with those words and strode across the chamber to the thick oak door. He did not look back at her.
Kassia was aware of Etta bending over her, gently soothing her brow with a damp cloth. “Rest, my baby,” she heard her nurse croon softly, and she willingly obliged.
Graelam left his chamber thoughtfully. Lord, what an ungodly mess! Never, he thought, for as long as he breathed, would he forget his first sight of Kassia, standing beside Guy, holding herself so straight, fear dilating her huge eyes. Yet she had come, bravely. Nor would he ever forget the sight of her quietly crumbling, all life gone from her. Nor the feel of her slight body in his arms as he carried her to his chamber. His wife, he thought, shaking his head. A scrawny girl, no larger than a child, and now she was his responsibility. He gave another spurt of laughter. He had, after all, succumbed to Maurice’s arguments, and done himself in! He pictured her face again, so quiet in repose, for he had studied her carefully before she had regained consciousness. He had wanted to feel anger, to rage at her, but when she had finally awakened and he saw the deep uncertainty in her eyes, he had felt compelled to treat her gently. He was a fool. What in God’s name was he to do? He had ignored his gloating sister-in-law and the moaning Joanna, and carried Kassia out of the hall. He supposed, as he took the final step into the hall, that he would rather face an army of infidels than this group.
8
The thread of flame from a single candle broke the darkness. Kassia blinked, stared a moment into the flame, remembering quite clearly everything that had passed since her arrival at Wolffeton.
“How do you feel, my baby?”
Kassia smiled wanly at the sound of her old nurse’s soft voice. “Alive, Etta,” she said, “alive. Is it very late?”
“Nearly ten o’clock in the evening. You slept for six hours. I have food and mulled wine for you.”
Kassia slowly pulled herself up and Etta quickly came to place pillows behind her head. “What I really want,” she said, staring at her dirty fingernails, “is a bath.”
“First you eat,” Etta said firmly, “then I will have those lazy sluts bring you hot water.”
“Lord Graelam,” Kassia said, hearing the thin thread of nervousness in her voice, “where is he?”
To her surprise, Etta laughed. “Ah, your lord! What a man that one is!”
“What do you mean?”
“I will tell you while you eat. I kept the victuals warm over a small brazier. This great keep will vastly improve with you as mistress, my baby. The food is barely edible, and the servants do naught unless Lord Graelam is about.”
“You are too stern, Etta,” Kassia said, but the pork was clearly stringy and overcooked.
Etta regarded her young mistress with a worried eye. She had been raised in the midst of people who loved her and obeyed her because they loved her. But Wolffeton was vastly different from Belleterre. “Tell me now, Etta,” she heard Kassia say. “What happened whilst I slept?”
Etta eased her bulky frame into the one chair in the large chamber. “Well, after I was certain that you were all right, my baby, I slipped into the hall below. I have never heard so many people arguing at once in all my life! And the screeching from Lord Graelam’s betrothed!”
Kassia felt a surge of guilt, but it was tempered with the anger she had felt at the insults that lady had hurled at her. She sipped at the warm wine. “I hope her heart is not broken.”
“Ha, that one! Lord Graelam should kiss your feet, for you saved him from a wretched existence. As to the other one, well, we shall have to see.”
“What other one?”
“Lady Blanche, Lord Graelam’s sister-in-law.”
Kassia frowned, wondering if her wits had gone begging.
“Lord Graelam, I discovered from one of the servants, was married before, a long time ago. His wife’s half-sister came to Wolffeton some three or four months ago to live. Why, I don’t know.” Etta shrugged. “She did seem quiet enough and qui
te the lady during all the shrieking and arguing. Eat the potatoes, my lady,” Etta added, her eyes upon Kassia’s trencher.
The potatoes were half-cooked, Kassia found, but she would not give Etta the pleasure of admitting it.
“Now, where was I? Aye, your husband is quite the man. He had to roar for quiet but once, and all obeyed him, even the Duke of Cornwall. Aye, you stare, my baby. The king’s own uncle! ’Twas he, according to what I heard, who arranged the marriage with the heiress. His face, I tell you, was a bright crimson! As for Lord Thomas, Lady Joanna’s father, he looked for all the world like a boiled turnip. But Lord Graelam soon put all of them to rout. Told them, he did, all that happened at Belleterre. He even produced the marriage contract so there could be no doubts as to your status as his lady wife. At that, Lady Joanna was forced to close her mouth, but her mother kept wailing in the most ridiculous way. Lord Thomas finally slapped her. That shut the old harridan up, you may be certain! He announced to the Duke of Cornwall that he would not remain at Wolffeton another day. Then he took his wife on one arm and his daughter on the other and marched them out of the hall. I know Lord Graelam was smiling, though he tried to hide it. Praise be to Saint Anne that you’ll nay have to see any of them again.”
Fire Song Page 8