Fire Song (25 page)

Kassia grabbed up her skirts and fled up the stairs to his bedchamber. I should have begged Edmund to send me to Brittany, she thought. She shook away the thought. No, she would convince Graelam of the truth. After all, she was his wife. Surely that must mean something!

Graelam listened to the furor of voices raging around him, but said nothing. Had he been capable of it, he would have smiled to hear Blount, that hard-nosed old goat, who never gave an inch, vociferously defend his lady. And Guy. Aye, had she come back because she could not bear to be separated from the young knight?

He rose from his chair and said in an emotionless voice that chilled Rolfe to his bones, “You will go about your duties now.” He saw the worry etched in many of the faces, and added shortly, “I have heard all of you. Go now.”

He did not wait to see if they obeyed him. It was only Kassia who had ever dared to disobey him. He walked up the stairs to his bedchamber. He paused a moment, hearing Kassia’s old nurse, Etta, sobbing loudly.

“Why, my baby?” the old woman was pleading, her voice hoarse from her crying. “Why did you do it?”

“Etta,” Kassia said, sighing softly, “I did nothing. You, of all people, should believe me.”

Graelam pushed open the door. He said nothing, merely motioned to the old nurse to leave. She slithered past him, her eyes puffy with weeping.

He stood quietly for a moment, looking at his wife. She was pale, but that little chin of hers was lifted in stubborn defiance. He wanted to wrap his fingers around her slender throat, but instead he asked, “Did the men rape you?”

Kassia shook her head. “Nay, I told you that they did not harm me.”

“I would think that such ruffians as Blanche described to me would not leave such a tempting morsel as yourself with her legs together and her belly empty.”

She winced at his crudeness, but said firmly, “Their leader, Edmund, was no ruffian. Indeed, his men called him ‘my lord.’ ”

“I know of no Edmund who is a lord in these parts.”

“I do not believe it was his real name.”

“Tell me, Kassia, what did this Edmund look like?”

She took heart at the quiet, interested tone of his voice. “He was not of your size, my lord. When I saw him closely, I was reminded of sand. His hair and eyes and brows were all of that strange hue. He knew of you. Indeed, I believe he feared you.”

Despite himself, Graelam searched his memory for a man of that description. There was none that he knew of. “And that is why he returned you to me? He feared retribution?”

“Nay,” she said honestly. “I told you, ’tis my belief that he felt sorry for me.” She paused a moment, then blurted out, “He asked me if I would prefer going to Brittany or returning here.”

“And what was your reason for returning, my lady?”

“He told me that even if I returned to Belleterre,
you would still hold claim. That if you wished it, you could wage war upon my father for your rights. I could not allow that to happen.”

“Ah, behold the sacrificial little lamb.”

The menacing sneer in his voice made her close her eyes. “Please,” she whispered, desperate now, “you must believe me, Graelam.”

He regarded her thoughtfully, watching her pitiful defiance begin to crumble.

He said very softly, “Do you recall, my lady, what I told you I would do to you if you ever again tried to escape me?”

She remembered suddenly, and without thought, realizing what a ridiculous fool she was, she dashed frantically toward the door.

She felt his powerful arm lock around her waist and heave her up as if she were naught but a bag of feathers. If she struggled against him she would only hurt herself. She knew it well, but could not stop herself. She tried to twist from his grasp, but he only tightened his hold, and for an instant she felt the breath squeezed from her body.

Graelam eased her down upon her back on the bed. He sat back and regarded her intently, his fingers lightly touching her throat.

“You do not wish me to have you,” he said, his voice almost meditative. “Did you enjoy this Edmund’s caresses? Did he give you a woman’s pleasure?”

He saw the look of utter incomprehension in her wide eyes, and knew at least that she had told the truth about not being raped.

Kassia gulped. “Why will you not believe me? I have never lied.” Her expression flickered, and she quickly amended, “At least I have not lied since I was a child.”

He ignored her words. “Kassia, what did you use for payment?”

“There was no payment! Why will you not believe me?”

He frowned suddenly. “Do not move, my lady.” He rose from the bed and strode purposefully to his large chest. He jerked open the lid and riffled through the contents. Beautiful cloth rippled through his impatient fingers. He delved to the bottom and pulled up a large leather case. His fingers trembled as he opened it. The necklace, worth a king’s ransom, was gone. All hope dissolved in that moment. The depths of his disappointment startled him. He had wanted to believe her. But she had lied.

He slowly replaced the leather case in the bottom of the trunk, slowly straightened all the glittering cloth, and shut the lid.

Without a word, he strode back to the bed. “You were a fool to come back,” he said.

“I . . . I do not understand.”

“The necklace is gone.”

“What necklace?” She gazed at him, bewildered.

He did not even show that he had heard her. He leaned over her and ripped away the skirt of her gown.

Kassia gasped and tried to jerk away from him, but she was no match for his strength, and he had but to use such a small portion to subdue her. She watched him, wide-eyed, as he tore the wool into strips. He clasped her hands and drew them over her head.

“Graelam,” she began, “what are you going to do?”

“I told you, told you quite specifically before you left me again.”

“No!” she shrieked, but he tied her wrists securely above her head.

He rose and stared down at her for a long moment. He saw the terror in her eyes, the pleading. Her small breasts were heaving violently against the cloth of her tunic.

He quickly subdued her thrashing legs and spread them wide, binding each ankle. He drew his dagger, and sat down beside her.

“Please,” she whispered, nearly beyond reason, “do not hurt me.”

Slowly he sliced the dagger blade through the material. He cut each layer from her body, until she lay naked, sprawled helplessly on her back.

He straightened over her and let his eyes rove over each inch of her. “You have filled out a bit,” he said dispassionately. He lightly touched a fingertip to her breast, and felt her quiver in fear.

“I wonder if that tiny little belly of yours will ever fill with my child.”

Kassia closed her eyes against his words, against what she knew he was going to do to her. Fool, she screamed at herself. Such a fool.

She heard him disrobing, felt the bed sink down as he eased beside her. His hand splayed over her belly, and she moaned softly, helplessly.

Graelam gazed at the slender straight legs drawn so widely apart, followed their woman’s shape to the soft curls between her thighs. He touched her lightly, and she whimpered, but not with desire. Never with desire for him. What do you expect, you stupid whoreson?

Damn her! The devil take her and all women! He lurched up between her legs and grasped her hips. She was bound so securely that she could not struggle against him. He did not mean to take her, merely to frighten
her, merely prove to her that he would not allow her to make a fool of him.

He drew away his hands and sat back on his haunches, looking at her face. It was bloodless. Tears were streaming from her tightly closed eyes. He jerked away from her, her distress burning deep into him. He picked up a blanket and smoothed it over her trembling body.

He turned away from her, wishing he could close out the sound of her choking on her own tears. He cursed loudly and fluently, grabbed a towel, and wiped her face with it.

“Stop it,” he growled at her. “Stop those damned tears!”

She sniffed, and unwittingly brushed her cheek against his hand. He felt her hot, salty tears wet his palm.

He could not bear it. He untied her wrists and ankles, cursing himself for a weak bastard, even as he rubbed feeling back into her numbed flesh.

She lay passively, her sobs now noisy hiccups.

He rose. “At least you did come back,” he said, “for whatever reason.”

“I never left,” she said in a deadened voice.

He turned and quickly dressed, cursing his trembling hands. He strode to the chamber door, paused, and said over his shoulder, “You are mistress of Wolffeton, my lady. I expect a decent meal. Rouse yourself and see to it.”

He heard her quickly indrawn breath, and added harshly, “And bathe yourself. You smell of horse sweat.”

And fear, he added silently. She smelled of fear.

“Did you hurt her?” Guy demanded.

Graelam drew a sharp breath. “If I killed her, ’twould be no more than she deserved,” he said, eyeing his knight coldly.

“My lord, she told the truth. There is naught but honesty in her. If I can see it, you, as her husband, cannot be blind to it.”

“Guy, you are a fool,” Graelam said wearily, forgetting his jealousy of the younger man. “The necklace is gone.”

“The necklace from Al-Afdal’s camp?”

“Aye,” Graelam said shortly. “Damn her,” he added softly. “I would have given it to her.”

Guy studied his master’s face. He is suffering, Guy realized, shocked with his insight. For the first time in his life, he is suffering for a woman. He said no more, wanting to think. If Kassia had not taken the valuable necklace, then who had? The answer was not long in coming to him.

The evening meal, if not excellent, was at least more palatable than it would have been had Kassia not been at Wolffeton. But her movements, her instructions, were mechanical. She saw vaguely that there was pity and concern in some of the eyes that looked at her. In others, there was puzzlement. Nan regarded her with contemptuous triumph.

And there was Blanche. It had taken her benumbed brain several hours before she had realized the perfidy of the other woman. She didn’t know what to do. If she confronted Blanche, she most likely would sneer at her and call her a liar. If she told Graelam what she believed . . . She shuddered. In his eyes, Blanche was everything Kassia was not. Never would he believe her. She didn’t know what to do.

Her silence that evening in the great hall was seen by most as the proper response of a chastised wife. She avoided Graelam’s eyes, not wanting to see the distrust,
even the hatred he must feel for her. She ate little, unable to stomach the blandest of the vegetables.

“So, you will dwindle away with your sulking?”

Her head snapped up at her husband’s taunting voice.

“I do not sulk,” she said, and quickly amended, “at least I haven’t for some five years now.”

“Just as you do not lie. Then eat.” He eyed her closely, and added on a harsh drawl, “When I told you you had filled out a bit, I did not mean that you had grown presentable. You still scarce have a woman’s body.”

She flinched. So that was why he had not forced her. He found her so repulsive that he could not bring himself to take her, even in his rage.

She knew she should be ecstatic, but tears sparkled on the tips of her thick lashes.

“If you cry in front of everyone, I shall truly give you cause to do so.”

“You already have,” she said, gulping down the hated tears.

“You amaze me, Kassia,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you never tread warily?”

She said nothing, merely stared fixedly into her goblet of wine.

“Perhaps I should return you to your father. At least your absence would bring me some peace.”

The response he knew he would gain from his words was swift in coming. “Nay, please do not.”

“Ah, anything to save your father. Anything to save Belleterre. This man who felt so sorry for you, Kassia, you say it was he who told you that to return to Belleterre would lose all?”

“Aye, that is what I said to you.” She raised weary
eyes to his mocking face. “Why do you torment me? I have told you everything.” But she was lying, not telling him about Blanche, and he saw the lie in her eyes.

A surge of rage swept through him, and he gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles showed white.

“Leave me,” he said finally, his voice harsh, “and know, my lady wife, that I can make your life a hell if you do not admit to your lies.”

Blanche ate daintily, savoring every bite of the tender pork. I am safe, she thought. She was so relieved that she could not long sustain her fury at Dienwald de Fortenberry. Graelam would never believe his wife. And of course Kassia, little fool that she was, was too proud, too unbending to convince her husband otherwise. Blanche had looked closely at Kassia, searching for bruises. It had surprised her to see none, for she would have sworn that Graelam was furious enough to kill her. Again she stilled her guilt. Kassia had returned safely, and Blanche had but to bide her time.

“I had not realized that you knew of Lord Graelam’s treasure trove.”

Blanche’s heart skipped a beat at Guy’s words, but none of it showed on her lovely face. She arched an eyebrow. “You spoke, Sir Guy?”

“Aye, Blanche. You took the Saracen necklace and you hired those men to remove Kassia from Wolffeton. Did you expect them to kill her?” He shook his head thoughtfully. “No, you are not without some pity. But you wanted them to take her back to Brittany, did you not? Were you dismayed to see Kassia returned with nary a scratch?”

“Your imagination rivals the minstrels’, Guy. Pray, Sir Knight, have you other, equally interesting tales?”

Never, he knew, would he succeed in getting her to tell the truth. He would have to do something else. He stroked his jaw with his shapely hand, realizing that Blanche was single-minded, if nothing else. She had failed this time to rid herself of Kassia. He had no doubt that she would try again, and that frightened him. How could Graelam be so damnably blind? He said very softly, “Blanche, even if Kassia were dead, Graelam would not wed you.”