Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

His mocking voice made her forget her fear of him, just as he guessed it would. “Shall I get Nan for you, my lord?” she asked coldly. “Perhaps,” she continued, “the wine will help you, for I do not believe you are ready for her.”

He drew in his breath, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Wine my lady wife, has not that effect. A drunken husband is an impotent one. But that is what you would prefer, is it not?”

“Allow me, my lord, to have a cask sent from Belleterre for you.”

He threw back his head and laughed deeply. “You do not break, do you? Particularly if you are more than ten feet away from me. My distance gives you courage. Ah, my wine. Thank you, boy. Go back to your bed now.” He shut the door with the heel of his foot, downed the wine, and walked to his bed, knowing that her eyes followed him. He stretched upon his back and turned his dark eyes toward her. “Let us test the power of the wine. Remove your clothes, and then we shall see.”

She shook her head, mute.

“You fear me again?”

She nodded, hating herself, hating him.

“Very well. Blow out the candles to preserve your modesty. I will not tell you again, Kassia.”

She scampered to douse the candles. She looked warily toward the unshuttered windows. Moonlight flowed unhampered into the room. She picked up her bedrobe and fled to the far corner of the chamber. Her fingers worked clumsily at the fastenings of her gown. She did not understand him. There had been no ladies in her life to guide her in dealing with a man such as he. But how to deal with a man who mocked and laughed at her, a man who seemed at one moment to despise her and the next to threaten her when she had tried to escape him?

She drew a shaky breath, and drew her bedrobe tightly around her.

“Kassia, I await you.”

She shivered at the words he had spoken. He knew that she feared him, knew that she was helpless against him. She slipped between the covers and lay perfectly still.

“Come here.”

His voice was soft, even beguiling. It was the same voice he had used when she had first come to Wolffeton. That time seemed so long ago now. He had been gentle, drawing her trust to him. She remembered teasing him, smiling at him, enjoying his touch.

“Please,” she whispered, even as she forced her body to turn toward him.

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His arms closed around her, drawing her against him. He felt the tension in her, could hear her short, gasping breaths as she tried to still her fear of him. One of her hands was drawn into a fist and lay against his chest.

Graelam frowned at himself as his hand gently began to knead the nape of her neck. If he wanted to take her, he should simply rip aside her clothing and possess her. A promise to a woman meant nothing. A promise, he reminded himself, gave a woman power. He felt the delicate bones of her shoulders as his hand gently continued its slow kneading. As the minutes passed, he felt the tension ease from her body. Her tight muscles relaxed under his probing fingers. His promise to her. He smiled into the darkness. No, he would not force her again. He would make her beg for him.

He continued stroking her until he felt her heart slow and her breathing even into sleep.

He turned on his side, facing her. He gathered her against him, and felt himself grow hard at the feel of her soft belly. He smiled, harshly, and willed himself to sleep.

When he awoke early the next morning, Kassia was wrapped in his arms, one of her slender thighs between his legs, her cheek burrowed into the hollow of his neck. Slowly he eased his hand inside her bedrobe and began to caress her buttocks. She feels like soft satin, he thought, and his body leapt in response. Her legs were slightly parted, easing his way, and he rested his fingers against her warm softness, savoring the feel of her, the delicate womanness.

As his fingers rhythmically stroked her and caressed her, she sighed softly in her sleep and drew closer to him, her arm tightening over his chest.

Kassia moaned, and the sound from her own throat, deep and aching, brought her to consciousness. Her lashes fluttered in the dim early-morning light. She was first aware of encompassing warmth, then a tingling sensation low in her belly. She lay very still, not understanding, her mind still befuddled with sleep and the gentle, aching dream that had made her want to burrow and move sensuously within it. She felt a raspy breath against her temple. Graelam. She stiffened, aware of his body, his fingers tormenting her.

“Hush,” she heard him say softly, his lips feathering lightly against her ear.

She felt the sensation burn deep within her, and her body, without her permission, moved against his questing fingers. She felt the thick hair on his chest against her breasts, and she pressed herself more closely against him.

“That pleases you, doesn’t it, Kassia?”

She moaned, her hands clutching at him.

Suddenly his fingers were gone, and he had left her. She watched him stupidly as he rose from the bed and gazed down at her. She stared up at him, her body bereft, not understanding. She trembled with need, and suddenly awareness flooded over her, and she knew what he had done to her.

“Aye,” he said, his dark eyes alight on her face. “Will you beg me to take you now, my lady wife? You must beg me, you know.”

She quivered with fury at herself, quivered with her own weakness. “I hate you,” she whispered, the words coming from her mouth in a hoarse croak.