“It is a knight’s code to crush vermin, my lady.”
She drew herself up to her full height. “I believe you called this man Dienwald de Fortenberry. I remember my lord telling you that he was no threat to Wolffeton. Why have you brought him here, Sir Walter?”
He could denounce her in front of everyone, Sir Walter thought. But no, he quickly decided. The proud little bitch was too popular among the men and the servants, and he couldn’t be certain of their backing. Oh no, he would wait for Graelam to return. Graelam would be enraged; he would kill the miserable de Fortenberry for him, and, Sir Walter thought, he would be thankful to him for bringing the whoreson to him. Land, he thought, his chest expanding in anticipation; Graelam would doubtless award him land and his own keep.
“I have brought him here, my lady,” he said, quite calmly now, “to be held for Lord Graelam’s return.”
Kassia felt a surge of relief. Dienwald de Fortenberry would tell Graelam that it was Blanche who had hired him. At last he would know the truth. At last he would believe her.
She turned to Dienwald de Fortenberry, who was struggling to regain his breath. She wanted to go to him, to help him, but she knew she would be a fool to do so.
Dienwald knew that several of his ribs were broken. He met Kassia’s worried gaze for a moment before a surging pain ripped through him and he crumpled to the cobblestones.
Kassia listened numbly, her fingernails digging into palms, as Sir Walter ordered the men to carry de Fortenberry to the dungeon.
“Sir Walter,” she said in a loud, calm voice, “I trust that Dienwald de Fortenberry will be alive when my lord returns.”
“Slut,” Sir Walter hissed between his teeth. Did she believe she had that much power over Graelam? Tales of Graelam de Moreton’s prowess were legendary. He could not imagine such a warrior allowing his wife to escape unscathed when he was confronted not only with her lover but also with the man she had hired to help her escape him.
Kassia went directly to her bedchamber, closed the door, and sat in her chair to think.
At the evening meal, she appeared serene and concerned only with the taste of the roast pork and the fresh green peas. She chatted easily with Blount and Father Tobias, aware that many eyes were observing her, watching her very closely. She could feel the dislike emanating from Sir Walter, but she could also sense his uncertainty at her calm behavior. You will pay for this, she vowed silently. It was odd, she thought as she replied to a question from one of the serving wenches, but she should be thanking him. Were it not for his hatred and his bitterness, she would never have known that Edmund was Dienwald de Fortenberry.
She returned to her bedchamber to wait. It was near to midnight when Etta slipped into the chamber, nodding silently.
“There was but one guard?”
“Aye, my baby, and soon he will be fast asleep. There is no need for any guards down there,” she continued, shivering. “The saints could not escape from that place.”
“Sir Walter is taking no chances,” Kassia said. “How very surprised that knave will be when Dienwald tells my lord the truth of the matter!”
Etta gripped Kassia’s arm. “Must you go to him, my baby? Can you not wait for Lord Graelam’s return?”
“Dienwald de Fortenberry is many things, Etta, I know that, but he was kind to me. Had Blanche paid another man to take me, I would likely have been raped and killed. If he dies from his wounds, I will gain nothing. And I must speak to him. I must be certain that he will speak the truth to Graelam.”
Etta knew she could not sway her mistress. “All the men are asleep. I heard no one.”
“Excellent,” Kassia said stoutly, though she felt gooseflesh rising on her arms in her fear. “I do not wish you to wait for me, Etta. Go to bed now.”
She waited until her old nurse had left, then drew on her cloak. Saying a silent prayer, she slipped from her bedchamber and made her way out of the great hall. The dungeon was in the base of the southern tower.
Soundlessly she moved beyond the thick oak door, sucking in her breath when she saw the guard. But he was fast asleep, his head cradled on his arms. Carefully she eased the huge iron keys from his tunic and dropped them into the pocket of her cloak. Then, clutching the lone candle, she walked down the deeply worn stone steps to the lower level. The air became more fetid and foul, and she could hear the rats scurrying from her path. It smelled of human misery, she thought, though she knew that no prisoner had been held here for many years. Her hand shook as she fitted one of the keys into the rusting lock. It grated so loudly that she whipped about, expecting to see all of Sir Walter’s men bursting in upon her.
But only rats were about.
The door swung open and she stepped into the cell, holding the candle high. She felt nausea rise in her throat at the stench. The stone walls were green and slimy with dampness, the earth floor was strewn with ancient straw reeking of human excrement. She raised the candle higher, gasping when she saw Dienwald de Fortenberry. His arms were pulled away from his body, his wrists manacled to the walls.
“Dienwald,” she said softly.
Slowly he raised his head. For a long moment he stared at her blankly. Then a slow smile twisted his mouth into a painful grimace.
“Little chick,” he whispered. “Why did you send me a message begging that I help you?”
25
Kassia stared at him. “I do not know about any message,” she said finally.
A spasm of pain wiped his mind of words and it was some moments before he said, “No, I do not suppose that you do. I was a fool, and now I will pay for it.”
“No, you won’t!” She rushed to his side and quickly unlocked the heavy rusted manacles from his wrists. He managed to steady himself and sank down onto the straw.
“It was Sir Walter,” she said, dropping to her knees beside him. “He hates you, but I had no idea that it was you he hated.”
He raised his head and smiled at her. “Only I would know what you mean, little chick.”
“When my lord returns to Wolffeton, all will be well, I promise you, Edmund . . . Dienwald.” She touched her hand to his shoulder. “You will tell him it was Blanche who hired you, will you not?”
“You have had a difficult time making your husband believe you?”
“Very few people here believe that I am innocent, but now, Dienwald, they will know the truth.”
“Ah, little chick, you are so innocent and trusting.”
“No,” she said firmly, “no longer. I will see that my lord punishes Sir Walter for what he did to you. Where are you hurt?”
“Several ribs are broken. Sir Walter is a vicious man. I begin to see now why he did not simply kill me as he did my men.”
“I do not understand.”
He lifted his hand and touched his fingers to her soft hair. “No, likely you would not understand. I will explain it to you. Sir Walter doubtless wants land. What landless knight does not? And it is true that my father killed his and took his birthright, though from what I remember, his action was justified. But had Sir Walter killed me there would have been no reward for him, no gain at all if, that is, he kept his neck in place. Your husband, little chick, is a very powerful man with very powerful friends. Were he to kill me, there would be no retribution, and Sir Walter would most likely gain from his trickery.”
Kassia shook her head, saying vehemently, “Graelam would not kill you.”
Dienwald gave her a tender look that held pity. Slowly he drew her forward, and before Kassia knew what he was about, he had fastened one of the heavy manacles about her wrist.
“Little chick,” he said ruefully, “I beg you will forgive me, but I do not wish to die. If I stay, your husband will kill me without a second thought. Even if I were able to fight him with all my strength, he would still likely put an end to me.”
“He has no reason to kill you. Please, Dienwald, you must not leave me!”
“Kassia, listen to me, for I must escape, and very soon. Your hu
sband believes that you paid me to help you escape him. If I were to tell him it was Blanche, he would still kill me, for I accepted his barbaric necklace as payment to rid Wolffeton and Blanche of your presence.” He gave a pained laugh. “Were I your husband, I would kill me. I know that when you are found here, in my cell, you will be blamed for releasing me. I am sorry for it, but your husband will not kill you. Were there another way, little chick, I would not leave you. But there is no choice for me. Forgive me, Kassia.”
She looked at the harsh manacle about her wrist. “I forgive you,” she said. “But you have sentenced me to hell.”
He grasped her chin in his palm and lightly kissed her. “I can take you with me, little chick.”
He saw the helpless pain in her eyes, and drew back. “Ah, so that is the way it is.” He rose and stood over her a moment. “Graelam de Moreton is a harsh and ruthless warrior. He can have no understanding of something as delicate and honest as you. Please, little chick, do not scream until I am gone.”
“It would do no good,” she said dully. “My old nurse drugged the only guard. Evidently Sir Walter believed no more guards were necessary.”
“I will leave you the candle,” he said. “Good-bye, little chick.” She watched him slip through the cell door and pull it closed behind him. She leaned back against the damp wall as the rats moved closer to her, their small eyes orange in the wavering candlelight. When the candle sputtered out and the cell was plunged into blackness, she whimpered softly and drew her legs up to her chest.
She heard heavy boots approaching, and then the cell door was shoved violently open. A rushlight torch filled the darkness with blinding light. Kassia had prayed that Etta would come for her, but her prayer was not answered. For a moment her dazed eyes could only make out the outline of a man. Sir Walter, she thought dully. What would he do to her?
“Kassia.”
She froze and pressed herself closer to the slimy wall, moaning softly in her throat. “What are you doing here?” she asked finally.
Graelam gave a harsh laugh. “No, I do not suppose you expected me until tomorrow night. I missed you and pushed my men to return.” He laughed again, a cruel sound that made her flinch. He handed the torch to a man behind him and strode toward her. She cowered away from him. He dropped to his knees and unlocked the manacle.
“Did your lover really need to chain you? Could not even he trust you?”
Kassia rubbed her bruised wrist, concentrating on the slight pain to block the terrible words from her mind.
“Look at me, damn you!” Graelam grasped her shoulders and shook her.
“I am looking now,” she said, staring directly into his furious eyes.
“Dienwald de Fortenberry. Did he appreciate your calling him Edmund, my lady? How very surprised you must have been to see him. Sir Walter is something of a fool, unfortunately. He never dreamed that my soft, fragile lady would be so daring as to release her lover. He is now . . . distraught.”
“Dienwald de Fortenberry is not my lover,” she said quietly, hopelessly.
His fingers tightened about her shoulders and he felt her small bones twisting beneath his strength. Damn him for a fool! He had ridden back to Wolffeton like a maniac, his only thought of Kassia and holding her, seeing her, listening to her laugh, feeling her soft body beneath him, opening to him. His fingers ground harshly into her shoulders and she whimpered from pain. He released her abruptly and stood.
“Come,” he said roughly. “I do not wish you to die from a fever.”
She staggered to her feet and pulled her cloak more closely about her. She saw Sir Walter standing in the narrow doorway, a look of hatred contorting his features. She said in a loud, clear voice, “Did Sir Walter tell you how he managed to capture Dienwald de Fortenberry? Did he tell you how he beat him viciously whilst he was bound and could not defend himself?”
Graelam turned slowly to face his knight.
“Did he tell you that he trusted you to kill de Fortenberry and then reward him for bringing him to you?”
Graelam said in a cold voice, “I will speak to Sir Walter, wife. Now, my lady, you will come with me.”
He drew away from her a moment and spoke in a quiet voice to Sir Walter. The man nodded and withdrew. He hates me because I am a woman and thus not to be believed or trusted, she thought. She said aloud, “I did not betray you, Graelam. I have never betrayed you.”
She saw the fury building in his dark eyes. She threw back her head, raising her chin. “Will you kill me now? Just as you would have killed Dienwald?”
He looked at that proud tilted chin of hers and turned quickly away, his hands clenched at his sides. He did not want to strike her, for if he did, it would likely kill her.
“That is why he escaped, Graelam. It is true that I released his chains, but my thought was only to spare him more pain. I trusted him to tell you the truth, that it was Blanche who had paid him the necklace to be rid of me, but he said you would kill him regardless of what he told you. He did not wish to die.”
“So he left you here, chained, to face me. An honorable man.”
“Was he right? Would you have killed him?”
“Come, Kassia,” he said, striding to the cell door.
She followed him silently, feeling blessedly numb. She did not wonder about the future; it could be naught but the cold misery of the present.
There was utter silence as she walked beside her husband through the great hall. She felt the servants’ eyes upon her. She imagined that she could even feel their fear for her. But she felt no fear. She felt nothing. Everything was over now.
Graelam paused a moment and gave orders for hot water to be brought to their bedchamber. She saw the lines of fatigue in his face for the first time, and the filth of his chain mail and tunic. She wanted to ask him if he was all right, then almost laughed aloud at the wifely spurt of concern she felt for him.
When they reached their bedchamber, Graelam ignored her. Evian helped him strip off his armor. After he dismissed the boy, he peeled off the rest of his clothes and sank down naked into his high-backed chair. Still he said nothing.
Two serving wenches came into the room and poured hot water into the wooden tub. Graelam rose and walked to the tub even as they filled it, seemingly oblivious of his nakedness. He dismissed them with a curt nod and climbed into the tub.
He felt the hot water seep into his muscles, easing his soreness and bone-weariness. He wondered vaguely whether Sir Walter would have left her locked in de Fortenberry’s cell if Graelam had not returned until the following night. No, the knight would not have dared. Graelam sighed, easing his body deeper into the water. Thoughts of his joy at seeing Kassia mingled with knowledge of her deception, and he felt suddenly old and very tired. His father was right. Drake, his armorer, was right. He had been a fool to have begun to doubt his sire’s wisdom. Women were good for breeding, and only if a husband kept his wife away from other men to ensure whose seed filled her belly. Had de Fortenberry taken her before he had escaped? He sat up in the tub and turned his head to see her sitting quietly, as still as a statue, in a chair. “Kassia,” he said quite calmly, “take off your clothes. I wish to see if de Fortenberry’s seed is in your body or still clinging to your thighs.”
She could only gape at him, furious color flooding her face, as his words gained meaning in her mind.
“Damn you, do as I say!”
“Graelam,” she said, clutching the arms of the chair until her knuckles showed white, “please, you must believe me. Dienwald de Fortenberry was not my lover!”
“If you do not obey me, I will rip off your clothes.”
“Why won’t you believe me?”
His jaw clenched. He quickly washed his hair and his body and just as quickly rose from the tub and dried himself. From the corner of his eye he saw her rise from the chair and dart toward the chamber door. He caught her as her hand touched the brass handle.
“Please,” she panted, “for once, please believe me!�
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“Do you want me to rip your clothes off?”
She stared up at him, knowing he was implacable. She would not let him cow her again. Slowly she shook her head. “You will not humiliate me,” she said. “My only crime was feeling concern for a man who was kind to me.” Her chin went up. “I am glad he was wise enough to escape. I am glad he did not stay so you could kill him.”
He drew back his hand, but then got a grip on himself and slowly lowered it to his side. Very slowly he turned away from her. He said over his shoulder, “If you leave this room, you will wish you had not.”
He tossed on his bedrobe, belted it, and returned to her. “Take off your clothes,” he said very softly.
“Nay,” she said, her voice a croak.
He shrugged, and very deliberately tore away her olive-green wool gown. She tried to struggle against him, but it was useless and she knew it. She would only hurt herself. When she was naked and trembling before him, he stepped back, a cruel light in his dark eyes, and thoughtfully began stroking his chin. “Aye, you have become quite the woman, have you not, wife? Such lovely breasts you have now. And that soft little belly of yours.”
She did not try to cover her body from his eyes. Instead, she clapped her hands over her ears to block out his cruel words.
He laughed, picked her up in his arms, and carried her to the bed. He tossed her down upon her back. “Hold still,” he said coldly. There could be no greater humiliation, she thought, as he pulled her legs apart and looked down at her. She flinched when he ran his hand over her.
“So,” he said, straightening. “if a child does grow in your belly, it will be mine. At least this time.”
Kassia rolled over onto her side and drew her legs up. Great sobs built up, pounding against her chest, tearing from her throat.
Graelam stared down at her, hating himself for the pain he was feeling at her suffering, hating himself for wanting to gather her into his arms and stroke her and soothe her and caress her.
“Get under the covers,” he said harshly. When she did not move, he lifted her roughly and placed her beneath them himself.
Fire Song Page 27