Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

She made her way to Blount’s accounting room and began another coward’s letter to her father. Not wanting to worry him, she had never mentioned her unhappiness or her husband’s obvious distrust of her. She paused a moment over the piece of parchment, thinking about his last letter to her. “Geoffrey is quiet,” he had written. “Too quiet. Like a snake that is slithering about until he can find a protected place from which to strike.” The rest of his letter had merely recounted the day-to-day events at Belleterre. Kassia told him of the upcoming coronation, and left it at that.

“Ye believe ye’re so above us all, don’t ye, my fine lady?”

She turned at Nan’s sneering voice, and frowned. The girl stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her hair tossed back, long and thick down her back. Normally she did not allow Nan’s insolence to bother her, for after all, the wench did bed with Graelam. But this attack was both unexpected and beyond the line.

“What do you want, Nan?” she asked crisply, rising.

“That old crone Etta told me ye wanted me to scrub down the trestle tables.”

“Yes, that is what I wish you to do.”

“We’ll see about that!” Nan muttered, and flounced away.

Kassia frowned. She frowned again several hours later when she finished sewing on her silk gown and went into the great hall. The trestle tables hadn’t been cleaned. Furthermore, Nan was sitting in Kassia’s chair, waving her hands, giving outlandish orders in a loud, shrewish voice in an effort to mimic her. Kassia felt a surge of rage, and strode into the hall.

The other servants saw her before Nan, and quickly lowered their heads, bending more ardently to their tasks.

“Get out of my chair,” Kassia said in a cold voice. “Now.”

Nan jumped, and slithered out of the chair, responding to the voice of authority. But she quickly straightened and faced Kassia.

“You will do your assigned tasks, Nan, else you will go into the laundry shed or the fields.”

“Nay, my lady,” Nan said, eyeing her with open contempt. “Ye haven’t the power to do that. My lord would never allow it.” She ran a hand through her gleaming long hair. “Aye, ye haven’t the power. ’Tis hard work, cleaning the trestle tables. My lord wouldn’t want me to use my energy and become too tired for him.”

Kassia heard a soft snicker behind her. She closed her eyes for a brief instant. She was the mistress of Wolffeton. This little slut could not be allowed to speak to her thus, else she would lose all control. She drew herself up to her full height.

“You will still your insolent mouth, Nan, and do the work I ordered you to do. Now.”

“Nay, my lady. ’Tis too hard a task. My lord won’t want me to harm his child.” She clasped her arms about her belly, her eyes challenging Kassia.

Child! Graelam’s child! Kassia felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Her eyes traveled over Nan, and even she could now see the slight bulge at her waist. If she had had a knife, she would have stabbed it into Nan and then into Graelam.

Graelam stood in the shadows of the great oak door. Nan’s startling words surprised him, but it was not she who held his attention. Kassia looked both ill and furious. He knew that he could not allow Nan to gainsay her mistress, knew it as well as he suspected Kassia did. He strode forward, drawing all eyes.

Kassia saw him and wondered dully how much he had overheard. She stood numbly, waiting for him to complete her humiliation.

“My lord!” Nan cried, and started toward him.

Graelam raised a hand. “What is happening here, my lady?” he asked Kassia.

He knows exactly what has happened, she thought, and he is baiting me. He will make me say what I believe in front of the servants, then say exactly the opposite. She forced herself to meet his dark gaze. She said in a cool, clear voice, “I have given Nan a task, my lord. She does not wish to do it because she carries a child.” Your child.

“I see,” he said. He turned to Nan. “What is this task that would be so wearing on you?”

“Scrubbing the trestle tables, my lord. The duke’s men were pigs, and left them filthy.”

Graelam gazed back toward his wife. He saw her hands fisted against her sides. He smiled slightly. “Begin the task, Nan, as your mistress instructed. My lady, you will please accompany me now.”

Begin the task. Kassia looked at him warily. Nan cocked her head to one side, but realized enough to keep her mouth shut. Perhaps he simply didn’t wish to embarrass his skinny wife in front of all the servants. She probably should have told him of the child before she attacked Kassia.

“Very well, my lord,” she said sweetly. “I shall begin the work.”

“Come, Kassia,” Graelam said, and walked from the hall.

Kassia knew she had no choice. She trailed after him, her shoulders square and her chin raised.

He waited until she had entered their bedchamber, then quietly closed the door. He said nothing for a long moment, merely watched her. That little chin of hers, he noticed, was raised again for battle.