And there was Blanche. It had taken her benumbed brain several hours before she had realized the perfidy of the other woman. She didn’t know what to do. If she confronted Blanche, she most likely would sneer at her and call her a liar. If she told Graelam what she believed . . . She shuddered. In his eyes, Blanche was everything Kassia was not. Never would he believe her. She didn’t know what to do.
Her silence that evening in the great hall was seen by most as the proper response of a chastised wife. She avoided Graelam’s eyes, not wanting to see the distrust, even the hatred he must feel for her. She ate little, unable to stomach the blandest of the vegetables.
“So, you will dwindle away with your sulking?”
Her head snapped up at her husband’s taunting voice.
“I do not sulk,” she said, and quickly amended, “at least I haven’t for some five years now.”
“Just as you do not lie. Then eat.” He eyed her closely, and added on a harsh drawl, “When I told you you had filled out a bit, I did not mean that you had grown presentable. You still scarce have a woman’s body.”
She flinched. So that was why he had not forced her. He found her so repulsive that he could not bring himself to take her, even in his rage.
She knew she should be ecstatic, but tears sparkled on the tips of her thick lashes.
“If you cry in front of everyone, I shall truly give you cause to do so.”
“You already have,” she said, gulping down the hated tears.
“You amaze me, Kassia,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you never tread warily?”
She said nothing, merely stared fixedly into her goblet of wine.
“Perhaps I should return you to your father. At least your absence would bring me some peace.”
The response he knew he would gain from his words was swift in coming. “Nay, please do not.”
“Ah, anything to save your father. Anything to save Belleterre. This man who felt so sorry for you, Kassia, you say it was he who told you that to return to Belleterre would lose all?”
“Aye, that is what I said to you.” She raised weary eyes to his mocking face. “Why do you torment me? I have told you everything.” But she was lying, not telling him about Blanche, and he saw the lie in her eyes.
A surge of rage swept through him, and he gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles showed white.
“Leave me,” he said finally, his voice harsh, “and know, my lady wife, that I can make your life a hell if you do not admit to your lies.”
Blanche ate daintily, savoring every bite of the tender pork. I am safe, she thought. She was so relieved that she could not long sustain her fury at Dienwald de Fortenberry. Graelam would never believe his wife. And of course Kassia, little fool that she was, was too proud, too unbending to convince her husband otherwise. Blanche had looked closely at Kassia, searching for bruises. It had surprised her to see none, for she would have sworn that Graelam was furious enough to kill her. Again she stilled her guilt. Kassia had returned safely, and Blanche had but to bide her time.
“I had not realized that you knew of Lord Graelam’s treasure trove.”
Blanche’s heart skipped a beat at Guy’s words, but none of it showed on her lovely face. She arched an eyebrow. “You spoke, Sir Guy?”
“Aye, Blanche. You took the Saracen necklace and you hired those men to remove Kassia from Wolffeton. Did you expect them to kill her?” He shook his head thoughtfully. “No, you are not without some pity. But you wanted them to take her back to Brittany, did you not? Were you dismayed to see Kassia returned with nary a scratch?”
“Your imagination rivals the minstrels’, Guy. Pray, Sir Knight, have you other, equally interesting tales?”
Never, he knew, would he succeed in getting her to tell the truth. He would have to do something else. He stroked his jaw with his shapely hand, realizing that Blanche was single-minded, if nothing else. She had failed this time to rid herself of Kassia. He had no doubt that she would try again, and that frightened him. How could Graelam be so damnably blind? He said very softly, “Blanche, even if Kassia were dead, Graelam would not wed you.”
She gave a soft, tinkling laugh. “Ah, Guy, is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Jealousy, Blanche? Mayhap, lovely lady, you are onto something.”
“ ’Tis a message from the Duke of Cornwall. He comes within the week.”
Kassia quickly set aside the ledger of accounts, uncertain of Graelam’s reaction to what she was doing, and forced a tentative smile to her lips. Blount certainly delighted in her skills, but she wasn’t at all sure what her husband’s reaction would be. “I shall see to his comfort, my lord.”
“You may recall that his retinue is vast.”
“Aye, I remember.”
Graelam eyed her with growing irritation. “Must you leap out of your white skin whenever I am about?”
She looked at his darkly handsome face and felt a small wrench of pain. “I believed you wished proper submissiveness in your wife.”
“You are about as submissive as my destrier. You cannot even play the role well.”
She said nothing, her eyes on her hands that lay clasped in her lap.
“What are you doing?”
He leaned to the table and picked up the ledger, riffling through it. “Ah yes,” he said, “I had forgot that your father taught you to read and write. Does Blount know that you poach on his preserves?”
“Aye,” she said softly.
He tossed the ledger back onto the table. “Does it please you to make fools of us all? Nay, do not say it again, Kassia. Your lies have filled my craw to overflowing.”
He strode from the small workroom, not looking at her again. She returned to her figures, wishing she could tell him that Wolffeton was becoming a rich holding. But hearing her say it would only anger him, for he would doubtless believe that she was angling for new gowns, jewels, or the like. She finished her task and called all the indoor servants together in the great hall.
She looked at their faces, some of them dear to her now, others, like Nan’s, implacably hostile. Seeing Blanche sitting near the great fireplace, her expression chillingly serene, Kassia felt herself shudder. She told them of the duke’s impending visit. “Marta,” she said to an older widow who was now in charge of the spinning and weaving, “we will speak of new clothing for the women. We have enough surplus cloth now to see to our own needs.”
All but Nan smiled at that.
“Aye, my lady,” Marta said, beaming at her new importance.
“Bount will give up his chamber to the duke. Nan, Alice, you will see to its thorough cleaning. I hope to have finished new cushions for the duke’s chair.”
She heard Nan muttering, but ignored her. She gave other orders, then dismissed the servants, all save the cooks. She spent another hour planning meals with them.
Kassia rose and rubbed her neck. She wanted to ride, but doubted Graelam would allow it. Indeed, she thought, he would likely humiliate her in front of his men if she even tried.
“Kassia.”
She jumped, startled, for she had not noticed Guy entering the hall.
“I have news, my lady. You shall be the first to congratulate me.”
She smiled. “What is your good fortune?”
“My father has died. His lands and keep near Dover are now mine.” He raised his hand, seeing the shock in her eyes. “Nay, do not give me your condolences on his demise. He was a rotten old lecher, mean-spirited and cruel. It is a relief to all his men and servants, and to my poor sister who lived with him.”
“Then I do congratulate you, Guy. You are now a knight of substance. You will leave us?”
“Aye. The keep is nothing to compare to Wolffeton, of course, but it is a beginning.” He paused a moment, a smile lighting his blue eyes. “I begin to believe in fate,” he said at last.
Kassia cocked her head to one side in questio
n, waiting for him to explain his strange words, but he only shook his head and smiled at her.
“Aye,” he said, “ ’tis indeed fate.”
To Kassia’s relief, Graelam showed no hesitation in his well wishes to Sir Guy. The ale and wine flowed to the early hours of the morning. Graelam, good-humored in his drunkenness, tried to press Nan on Guy, but the young knight refused, shouting to the company that he doubted his ability to raise either his interest or his member.
Kassia quietly left the hall, hopeful that her husband would fall asleep below. She turned on the stairs at the sound of rustling skirts.
“How sad for you that the handsome, so malleable Guy leaves us.”
“ ’Tis sad for all of us,” Kassia said calmly. “I suggest you find your bed, Blanche. You are slurring your words as badly as the men.”
Kassia could tell that Blanche would have liked to mock her, or taunt her, but the wine and ale had dulled her wits. She left her, shaking her head at her own stupidity. Blanche, her friend!
Blanche was indeed dull-witted. She glared at Kassia’s retreating back, then made her way carefully to her own small bedchamber. It was close and warm, but she was too befuddled to slide the shutters away from the one window. She undressed clumsily and slipped into her bed. Her head was swimming and her thoughts were warm and wishful. It was almost as if she had willed him to come, she thought, watching the door open slowly. In the darkness, she could only make out the form of a man, a tall man.
“Graelam,” she whispered, a woman’s promise in her husky voice.
He quietly closed the door and stood a moment, tall and straight. Then he was coming toward her, shucking off his clothing.
“I knew you would come,” she said, and held out her arms toward him.
“Aye,” he said softly, “I came.”
20
Blanche shuddered when he took her into his arms and pulled her onto his lap. He found her willing mouth, and kissed her deeply, thoroughly, until she was trembling with her need for him, and her triumph.
His flesh beneath her questing fingers was smooth as silk, contrasting with the rock-hard muscle beneath.
“It has been so long,” she whispered, her hand caressing down his chest to his belly.
“No man since your husband died?” he asked softly, his words punctuated with nipping kisses down the side of her neck.
“Nay. And he was a beast.”
“I am not,” he said. He pressed her onto her back and lay down beside her. “What a woman you are,” he said, his voice husky, as his fingers found the softness between her thighs.
“So long,” Blanche whimpered, arching up against his hand, wanting him so much she could scarce restrain herself. She found him, hard and ready, and inhaled sharply at the feel of him.
“You will have me in your bed every night,” he said. “Never will you want for a man again.”
Her mind reeled with his promise, and she pulled him down over her, opening herself willingly to him.
His fingers drove her to the brink of madness before he very gently eased into her. He sucked in his breath at the enveloping heat of her body, and thrust deep.
“Now,” Blanche managed between gasping breaths. She met his every thrust, drawing him deeper and deeper until he was beyond himself. But he held himself back until her soft cries of pleasure filled the stillness of the chamber.
He took his own release and fell heavily over her, his head beside hers on the pillow.
Blanche’s tumbling thoughts, scattered by her searing pleasure, slowly came back into focus. He is inside me, his seed is filling me, she thought, and felt a moment of panic. She wanted to shove him away, to cleanse herself, but he would not move. She felt him kissing her lightly on her ear, and smiled into the darkness.
“You are mine at last,” she whispered. Oddly enough, even though she had found great pleasure with him, she was thinking hazily of another, a knight with golden hair and bright blue eyes. You are naught but a silly fool, she chided herself. “When will you send her back to Brittany?” she asked, stroking her hands over his chest.
He said softly, still kissing her, “You will never worry about her again, Blanche. You will be mistress of my keep, and my wife. Very soon now. Very soon.” She felt him growing hard within her once again, and she was surprised when her body leapt in response.
He took her more slowly this time, until she was pleading with him in soft, mewling cries.
He laughed, and gave her what she wanted. She fell asleep in the crook of his arm, so sated that she was beyond words, beyong caring that his seed still filled her, beyond the niggling feeling that she wished it had been another to share her bed. I have won, she thought. At last I have won. I am safe, my son is safe.
Blanche awoke the next morning with no splitting headache from her overindulgence the previous night. Graelam was gone, but that did not surprise her. She bathed herself thoroughly, so pleased that worry of him seeding a child within her was only a minor thought. She dressed herself in her most becoming gown, a russet wool with a golden-threaded belt that emphasized her full breasts and narrow waist.
She hummed softly as she made her way to the hall. She saw Kassia seated alone, nibbling on a slice of bread. She frowned, wondering how she should act. Had Graelam told Kassia that he was setting her aside? She remembered his words. Very soon, he had told her. Very soon. She decided to hold her peace. Kassia would discover the truth soon enough.
Kassia raised tired eyes to Blanche, mentally preparing herself for sarcastic taunts, but Blanche, to her utter surprise, only smiled at her.
She noticed Blanche’s lovely gown and frowned, wondering why the woman was thus attired. She herself was wearing an old gown of faded gray, for she planned to oversee the cleaning of the stables herself. And the jakes. They were foul and needed a river of lime to depress the smell.
“You look like a serving wench,” Blanche observed, unable to keep the touch of triumph from her voice. After all, she defended herself silently, I have never won anything worthwhile before.
“Aye,” Kassia said, raising her chin slightly. “But then, I am mistress of Wolffeton, Blanche. ’Tis my responsibility to see that all is ready for the duke.”
Blanche laughed; she could not help herself. Blind little fool! So Graelam had said nothing to her as yet. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Kassia that her brief stay was soon to be over, when she heard Graelam’s deep voice. He was speaking to Guy about the final repairs on the eastern outer wall.
“Will you break your fast, my lord?” Kassia asked, rising from the bench.
“Aye,” Graelam said. “And a goblet of ale to clear my aching head.”
Kassia immediately left the hall to do his bidding.
Graelam stretched. His eyes fell upon Blanche. There was a gentle smile on her face, and he nodded at her.
“You have the look of a cat who has been well fed,” Guy said in a bland voice.
“Aye,” Blanche said, keeping her eyes soft upon Graelam’s face.
“One should never allow a cat to go hungry for too long a time,” Guy remarked as he sat himself beside Graelam.
Blanche looked at him uncertainly, wondering if he knew of his master’s visit to her chamber. Somehow the thought made her cringe with shame. “Is there anything I can do to see to your comfort, my lord?” she asked Graelam.
“Nay,” Graelam said shortly, turning again to Guy.
Why does he not say something? Blanche wondered, eyeing him with mounting frustration. Why does he not ask to speak to me alone?
She looked up to see Kassia, a serving wench following in her wake, carrying a large tray.
Kassia motioned for the girl to set it in front of Graelam. “I have brought enough for you also, Guy,” she said.
“Thank you, my lady,” Guy said. “I need to keep up my strength.”
“When must you leave us, Guy?”
Graelam thought he heard distress in his wife’s soft voice, and slewed around to l
ook at her. He saw only weariness in her eyes, and dark smudges beneath them, attesting to the fact that she had not rested well the previous night. What the devil did she want? he wondered, attacking the cold beef with a vengeance. After all, he hadn’t bothered her.
“I will leave when the duke does, my lady,” Guy said calmly. “I cannot in good conscience remove myself until Graelam has found another warrior to protect Wolffeton. I fear what would happen if I did go.”
“Conceited fool,” Graelam said without heat. “You know I have written to the duke. ’Tis likely he will have a knight in his train who is a landless lout, just as you were.”
“How . . . sorry we will be to see you go,” Blanche said.
“It warms me to hear you say so,” Guy said.
Kassia heard the soft taunt in Blanche’s voice, and something else as well that she couldn’t define. She herself would miss Guy terribly, but of course, she could say nothing, especially in front of Graelam. Her one protector. She shuddered at the thought of the loneliness she would know.
“What ails you?” Graelam asked sharply.
She shook her head.
“Have you eaten?”
“Aye, my lord. If you will excuse me, there is much that needs my attention.”
He nodded, and watched her walk slowly from the hall, her head bent. She is thinking of Guy, he thought, his brow puckering into a frown. She continues to elude me, to treat me as if I were naught but a heavy burden to be borne. He turned and bestowed a wide smile upon Blanche.
The night was dark and mysterious as the depths of a woman, he thought. But still he waited until he knew she would be asleep. Quietly he eased open the door to her small chamber and peered inside. He could hear her gentle breathing and knew she was deep in sleep. A long candle was close to gutting on the small table beside her bed. So she had waited for him. He undressed quickly and leaned over to blow it out.
Fire Song Page 21