But not mold yourself into Lady Chandra’s elusive image, he thought. “In most of the men’s eyes, my lady, you are all that is good and honest and honorable. Very few believe that you betrayed Graelam.”
“He does,” she said harshly.
Rolfe said honestly, before he could stop himself, “He is a fool, particularly when it concerns a woman.”
“He is also my husband. If I cannot change his thinking, it is likely that I will betray him and return to my father. I cannot bear the pain of it, you see.”
Rolfe sucked in his breath in anger. He wanted to demand if Graelam had beaten her, but he could not. Even speaking to her so honestly was improper.
“He knows great anger at me.” She gave him a sad smile. “I do not blame him for what he believes. Sometimes I wonder if I did not imagine it all.”
Rolfe looked between his horse’s ears, wishing yet again that he could beat some sense into his ruthless master’s head. To his surprise, he saw Graelam turn in his saddle, a look of suspicion narrowing his dark eyes. My God, Rolfe thought, startled, he is jealous! Of me, an old man! He thoughtfully chewed his lower lip. “My lady,” he said finally, smiling at her, “I will teach you.”
“Graelam must not know of it.”
“Nay, he will not know, not until you have the skill to impress him.”
“Thank you, Rolfe!” She gave him a radiant smile, and he was stunned at the pure sweet beauty of her face.
Rolfe waited now until she had shot her final arrow, then strode forward. He could see his breath in the still, cold air. Fallen leaves crunched under his booted feet. He worried that she would catch a fever, standing for so long in the silent winter afternoon. But he also knew that to say so would wipe the pleasure off her face. He said evenly, “You must hold your right arm more stiffly. Here, let me show you.”
He helped her until he felt the cold seep through his thick clothes. She must be freezing, he thought, and stepped back from her. “That is enough, my lady. My old bones need the warmth of a fire.”
“And some hot ale!” Kassia exclaimed happily. “For you too, Evian.”
Evian tucked her bow and the leather quiver beneath his arm, as if it were he who was practicing so faithfully. Rolfe had told him only that his lady’s practice was to be a surprise for Lord Graelam.
Kassia entered the great hall, a pleased smile still on her face. She drew up abruptly at the sight of Graelam, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her. He had returned the evening before from a visit to Crandall. He had not asked her to accompany him, and she had said nothing. It had given her nearly a week to practice without worrying if he would come upon her. She felt a deep, lurching pleasure as she stared at him. He looked vigorous, and splendidly male, his thick black hair tousled around his head. Her face became a careful blank at his harshly asked question.
“Where have you been?”
Her eyes fell. He had been so busy with Blount. It had not occurred to her that he would miss her, and she had practiced but an hour.
“Would you care for some mulled wine, my lord?” she asked carefully.
“What I would care for, my lady, is an answer from you.”
She raised her chin. “I was walking in the orchard.”
She saw the blatant distrust in his eyes, and hastened to add, “Evian was with me. I am thinking about planting some . . . pear trees in the spring.”
Graelam wondered why she was lying to him. Pear trees, for God’s sake! “Come and warm yourself,” he said, his voice roughening with concern. “Your nose is red with cold.”
She obeyed him willingly after she had given orders for some mulled wine.
“Sir Walter,” she said, relieved that Graelam did not question her further, “how fares he at Crandall?” It was difficult to keep the dislike from her voice.
“He is a bit overbearing with the peasants, but I doubt not that he will settle in.”
Kassia had hoped that Sir Walter would show his true colors to Graelam, but it appeared that he hadn’t yet. She said, “Did Blount show you the message from the Duke of Cornwall?”
“Aye, and it worries me. All his talk about growing old! One would think that with Edward safely on the throne, the duke would relax a bit and enjoy life.”
“He has no more responsibilities to keep him young. It would seem, as you have said, that once the heavy burdens are lifted, a man could enjoy his peace. But it is not so. Sometimes I think that Geoffrey and his threats of treachery keep my father healthy, though I pray it is not true.”
“Let us hope that your father has enough to keep him busy during the winter. If Geoffrey plans something, he will not execute it until spring.”
“How I pray that Geoffrey will forget his disappointment! I cannot bear the thought of Belleterre being threatened.” She moved closer to the huge fireplace and stared into the leaping flames. Her father and Belleterre had been the two constants in her life. Geoffrey had always seemed but a mild nuisance. Belleterre and her father were her refuge, even now, if Graelam no longer wanted her. Two tears spilled onto her cheeks and trailed quickly downward. She did not have the energy to brush them away.
“Stop crying,” Graelam said. “You are not a child, Kassia, and there is no reason to worry about Geoffrey.”
His tone sounded harsh and cruel to his own ears. Oddly enough, he understood vaguely what she was feeling. He cursed softly when she raised her face and looked at him with such hopelessness.
He gathered her into his arms, pressing her face against his warm tunic. “Hush,” he said more gently, his strong fingers kneading the taut muscles in her slender shoulders.
He felt a surge of desire for her. He well understood lust, but what he felt for Kassia was tempered with other emotions, deep, swirling emotions that he was loath to examine. Damn her, he thought, holding her more tightly. He had bedded several serving wenches during his stay at Crandall, hoping that the next one would give him release and wipe Kassia’s image from his mind. But after his stark passion had peaked and receded he had lain awake staring into the darkness even as the woman who had pleasured him lay sleeping blissfully beside him.
He felt the delicate bones in her shoulders, so fragile beneath his strong fingers. He closed his eyes, breathing in the sweet scent of her. No other woman smelled like her, he thought somewhat foolishly. He lowered his head and rubbed his cheek against her soft hair. Lavender, he thought. She smells of lavender. His hands dropped lower, cupping her hips. He felt her stiffen. He gave a low, mocking laugh and pushed her away from him. His voice was a familiar taunt. “I will not take you here, my lady. Dry your tears and see to our evening meal.”
Kassia brushed away her tears, cursing herself for desiring his strength and his comfort even for a moment. “Aye, my lord,” she said quietly, and left him. She smiled and spoke throughout the long evening, seeing to Graelam’s needs, while wishing that she could creep away someplace and shroud herself in the bleakness of her spirit. She listened to him speak to his men, listened to him laugh as they traded jests. He had not touched her the night before, and she knew that he would take her this night. She wanted him to take her, she realized, make her forget, if only for a moment. But not in anger. Not as a punishment.
She excused herself and went to their bedchamber. It took her some time to rid herself of Etta. She bathed in hot scented water, forcing herself to accept the conclusion she had fought against for so long. Pride and truth yield but empty misery. She thought of all her practice with the bow and arrow, and laughed aloud at her foolishness. Perhaps Graelam would admire her, but likely it would not bring him to trust her, to believe in her. Only a lie would change how he treated her.
When Graelam entered much later, she was lying in their bed propped up against the pillows.
“I had expected you to be asleep,” he said as he stripped off his clothes.
She smoothed the bedcovers under her shaking hands. “Nay,” she said quietly. “I have missed you,” she blurted out.
&nb
sp; His heat shot up. She saw the gleam of pleasure in his dark eyes before he quickly made his expression impassive. “Why?” he asked bluntly.
He stood by the bed, naked, his eyes intent upon her face.
“I do not want strife between us, Graelam,” she whispered, trying not to gaze so hungrily at his body.
But she failed, and he knew it. “You know what I demand from you,” he said as he slipped into bed beside her.
“Aye, I know.” Do not cry, you stupid fool! “You said you would forgive me.”
“I will forgive you,” he said, his voice flat and cold.
“Then it was as you believe.”
He felt a searing wave of contempt at himself, and a surge of disappointment as well. He had wanted her to admit her quilt, admit that she had hired Dienwald de Fortenberry and given him the necklace, but facing the fact of her doing it made him almost physically ill. He rose on his elbow beside her and gazed down into her pale face. He saw tears shimmering in her eyes.
“I told you I would forgive you if you but spoke the truth. Why do you cry?”
I am so lonely! I cannot bear my loneliness! I will gladly take whatever part of you you wish to give me.
She could think of nothing to say to him. With a small, helpless cry, she flung herself against him, wrapping her arms about his back and burrowing her face against his shoulder.
“So,” he said, his bitterness sounding in his voice, “it is my body you wish.” He felt her soft mouth pressing light kisses against his chest.
“Please,” she whispered, “no more anger. I can bear no more anger from you.”
“It is not anger I feel for you now, Kassia. I will give you your woman’s pleasure, and we will speak no more about the past.” He gently pressed her onto her back and drew the covers down to her waist. Her heart was pounding so loudly she thought he must hear it. She felt his eyes roving over her body, and it both alarmed and excited her.
“Your breasts seem fuller,” he said. Very gently he stroked a fingertip around a pink nipple. She sucked in her breath.
“You do not find me . . . too skinny?”
Oh no, he thought, stifling an angry laugh. I find you all that I want. “You are fine,” he said. He lowered his head and gently kissed her. His hand slipped under the covers and began kneading her soft belly. “I like the feel of you.”
“Please, Graelam,” she gasped, lurching upward as his fingers probed lower.
His fingers touched her soft, moist swollen flesh. “You are so delicate,” he said into her mouth. “And you are ready for me.” She felt his fingers deepen their primitive rhythm.
Kassia was shuddering with need. “Please, love me. I cannot bear it.”
To her surprise, Graelam rolled onto his back and brought her with him. “I would have you ride me,” he said, laughing softly at her uncertain expression.
She felt him deep inside her, felt his hands about her waist, lifting her and lowering her. “Draw up your legs,” he instructed her. “You may move over me as you wish.”
Kassia had never imagined that such feelings could come from her body. When his fingers found her, she lost all hold on reason and cried out, her head thrown back, her back arched.
She vaguely heard him gasp her name, felt his fingers tense over her even as her body convulsed in the almost painful pleasure. He was deep inside her when she felt his seed filling her. She fell forward, her mind emptied of all regret and pain, holding now only the aftermath of complete belonging.
Graelam held her close to him and gently straightened her legs. She fell asleep, covering his body, her hand nestled in the hollow of his throat. He stroked her tousled hair and tried to close his mind to its tortured thoughts.
It is not enough, Kassia thought, aware yet again that Graelam was watching her, his expression brooding. He wants to hate me, but his honor keeps him to his promise. She wanted to shriek and cry at the same time, but she could not. She had done it to herself, and must now live with it.
He continued to be kind to her. At night she could imagine that he loved her as he gently took her body. She was so aware of him that if his eyes darkened, her body leapt in response. And he knew it. She wondered if he hated her for that too.
It is time to concentrate, Kassia, she told herself. She urged Bluebell forward into a gentle gallop, drew back the bow, and released the arrow at the target. It hit the center, and she turned in the saddle at Evian’s shout of congratulation.
They were on the beach, a good mile from Wolffeton. She did not want to take the chance that Graelam would come by chance upon her. In this, she would surprise him. He would be pleased with her prowess. He must be pleased. It was the only thing that kept her practicing so diligently.
But he had missed her. She immediately saw the distrust and anger in his eyes.
“You plan more trees for the orchard?” he asked her, watching her dismount from Bluebell’s back.
Her chin rose. “Nay, my lord,” she said brightly. “I plan a surprise for you!”
His eyes narrowed. “Explain yourself.”
She shook her head, forcing teasing laughter from her throat. “Nay, my lord. You must wait!”
“I promised to forgive you the past, not the present,” he said.
She could only stare at him. “But I have done nothing to displease you.”
“Have you not?” he asked, then turned on his heel and left her.
If she had had a rock in her hand, she would have hurled it at his back. “I will show you,” she hissed between her teeth.
Three days later, on a bright, cold afternoon, Kassia calmly planned to surprise him. She felt excited, hopeful, and proud of herself.
30
“Rolfe! You promised!”
Rolfe scratched his head, wishing suddenly he was anywhere but here at Wolffeton. “I don’t think it is a good idea,” he said lamely, no match for the pleading in her eyes.
“But Graelam will be surprised and . . . pleased. You know he must be, Rolfe.” I will be just like Lady Chandra and he will admire me, she added silently to herself. If naught else, that must be true. “You said yourself that I have improved beyond all your expectations. You have already arranged the competition.”
“Aye, I have,” he said helplessly. “I will probably be hanged for a fool.”
“Mayhap,” she said, ignoring his words, “the minstrels will hear about me and write their chansons to praise my prowess.”
“I don’t know what will come of this,” Rolfe grumbled.
What will come of this is that Graelam will admire me. Perhaps he will even come to truly care for me, a small, wistful voice said.
“I must change my clothes.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do not forget what you will say to my lord!”
Rolfe watched her run up the stairs into the great hall. He scuffed the toe of his leather boot against a cobblestone and cursed softly.
“So, Rolfe,” Graelam said with some amusement to his master-at-arms as they walked side by side toward the practice field, “do you also expect me to give a prize to the winner?”
“The men have practiced hard,” Rolfe said in a neutral voice. “Some sort of recognition from you would not be amiss.”
“Then I shall think of something.” Graelam shaded his eyes and gazed over the course. “You are lucky it hasn’t rained in a week,” he said. “The targets are arranged wide apart,” he continued, scanning the course. “I think most of the men will complete it with a perfect score. Why is it so easy?”
So your lady won’t break her neck! “The men competing have little practice in shooting their arrows from horseback,” he said smoothly. “I wanted to be as fair as possible to them.”
Graelam cocked a thick black brow at him. “I believe you grow soft in your old age,” he remarked. He saw his men lined up on the far side of the course, drawing lots to determine the order. He moved into position beside Rolfe, waiting for the competition to begin.
Rolfe saw him g
lance back toward the keep and wondered if his master was looking for his wife.
“Kassia takes great pleasure in surprising the men,” Graelam said, as if in answer to Rolfe’s thoughts. “I wonder if she will bring the winner a tray of pastries.”
Rolfe grunted, his eyes on Kassia, dressed in boy’s clothes, sitting proudly astride a bay stallion. She was wearing a short mantle that fastened with a broach over her right shoulder, its hood drawn up and clipped securely over her chestnut curls. It had not occurred to either of them until the day before that Graelam would immediately recognize Bluebell if she rode her mare in the competition. Thus the bay stallion, Ganfred. Rolfe watched the stallion prance sideways, and closed his eyes in a silent prayer. The horse was not as placid and obedient as Bluebell, and Kassia had ridden him but once. She had not seemed at all concerned, but Rolfe was not deceived.
“Only eight men to compete?” Graelam asked, turning to Rolfe. “Have I counted aright?”
The other men had moved away to take positions along the course. The truth was out. “Aye, ‘tis primarily the men who have not done much of this.” Indeed, he had handpicked the men who would not make Kassia look like a complete graceless child. Most of them were big men, clumsy with a bow, men who were trained to the lance and mace.
“I imagine,” Graelam said acidly, “that I am about to be most impressed,” for he had begun to recognize the men, even from this distance. “I did not know that Joseph even knew how to notch an arrow.”
“He has been practicing,” Rolfe said. “Come, my lord, I believe they are ready to begin.”
They had erected a small dais, wide enough for only two men. Graelam jumped into it and gave Rolfe a hand.
He turned at a shout and watched the first man, Arnold, ride into the course, his bow aimed at the first target. The arrow struck the target with more strength than accuracy, and Graelam shook his head. By the time Arnold had completed the course he had managed to hit the bull’s-eye on six of the twelve targets.
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