“Aye, but ’twill take me several weeks.”
“The material appears very valuable. Did Blount approve its purchase?”
Kassia wanted to throw the cushion in his face. She fought down anger at his barely veiled accusation, but was saved from answering him by Blount himself.
“Aye, my lord,” he said proudly. “I agreed with your lady that Wolffeton should boast only the best. With her skill, it is achieved.”
Graelam grunted and sat down. “It is an improvement,” he said, and reached for his wine goblet.
Blount gave his master an incredulous look. He caught Lady Kassia’s eye, and bit back his words. He did not understand Lord Graelam. He had been in a black, savage mood for so long now that the household was afraid to come near him. His bellows of anger made their blood run cold. But to treat his gentle lady as he would his servants! Blount shook his grizzled head and walked slowly down the trestle table and seated himself down on the bench beside Sir Guy.
Kassia waited until Graelam had drunk two goblets of wine and eaten heartily of his dinner. “My lord,” she said carefully.
“Aye?”
He can’t even bring himself to look at me! She gritted her teeth and continued. “The merchant Drieux assures me that we can barter wool for carpets from Flanders. The carpets at Belleterre come from Spain, but he tells me that Flanders weaves beautiful ones as well. I thought crimson, to complement the chair cushions.”
“Carpets, my lady?” Graelam asked, turning slightly in his chair to face her, his dark brows raised. “Is it your desire to turn this keep into a palace? Do you find Wolffeton so much to your distaste?”
Damn you, my lord! she thought. She knew well that Graelam had been to the Holy Land and admired the comfort and luxury of the furnishings there. Her father had told her so.
“Aye,” she said baldly. “If you do not wish to barter wool, I will send a message to my father. Surely he will be most willing to fill Wolffeton with beauty.”
“You will send no message to your father!” He hit his fist against the trestle table, making his trencher tremble.
“Very well,” Kassia said calmly, forcing herself to hold firm in the face of his ill-humor. “What is your wish then, my lord?”
I am spiting myself, Graelam realized suddenly, and the little witch knows it well. God’s bones, he wanted to break her! How dare she criticize his home? She had held h
er little chin high and ignored him during the past days, knowing that she was safe from him at night, for, fool that he was, he had sworn he wouldn’t force her. The power he had given her unthinkingly!
He was saved from a reply by Guy’s laughing voice reaching him over the din. “My lord! You have the look of a man whose buttocks are well content! Will you grant your lesser men such comforts?”
“All you deserve, Sir Guy,” Graelam shouted back, “is the flat of my sword against your buttocks!”
There were hoots of laughter from the men, and Drake, the armorer, slapped Guy on the back. “I’d say,” he chortled, “that yer young butt needs nothing more than a good strapping.”
Graelam turned back to his wife. She was laughing, and there was a gentle smile in her eyes. He followed the direction of her gaze and felt himself stiffen. Guy! She was smiling at the handsome younger man openly. A knot of anger burned in his gut.
“Kassia!”
She flinched at his harshness, her smile at the men’s jests dying on her lips. She forced her eyes to his, and waited for him to continue.
“Fetch your cloak. I wish to speak to you.”
She hesitated, cursing herself for her cowardice, but still afraid of his intentions.
He lowered his voice to a soft, menacing snarl. “Would you prefer the privacy of our chamber?”
She jumped up from her chair. Nan stood closest to her, and she called to the serving girl, her voice abrupt in her fear. “My cloak, Nan. ’Tis in my chamber.”
Nan gave her a venomous look before leaving the hall.
Kassia downed the remainder of her wine, willing herself to be calm.
“Are you always so sharp with the servants, my lady?”
She gave him a wide, uncomprehending look.