Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

But Rolfe had jumped from the dais and was running toward the course, waving his hands. The men had quieted, watching Bran try unsuccessfully to rein in his mount. The stallion, his eyes rolling with challenge, bit Ganfred on the neck, reared again, and smashed his hooves into Ganfred’s sides.

Graelam was running, all thought frozen. Fear coursed through him, raw and cold. He watched helplessly as Kassia’s bow and arrow went flying from her hands to the ground. He saw her desperately try to pull away from the maddened stallion, but she did not have the strength to control him. Ganfred turned on the other horse and attacked.

“Kassia, jump off!” He heard his own shout, knowing it was lost in the shouts of his men.

Kassia was not afraid, she was furious. She must have been born under an unlucky star. “Bran, pull the beast away!” she cried out. When Ganfred reared up and attacked, she realized that all had gone awry. She struggled to bring the huge stallion under control, but it was no use. She felt Ganfred jerk the reins from her ineffectual hands at the same time she heard Graelam shout at her.

But she knew if she jumped she might be crushed under the horses’ hooves. She hung on, clutching frantically at Ganfred’s mane.

“Bran,” she croaked, “pull him away!”

Ganfred gave a mighty heave, rearing up again to attack, but the other stallion was running away. He snorted in fury and dashed after him. Kassia lost her hold. She realized that she should roll once she hit the ground, but when the hard earth crashed against her side she was stunned, unable to move, the breath knocked from her.

She lay perfectly still, trying to clear her wits and regain her breath.

“Kassia!”

She looked up to see Graelam above her. “It is not fair,” she panted. “I would have won! It is not fair!”

He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands roving methodically over her body. “Can you move your legs?”

“Aye,” she whispered, feeling suddenly dizzy and nauseous. “Graelam, I would have won!”

His hands were bending her arms, then prodding at her belly.

She sucked in her breath, not wanting to retch. That would be the ultimate humiliation. She saw the shadows of the men above her, heard them talking.

Graelam clasped his hands about her shoulders. “Kassia,” he said, gently pulling her up. “Look at me. Can you see me?”

“Of course,” she said. “I am all right.”

Graelam lifted her gently into his arms. “The competition is over,” he said harshly to the men.

She closed her eyes against the waves of dizziness, her head falling back against his arm. “I was not afraid,” she muttered. “If it had not been for that wretched horse . . .”

“Hush,” Graelam said. He carried her to their bedchamber, shouting for Etta. After laying her on the bed, he gently straightened her legs. She closed her eyes tightly, and he saw the tensing around her mouth.

He felt utterly helpless.

“My baby!” Etta scurried to the bed, ignoring Graelam as she sat beside her mistress.

“I am going to be sick, Etta,” Kassia whispered.

When the spasms passed, she lay pale and weak. Her head ached, but the waves of dizziness were growing less.

“I will prepare her a potion, my lord,” Etta said, and slowly rose.

“Will she be all right?” Graelam asked harshly.

“I trust so,” Etta said. “It is just that—”

“Just what?”

“Naught of importance,” Etta muttered, and hastened from the bedchamber.

Graelam sat beside his wife, took her small hand in his, and noticed the calluses on the pads of her fingers for the first time. His wrenching fear was lessening. But he said nothing, merely watched her pale face for signs of pain.

Kassia opened her eyes and looked into her husband’s worried face. “I would have won,” she repeated, sounding a litany.