Fire Song (Medieval Song 2)

Graelam merely grunted, and talk turned to de Fortenberry and his ever-nearing raids. It seemed to Kassia that Graelam was looking forward to crossing swords with the man; indeed, he hoped that de Fortenberry would attack some of Wolffeton’s outlying demesne farms. She watched her husband, and saw that he was not eating as much as he needed. ’Twas the wretched cooking, she knew. She must see to her responsibilities as chatelaine soon. If only Graelam would cease treating her like an invalid! He still looked to Blanche, and Kassia found that she did not like that at all. She had noted during the day that the servants heeded Blanche’s orders, but slowly and sullenly. Her housewifely hackles rose. They would obey her, and promptly, or she would know the reason why.

She leaned over to pick up an apple from the plate in front of Graelam. Her breast accidentally brushed against his arm. She felt him stiffen and he paused perceptibly in his speech. She hung her head, embarrassed, and was unaware that he gazed at her speculatively for a long moment.

Graelam was surprised at the surge of desire he felt, thinking again that Kassia had scarcely enough womanly curves for his taste. Yet, thinking of her lying soft and yielding in his arms, her trusting eyes upon him, made him anxious, as he had never been before. Tonight, he thought, tonight, he would take her. He must take her.

“Your hand, Kassia,” he said, laying his own palm-up on the table beside her.

She tentatively laid her hand in his and watched as his fingers closed around hers. A frown crossed his brow and she held herself very still, not knowing what he was thinking.

She is so slight, he mused, curling his fingers around her slender wrist. He had promised her there was no pain in coupling, and hoped he was right—that his size wouldn’t hurt her. He must go easily with her. He felt a renewed tightening in his loins at the thought of her naked beneath him. He said abruptly, releasing her hand, “Go to our bedchamber now, and ready yourself for me.”

Kassia knew that her cheeks were flushed. She remembered quite clearly the odd sensations she had felt before she had fallen ill, and she knew that Graelam wanted to make her his wife this night. She walked from the hall, imagining that all the men knew exactly what was in her mind and in her husband’s.

Etta awaited her in her bedchamber.

“Ah, my baby,” the older woman scolded her fondly, “ ’tis tired you are. You should have stayed abed as your husband wished you to.”

“Nay,” Kassia said on a nervous laugh, “I am not tired, but I would like a bath.”

Etta shooed Nan and another girl, Erna, pointed-chinned and scraggle-toothed, from the chamber after they had filled the wooden tub, then scented the hot water liberally with lavender, Kassia’s favorite scent.

As Kassia disrobed, her eyes kept flying toward the chamber door. She did not luxuriate in her bath as was her wont, but scrubbed herself quickly. She turned to ask Etta for her towel and became mute at the sight of her husband standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, gazing at her.

“Is the water still warm?” Graelam asked.

She nodded, sinking down in the wooden tub until only her head showed above.

“Will you scrub my back?”

He had moved out of her range, and Kassia eased up a bit to see him again. “Aye,” she said, “I will.” He was tugging at the ties on his tunic. As he pulled it over his head, she scurried out of the tub and grabbed at the linen towel.

“Kassia, help me.”

The tie on his chaussures was knotted. She wrapped the towel securely around her and dropped to her feet before him, her nimble fingers on the knot. She could feel the heat from his body; had she the courage, she could touch the growing bulge in his groin. She stilled suddenly at the touch of his fingers in her hair.

“Soft as a babe’s,” he said quietly. The knot untied, Kassia lowered her arms, resting her cheek against his thigh.

“Come,” he said, and lifted her to her feet. He drew off his chaussures and strode naked to the tub. Kassia giggled at the sight of him, his knees thrust upward, as he settled himself into the tub.

“I amuse you, wench?”

“You are so large, my lord!” She smiled contentedly as she soaped a sponge and began to stroke it down his back. She soaped his thick hair, careful to keep the lather from his eyes. “I used to shave my father,” she said as she rinsed his hair.

“Did you now?” he said, swiping the water from his eyes. His eyes crinkled as he looked up at her. She had time only to gasp in surprise. He jerked the towel from her, grabbed her about her waist, and swung her into the tub onto his lap.

Kassia fell forward, her arms looping about his neck to steady herself. “Oh,” she said helplessly, her mouth but a breath away from his.

“Aye,” he agreed softly, and pressed his hand against the back of her head, bringing her to him. He lightly pressed his mouth against hers, undemanding, exploring her soft contours. He dropped his hands down her back, drawing her closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest.

“A small wife is not such a bad thing,” he said, gently nibbling on her earlobe. He lifted her carefully so her hips were resting on his belly. “Give me your mouth, Kassia.”

“I . . . I don’t know what to do,” she said, feeling like a stupid fool.

“I will teach you,” he said. “Part your lips.”

She did as he bid her and drew back startled at the touch of his tongue against hers. “That feels . . . strange,” she whispered, her hand stroking through his wet hair without instruction from him.

“Strange good or strange bad?” he teased her.