Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

Concern washed over her face. “Pray tell me. If I cannot ease you, surely Etta will know of a suitable remedy.”

“Presently,” he said.

Once inside their bedchamber, he firmly closed the door and leaned against it, watching her. “I have missed you,” he said.

“And I you, my lord.” She smiled up at him, but he saw that her hands were twisting nervously in the folds of her gown.

“Four days and you fear me again?”

She shook her head. “Nay, I do not fear you, my lord.”

“I am relieved. You do know, do you not, how you will ease me?”

Her eyes flew to his face. “Your arm!” she blurted out. “You will hurt your wound.”

“There are few stitches to rend, and the bandage is secure. I would ask that you help me out of my clothes.”

She did as

she was bid, saying nothing until he stood in front of her naked. His desire for her was obvious and she backed away. “Chess!” she exclaimed. “I am really quite good, my lord. Would you like to—”

He cut her off, his brow knot in a frown. “Kassia, I do not want to play chess. I want you naked and in my bed.”

She was a fool, she thought, to have wished him home so quickly. “My lord,” she said as calmly as she could manage, “I do not wish . . . that is, I cannot be naked!”

His frown deepened. “You cannot still be sore from our last coupling. ’Twas nearly five days ago.”

“Nay, I am not sore.”

“Kassia, look at me!”

She wanted nothing more than to sink into the fresh reeds beneath her feet and disappear through the floor. Slowly she raised her face, so embarrassed that she was trembling.

“I told you that our coupling would not hurt you again.” He heard himself speak the words gently, reassuringly. It bothered him that she did not want him.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I would willingly come to you, my lord, but I cannot. Please, I—”

He burst out laughing, and grabbed her, pulling her tightly against him. “You are silly, Kassia,” he said. He cupped her face between his hands and lowered his face to kiss her. He felt her start, as if in surprise, and for a moment she responded to him. Then she stiffened, a small cry of distress muffled in his mouth.

“Sweetheart,” he said, smiling down at her, “it is your monthly flux, is it not?”

She nodded, mute with embarrassment.

“That is no problem, you will see. Come now, I will help you undress.”

She stood still as a stone.

Graelam slowly loosed his hold on her. He guessed that her embarrassment could not be easily overcome. He felt his desire fading. Oddly enough, he did not want to force her, did not want to ease himself in her body without her feeling equal need for him. “Do you feel discomfort in your belly?” he asked her gently.

“Nay,” she whispered, “ ’tis not that, my lord.”

“I know.” He sighed and stepped away from her. “How much longer, Kassia?”

“Another day or so.”

“Come to bed when it pleases you,” he said. He sank down into the soft feather-and-straw mattress and forced himself to turn on his side away from her. When she finally slipped into bed beside him, she was wearing her bedrobe.

He turned and pulled her against him. She was rigid as a board. He kissed her gently on her forehead.