Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

“You should be resting, mistress,” Etta said without preamble. “Here, drink this.”

“Another of your concoctions,” Kassia said, but obligingly downed the thick beef broth. “I need to prune my fig trees,” she said thoughtfully, handing the bowl back to Etta.

“Fig trees!” Etta said on a mighty sigh.

Kassia cocked her head in question. “I am well enough to do just as I please now. Come, Etta, you know you enjoy my delicious figs.”

“Aye, my baby. ’Tis not your figs that are on my mind at the moment.”

“What is on your mind?” she asked.

“Your father. Another messenger arrived a while ago.”

“Another messenger? I did not know there was even a first, much less a second!”

“Aye,” Etta said. “He does not look happy.”

“Then I shall go to him and see what is wrong.”

“But you should rest!”

“Etta, you and Father are treating me like a downy chick with no sense. I am feeling much stronger, and if I keep eating all the food you stuff in my mouth, I shall be fat as my favorite goose.”

“Hurrumph,” Etta said, and followed her mistress back to the keep.

Maurice had dismissed the messenger and sat staring blindly in front of him. He didn’t realize he was wringing his hands until he felt his daughter’s fingers lightly touch his shoulder.

“Father,” Kassia said softly. “What troubles you?”

He managed to wipe the worry from his face and smiled at her, drawing her into his lap. She was still so slight, weighing no more than a child. But her vivid hazel eyes were bright again with glowing health, and her beautiful hair now capped her small face in soft, loose curls. He thought of the message and pulled her tightly against him. Time had run out.

He felt her small, firm breasts pressing against him, reminding him yet again that she was no longer a little girl. She was a woman and a wife. He drew in a deep breath and pulled back from her so he could see her face.

“You are feeling well, ma chère?” he asked, avoiding the issue.

“Quite well, Father. Much better, I gather, than you are. Now, what about this messenger? Etta also let slip that this was the second one. Is it Geoffrey?”

Kassia could see the beginnings of deception in her father’s eyes and said hurriedly, “Nay, Father. I am no longer at death’s door. You must tell me what troubles you. Please, I feel useless when you treat me like a witless child who must be protected and cosseted.”

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; He knew there was no help for it. None at all. Slowly he said, not meeting her eyes, “Do you remember telling me that you dreamed of a man’s voice? A man you did not know?”

“Aye, I remember.”

“You did not dream him. There was such a man. He is an Englishman, Lord Graelam de Moreton. He accompanied me to Belleterre. You see, I was attacked in Aquitaine by brigands, and Lord Graelam saved my life, he and his men. He is an honorable man, Kassia, and a fine man, a warrior who was just returning from the Holy Land. I found myself telling him about that whoreson Geoffrey, and indeed, we stopped at Beaumanoir one evening. He met your aunt, and managed politely enough to avoid her bed. I will not deny that by the time we reached Belleterre, I was thinking of him as the perfect husband for you. I told him much about you. When we arrived, I was told that you were dying. Indeed, there was no doubt in my mind that you would not survive that night.”

Kassia was gazing at him with such innocent incomprehension that for a moment Maurice couldn’t continue. He coughed, raked his fingers through his hair, and mumbled something under his breath.

“Father,” Kassia said, “I do not understand. What of this man, this Graelam de Moreton?”

“He is your husband,” he said baldly.

Kassia was very still, her eyes wide and disbelieving on her father’s face. “My husband,” she repeated blankly.

“Aye.” He pulled her tightly against him again and breathed in the sweet scent of her flesh. “Aye,” he said again. “Let me explain what happened, my love. I was convinced that you were going to die. And I also knew that Belleterre would be lost to Geoffrey. I convinced Graelam to wed you before you died. It would be he, then, who would have Belleterre, and not that bastard Geoffrey. He argued with me, Kassia, but I wore him down, with guilt. He finally agreed. The next morning he left with the marriage contracts to go to the Duke of Brittany. The duke approved the marriage, and Graelam, according to my wishes, returned to Cornwall. I did not write to tell him that you had lived. I saw no reason for it until you regained your strength.”

Kassia was gazing at her father, utterly dazed. Married! She was married to a man she had never even seen! She heard herself say numbly, “But why did you not tell me, Father?”