Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

The potatoes were half-cooked, Kassia found, but she would not give Etta the pleasure of admitting it.

“Now, where was I? Aye, your husband is quite the man. He had to roar for quiet but once, and all obeyed him, even the Duke of Cornwall. Aye, you stare, my baby. The king’s own uncle! ’Twas he, according to what I heard, who arranged the marriage with the heiress. His face, I tell you, was a bright crimson! As for Lord Thomas, Lady Joanna’s father, he looked for all the world like a boiled turnip. But Lord Graelam soon put all of them to rout. Told them, he did, all that happened at Belleterre. He even produced the marriage contract so there could be no doubts as to your status as his lady wife. At that, Lady Joanna was forced to close her mouth, but her mother kept wailing in the most ridiculous way. Lord Thomas finally slapped her. That shut the old harridan up, you may be certain! He announced to the Duke of Cornwall that he would not remain at Wolffeton another day. Then he took his wife on one arm and his daughter on the other and marched them out of the hall. I know Lord Graelam was smiling, though he tried to hide it. Praise be to Saint Anne that you’ll nay have to see any of them again.”

Kassia did not admit her overwhelming relief at Etta’s words. She still shuddered at the thought of standing before them in her travel-stained clothes. It appeared that her husband had protected her.

“Etta,” Kassia said abruptly. “Where is Lord Graelam? Is this not his chamber?”

“He is in the hall, speaking, I believe, to the Duke of Cornwall. All the others have retired, thank the Lord!”

Kassia shoved the trencher off her lap. “My bath, Etta. I will not face him again looking like a dirty urchin. Nay, do not argue with me! I am not ill!”

Graelam sat in his ornately carved chair across from the Duke of Cornwall, a goblet of wine in his hand. The hall was quiet at last, with but the two of them.

“St. Peter’s bones, Graelam, this has been a fine day!” the duke said acidly, his thick gray brows drawn ominously together.

“Aye, it has certainly been a day I shall not quickly forget.”

“This girl, Kassia de Lorris—”

“Lady Kassia de Moreton,” Graelam said quietly.

“Aye, ’tis true you only saw her once?”

Graelam nodded. He felt oddly exhilarated, as if he had just fought in a battle. “She was near death. I would not have recognized her save for my ring and her short hair. Her hair had been shorn, you see, from her fever.”

“She is quite young, Graelam,” the duke said thoughtfully. “Aye, quite young. You never bedded her.”

Graelam arched a thick black brow. “Indeed, my lord.”

“Then you can still be rescued from this mess,” the duke said. “Annulment. The marriage was never consummated. ’Twill be an easy matter, and the girl will soon be on her way back to Brittany.”

Graelam looked thoughtful, then said slowly, “Belleterre is an impressive holding, my lord duke. The keep is magnificent, the lands rich. Upon Lord Maurice de Lorris’ death, it will come to me. If you will, the girl is as much an heiress as Joanna de Moreley.”

“But she is French!”

Graelam merely cocked an incredulous brow at the duke.

“You will not have this travesty of a marriage annulled?”

Graelam stroked his fingers across his jaw. “I will speak to the Lady Kassia again tonight. Tomorrow, my lord duke, I will tell you my decision.”

But the Duke of Cornwall was not finished. His incredulous fury had calmed, but he still felt the fool, a feeling he did not appreciate. “I do not know why you couldn’t have told me of the damned girl,” he growled, “and your ridiculous midnight marriage.”

“As I said, my lord duke,” Graelam said patiently, “I believed her dead. What reason was there to tell you?”

“I cannot believe you prefer her to Lady Joanna,” the duke continued, ignoring Graelam’s question. “She has not half Joanna’s beauty. Indeed, she looked like a skinny boy, and a dirty one at that.”

“She has been quite ill,” Graelam said mildly. “Some food will fill her out and a bath will take care of the dirt.”

The duke knew he was losing, and it galled him. Abruptly he said, “What if her illness rendered her barren? Ah, I see you had not thought of that!”

Graelam did not immediately reply. He was seeing Joanna’s distorted features, hearing her venomous words. Even a barren wife would be preferable to that shrew. “Nay,” he said finally, “I have not given that any thought as yet.”

“You must,” the duke snapped, rising from his chair. “Give it much thought, Graelam, before you make your decision. You told me yourself that your only reason for marrying was to breed sons.”

“Aye,” Graelam said. “That is what I told you.”

Graelam saw the duke to his chamber, then drew up suddenly outside his own. By God, he thought, his wife was within. His wife. He quietly opened the door and stepped inside. He blinked rapidly at the sight of Kassia in his wooden bathing tub. He could see naught but her thin white shoulders. Slowly he backed out and firmly closed the door. At least the girl didn’t appear ill.