Graelam saw no hope for it. He eased himself into the high-backed chair opposite the duke and quickly related the happenings at Wolffeton, omitting nothing. When he had finished, the duke was silent for many moments. “Odd,” he said finally, “I would have thought that Dienwald de Fortenberry would be a merciless, rutting beast, even with a gently bred lady. But no matter. Why, my lord Graelam, do you not believe your wife?”
“Do you know,” he said slowly, astounded at the words that were taking form, “I have come to think that it matters naught, not anymore.” But for the first time, he allowed himself to consider that Kassia had been telling him the truth.
“Excellent. I might add that it is possible you saw Blanche as she wished you to see her. I myself received the impression that she was not at all what she seemed, at least in her dealings with you.” The duke actually had no idea if this were true or not. But he had overheard Queen Eleanor say something to her husband of Blanche’s unkindness to Kassia.
Graelam shrugged. “I did not come here to speak of my marital problems, my lord duke. She is my wife and will remain so, no matter what her feelings.”
“And what of your feelings, my lord?”
“Dammit! I wish to speak no more of it. Mayhap I will fall in your damned tourney. If you believe my wife to be such a paragon, you may take her!”
The duke merely smiled, pleased with what he saw. They proceeded to discuss in detail Edward’s plans, then enjoyed an excellent meal. The duke offered Graelam a girl for his bed, and to his amusement, Graelam refused. The more unyielding the warrior, the duke thought, the more mightily he succumbs.
Graelam did not leave the duke’s fortress for a week. During the days, he forced his thoughts to planning the duke’s tourney, but at night, alone in his bed, he could not prevent Kassia’s image from coming into his mind. He could practically feel the softness of her slender body, hear her passionate cries as he gave her pleasure, smell her delicate woman’s fragrance. He jerked upright in his bed, his body taut with need, his hands clutching at the bedcovers. He thought to rut the girl the duke offered him. He shook his head in the darkness. Nay, there was but one woman who would satisfy him. The admission surprised him, and at the same time brought him a great measure of peace. I love her. He began to laugh, seeing himself for the first time as Kassia must have seen him. Gentle and loving one day, harsh and unforgiving the next. How could she have come to love him when he had treated her thus? He flinched, remembering his rape of her so long ago. Yet she had forgiven him that. And you, you bloody fool, you were so magnanimous in offering to forgive her!
He jumped from the bed and strode naked to the shuttered windows. He opened them, and breathed in the crisp cold night air. The moon was a silver sliver in the black sky, as clear from Wolffeton as it was from here. Are you thinking of me now, Kassia? Is there anger at me in your mind? I will win you back when I return to Wolffeton.
It was a woman’s place to yield, to surrender; a man’s place to demand and dominate. He had spent nearly thirty years without a thought to a woman’s needs. Oh, her physical needs, to be sure, for that but added to his sense of dominance. It chilled him to admit that he had acted the ass, utterly selfishly. Telling himself it was not too late, he felt a surge of confidence. Soon he would yield to her. The unexpected thought gave him great pleasure.
Dienwald rode beside Kassia up the winding path to Belleterre. He had journeyed in easy stages, trying not to weary her too much. He felt the tension mount in her as they neared the mighty keep.
“Be easy, little chick,” he said gently. “All will be well, you will see.”
Nay, Kassia thought, nothing would ever be well again. She thought of Etta’s likely anguish at finding her gone from Wolffeton, even though she had tried to explain her actions in a message to her old nurse. Would Graelam care? She shook her head. It did not matter. She must put him behind her. She must look to the future.
The muted gray stone of Belleterre gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Kassia tried to take pleasure in her homecoming. She gazed at the naked-branched trees she had climbed in her childhood, at the deep-cut embrasures in the wall along the north tower where she had played so many years before. What would her father say? Would he forgive her? Would he insist she return to Graelam? She shivered, refusing to consider those possibilities.
They pulled to a halt in front of the mighty gates.
“I will leave you now, little chick,” Dienwald said. “I do not intend to wait and see if your father wishes to thank me or slice my head from my body. I am not, after all, your esteemed husband.”
Kassia turned in her saddle, her gratitude to him shining in her eyes. “I am lucky to have a friend such as you,” she said. She reached out her hand and he grasped it in his. “Thank you. God go with you, Dienwald.”
“Good-bye, little chick. If ever you have need of me, I will come to you.”
With those words he whirled about his destrier and galloped down the winding path to where his men waited.
Kassia looked up and saw the surprised faces of the men who had known her since she was a child. Shouts of greeting rose even as the great iron-studded gates swung open to admit her. She rode into the inner bailey, forcing a smile to her lips. These were her people. They loved her, trusted her, and respected her. Children cavorted around Bluebell and she leaned down to speak to each of them. She was dismounting from her mare she heard a welcoming shout from her father.
“Kassia! You are here, child!” He gathered her into his arms, squeezing her so tightly that she yelped. She felt her father’s love flow into her, and began to know again a measure of peace and comfort.
“Where is Graelam, poppin?” He held her back as he asked his question, studying her weary face.
Kassia’s eyes dropped. “Can we speak alone, Father? ’Tis a long story, and one that should be talked of in private.”
“As you wish,” Maurice agreed. His arm tightened about her slender shoulders as they entered the great hall. “My love . . .” he began, then paused, clearing his throat. “There is something I must tell you.”
“Aye, Papa?” she prompted as he again paused, her head cocked to one side.
“I was on the point of sending you a message.”
“What message?” Kassia stared at her father.
“I have someone I wish you to meet,” he said gruffly. “She is my wife.”
“Wife!”
Maurice nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “Her name is Marie, and she hails from Normandy. I met her in Lyon, actually. She is a widow . . .” He drew to a relieved halt at the sight of Marie. “My dear,” he called, relieved to have assistance.