Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

Kassia lowered her eyes to the rocky cliff edge but a few feet away. “I . . . I am sorry if I offended you, my lord.”

“You did not offend me,” he said roughly. “I had much on my mind this morning.” It was a half-truth and as much of an apology Graelam had ever offered to a woman. After a moment he asked abruptly, “Do you believe Geoffrey was responsible for your brother’s death?”

Her eyes clouded for a moment, in painful memory. “If he was,” she said slowly, “it would mean that he is evil. I remember the day very clearly. My brother, Geoffrey, and I had a small boat and we would take turns rowing it to the mouth of the cove and fishing. On that day, Geoffrey and Jean ran ahead. My father and I were nearly to the cove when we heard Jean scream. Geoffrey was standing at the edge of the water, and he started yelling and pointing when he saw us. My father watched his son drown and there was naught he could do.

“He ordered the boat brought to shore after my brother had been buried. There was a jagged hole in the bottom.”

“Surely that is not proof enough,” Graelam said.

Kassia shook her head sadly. “But you see, I had taken the boat out the day before. It did not even leak. And there is more. Evidently Geoffrey could swim. Yet he had stood on the shore watching my brother drown. He could have saved him. When my father found out, he went into a rage and ordered Geoffrey from Belleterre. That was eight years ago. My father’s sister, Felice, kept after him to allow her to visit Belleterre occasionally. She and Geoffrey have been allowed to visit three times in the past three years.”

“How old was your brother?”

“He was but eight years old when he died. I was nearly ten years old. I am not certain that Geoffrey did kill my brother. Perhaps he did not rip the hole in the boat. Perhaps his only fault was that he was a coward, and was afraid to try to save him. I do not know.”

“Geoffrey is still a coward,” Graelam said. “I am glad you are safe from him now.”

There was warmth in his voice and Kassia turned to face him, her eyes glowing with pleasure. “You sound like my father,” she said.

“I am not your father!” Graelam said harshly. “His eyes fell to her breasts, the wool of her gown outlining their small roundness by the wind. “Tell me about your mother.”

Kassia cocked her head at him, wondering at his constantly shifting moods. “She was very loving and gentle. I do not remember her very well, but my father has told me often of her goodness. And what of your mother, my lord?”

“Her name was Dagne, and unlike your mother, she was not particularly loving and gentle. My father had oft to chastise her for her disobedience and ill humor.”

Kassia stared at him. “You mean he struck her?”

“Only when she had earned his wrath.”

“And when your father earned her wrath, did she strike him?”

“She was a woman. Of course she did not strike him. But I recall her tongue was very sharp on occasion.” That was half-truth if ever there was one, he thought. His mother had been about as soft-spoken and gentle as a snake. Not, of course, that his father had ever done anything to call forth more gentle emotions from her. He shrugged that thought aside as Kassia said sharply, “That, my lord, is hardly the same thing! My father would never harm someone smaller and weaker than he. Surely a man could not love a woman and still wish to hurt her.”

“Kassia, you do not understand,” Graelam said patiently. “It is a man’s responsibility to discipline his wife. It is her duty to obey, to serve him, and to bear his children.”

“Being a wife does not sound very pleasant,” Kassia said. “I think,” she continued with alarming candor, “that I should prefer being a dog. At least he is petted and allowed to run free.”

“There are benefits to being a wife rather than a dog,” Graelam said dryly.

“Oh?” Kassia asked in a tone of disbelief.

He raised his hand and lightly stroked his fingertips over her jaw. “When you are ready, I will show you the benefits of being a wife.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered Blanche’s words. She blurted out, without thinking, “Oh no! That is not a benefit! That is worse than a beating!”

Graelam dropped his hand and stared at her. “Kassia, it is natural for you to be nervous, perhaps even afraid, of what you do not understand. But lovemaking is not a punishment, I promise you.”

“Why do you call it lovemaking?” she asked rather wildly. “It is like animals, and it hurts, and there is no love.”

Graelam could not believe his ears. Nor could he believe his patience. “What did your father tell you?”

She shook her head, refusing to look at him. “Nothing. He said nothing.”

“Then why do you believe it will hurt?”

Kassia bowed her head. “Please,” she whispered. “I . . . I will do my duty when I must. I know that you want sons.”

“Who told you it would hurt?”