Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

Perhaps, he thought, still striving to calm his breathing, he would never understand himself.

23

The farmer Robert was delighted with the offer of a new wife. That she carried the lord’s child bothered him not a bit. She was a comely wench and quite young. With the sons she would doubtless bear him, his farm would prosper, and him along with it. As for the lord’s child, that one would be well taken care of. He realized quickly that she was not at all pleased with the prospect of becoming his wife, but he thought tolerantly that would quickly change.

Nan was at first disbelieving, then utterly furious. She shot venomous glances at Kassia, saving her pleading looks for Graelam. But it was all to no avail. As for the farmer, she hated him on sight, though, objectively, he was neither old nor ill-looking.

Wolffeton’s priest, Father Tobias, married the couple with dispatch, and Graelam presented the farmer with a cask of his finest wine, as well as a dowry for Nan.

If Kassia believed Graelam to be rather cold-blooded about casting off his mistress, she had to admit to overwhelming relief that the girl would be gone. Even during the brief ceremony, she found her thoughts going over and over what had happened the previous night. It both galled and frightened her that she had felt something whilst she had kissed him, something that made her feel very warm and . . . urgent. Yet Graelam had pushed her away. Rejected her. This morning when she had awakened, he was gone, and he had greeted her in the hall as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred between them. For a moment she had felt an overwhelming urge to kick him.

She stood quietly beside him, watching Nan and her new husband ride in an open cart from Wolffeton, the cask of wine set up beside Nan like a plump child. She toyed briefly with the notion that she would tell him the bargain was off. He could no longer threaten her with Nan’s insolence. She bit her tongue. She was no longer certain that she didn’t want the bargain to continue, if continue it would. Why, she berated herself silently, hadn’t she asked her father to explain men to her?

Graelam wished fervently for a fight. His energy was inexhaustible, his mood violent. He would have even welcomed Dienwald de Fortenberry pillaging his lands if only he could meet the man in battle. Since his wish wasn’t to be granted, at least that day, he rode off with a dozen men to the village of Wolffeton, and worked frenetically to finish the defensive wall. He was utterly exhausted when he returned late that afternoon, pleased that he had exorcised his wife from his thoughts during most of the day.

But he didn’t feel as exhausted as he had believed when Kassia entered their bedchamber while he was bathing.

“I have come to assist you, my lord,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. He was relieved that the water level hid his desire from her.

“You may wash my back,” he said abruptly, and leaned forward.

Kassia stared at the broad expanse of back. She could feel the movement of sinewy muscle beneath the bathing cloth. To her surprise, she felt a rising warmth, coming, she believed, directly from her belly.

“What did you do today?” Graelam asked rather desperately, trying to distract himself.

“I have finished your new tunic. I trust you will approve.”

“What about your gown?”

“I will begin it shortly.”

Her hand dipped down below the water toward his hips, and he whipped his head around. “That is enough, Kassia. Go see to our meal.”

He thought he saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes, but it was quickly masked.

“I will be down shortly.”

She nodded, unable to speak, for there was a knot of misery forming in her throat. She left the bedchamber, and severely berated a serving wench when she carelessly dropped a silver platter.

Sir Walter de Grasse turned his gaze again to the raised dais, to Lady Kassia. He sensed her dislike of him, and found it angered him. So proud she was, the lord’s wife, who had willingly taken up with Dienwald de Fortenberry. He had heard the description of the man Edmund she had given her husband in her attempts to appease him. Features the color of coarse sand. Aye, it could be none other than de Fortenberry. Just how she had managed to meet him was beyond Walter, but he supposed that women were devious and more capable of deceit and cunning than most men believed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on either side of his trencher. Soon, he thought, as soon as he had the opportunity, he would bring de Fortenberry here to Wolffeton. He wondered how the proud Kassia would react when she saw her lover. He frowned a moment, thinking of the men who had professed to believe her unlikely tale. No, he was certain she had lied. He only wondered why Lord Graelam seemed so gentle with her. Had she been his wife, he would have beaten her to death for such an offense.

He wondered if he should simply tell Graelam the identity of the man. Graelam’s rage would likely lead him against de Fortenberry. Sir Walter downed his goblet of ale and continued his thinking.

“Do you wish to play a game of chess with me?” Graelam asked Kassia.

“I think so,” she said, fiddling with a piece of bread.

He laughed softly. “You are not certain? As I recall, you have beaten me more times than not.”

She remembered wanting to kick him, and said more strongly, “Aye, I should enjoy it, my lord.”

When they sat across from each other in their bedchamber, the chess table between them, Graelam leaned back in his chair, watching Kassia concentrate on the position of her pieces. Very slowly he stretched out his legs, allowing his thigh to brush against her. She jumped, her eyes flying to his face.

“See to your bishop, Kassia,” he said blandly, ignoring her reaction.

“My bishop,” she repeated, tearing her eyes away from his face.

“Aye, your queen’s bishop.” He smiled at her, seeing her abstraction. He stroked his chin, his eyes gleaming. “Why do we not make the game more interesting?”