Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

She would wed Graelam and then bring her children to Cornwall. She missed them, particularly her son, Evian, a bright lad of eight years, but her decision to come to Cornwall was all for his sake. He would become Graelam’s heir, for Blanche intended to bear no more children. The pain of her daughter’s birth still made her grit her teeth. At least childbirthing hadn’t killed her as it had Marie, her long-dead half-sister. Blanche shook off old memories and turned away from the window. She would meet Graelam in the great hall, send the sullen serving wenches out of the way, and serve him some ale herself. She gazed one last time in her polished silver mirror, and curled an errant strand of black hair around her finger. I must please him, she thought, I must.

To her disappointment, Guy de Blasis accompanied Graelam. She was wary of Guy, despite his good looks and polite manners, for she sensed that he guessed her plans and disapproved. Still, she pasted a welcoming smile on her face and walked gracefully forward, her soft wool gown swishing over the reed-covered floor.

“Good day to you, my lord,” she said, smiling shyly up at Graelam.

Graelam pulled his attention from Guy and nodded. “I have news for you, Blanche. The Duke of Cornwall is paying us a visit next week. I do not know the extent of his retinue, but doubtless he will bring half an army with him, ’tis his wa

y. At least,” he continued, now to Guy, “the barracks will be finished, so his men will not have to sleep in the keep. We will go hunting again before he arrives. Let us pray we bag more than a rabbit.”

“A deer at least, my lord,” Guy said, “if we divide the men into three separate hunting parties.”

“Some ale, my lord?” Blanche asked softly.

Graelam nodded, his thoughts elsewhere. “Ah, and some for Guy too, Blanche.”

Blance saw Guy grinning at her, and she frowned at him, but she nonetheless left the hall, her discomfiture kept to herself.

Guy waited until Blanche was out of hearing. “Have you heard anything from France, my lord? From Maurice de Lorris?”

“Nay, but then, what would I hear? If there is a message ever from him, it will doubtless be to inform me that Geoffrey is trying to steal Belleterre from him. I pray that de Lacy will keep his treacherous sword sheathed until Wolffeton is fully restored.”

“I doubt he would try an outright attack,” Guy said dryly. “ ’Tis more his way to sneak about and hire men to do his dirty work.” He fell silent a moment, then sighed deeply. “That poor girl,” he said at last. “I, of course, did not ever see her, as did you, my lord, but the servants talked to me of her, as did her father’s men. They all believed her a sweet child and kind and full of laughter. Aye, ’tis a pity to die so young.”

Graelam pictured Kassia’s lifeless fingers held in his hands as the priest droned out the marriage words. He had only time to nod when Blanche reappeared carrying a tray with two goblets filled with frothy ale.

“Thank you, Blanche,” Graelam said, his tone holding dismissal. Blanche saw Guy quirk a fair eyebrow at her and for a moment she glared back at him. Damn him, he guesses my very thoughts!

“Certainly, my lord,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps, Graelam, when you have finished speaking with Guy, you can spare me a few moments? To speak of the entertainment for the duke.”

Graelam. She had used his name but the week before and he had not seemed even to notice her familiarity. Perhaps she was making headway with him.

“Perhaps this evening, Blanche,” Graelam said as he wiped the white foam of the ale from his upper lip. “I have a new mare to inspect.”

Guy laughed aloud, his eyes on Blanche’s face. “Do you mean, my lord, that lovely little Arabian, or that equally enticing little two-legged filly named Nan?”

“Both, I fancy,” Graelam said, and rose from his chair. “Nan you say her name is, Guy?”

“Aye. No virgin, but again, lovely as a rose whose petals sparkle with the morning mist. And quite young, my lord,” Guy continued, knowing that Blanche was listening to their conversation. It was not that he disliked Blanche, he thought, following Graelam from the great hall down the thick, well-worn oak stairs. She was indeed lovely, his body recognized that, but she felt she must needs playact with Graelam. Guy knew she wasn’t the meek, gentle creature she showed to Graelam when he had come upon one of the serving wenches in tears, a livid bruise on her cheek from the slap Lady Blanche had given her. He had told Graelam of the incident, but his master, after speaking to Blanche, had told him that the wench had deserved the slap for insulting his sister-in-law.

It was odd, Guy thought as he walked beside Graelam into the inner bailey, how his master enjoyed women in his bed, pleasuring them until they squealed with delight, but had little understanding of them outside his bedchamber. To Lord Graelam, women were soft bodies and little else, save for the one, Chandra de Avenell, Graelam had tried to steal and wed nearly two years before. But even that beautiful creature, though she had doubtless intrigued Graelam with her warrior ways, had been only a challenge to him, like an untamed mare to be covered and broken by a stallion. He suspected that Graelam’s black fury following his failure had resulted more from wounded pride than injured feelings. But now Chandra de Avenell was Chandra de Vernon, and Graelam had made peace with both her and her husband in the Holy Land. She was nothing more to him now, Guy knew, than a vague shadow of memory.

The wench Nan appeared none too clean, Graelam thought as he watched her, her arms pressed against her breasts to better entice him, as she drew the bucket of water from the well. Her thick long dark brown hair would be lovely were it not lank and stringy from lack of washing. Her face was a perfect oval and she smiled at him pertly.

“If she were bathed,” Graelam said to Guy, “I wouldn’t kick her out of my bed.”

“Nor would I,” Guy said, laughing.

“How many men have enjoyed her favors?”

“Not many, my lord. She was married quite young, when she was fourteen, to a young man who worked with the armorer. He died some two months ago from the wasting disease. According to my knowledge, she has kept her legs together, awaiting your return.”

Graelam gave the girl a long, slow smile, then turned away toward the newly repaired stables. “Now, Guy,” he said, “ ’tis time to see the four-legged mare.”

A gale blew in that evening, and the shutters banged loudly in Graelam’s bedchamber. He had spent the past two hours trouncing Guy in a game of chess and drinking more ale than was his habit. He was not overly surprised to find Nan lying in his bed.

Indeed, he thought, she did have lovely hair. It was now clean and shining and he wondered idly how long she had spent in a bathing tub to prepare herself for him. He strode to the edge of the bed and smiled at her as he stripped off his clothes. He watched her eyes widen when they fell to his swollen manhood.

“Ye are huge, my lord,” she gasped.