“Geoffrey is
dangerous, albeit a coward. He will not give in so easily.”
“I know that, my lord. But my father told me you were a valiant warrior, that you would protect Belleterre if Geoffrey tried treachery.”
“Do you wish to remain here at Wolffeton as my wife?”
“Why, of course,” she said, her young voice strong and sure. She cocked her head at him. “If my father chose you for my husband, my lord, I would never gainsay his wishes. And,” she added, clinching the matter, “Geoffrey must never have Belleterre.”
Aye, he thought, the girl would follow the devil if her father asked it of her. It disturbed him that she saw him through the eyes of her father. “You have ridden through my country, Kassia. It is not gentle, but savage and rugged.”
“It reminds me greatly of Brittany, my lord. ’Twas the southern coast I found unlikely.”
Graelam nodded and rose from his bed. “You will rest and not leave this chamber. I am informed by my betrothed’s father that they will leave on the morrow.” He paused a moment, his eyes sweeping over her. “And you will eat. You are still very thin; a strong wind could blow you away.”
She nodded. As he turned and strode away from her, she felt a wave of guilt that she had taken his bedchamber. He opened the chest at the foot of the bed and drew out a blanket. Without looking at her again, he left the chamber. For the first time he was real to her, the man who was her husband, the man who now controlled her life and her destiny. She felt no fear, for after all, her father had picked this man for her. She slid down under the warm covers and quickly fell into an exhausted sleep.
Graelam wrapped the blanket closer about him and pressed his back against the stone wall. He had dismissed all the men and servants from the great hall to ensure privacy for his conversation with the duke. But now they were back, and he had had to step carefully over the snoring men. The lord of Wolffeton, he thought with a crooked smile, sleeping on the floor! And all for the scrawny child who slept in his bed and was his wife.
9
Graelam leaned against the northern stone tower and watched Thomas de Moreley’s retinue disappear in whirls of dust over the rocky hill toward St. Agnes. He found, somewhat to his surprise, that Joanna’s departure had lifted almost a physical weight from his spirit. She had eyed him glacially as she sat her palfrey in the inner bailey, her gloved hands clutching spasmodically at her riding whip.
“I bid you Godspeed, Joanna,” he said calmly.
Joanna quivered with humiliation and rage; he could see it clearly in her face as she had spat at him, “And I wish you to hell, Lord Graelam, you and that skinny little slut you claim as your wife!”
Graelam shook away the image of Joanna, clapped Arnolf, the porter, on his stooped shoulder, and quickly made his way back to the great hall. It was early and he found he was ravenous. He bellowed for food.
“A blessed escape,” Guy said blandly as he seated himself across from Graelam at the trestle table.
Graelam swallowed the crunchy heel of bread and downed the remainder of his ale. “Perhaps,” he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “One woman is much the same as another,” he added on a shrug, disregarding the relief he had felt upon her departure. “Joanna would have suited me, eventually. Her body was pleasant enough. Should you like me to talk to the Duke of Cornwall for you, Guy? Mayhap you would make Lady Joanna a suitable husband.”
“I would take to my heels,” Guy retorted, laughing. “You speak of a wife like one of your destriers, my lord. Surely a woman is not an animal to be broken.”
“Mastered, Guy.”
Guy said quietly, “What if the lady is already as gentle as a soft summer rain?”
“Without guile you mean? I have known but one woman who was as true as a man, and she, Guy, was about as gentle as a viper!”
“Ah, Lady Chandra de Vernon.”
“Aye, a prince among women.”
“Your . . . wife, my lord,” Guy said suddenly, his eyes gazing beyond Graelam’s left shoulder. He rose quickly. “I bid you good morning, my lady.”
Graelam swiveled about to see Kassia standing at the foot of the stairs. In truth, he had forgotten about her. She was looking toward him hesitantly.
“Come,” he called to her. “We will start fattening you up this instant.”
He could not be certain, but at his hearty words, he thought a blush stained her pale cheeks. She is graceful, he thought, watching her walk toward him. She was wearing a gown of soft blue wool, belted at her narrow waist. Her short chestnut curls glistened in the morning light and for a moment he wondered how soft they would feel in his hands. He frowned at the thought, for as she drew closer, he saw that she appeared very fragile, her delicate bones too prominent. He felt an unwanted surge of guilt, for he saw her suddenly as she was at Belleterre.
Kassia saw her husband’s frown and her steps slowed. She saw a sympathetic smile curl up the corners of Sir Guy’s comely lips, then, unwillingly, she turned her eyes back to her husband’s harsh countenance.
“My lord,” she said shyly, and proffered him a deep curtsy.
“You are well, my lady?” Graelam asked, his eyes on the curls that caressed her small ears.