Fire Song

by Catherine Coulter

  “Lady Kassia?”

  A plump gray-haired woman approached her and proffered a deep curtsy.

  “I am Margaret, my lady. The duke told us to expect you.”

  “I am so pleased you are here,” Kassia told the woman with a tired smile.

  Margaret clucked around her, much in Etta’s manner, and Kassia allowed herself for some minutes to be cosseted. She was led upstairs to a comfortable chamber, where another fire burned.

  “For you and your lord,” Margaret said.

  There were fresh reeds on the stone floor and a tapestry of vivid colors covering one wall. A large bed was set upon a dais, and there were several high-backed chairs surrounding a small circular table.

  “I believe I have died and gone to heaven!” Kassia exclaimed.

  “I will kiss the duke’s feet,” Etta said fervently.

  “I will have the wenches bring you hot water for a bath,” Margaret continued placidly. “My husband, Sarn, will assist your lord to see to the horses and wagons. You need do naught, my lady, but see to yourself.”

  Etta hurrumphed when Margaret started to assist Kassia out of her wet cloak, and the woman merely smiled, curtsied again, and left the chamber, saying over her shoulder, “The duke sent an entire pig for your first meal. After you have rested, my lady, we will have the evening meal.”

  “Etta,” Kassia scolded her old nurse, “you are wet through! You see to yourself. I am not helpless, you know.”

  Kassia was immersed to her chin in a wooden tub filled with blessedly hot water when Graelam entered the chamber.

  She forgot the restraint between them, forgot she was naked, and said happily, “The duke must be the most thoughtful man in all of England! I do not even have to see to the preparation of dinner! And this room is so pleasant and so very warm! Was all as you wished, my lord?”

  He smiled at her wearily. “Aye, everything is fine. I will give you five more minutes in that tub, Kassia.”

  She flushed, and quickly ducked her head underwater to wet her hair. When she emerged from the tub, Graelam was wearing his bedrobe, seated in front of the roaring fire. She quickly toweled herself dry and wrapped a small linen towel about her wet hair.

  “I was very dirty, Graelam,” she said, eyeing the bathwater.

  “I called for clean water,” he said, not turning.

  Kassia heard the heavy footsteps outside their chamber and scurried to pull on her bedrobe, drawing the belt tight about her waist.

  She was combing out her hair in front of the fire when Graelam said from the tub, “We will have our meal here this evening. Tomorrow we will go to the tower.”

  Kassia paused a moment in her combing and said tentatively, “I should like to see everything, my lord. I fear I was too tired today to appreciate England’s capital.”

  “Aye,” he said, closing his eyes, “it has been a long time since I was here. I remarked changes. We will see everything you wish to see.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “Do you wish me to assist you, my lord?”

  “Bring me a towel,” he said, rising.

  She tried to avoid looking at his body, but failed dismally. Her fingers itched to tangle themselves in the thick mat of black hair on his chest, to stroke over the velvet smoothness of his back. It had been so long! Her mind warred with her body, and in that moment she hated him for teaching her pleasure, for teaching her body to respond to him. Her eyes fell to his groin and she felt heat suffuse her loins. But he hated her, she reminded herself, forcing her eyes upward. She met his dark gaze and gulped.

  “The towel, Kassia,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She thrust the towel at him and quickly turned back and sat before the fire.

  She knew he had seen the desire in her eyes, and she wanted to kick herself. She heard him say very calmly from behind her, “I will part your sweet thighs, my lady, and caress you until you scream with pleasure, if you will but admit, finally, the truth to me.”

  She wanted to yell at him, to plead her innocence yet again. But it would do no good. Why not simply tell him what he wanted to hear? She froze at the thought, for she knew what the result would be. He would possibly forgive her, but he would never trust her. He could never really care for her if he distrusted her. At least, she sighed, there would be peace of a sort between them. From the corner of her eye she saw him remove the towel and stand quietly, stretching in front of the fire, oblivious of his nakedness. His manhood was jutting outward, and she gulped, quickly turning her face away from him. He would slake his desire in another woman’s body. The thought made her jump to her feet, the pain of her spirit shimmering in her eyes.

  “Graelam, I—”

  There was a knock on the chamber door. She closed her eyes, and trembled with the knowledge of what she had been about to say to him.

  “Enter,” she called, her voice high and shrill.

  Two serving wenches came into the chamber, carrying trays. Their eyes went immediately to Graelam, who was languidly reaching for his bedrobe. Both the women eyed him openly. Would he take one of them?

  “Set the trays here,” Kassia said harshly, pointing to the small table.

  She gritted her teeth as one of the women, quite pretty, with thick black hair and full breasts, gave Graelam an open invitation with her dark eyes.

  “You may leave now,” she said sharply, stepping in front of her husband.

  He watched her, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. But he said nothing until she was seated across from him, her mouth full of roast pork.

  “That was quite a display of wifely jealousy, my lady,” he said.

  She choked, and downed half the wine in his goblet. She could not speak for several moments as she gasped for breath. But she shook her head violently.

  “Odd,” he continued calmly. “I had the impression that you were about to tell me something of great interest when the wenches interrupted us.”

  She said nothing, staring down at the wooden plate. Her face was very expressive, and Graelam saw the myriad emotions clashing there. Was it pride that kept her silent? he wondered.

  “You are very young, Kassia,” he said after a moment, remembering Drake’s words. “When one is young, one makes mistakes. And one is . . . reluctant to admit to mistakes.”

  “Do not older people also make mistakes, Graelam?” she asked quietly.

  “Aye,” he agreed easily, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his massive chest. “But heed me, wife, I do not intend to hear more mewling protests from you. They now weary me and bore me.”

  “Very well, my lord,” she said, “I will say nothing.”

  The decision was made. Was it pride that kept her silent? Honor? Stupidity?

  In the next instant he was towering above her, jerking her out of her chair.

  “No,” she whispered, leaning back as far as she was able.

  He laughed and swept her over his shoulder. “Would you prefer that I bed that pretty wench who brought our meal?”

  “Aye!” she shouted. “I care not what you do!”

  He dropped her onto her back and stripped off her bedrobe. When he released her to rid himself of his own bedrobe, she rolled onto her knees and tried to escape him. He caught her by her ankle and flipped her again onto her back.

  “No,” he said, his voice mocking to her ears, “I am not yet sated with your sweet body. But there will be no pleasure for you, my lady.” He pulled her legs apart and thrust into her. His eyes widened and flew to her face, for she was moist and ready for him.

  Kassia stared at him. She felt him deep and throbbing inside her, felt him grinding against her belly, and she cried out, beyond herself, her body exploding in harsh, rippling pleasure.

  It would not stop, and cry after helpless cry burst from her throat.

  Graelam felt her fingers clutching at his shoulders, felt the furious arching of her hips to match his rhythm. He kissed her deeply, and moaned his own release into her mouth.

 
He crushed her against him, utterly confused by her passionate response to him. The punishment he had wished had failed abysmally. It both angered him and, oddly enough, pleased him.

  Damn her! He said, his voice a mocking taunt, even as his hands stroked and caressed her hips, “So yielding and passionate, dear wife. Did you think of him when I came into you?”

  He felt her quiver and stiffen, but he would not release her. “Go to sleep, Kassia. I will not allow you to bathe yourself. My seed will stay in your belly.”

  Graelam finally fell into an exhausted sleep, the wet of her tears on his shoulder.

  27

  I must remember everything, Kassia thought as she gazed upward at the high vaulted cathedral, for someday I shall tell my grandchildren that I attended the coronation of King Edward the First of England. She avidly took in the gorgeously arrayed lords and ladies and the splendid stained-glass windows. All was overladen with religious solemnity. The prelates, their flowing robes as beautifully sewn as those of the king and queen, recited the ceremony in Latin, their voices hushed and reverent. Kassia leaned forward when Edward accepted his scepter and crown. All too soon, the ceremony was over. The new king and queen of England were whisked away, and the lords and ladies moved quietly out of the abbey. Kassia heard Graelam give a deep sigh of relief. She gazed up at him uncertainly, but he merely nodded at her, saying only, “At least our king is home. Now, Kassia, we will shuck all the religious trappings and you will meet Edward and Eleanor.”

  She looks beautiful, Graelam thought, unconsciously comparing Kassia to the other noble ladies assembled in the huge lower chamber of the White Tower. “Do not look so awestruck,” he said quietly to her, “else everyone will believe you a country maid.”

  “I am trying to memorize everything,” she said quite seriously.

  “We will doubtless come to London again.”

  She nodded, and spoke before she could censor her thought, “Aye, but this is the coronation. We will be able to tell our grandchildren about it.” Her hand flew to her mouth in consternation. She waited for his taunting response.

  “I had not thought of that,” he said, his dark eyes suddenly opague. “Come, Kassia, there are many people for you to meet.”

  It was indeed odd, Kassia thought after meeting so many lords and ladies, that her mouth seemed frozen into a permanent smile, but she had not felt at all intimidated as she had expected to. Graelam was playing the husband’s role well, pretending he was pleased to have all his friends meet his wife. And it was also the necklace, she thought. Although she hated its weight on her neck and all the pain it had brought her, it nonetheless gave her a very rich, slightly exotic appearance that, strangely, gave her confidence.

  “By all that’s precious! Look what Cornwall has spit up, Chandra! My lord Graelam!”

  Kassia raised her eyes to meet the merry blue ones of one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. He was nearly as tall as Graelam, wide of shoulder and lean of waist and hip. His hair was burnished gold and his face lightly tanned and exquisitely formed. Standing next to him was a very beautiful lady, the perfect mate for such a man. She felt suddenly skinny, ugly, and tongue-tied, her confidence utterly destroyed compared to this unbelievable creature with her long golden hair and her utterly perfect woman’s body.

  “So you and Chandra have traveled from the northern wilds for the great occasion,” Graelam said, slapping the other man on his muscled arm. “Chandra,” he continued, his voice dropping slightly as he grasped her hand, “how is it you manage to appear more beautiful each time I see you?”

  Chandra laughed lightly. “This beast, Jerval, has kept me off the practice field for the past month so I would not embarrass him at court with my bruises and scratches.”

  Practice field. What, Kassia wondered blankly, was she talking about?

  “I pray you will not believe that tale, Graelam,” Sir Jerval said, his long fingers lightly caressing his wife on her slender shoulder. “The only thing that has slowed her down at all was the birth of our son but four months ago.”

  “I do not suppose,” Graelam said in a mock-pensive voice, “that you named the lad after me?”

  “Not likely, Graelam,” Chandra said. “He is Edward. Jerval believed that there should be an Edward in London and one in Cumbria. I had no choice in the matter.”

  “And for once she was flat on her back, too tired to argue with me,” Sir Jerval said. He lowered his voice to a lecherous whisper. “Of course, I learned that technique of gaining her compliance long ago.”

  Kassia blinked at their banter, wishing Graelam would introduce her to these people, yet afraid of making a fool of herself if he did so. She felt so insignificant!

  “The necklace! My God, Graelam, I had forgot all about it!”

  It was as if, Kassia thought, her husband had just remembered her presence. “Aye,” he said easily, “ ’tis the same one, from Al-Afdal’s camp. And the little one wearing it is Kassia, my wife.”

  Lady Chandra gasped, her expressive blue eyes widening in surprise. “Good heavens, Jerval, you and I now have a son, but Graelam has got himself a wife! My dear, I trust you buffet this great beast at least twice a day. He doubtless tries to play the tyrant over you.”

  Kassia felt bereft of speech at this unexpected advice, but Lady Chandra continued smiling at her openly, and she gulped, and blurted out, “I suspect he is as much a tyrant as he ever was.”

  “Kassia,” Graelam said, his voice clipped, “this is Sir Jerval de Vernon and his wife, Lady Chandra.”

  “My wife,” Sir Jerval said kindly to Kassia, “is always offering advice that she herself ignores. She adores me so mightily that I am always having to lift her from her knees—”

  Lady Chandra poked him in the ribs. “You are a fiend and a miserable liar, my lord! Pay him no heed, Kassia. He is like most men, crowing his conceit and praying others will believe him!”

  “Ha!” Sir Jerval said.

  Chandra ignored him, and continued to Kassia, “Has Graelam told you of our adventures in the Holy Land? How long ago it seems! The history of the necklace you are wearing is particularly . . . precarious. I had thought we would be saying our last prayers!”

  “You tried to kill me, Chandra, then saved my miserable life,” Graelam complained ruefully. “Neither tale bears repeating, particularly to a wife who—” He broke off, not really knowing what he would have said, and fearing that it would show his bitterness.

  “Well,” Chandra said comfortably, “I shall tell her all about it.”

  “You . . . you tried to kill my husband?” Kassia asked.

  She saw Chandra’s eyes fly to Graelam’s face.

  “ ’Twas a long time ago,” Lady Chandra said finally. “And of no importance at all now.”

  “Jerval, Chandra, how long do you remain in London?” Graelam asked.

  “Another week or so,” Jerval said. “Chandra has accepted a challenge from Edward on the archery range. I fear I am relegated to the role of holding her quiver.”

  “ ’Twill be an alarming contest,” Graelam said. “I will bear you company and the two of us will cheer her on.” He turned to his wife. “Come, Kassia, ‘tis time you met your king.”

  “Lady Chandra will go against the king?” Kassia asked, disbelief so clear in her voice that Graelam laughed.

  “Indeed,” he said. “Chandra is a warrior.”

  “But she is so beautiful!”

  “I learned with her that the one only enhances the other. She is a woman who holds honor dear. And at last it appears that she holds her womanhood dear as well.”

  The tone of his voice altered slightly, and Kassia frowned down at her blue leather slippers. She remembered him telling her that a lady had given him the scar on his shoulder. Chandra? she wondered. Had he loved her? Did he still love her? At the very least, she thought miserably, he much admired her. She is everything I am not. I would not know the end of an arrow from its beginning.

  They entered a line of no
bles that would pass in front of the newly crowned King Edward and Queen Eleanor. Kassia smiled, curtsying to a Sir John de Vescy, another noble who had been with Graelam in the Holy Land.

  Thank the Lord for the coolness of the October day, Kassia thought, for with the press of people, heat would have made it unbearable.

  She moved closer to her husband, comparing him to the other noblemen. He looks as magnificent as a king, she thought, as he threw back his black head and laughed aloud at a comment from a gaunt-looking man with bushy black eyebrows. His robe was of rich gold velvet, full-cut, its flowing sleeves lined with ermine. About his waist was a thick black belt from which hung a slender gem-studded sword. The robe fit across his massive shoulders perfectly. She had sewed many hours to make it thus.

  “Ah, my lord Graelam!”

  Graelam bowed deeply. “Sire, welcome home! Your throne has grown dusty in your absence, and your barons morose without a king to complain about!”

  “Aye,” the king said, smiling widely, “but I venture you have told them enough stories to blacken my reputation! My love, here is the Wolf of Cornwall to greet you!”

  Queen Eleanor gasped with pleasure. “Graelam! So many friends come to see us! You look more handsome than my poor lord, Graelam! I fear foreign lands have added gray to his hair!”

  “But who is this, my lord?” Edward said, his penetrating blue eyes going to the small woman at Graelam’s side.

  “Allow me to present my wife, sire, Kassia de Moreton.”

  “My lady,” Edward said smoothly, and took her small hand into his large one.

  “Sire,” Kassia said, curtsying. She blurted out, “You are so tall! I had believed my lord the largest of men, yet you can see over his head!”

  Eleanor laughed. “He has oft told me that he grew to such a height to better intimidate all his nobles. My lord’s uncle, the Duke of Cornwall, has told us of you, Kassia. So romantic and dramatic a story. We will speak, for I wish to hear all about you and your taming of the Wolf of Cornwall.”

  Taming! Ha, Kassia thought as she walked beside her husband to greet other acquaintances.