“My lord,” one of his men muttered beside him. “Mayhap it is the truth.”
Geoffrey growled fluent obscenities at the hapless man. Thoughts swirled through his mind, until finally he smiled. “Kassia,” he called, “come to me, in safety, and tell me to my face.”
Graelam froze in his hunkered stance. “Kassia,” he hissed, but he was too late. He saw his wife move away from her hidden spot and rise to her full diminutive height, in full view of all of Geoffrey’s attacking men.
“Here I am, Geoffrey,” she called out in her sweet, clear voice. “Let this foolishness cease. If you cannot believe me, I will ride back with you to Belleterre and you may meet my father’s new wife and children.”
Graelam determined at that moment to thrash her buttocks. Without a thought to his own safety, he rushed out and grabbed her. He felt a searing pain go through his arm, and looked vaguely at the arrow embedded through the chain mail. He tossed her to her knees and dragged her back into the shadowed overhang.
“You little fool,” he ground out.
But Kassia wasn’t heeding him. She stared conscience-stricken at the arrow in his upper arm. “Hold still, my lord,” she said, wondering at the calmness of her own voice. She closed her eyes a brief moment, then drew a deep breath and laid her hands about the arrow’s thick shaft. Quickly she jerked it out. Graelam made not a sound. He watched her lift the skirt of her gown and rip off material from her chemise. She bound it securely about his arm.
“Do not think that this wound weakens me, wife. You disobeyed me. I shall thrash you for it, for you imperiled your own life.”
“But I only wished to spare you his treachery! I knew he would not dare to harm me.” She saw quickly enough it was not a reason he would savor. “Very well, Graelam,” Kassia said docilely. “What shall we do now, my lord?”
“Wait,” Graelam said tersely, “until it grows dark. Then I will take great pleasure in killing that fool.”
“Perhaps if I did return with him . . .” Kassia began, only to swallow the remainder of her words at the fierce look from her husband.
As the time dragged on slowly, Kassia began to think about how thirsty she was. Graelam had slipped away from her to confer with his men. The sun was setting in the distance, casting golden slivers of light over the rough-hewn boulders. Suddenly Kassia sat upright. She could not believe her ears. It was indeed her Aunt Felice’s loud voice!
“You fool!” she heard Felice screech. “Lucky for you, imbecile, that one of the men told me of your lunatic plan! Since when do you act without consulting me?”
Kassia could not make out Geoffrey’s reply, but she did feel a brief instant of pity for him. It was not right for a mother to belittle her son in front of his men.
“They spoke the truth!” Felice screeched out again. “Damn, Geoffrey, I have wept enough tears for the both of us! It is over.”
Kassia turned to see Graelam slip down beside her. There was a wide grin on his face. “Another prince among women,” he said, laughing softly, “and this one a termagant beyond belief!”
“Kill the Englishman and you gain naught!” they heard her screech. “Do you wish to wed with your cousin so badly? She would come to you without any dowry, young fool! Think of your own neck, Geoffrey. The Englishman is powerful. There would be retribution.”
Geoffrey stared impotently at his mother. “But he deserves to die,” he said sulkily.
“Fool,” Felice said scornfully. “You will listen to me now, Geoffrey. When I discovered that Maurice had wed Marie de Chamfreys of Normandy, I began to change my thinking. I have found you a lovely girl, my boy, one who will bring us—you—valuable lands. Leave the Englishman with his skinny twit of a wife.”
“What is her name?”
“Whose name? Oh, the girl. ’Tis Lady Joanna. She is English and the daughter of the Earl of Leichester. She is ripe for the plucking, and I have had my good friend Orland de Marston speak to her father. He will dower you with rich lands in Normandy. You are to travel to London to meet your betrothed. Soon, Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey heaved a despondent sigh. “Very well, Mother,” he said.
Felice nodded her head, not expecting any other reply. “Now, it would give me great pleasure to tell Lord Graelam what we—you—have gained.”
She rode to the end of the narrow passage, pulling in roughly on her mare’s reins. “My lord Graelam,” she called out.
“Lady Felice,” Graelam said in greeting. “Have you come to take your puppy home?”
“Do not become too amused, my lord,” she continued coldly. “I wish my son to take no chances with his . . . health. He has far greater advantages offered to him. My lord, he will shortly wed Lady Joanna, the Earl of Leichester’s daughter! She will bring him great wealth, and her beauty is renowned! Take your silly chit of a wife and leave Brittany!”
Felice jerked her mare about and rode back to her son.
Graelam turned to look at his wife. Kassia was trying valiantly not to laugh, but it was no use. Graelam roared with laughter. His laughter grew even louder as the guffaws from his men met his ears.
“Oh, it is too much!” Kassia gasped.
“Joanna and Geoffrey!”
“Nay, my lord! Joanna and Geoffrey and Felice!”
“Oh, my God! It is a fitting fate for your cousin, my love, and the precious Joanna!”
“We must, my lord,” Kassia said primly, “send my cousin and his betrothed a wedding gift.”
“Aye,” Graelam said thoughtfully, pulling her against him. “Mayhap a whip and manacles. I vow I would wager on Joanna’s success.”
Kassia raised her head at the sound of the departing band of horses. “Now, my lord, I wish to see properly to your arm.”
“And I, my lady, once properly seen to, wish to thrash you soundly.” Graelam drew her up against him and gently caressed his hand downward over her soft hips. “Mayhap I could bring myself to do it in fifty years or so,” he said, and kissed her.
Epilogue
Graelam quietly opened the shutters and breathed in the crisp early-summer air. A year and a half it had been, a year and a half since he and Kassia had returned to Wolffeton. And now he had a son. He turned slightly, a smile touching his lips as he stared at Kassia, suckling their son, Harry, at her milk-swollen breast. Her hair was much longer now, curling softly about her shoulders. The color of gold and brown and copper, he thought, the colors of autumn.
He shook his head, suddenly remembering how such a short time before he was in an agony of worry that she would die in childbirth. He spoke his thoughts aloud. “Four hours, my lady, and you present me with a wailing son. I believe there is much peasant stock in you.”
Kassia looked up, her eyes twinkling. “You wanted a good breeder, my lord, and now you complain that I was not sufficiently delicate!” She scarce believed that the pain had ended so quickly. Even now it was becoming a receding memory, now that she held her son in her arms and she was well and getting stronger, and so very happy that she wanted to shout her joy to all of Wolffeton. “He is beautiful, is he not, Graelam?”
“Aye, he will rival the vigorous looks of his father when he is a man, though I fear his eyes will be black as that rogue, Roland.” Graelam looked thoughtful for a moment. “I wonder how Roland managed in Wales. He was going there, you know, to perform some sort of rescue.”
“Roland is a man who lands on his feet because his tongue is so agile. Now, my lord, I wish to speak more of my beautiful son,” Kassia said, putting Harry to suckle at her other breast. “I cannot see that he carries even the smallest bone of his sweet mother in him. Even his hair will be black as all the sins of Satan.”
But Graelam didn’t smile. He was back into his agonizing memories. “You scared the very devil out of me,” he said, drawing close to the bed, his voice hoarse. “I was about to swear I would never touch you again if you but survived. And in the next moment, just before I was to take an eternal vow of celibacy, you smiled at me and bade me
look at the miracle you accomplished.”
“I wonder,” she mused aloud, “if you would have kept that vow. ’Tis a mystery never to be solved.” She hugged Harry to her and he looked up with blurry eyes, making her laugh. “He is a miracle, is he not, Graelam? He will be a great powerful man, just like his father.”
“Let us trust so—if he is to protect the sisters he’s certain to have in the next couple of years.”
Kassia merely smiled at that, all the pain of Harry’s birthing not yet relegated to the past. She lifted her now-sleeping son from her breast. Graelam took him, placing him gingerly in the crook of his arm. “I cannot believe I was once this small and fragile. It’s alarming.”
“And so dependent upon a woman’s care.”
“Ah, that I can believe. ’Tis a lesson I learned late in life from a mouthy little wench.” He raised his eyes from his son’s wrinkled face to study his wife. “You are feeling all right now, Kassia?”
“Aye,” she said, and stretched lazily. “But it is a pity he must look so much like you. It does not seem fair when I did all the work.”
“Mayhap his eyes will become an impudent hazel.”
“Ha! You’re right—they’ll be as black as Roland’s. Mayhap he will have dimples. I like the thought of that.”
He grinned at her and gently laid his son into his cradle. He lightly stroked his finger over the child’s smooth cheek, feeling a knot of pride so strong he could not speak. In that moment he vowed silently that his son would never know the coarseness and cruelty he had known. When he sat beside Kassia on their bed he looked uncommonly serious.
“Very well, my lord,” Kassia said, laughter in her voice. “He will not have dimples. I meant not to distress you so.”
“He can have dimples on his ass for all I care,” Graelam said, his voice gruff. “He will be a strong man, Kassia, but he will also learn that women are to be esteemed and protected.”
“He could have no better teacher, my lord.”
Graelam shook himself and smiled crookedly. “I grow overly serious, love, and I had meant to make you laugh. We have a message from your father.”
Kassia’s eyes sparkled. “Since you want me to laugh, I assume he is quite healthy?”
“Aye, as are Marie and the children. It concerns Geoffrey.”
When he only grinned at her, she pummeled his shoulder. “Graelam, tell me! What has happened?”
“It seems your Aunt Felice and Joanna have formed something of an alliance. Geoffrey, a bridegroom of only three months, has fled to Paris to escape their plans to improve him.”
Kassia’s merry laughter filled the chamber. “I can almost feel pity for him. Poor Geoffrey!”
“Well, he did not leave until he got Joanna with child. At least he did something that must please that mother of his.”
“Speaking of children, when will we see Guy’s son?”
“Soon, I expect. Unfortunately, Blanche will not accompany him for she is breeding again.” Graelam sighed deeply. “Such an accommodating, submissive woman. So gentle and understanding of her master’s needs and wants.”
Kassia eyed him severely, but humor lurked in her eyes, for it was a jest of long standing between them. “Aye, you may keep nurturing that illusion, Graelam, though it crumbles so easily at but a touch or at the smallest word.”
As she spoke, he gently cupped his hand under her breast, weighing its heaviness. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are, Kassia?”
“Not since yesterday, I think. But—”
She grew silent yet again as her husband pulled down her shift, lowered his head, and gently suckled at her breast. She felt a ripple of pleasure that brought a delicate flush to her face.
She caressed her fingers through his thick hair and held him close. He raised his head and stared at her for a long moment. “I cannot believe,” he said in a thick voice, “that my greedy son received as much pleasure from his mother as I just did. Your milk is warm and sweet, like the rest of you.”
“I pray you will always feel thus, my lord,” she said, her voice breathless.
“I think it likely, my lady. Very likely.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Fire Song Page 38