“A woman’s jealousy can lead her to do vicious things, my lord.”
Graelam grunted. “So who is this woman, Guy?” he asked.
“Not Blanche, I am certain of that.” Indeed, he had spoken to her, watching her beautiful eyes for signs of deception. He did not want to admit to his profound relief when he realized she was innocent. Guy shook his head, perplexed. “All knew you were to bed your lady last night.” He flushed as his master’s eyes narrowed on his face.
“It need not have been a woman, Guy,” was all he said.
Kassia stirred in his lap and raised her head from Graelam’s shoulder. “My lord?” she whispered, her voice foggy with sleep.
“ ’Tis naught, Kassia,” Graelam said. “How do you feel?”
She smiled, and the dimple deepened beside her mouth. “Hungry,” she said.
“Excellent. I am certain that your nurse has a pot of broth awaiting you. Your belly isn’t cramping anymore?”
She flushed, seeing Guy, and shook her head.
Graelam rose easily, and shifted Kassia in his arms. The blankets fell away and Guy glimpsed the white curve of her breast.
“I’ll get Demon, my lord,” he said quickly, and strode to his master’s destrier.
12
The afternoon was overcast and a chill wind blew from the sea. Kassia stood watching Graelam, his powerful chest bared, wrestling with one of his men, a huge fellow who had the look of a mighty oak tree. The men formed a half-circle, calling out explicit and coarse advice.
Kassia moved closer. She saw the concentration on her husband’s face as he circled the other man. He lunged so suddenly that she blinked in surprise. He gave a fierce yell as he hooked his leg behind his opponent’s and toppled him to the ground. He slammed down on top of him, pinning his shoulders.
The men cheered and Graelam stood up, offering his hand to his man. He met Kassia’s eyes at that moment, and smiled.
She waved to him shyly and called, “We have a visitor, my lord.”
Graelam spoke to his men, then strode to his wife, flexing his shoulder muscles. He looked at her closely, studying her face for any signs of lingering illness, and satisfied, asked, “Who comes, Kassia?”
“Blanche’s son, my lord.”
Graelam frowned a moment, having forgotten the boy.
“Blanche is smiling. I am pleased her son is here.” Her son will give her something to think about other than you!
One of Graelam’s men tossed him his shirt and tunic. “Wash me down first, Kassia,” he said, and walked beside her to the well in the inner bailey.
Kassia filled the bucket and poured it over her husband’s head and back as he leaned over. He shook himself and donned his shirt.
“My tunic, Kassia,” he said.
“Oh!” She had been staring at his chest, wondering why it made her heart pound to think of tangling her fingers in the dark curling hair, or suckling at his nipples as he had hers.
Graelam wondered at the sudden delicate flush on her cheeks as he pulled his tunic over his shirt.
They walked into the hall. Blanche was talking to three men, all travel-stained and weary-looking. A slender boy, some eight years old, clung to the side of one of the men.
“My lord,” Blanche called out. “My son is arrived. Evian, this is Lord Graelam de Moreton, your uncle by marriage.”
The boy peeped from behind the man. The man gave him an indulgent smile and shoved him forward. “ ’Tis a bit shy he is, my lord. I am Louis, from my lord Robert’s household in Normandy.”
“I bid you welcome, and thank you for delivering the boy safely,” Graelam said, then squatted down to the boy’s eye level. He had his mother’s dark eyes and dark hair, but was saved from being pretty by a square jaw and a broad forehead. “You will be my page,” Graelam said. “If you are competent at your duties, you will one day be my squire. Does that please you, boy?”
“Aye, my lord,” Evian said. He studied Lord Graelam with intelligent eyes and became his slave at that moment. Graelam dropped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, patted him, then rose. “You have already met my wife, Lady Kassia?” he asked.