Fire Song

by Catherine Coulter

“Complete?” Eleanor supplied.

  “Perhaps. And she is so beautiful.”

  “Actually, Kassia, her completeness came only when she fell in love with her husband. She was not always as happy as she is now.”

  But her husband always loved her, Kassia wanted to say. Instead, she spoke of the match. “She is concerned that the third round will do her in. The distance requires a great deal of strength, and she says that only the king can shoot so far with accuracy.”

  “Aye, I know,” Eleanor said. “I believe my lord insisted upon it. He does not like to lose.”

  Kassia laughed. “At least he is honest about it!” She looked toward Chandra, who was laughing as her husband wrapped a piece of material about her arm as his favor. I would be like her, Kassia thought. If I could but learn a little of what she does so effortlessly, perhaps Graelam would admire me. She gasped at the thought of herself wielding a lance, riding a mighty war-horse. Nonetheless, the thought stayed with her.

  Eleanor turned to speak to the Countess of Pembroke. Kassia looked about her and smiled at a slight, light-haired girl whose belly was rounded with child. “You must be tired,” she said. “Come and sit beside me.”

  “Thank you. I do not have the energy that I used to have.”

  Kassia felt a brief twinge of envy, then looked toward Chandra. “Does she not look utterly beautiful?”

  “Aye. You should see her in her armor, though. ’Tis a sight that taxes the mind. I grew up with Chandra, you see.”

  Kassia’s thoughts whirled and she said abruptly, “Were you at Croyland when Graelam de Moreton came to take her?”

  The girl stiffened, but answered quietly enough, “Aye, I was there.”

  “Did Lady Chandra truly hurl a dagger at Graelam?”

  The girl nodded. She turned at the sound of a bright child’s laughter. “Ah, my daughter, Glenda.” She took the child from a nurse and lifted her in her arms. “Glenda, I would like you to meet a lovely lady.” She looked inquiringly at Kassia.

  “Kassia is my name. She is a lovely child. You are very lucky.” Kassia gazed at the little girl’s thick dark hair, then into her large gray eyes. Suddenly Glenda leaned toward Kassia, her small hand clutching at the ermine of her cloak. The child laughed as she stroked the fur, and Kassia froze. The expression was Graelam’s.

  “Are you all right, Kassia? You look very pale.”

  Kassia gulped. “I do not believe I know your name,” she managed at last.

  “Mary. My husband, Sir Mark, is yon, standing with Sir Jerval and . . . Graelam de Moreton.”

  The pause in her voice boomed in Kassia’s mind. Was Mary a former lover of Graelam’s? It seemed impossible. Mary appeared so sweet, her face so gentle and innocent.

  Mary’s voice broke into her confused thoughts. “I hear that Lord Graelam has wed. She is, I am told, an heiress from Brittany.”

  “Aye, she is from Brittany.”

  “I cannot but feel sorry for her,” Mary said in a low voice. “I cannot imagine that Lord Graelam is an easy man.”

  “No, he is not,” Kassia said. “Your daughter, does she resemble her father?”

  “I do not believe so,” Mary said after a brief pause. “Why do you ask?”

  Kassia closed her eyes a moment as she whispered, “My name is Kassia de Moreton.”

  “I . . . I see,” Mary said in a voice so low Kassia barely heard her. “Do you see such a resemblance, then? I did not want to bring her to London, but my husband said no one would notice. He assured me that Glenda looks not one whit like Graelam.”

  “It is not her features, but the expression when she laughed. Forgive me for making you uncomfortable. I will say nothing, I promise you.”

  Mary forced a smile. “Thank you. Look, Chandra is preparing to shoot!”

  To Kassia’s amazement, Chandra won the first round. The straw-filled circular targets stood at a distance of thirty feet. For the second round, the distance was doubled. The king won, by dint of a very lucky shot that split one of Chandra’s arrows. Kassia heard Chandra’s bright laughter as the targets were moved to an even greater distance.

  “Sire,” she cried, “you have much improved! You are at last providing me with decent competition!”

  “Ho, my lady!” the king said, drawing himself up to his full giant’s height. “We will see now who is the better.”

  “I need my husband to provide some brawn,” Chandra said, shading her eyes as she looked at the distant targets.

  Edward’s smile lasted only until he stepped forward. His eyes narrowed in concentration and his arm was steady. His arrow arched through the air and landed near the edge of the black center of the target.

  “ ’Tis a pity the target is so distant,” Sir Jerval said to Graelam as he watched his wife prepare to shoot. “She has the eye of an eagle but not the strength for this distance.”

  Chandra released her arrow and it soared gracefully toward the target, landing close to Edward’s.

  “Well done!” Jerval shouted.

  More haggling bets were laid, and Edward had to shout for silence before he took his next turn. There was a loud thud as his arrow embedded itself once again just inside the black center.

  Chandra’s next arrow was carried by a sudden shift of the slight breeze to the outside edge of the target.

  “I can hear her cursing from here,” Jerval said.

  The same shifting breeze caught Edward’s arrow, and it missed the target altogether.

  “By all the saints,” Graelam said. “I did not believe it possible!”

  There was utter and complete silence as Chandra released her final arrow. It landed with a light thud near her first arrow, at the edge of the black center. Loud applause and shouting followed.

  Edward grinned at her and blew her a kiss. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said, and released his final arrow. It smacked in the middle of the bull’s-eye, its feathered tip vibrating for some moments at the power of the shot.

  “I do not suppose, sire,” Chandra said, “that you will believe I allowed you to beat me?”

  Edward tossed his bow to one of his men, clasped her about her slender waist, and twirled her high above his head. “My lady,” he said, lowering her gently to the ground, “I would believe anything you chose to tell me!”

  “You are too much the sporting winner, sire. Nay, the victory is yours.”

  “Jerval, you lucky hound, come and rescue your wife before I abduct her!”

  Kassia saw the glint of admiration in Graelam’s eyes as he watched Lady Chandra. A knot of resolve formed in her. He will look at me like that, she swore to herself. She turned about, but Mary was gone, her small daughter with her.

  “I see that your bitch protectress is well-occupied,” Lady Joanna said from behind Kassia.

  Kassia’s hand itched to slap her face, but her voice sounded quite mild. “Must you show your jealousy, Joanna? It makes your face appear quite plain, you know.”

  She felt a moment of satisfaction when Joanna quickly raised her hand to her face, as if to assure herself that every feature was still in place.

  “Kassia!”

  Graelam’s dark eyes glittered with anger at Joanna, but his smile was gentle as he gazed down at his wife. “Come, Edward wishes to celebrate his victory.”

  She walked quietly beside him, her thoughts on the little girl, Glenda.

  “Do not let her distress you,” Graelam said.

  “She is like a bothersome insect,” Kassia said coolly. “I do not heed her.”

  “Then why is your face flushed?”

  Kassia stopped, turned slowly, and studied her husband’s face. “I met your daughter.”

  If she expected to see guilt ravage his features, she was doomed to disappointment. Graelam merely looked at her blankly, a black brow raised in silent question.

  “Did you meet Sir Mark, a friend of Sir Jerval’s?”

  “Aye, but what has that to do with this daughter of mine?”

  “His wife, Lady
Mary, grew up with Lady Chandra. She was at Croyland when you took the castle.”

  Slowly memory righted itself. “It was long ago,” Graelam said slowly. “A very long time ago.”

  “Was she your mistress?”

  “Nay. I took her by force to gain Chandra’s compliance.”

  Kassia gaped at him, shocked. “You forced a lady?”

  He flushed, and it angered him. A man could do whatever he wished, without the condemnation of his damned wife! A muscle jumped in his jaw. “That is enough,” he said coldly. “It was a long time ago, as I told you, and I do not wish to hear you rant at me anymore.” He added, seeing the horror still in her eyes, “I am sorry for it. I was very angry at the time, and frustrated.”

  “As angry and frustrated as you were with me?” Kassia asked quietly.

  Again his face darkened, but he did not respond. After a long moment he said stiffly, “I seem to do little that pleases you. Will this news send you plotting again to escape me?”

  She shook her head.

  He gave a growl of laughter. “At least you no longer protest your innocence. Do not tell me that Chandra is teaching you the value of keeping your spiteful tongue behind your teeth? Ah, there are Sir Guy and his lovely bride.”

  “You are looking well, Kassia,” Guy said, briefly touching her small hands.

  “And you, Guy. Does all go well with you?”

  “Aye, and soon I will be a father.”

  Kassia was surprised at the twisting jealousy she felt at his words. She turned to Blanche and said quietly, “Congratulations, Blanche. You are very . . . lucky.”

  Guy saw the uncertainty in his wife’s eyes, and quickly pulled her against him, hugging her close. He kissed her cheek, whispering as he did so, “Easy, my love. Let Graelam and Kassia see your winsome side.”

  “Thank you,” Blanche said. Then, to her own surprise, she smiled widely, her eyes going inadvertently to her husband’s face.

  “Guy,” Graelam called, “bring your conceited ass here. I wish you to meet Sir Jerval.”

  Blanche gazed after her husband, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. “You do not look well, Kassia,” she said. “Joanna remarked it to me yesterday.”

  “Joanna remarked many things. Indeed, she dominated, did she not, with her vicious tongue?”

  “Aye,” Blanche said honestly, “she did.”

  “Are you happy now, Blanche?”

  Blanche narrowed her eyes on Kassia’s face, but could see no hidden meaning there. “A husband is a husband,” she said, shrugging, her words sounding utterly false even to her own ears.

  “Nay, I find Guy most accommodating.”

  “He is my husband,” Blanche said sharply.

  “I know. Please, Blanche, I have never taken anything of yours.” Kassia did not realize that Blanche’s words were spurred by jealousy, and added, a touch of sarcasm in her voice, “Incidentally, Dienwald de Fortenberry sends you his greetings.”

  Kassia heard Blanche’s hissing breath, but she merely nodded and turned away.

  Graelam remained occupied with his friends, and it was Rolfe who accompanied Kassia and Etta on a tour of London. So many beautiful things, she thought, fingering bolts of exquisite material. But she had no coin, and was too ashamed to admit it to Rolfe.

  Late that evening Kassia lay huddled in the soft bed, wondering where Graelam was. When she at last heard the door to their bedchamber open and close, she closed her eyes tightly. She felt the bed sink under Graelam’s weight, and tried to calm her breathing, to pretend sleep.

  “I know you are awake, Kassia,” he said, his words slightly slurred from too much ale.

  “Aye,” she admitted. “I am awake.”

  “Tell me, wife, when I left you alone with Blanche, were you again unkind to her? I saw her standing alone, her head bowed, after you so callously left her. What did you say to her, Kassia?”

  She sucked in her breath. “I said nothing untoward to her!”

  “Why do I not believe you?” he snarled at her softly.

  Kassia could no more prevent her actions than stop the sun from rising. Lurching up, she drew back her arm and slapped him as hard as she could. He looked at her with blank surprise, then his eyes darkened in fury. She cried out and rolled off the bed. Naked, she ran toward the bedchamber door.

  He caught her about the waist and jerked her around to face him. His fingers bit into her soft flesh but she made no sound. She stared numbly at his hair-covered chest and waited.

  “If I thrust myself between your lovely legs, will I again find you warm and ready for me?” His voice was softly taunting.

  She shook her head, afraid to speak, afraid of what would come from her mouth.

  He entwined his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back.

  “Will you howl your pleasure before I have scarce begun to couple with you?”

  She saw the vague imprint of her palm on his cheek. “Will you strike me?” she asked.

  “You deserve it,” he said, his eyes falling to her small white breasts. “But no. There is a more effective punishment for you, is there not? I must simply ensure that your fear of me douses your passion.”

  She trembled. “You will force me again, rape me like you did poor Mary?”

  “Why not?” he asked harshly, hating himself for the desire he felt for her. “I can do anything I wish with you. You are my wife.”

  “Please, Graelam,” she whispered, trying to pull away from his searching hands, “do not hurt me.”

  He lifted her and carried her to the bed. “No, I will not hurt you, but neither will I allow you pleasure.” He pressed her onto her stomach and spread her legs. She heard his jerking breathing, and closed her eyes against the humiliation. She knew he was staring down at her, and when his fingers touched her, she quivered and cried out softly. Suddenly he released her.

  “Go to sleep,” he said harshly. “I do not want you.”

  She curled into a ball, drawing the covers to her chin. She felt tears sting her eyes, and quickly and angrily dashed them away.

  One moment she was sleeping soundly, and the next, she was moaning softly into the darkness. Her legs were quivering with the exquisite feelings, and there was an inescapable burgeoning glow of pleasure deep within her. She felt his mouth, hot and wet, kissing her, caressing her, and both sleep and the humiliation she had felt fled her mind.

  He took her, and her body dissolved into a torrent of pleasurable sensations.

  Her body was utterly sated, but her thoughts tumbled in confusion. How could she respond to him so easily after what he had said and done? I am nothing but a simple fool, she thought.

  29

  The heavy cloak made her clumsy, but she ignored it and took another arrow from Evian. She set it in its notch and slowly drew it back until her bunched fingers touched her cheek. She released it, her eyes never leaving the target. To her immense pleasure, she heard a satisfying thud and saw the arrow embedded firmly in the straw target.

  “Well done, my lady!” Evian said, clapping his hands.

  She wanted to shout her own pleasure at her meager prowess. She would never be Chandra, but she had hit the target, and from twenty feet.

  “I have improved, have I not?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. The boy nodded enthusiastically. Kassia saw that he was shivering with cold. “Oh, Evian,” she said, “you are freezing! It is enough.”

  But Evian saw her gazing wistfully toward the remaining arrows in the leather quiver. “Nay, my lady,” he said firmly, “you have six more arrows to shoot.”

  “I can see your breath even as you speak,” she chided him.

  “We will not have sunlight for much longer,” he said, and handed her another arrow.

  Rolfe rubbed his arms as he rounded the naked-branched apple trees in the orchard. Saint Peter’s bones, he thought, it is getting cold! He started to speak, then stopped and watched Kassia shoot three arrows. All three hit the target firmly, one of them close to the dar
k blue center. He smiled ruefully, remembering his shock when Kassia had approached him during their return trip from London. She had pulled her mare in beside him, and he felt her eyes upon him, studying him.

  “My lady!” he asked, turning in his saddle to face her.

  “Rolfe,” she said, “will you teach me to use a bow and arrow?” The words had rushed out of her mouth and he would have laughed had he not seen the intense, pleading look in her eyes. He was not stupid. His young mistress had met the exquisite Lady Chandra, had watched her with all the other nobles in her match with the king. He had been in Lord Graelam’s service when he had decided he wanted to wed Chandra de Avenell, the warrior princess, as he called her. He had accompanied him to Croyland and witnessed the first success and final failure of his plan to wed the girl.

  He asked very gently, “Why do you wish to learn a man’s skill, my lady?”

  Her eyes fell for a moment; then that resolute little chin of hers rose defiantly. “I wish to be complete,” she said. She knew it odd of her to speak thus to her husband’s master-at-arms, but she did not have a choice. She doubted he would help her if she was not honest with him.

  He pondered her words for a long moment. “A lady such as you is complete. You manage a great keep, help Blount with the accounts—aye, he told me that—direct the preparation of meals that keep our bellies happy, and play an amazing game of chess.”

  “It is not enough,” she said quietly. He saw the flash of pain in her fine eyes, and wished for a moment that he could kick his master off his destrier and pound some sense into his thick head.

  Rolfe said finally, hoping his young mistress wouldn’t take offense, “She was nothing more than a dream, spun in my lord’s imagination and fed by the minstrel’s foolish songs. I doubt that she has acquired your skills, my lady.”

  Kassia did not pretend to misunderstand him. “She is all that Graelam wants and admires, Rolfe. Nay, please do not look away from me. I must speak what is in my mind. He told me about her, of course, when I asked him. He spoke of her honor, of her honesty, and of her amazing skills as a warrior. In his eyes, Rolfe, I have none of those things. Perhaps if I acquire some skill, the other qualities will follow.” She lowered her head a moment and Rolfe saw her clench the reins tightly in her small hands. “I must do something!”