Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

She smiled. “What is your good fortune?”

“My father has died. His lands and keep near Dover are now mine.” He raised his hand, seeing the shock in her eyes. “Nay, do not give me your condolences on his demise. He was a rotten old lecher, mean-spirited and cruel. It is a relief to all his men and servants, and to my poor sister who lived with him.”

“Then I do congratulate you, Guy. You are now a knight of substance. You will leave us?”

“Aye. The keep is nothing to compare to Wolffeton, of course, but it is a beginning.” He paused a moment, a smile lighting his blue eyes. “I begin to believe in fate,” he said at last.

Kassia cocked her head to one side in questio

n, waiting for him to explain his strange words, but he only shook his head and smiled at her.

“Aye,” he said, “ ’tis indeed fate.”

To Kassia’s relief, Graelam showed no hesitation in his well wishes to Sir Guy. The ale and wine flowed to the early hours of the morning. Graelam, good-humored in his drunkenness, tried to press Nan on Guy, but the young knight refused, shouting to the company that he doubted his ability to raise either his interest or his member.

Kassia quietly left the hall, hopeful that her husband would fall asleep below. She turned on the stairs at the sound of rustling skirts.

“How sad for you that the handsome, so malleable Guy leaves us.”

“ ’Tis sad for all of us,” Kassia said calmly. “I suggest you find your bed, Blanche. You are slurring your words as badly as the men.”

Kassia could tell that Blanche would have liked to mock her, or taunt her, but the wine and ale had dulled her wits. She left her, shaking her head at her own stupidity. Blanche, her friend!

Blanche was indeed dull-witted. She glared at Kassia’s retreating back, then made her way carefully to her own small bedchamber. It was close and warm, but she was too befuddled to slide the shutters away from the one window. She undressed clumsily and slipped into her bed. Her head was swimming and her thoughts were warm and wishful. It was almost as if she had willed him to come, she thought, watching the door open slowly. In the darkness, she could only make out the form of a man, a tall man.

“Graelam,” she whispered, a woman’s promise in her husky voice.

He quietly closed the door and stood a moment, tall and straight. Then he was coming toward her, shucking off his clothing.

“I knew you would come,” she said, and held out her arms toward him.

“Aye,” he said softly, “I came.”

20

Blanche shuddered when he took her into his arms and pulled her onto his lap. He found her willing mouth, and kissed her deeply, thoroughly, until she was trembling with her need for him, and her triumph.

His flesh beneath her questing fingers was smooth as silk, contrasting with the rock-hard muscle beneath.

“It has been so long,” she whispered, her hand caressing down his chest to his belly.

“No man since your husband died?” he asked softly, his words punctuated with nipping kisses down the side of her neck.

“Nay. And he was a beast.”

“I am not,” he said. He pressed her onto her back and lay down beside her. “What a woman you are,” he said, his voice husky, as his fingers found the softness between her thighs.

“So long,” Blanche whimpered, arching up against his hand, wanting him so much she could scarce restrain herself. She found him, hard and ready, and inhaled sharply at the feel of him.

“You will have me in your bed every night,” he said. “Never will you want for a man again.”

Her mind reeled with his promise, and she pulled him down over her, opening herself willingly to him.

His fingers drove her to the brink of madness before he very gently eased into her. He sucked in his breath at the enveloping heat of her body, and thrust deep.

“Now,” Blanche managed between gasping breaths. She met his every thrust, drawing him deeper and deeper until he was beyond himself. But he held himself back until her soft cries of pleasure filled the stillness of the chamber.

He took his own release and fell heavily over her, his head beside hers on the pillow.