There was a knock on the chamber door. She closed her eyes, and trembled with the knowledge of what she had been about to say to him.
“Enter,” she called, her voice high and shrill.
Two serving wenches came into the chamber, carrying trays. Their eyes went immediately to Graelam, who was languidly reaching for his bedrobe. Both the women eyed him openly. Would he take one of them?
“Set the trays here,” Kassia said harshly, pointing to the small table.
She gritted her teeth as one of the women, quite pretty, with thick black hair and full breasts, gave Graelam an open invitation with her dark eyes.
“You may leave now,” she said sharply, stepping in front of her husband.
He watched her, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. But he said nothing until she was seated across from him, her mouth full of roast pork.
“That was quite a display of wifely jealousy, my lady,” he said.
She choked, and downed half the wine in his goblet. She could not speak for several moments as she gasped for breath. But she shook her head violently.
“Odd,” he continued calmly. “I had the impression that you were about to tell me something of great interest when the wenches interrupted us.”
She said nothing, staring down at the wooden plate. Her face was very expressive, and Graelam saw the myriad emotions clashing there. Was it pride that kept her silent? he wondered.
“You are very young, Kassia,” he said after a moment, remembering Drake’s words. “When one is young, one makes mistakes. And one is . . . reluctant to admit to mistakes.”
“Do not older people also make mistakes, Graelam?” she asked quietly.
“Aye,” he agreed easily, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his massive chest. “But heed me, wife, I do not intend to hear more mewling protests from you. They now weary me and bore me.”
“Very well, my lord,” she said, “I will say nothing.”
The decision was made. Was it pride that kept her silent? Honor? Stupidity?
In the next instant he was towering above her, jerking her out of her chair.
“No,” she whispered, leaning back as far as she was able.
He laughed and swept her over his shoulder. “Would you prefer that I bed that pretty wench who brought our meal?”
“Aye!” she shouted. “I care not what you do!”
He dropped her onto her back and stripped off her bedrobe. When he released her to rid himself of his own bedrobe, she rolled onto her knees and tried to escape him. He caught her by her ankle and flipped her again onto her back.
“No,” he said, his voice mocking to her ears, “I am not yet sated with your sweet body. But there will be no pleasure for you, my lady.” He pulled her legs apart and thrust into her. His eyes widened and flew to her face, for she was moist and ready for him.
Kassia stared at him. She felt him deep and throbbing inside her, felt him grinding against her belly, and she cried out, beyond herself, her body exploding in harsh, rippling pleasure.
It would not stop, and cry after helpless cry burst from her throat.
Graelam felt her fingers clutching at his shoulders, felt the furious arching of her hips to match his rhythm. He kissed her deeply, and moaned his own release into her mouth.
He crushed her against him, utterly confused by her passionate response to him. The punishment he had wished had failed abysmally. It both angered him and, oddly enough, pleased him.
Damn her! He said, his voice a mocking taunt, even as his hands stroked and caressed her hips, “So yielding and passionate, dear wife. Did you think of him when I came into you?”
He felt her quiver and stiffen, but he would not release her. “Go to sleep, Kassia. I will not allow you to bathe yourself. My seed will stay in your belly.”
Graelam finally fell into an exhausted sleep, the wet of her tears on his shoulder.
27