Fire Song

by Catherine Coulter

  Graelam said calmly, “My lord duke, this is Lady Kassia, my wife.”

  The Duke of Cornwall felt a tug of surprise. The slight little creature standing so resolutely before him, her large eyes fastened upon his face, bore little resemblance to the dirty urchin who had so insolently forced her way into the hall the day before. She was a lovely girl, and had an air of great sweetness about her. And uncertainty.

  He felt a tug of protectiveness that surprised him. He was too old to be such a fool. But nonetheless he said in a very gentle voice, “Lord Graelam is blessed in his bride, my lady. Allow me to welcome you to England.”

  “Thank you, my lord duke,” Kassia said. “Even in Brittany, your name is much revered. My father used to tell me that you should have been the King of England, for you are brave and decisive, and fair to all your people.”

  The duke laughed. “It is God who decides these matters, my lady,” but nonetheless, Graelam saw him preening at her praise. He wasn’t certain whether to be annoyed at her flattery or pleased.

  “My father also says that our own king, the sainted Louis, was too much in God’s service. That God should have released him to rule his people.”

  “And what do you believe, my lady?”

  “I, my lord duke? It is my belief that there is quite enough misery and injustice at home to keep the most sainted of men well-occupied.”

  “Well, my lord,” the duke said to Graelam. “Perhaps it is your wife who can convince Edward to return to take his throne. I will remember your words, my lady, when next I write my nephew.”

  Kassia flushed at his kind words, and said quickly, “There is but bread and cheese to offer you, and fresh milk.”

  Graelam frowned. It was a miserable offering to the king’s uncle! “Nan,” he roared. “Bring food for the duke!”

  “Fresh milk,” the duke mused aloud. “It has been a long time, my lady. Yea, a very long time.”

  “It is very beneficial to your health, I am told, my lord duke. Please, will you not be seated?”

  Graelam eyed his wife. She was acting every bit the lady of the castle, and for some reason, that angered him. Perhaps her pleasing hesitancy before him was all an act. Perhaps she was just as much the shrew as Joanna.

  “I will see to your milk, my lord,” he said to the duke. “This glass is for my wife.” He thought perversely that she was more in need of it than the duke.

  Kassia looked quickly up at her husband. He was kind, she thought, and she had no reason to fear him. He could not, after all, help his harsh looks and huge body.

  The Duke of Cornwall chuckled at Graelam’s retreating back and obligingly settled his old bones into Graelam’s chair. “Tell me of Brittany, my lady,” he said, drinking the milk she handed him.

  “It reminds me much of Cornwall, my lord,” she said, sitting on the edge of a bench, all the world like a precocious child eager to please. “Perhaps a bit colder.” She shivered, her eyes upon the damp stone walls of the hall.

  “Wolffeton has long been without a mistress, my lady,” the duke said kindly. “Lord Graelam is a warrior and thus pays heed only to his fortifications. And his sojourn in the Holy Land left Wolffeton in my nominal care. The serfs have grown lazy, I fear.”

  “I know nothing of fortifications, my lord,” Kassia said firmly, “but I will endeavor to make Wolffeton more pleasing for you on your next visit.”

  The duke shifted slightly in his chair. He had thought Kassia a pleasing child, but without spine. Now he saw differently and he felt a surge of concern for her. Graelam was no gentle man to be ruled by a woman.

  The duke’s silence made Kassia shiver with dread. “Has my husband . . . accepted me, my lord duke?” she asked quietly, unaware that her fingers were clutching the wool of her gown.

  The duke frowned. “So he spoke to you of an annulment,” he said.

  Kassia nodded. “Aye, last evening.” She raised her head and gazed at the duke directly, her eyes proud and intense. “He must accept me, my lord duke. My father chose him to be my husband and the protector of Belleterre. Perhaps he prefers the Lady Joanna, but I will bring him wealth and much valuable land.”

  “Aye, he told me as much.” The duke set down the empty goblet and hunched forward in Graelam’s chair, his bony fingers tapping together. “My lady,” he began, “your husband is a powerful man. The alliance with the de Moreleys would have added to his power and his wealth. He is a close friend of my nephew, the King of England. You offer him land, ’tis true, but to hold it, he will have to fight, undoubtedly. And that, my lady, requires fighting men.”

  “You are telling me, my lord duke, that my father asked too much of Lord Graelam?”

  The duke chuckled. “Nay, dear child, Graelam is not a man to be led by the nose. He is more comfortable bashing heads than sitting in his castle. He is a man bred to war. ’Tis just that I would prefer he fight in England, if need be, or in the service of the king. I tell you this so you may understand. A marriage is an alliance between two houses, each bringing value to the other. You have brought Lord Graelam value, but to keep it, he will tempt his unscrupulous neighbors to take advantage of his absence.”

  “You believe,” Kassia said slowly, “that I should allow my marriage to be annulled?”

  “Nay, child. You are being too fair. You cannot protect both your father’s interests and Lord Graelam’s. I suspect that your loyalties still lie with your father. After all, you do not know your husband. Allow Lord Graelam to decide, and do not interfere.” The duke sat back a moment, watching Kassia think about what he had said. She is intelligent, he thought, not particularly discomfited by his observation, even though she was but a woman.

  “I believe,” Kassia said finally, “that Lord Graelam has already decided. He presented me to you as his wife.”

  “Aye, he has decided, my lady. But your problems are not yet solved. There is still Charles de Marcey, the Duke of Brittany, to placate. This cousin of yours appears to have some part of the duke’s ear. You must bear a son within the year, my lady, else Charles may still believe your cousin’s charges that this marriage is a sham.”

  A child! Kassia gulped, her hands moving unconsciously to her belly.

  “Ah, Graelam, I was just giving your bride an old man’s advice.”

  Graelam set another goblet of milk before Kassia. He cocked a black brow at the duke, saying nothing.

  “It would perhaps be worth your trouble to take Kassia for a visit to Belleterre and to the Duke of Brittany when she is carrying your child. Her swollen belly would do much to still her cousin, I believe.”

  Graelam slanted a look toward Kassia at the duke’s blunt words. She was sipping her milk, her eyes downcast. “You are right,” he said calmly. “But first my lady must regain her health and her strength.”

  “I am strong and healthy now, my lord,” Kassia said, her chin thrusting upward.

  The Duke of Cornwall threw back his head and laughed heartily. Graelam saw Kassia’s face drain of color. He grinned, knowing she had not realized the import of her words. “It is wise, is it not, Kassia,” he said, “to think carefully before you speak?”

  He was teasing her, Graelam thought, somewhat surprised at himself. Rarely had he jested with a woman. He turned to the duke and assisted him out of his chair.

  “I will take my leave of you, Graelam,” the duke said. “I have but one word of advice to you, my lord,” he added, his eyes resting for a moment on Kassia. “Wolffeton now has a mistress—”

  Aye, Kassia thought, likely several mistresses, given the look on the serving wench’s face.

  “—a lady to add comfort to your keep.” The duke paused, seeing Graelam frown. It was true, he thought, he was meddling. It was none of his affair. “Aye,” he said, “a lovely mistress. Perhaps I will see you both in London,” he added, “if I can but convince my nephew to return to England. I plan myself to oversee his coronation.”

  “Edward loves splendor and ceremony,” Graelam said. “Make your
letters to him reek of this and perhaps you’ll seduce him home.”

  “Aye, mayhap I will.” The duke rubbed his hands together. “Mayhap I will hint to him of rebellion. Edward is like you, Graelam. He prefers nothing more than fighting. I must take my leave. My lady, I came to Wolffeton expecting to be bored with ceremony. You provided a charming diversion.”

  10

  Kassia carefully held up her skirts, not wanting to dirty them in the muck from the rain that had fallen earlier in the afternoon. It was disgraceful, she thought, filth so close to the cooking outbuilding. Her husband obviously had no interest in the place where his meals were prepared, but Kassia kept her thoughts to herself, for the moment.

  “You are not overtiring yourself?”

  “Oh no, my lord,” Kassia said quickly. “Your keep is surely vast, but I wish to see all of it.”

  “Even the armorer’s?”

  There was a touch of amusement in his deep voice, and Kassia, emboldened by it, smiled impishly up at him. “Aye,” she said, “even the armorer’s. Perhaps I can give him some suggestions to improve your gear.”

  They toured the falconery after the armory, and Graelam, seeing Kassia’s excitement, gave her a peregrine falcon for a gift.

  “He is mine?” she asked, gazing at the beautiful bird, who was in turn regarding her with an unblinking stare.

  “Aye, he is yours.”

  “Oh, thank you, my lord!” Without thought, Kassia clasped his arms in her delight at his generosity.

  “Do you hunt?” he asked, smiling down at her.

  She nodded happily and turned quickly away from him to croon soft words to her falcon. “What is he called, my lord?”

  “Strangely enough, his name is Hawk.”

  Her tinkling laughter rang out. “Ah, you are much too noble to carry such an insulting name,” she said to her falcon.

  “When you are stronger, we will hunt,” Graelam said. “Hawk can bring down a heron without breaking his speed.”

  Kassia wanted to tell him that she was strong as a mule, but indeed she was tiring. The long journey had weakened her. That, and coming face to face with a man who was her husband, and a stranger.

  “I thank you, my lord,” she said. “You are very kind.”

  Her voice rang with sincerity and Graelam felt inordinately uncomfortable for a moment. “Your father, my lady,” he said harshly, “was perhaps overly generous in his view of me.”

  “My father,” Kassia said firmly, “is never wrong about a person’s character.”

  “Thus I am kind because Maurice tells you so?”

  “Aye, and of course, you did give me Hawk.”

  “I did, did I not?” Graelam said. “Come, Kassia, it is beginning to rain again. I do not wish you to become ill.”

  Graelam strode toward the keep, Kassia hiking up her skirts to keep up with him. He turned at a sharp cry and saw her stumble on a slick cobblestone. He caught her easily and lifted her in his arms.

  “I am clumsy,” she said in a breathless voice.

  “And you weigh no more than a child.”

  Kassia turned her body against him and he felt her soft breasts against his chest. His body reacted immediately. She was his wife and he could take her now, if he wished. His breathing quickened.

  Unaware of his thoughts, Kassia laughed softly. “When I was recovering from the fever, my father was forever pouring his Aquitaine wine down me. I feared I would become a drunkard with a red nose. I promise that I will be plump as a spring goose before long, my lord.”

  He did not reply and Kassia smiled contentedly. He was kind and strong and he appeared to at least like her. She felt his arm tighten beneath her thighs and sudden rosy color washed over her cheeks. She ducked her head down against his shoulder. They had entered the hall, yet her husband still held her close.

  “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  Graelam’s hold on her eased and he let her down. “Blanche,” he said. “Have you yet met Kassia?”

  “I bid you welcome,” Blanche said sweetly. She stared at the girl standing so close to Graelam. She looked for the word like a boy with her tumbled curls, and skinny. Blanche smiled. She knew Graelam preferred women with more ample proportions. He could not be pleased with this sorry excuse for a wife. During the long preceding night and the equally long day she had finally accepted the fact that she would never be mistress of Wolffeton, and Graelam’s wife. It was, she supposed, her fervent dislike of Joanna that had kept her from seeing the futility of her wishes, that and the growing dislike she saw Graelam evince toward his betrothed. But Joanna was gone and Kassia was here, already wed to Graelam. But what of my son? she wondered.

  Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but Kassia, still flushed at her reaction to her husband’s arms, did not notice. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  “I am Lord Graelam’s sister-in-law,” Blanche said. “Blanche de Cormont. Would you like a cup of ale, my lord?”

  “Aye, Blanche,” Graelam said. He looked down for a moment at Kassia. “And a cup of wine for Kassia.”

  Kassia watched Blanche give instructions to one of the serving wenches. The girl appeared sullen, her eyes darting toward Kassia before she took herself off.

  Blanche walked gracefully to Graelam’s chair and carefully pulled it away from the trestle table.

  “I understand,” she said to Kassia, “that you have been quite ill.”

  Kassia nodded, pleased that Graelam motioned for her to sit beside him. “Aye,” she said. “But I am well now.”

  “Perhaps not entirely, yet,” Graelam said.

  Blanche took the goblet of ale from the serving girl and handed it herself to Graelam. She nodded to the girl to give the wine to Kassia.

  “You still look rather pale and . . . thin,” she said, sitting herself near to Graelam. “Perhaps, my lord,” she continued in a soft voice, “you wish me to continue in my present duties until she is stronger?” Why am I doing this to myself when there is no hope?

  Kassia stiffened. She shot a look toward her husband, waiting for him to tell his sister-in-law that she needn’t bother. To her chagrin, Graelam smiled warmly at Blanche. “Aye, thank you, Blanche.” He downed his ale, wiped his hand across his mouth, and asked, “Where is Guy?”

  “I do not know,” Blanche said, her lips thinning. How he must be laughing at her now!

  Graelam rose from his chair. “Kassia,” he said, “I must meet with my steward, Blount. Why do you not rest for a couple of hours?”

  Kassia didn’t know what to say. She was too uncertain of her husband to tell him plainly that she wished to direct the servants, but without his permission, she could accomplish nothing. She knew Blanche was watching her. She nodded, saying nothing, and watched her husband stride from the hall.

  “We have the evening meal in two hours,” Blanche said. “Would you like me to have one of the serving wenches show you to your chamber?”

  Perhaps she is his mistress, Kassia thought, and thus her power with him. But no, that made no sense. Lord Graelam would not take his own sister-in-law, and a lady, to his bed. She looked about the hall, seeing at least a dozen servants watching them. Did they expect her and Blanche to pull each other’s hair out?

  “Not as yet,” Kassia said.

  “You are scarce more than a girl,” Blanche continued after a moment. “Your marriage to Lord Graelam came as a shock to everyone. I shall try to shield you from the . . . unkindness of the servants and Lord Graelam’s men.”

  For a long moment Kassia gave Blanche a puzzled stare. “Why should anyone be unkind to me, Blanche? I do not understand your concern.”

  “Wolffeton is a very large keep. There are many servants to direct. I doubt that you have the experience to make them do your bidding.”

  Kassia laughed warmly. “My home in Brittany—Belleterre—is as vast as Wolffeton. My mother died when I was quite young and I have kept my father’s castle for a number of years. Indeed, I read and write and keep accounts. My husba
nd did not ally himself to an orphan waif, Blanche.” She was tempted to ask what experience Blanche had had, for the keep did not show a woman’s caring attention.

  “I am pleased,” Blanche said. She dropped her eyes to her lap to cover her sharp disappointment and frustration.

  “My lord Graelam,” Kassia said after a moment, “did he care mightily for Lady Joanna?”

  “Lady Joanna is very beautiful,” Blanche said honestly. “Her hair is long, to her hips, and nearly silver, it is so light. Aye, he has—had—very strong feelings for her.”

  Kassia unconsciously touched her fingers to her own short curls. “I see,” she said, feeling suddenly miserable.

  “Lady Joanna also has . . . strong passions,” Blanche continued. “In that, she was well-suited to Lord Graelam. He is a very demanding man, so I have heard. I hear the serving wenches gossip—only the comely ones, of course. He is evidently so large a man that he has hurt some of them. And, of course, he never tires.”

  Blanche saw that Kassia was staring at her, uncomprehending. So it was true, just as she had heard. Graelam had not taken his young wife as yet. The thought of Graelam coupling with Kassia made her continue. “You are very small,” she said in a pitying voice, leaning close to Kassia. “I hope that you will be brave enough to bear the pain.”

  “My lord is kind,” Kassia said.

  Blanche heard the uncertainty and fear in her voice. Graelam deserved a shrinking wife in his bed, damn him. “Of course,” she said lightly, and rose. “Now that he is wed,” she added gently, “perhaps his other women will be relieved of their duties, for a while at least.” She knew she was being cruel, utterly mean, in fact, but she stifled her guilt at her lie, for her own disappointment was too fresh to bear in silent submission. She left Kassia, now parchment pale at her words, sitting rigidly in her chair, her hands twisting in her lap. At the very least, Graelam would regret not taking Blanche to his bed when she had offered herself to him. Perhaps, she thought, his innocent little wife would quickly come to despise him. It would be her revenge. She had nothing else, at least for the moment.