Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

Unerringly she touched her fingers to his throbbing manhood, and he heard her sharp intake of breath as she tried to take him in her hand. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” he whispered between nipping kisses on her throat. “You will be soft and wet and ready for me. Let me show you.”

She grew utterly still as his hand roved over her ribs to her belly. He kneaded the soft flesh a moment, then laid his hand over the curling hair of her woman’s mound. “You are holding now a man’s desire,” he teased her softly. “I am an obvious being with no hidden treasures. Unlike you.” Gently he probed until he found her yielding flesh. “Here is your woman’s place of pleasure. A small treasure, of infinite beauty and enchantment.” He heard her gasp in surprise and captured her mouth as his fingers continued to caress her rhythmically. “Does that please you?” he asked into her mouth.

Kassia could think of no words. Her hips were pressing up against his beguiling fingers and the only sound from her throat was a ragged groan.

“I feel so odd,” she gasped. She tightened her hold on his member, making him grimace. He prized her fingers loose, aware of her disappointment that his fingers had left her. “I would look at you now, sweeting.”

He reared up, parting her thighs. “Open your eyes and look at me, Kassia. There is no shame between husband and wife.”

He touched his fingertip to her and watched her hips twist. He slowly parted her, and was startled at the provocative sensuousness of her. She was all delicate soft pink, her woman’s flesh lush and moist with her growing desire. Slowly he lowered his head and touched his lips to her. Kassia nearly leapt off the bed, a cry of utter surprise tearing from her mouth. “Oh no!” she cried. “My lord, you must not—please!” She pressed her hands impotently against his shoulders.

“Hush, Kassia, do not interfere with a man’s pleasure.”

“But you should not . . . surely!”

He laughed, his warm breath making her tingle. He continued to nuzzle her, explore her, learn what pleased her, but she would not ease, her embarrassment too great. He sighed, knowing he should not expect her to fall like a ripe plum into his mouth. He left her and lay beside her, drawing her into his arms. He began to kiss her deeply, even as his fingers caressed her, and he felt her slowly ease, tentatively returning his kisses.

“Kassia. Look at me.”

She clutched at his hand that rested on her belly.

“Feel how soft and ready you are for me.” She felt his finger slip inside her. She gasped at his assault, and tried to pull away from him.

“Nay, little one.” She was very small, stretching to hold his finger. He pushed deeper inside her until he felt her maidenhead. He probed gently against it, but it held fast. He cursed silently. She was stiff and afraid, and there was nothing he could do about it, save get it over with. Slowly he drew up, parted her thighs, and guided himself into her.

Kassia’s eyes flew to his face. She tried to hold herself still, but she felt a pressure building inside her, felt herself stretching painfully. She gasped and tried to twist away from the pain. Graelam held himself still within her and brought his weight down over her. “Kassia,” he said softly, g

ently kissing her. “Hold still.”

She blinked. “It hurts,” she whispered.

He could not help himself, and moved deeper, pressing against her maidenhead. He felt her stiff and tense beneath him, and gritted his teeth against the overwhelming urge to drive forward and plunge into the sweet depths of her. He held perfectly still, hoping she would become accustomed to the feel of him. He pressed harder against her maidenhead, but the barrier was as taut and strong as an Amazon’s shield. “Sweeting, I must cause you but a moment of pain. Hold onto me, Kassia.” He looked down at her as he spoke and saw that her eyes were firmly closed, her face drawn in pain. What stopped him cold was the tears slowly trickling down her cheeks.

He could not explain his action to himself, for never before had he forgone his own need. He pulled out of her, feeling her flinch as he withdrew, and clasped her tightly against him.

She clasped her hands around his back and sobbed softly against his shoulder. He stroked her, calming her, until she eased.

“ ’Twas not so bad,” she whispered, pulling away from him slightly to see his face. “I am sorry I am such a coward. You did not hurt me greatly, truly, my lord.”

He wanted to laugh and to curse vilely at the same time. Instead, he kissed her until she was breathless. At least, he thought, he had stretched her somewhat.

When she lay snuggled against his side, her breathing even in sleep, he stared into the darkness, cursing himself for seven kinds of a fool. He should have gotten it over with. A woman’s tears had never before touched him with such devastating result. A wife’s maidenhead was a man’s pride, yet he would have gladly forgone that small barrier to save her pain. That realization made him frown. She was, after all, but a woman, his possession, a creature whose only purpose was to give him pleasure and provide him with sons, and see to the management of his keep. But rant as he would at himself for his display of weakness, he could not dismiss the pain he had caused her. Ignorant little wench, he thought. She did not even realize she was yet a virgin!

13

She seems so proud of herself, Graelam thought, both amused and puzzled, as he watched Kassia chew on a piece of warm bread the next morning. With sudden insight he realized that she believed herself a woman now, a wife, and was pleased with her accomplishment. She was more confident, teasing his steward, Blount, as if she had known him all her life. And the old fool was grinning back at her as if she were bestowing upon him the greatest gems of wisdom imaginable.

Damn, he swore silently. How was he supposed to inform her that her maidenhead was still firmly in place? He sighed. He didn’t want to tell her, but neither did he have any intention of letting this state of affairs continue. It had been his fault, of course, all because he had not wanted to cause her more pain. Abruptly he said to her, “Kassia, I wish to ride. You will accompany me, in an hour.”

She met his eyes shyly, but with a knowledgeable gleam in hers that made him want to laugh and berate her at the same time for her ridiculous ignorance. “ ’Twould be my pleasure, my lord,” she said sweetly, but he saw the impish dimple peeping out.

Exactly an hour later, Kassia, a triumphant smile on her lips, walked to the stables to meet Graelam. So much for Blanche and her attempts to frighten me, she thought, unconsciously squaring her shoulders. She had not meant to say anything to Blanche, but the sight of her giving the servants orders had ruffled her feathers. Now, Kassia had thought, she was the mistress of Wolffeton, and its management was her responsibility.

She had said calmly to Alice, a woman of middle years who seemed to have common sense and the respect of the other servants, “I wish to inspect the looms after I return from my ride with my lord. I think all of us need new garments.”

“I doubt,” Blanche said sharply, before Alice could speak, wondering at this show of spine from the skinny twit, “that your . . . husband will approve. He little appreciates unnecessary expense.”

“It is the Wolffeton sheep and their wool that are of concern,” she said. “I doubt my lord cares a whit, and I would trust that he would not concern himself with household matters.”