Fire Song

by Catherine Coulter

  “Ye believe ye’re so above us all, don’t ye, my fine lady?”

  She turned at Nan’s sneering voice, and frowned. The girl stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her hair tossed back, long and thick down her back. Normally she did not allow Nan’s insolence to bother her, for after all, the wench did bed with Graelam. But this attack was both unexpected and beyond the line.

  “What do you want, Nan?” she asked crisply, rising.

  “That old crone Etta told me ye wanted me to scrub down the trestle tables.”

  “Yes, that is what I wish you to do.”

  “We’ll see about that!” Nan muttered, and flounced away.

  Kassia frowned. She frowned again several hours later when she finished sewing on her silk gown and went into the great hall. The trestle tables hadn’t been cleaned. Furthermore, Nan was sitting in Kassia’s chair, waving her hands, giving outlandish orders in a loud, shrewish voice in an effort to mimic her. Kassia felt a surge of rage, and strode into the hall.

  The other servants saw her before Nan, and quickly lowered their heads, bending more ardently to their tasks.

  “Get out of my chair,” Kassia said in a cold voice. “Now.”

  Nan jumped, and slithered out of the chair, responding to the voice of authority. But she quickly straightened and faced Kassia.

  “You will do your assigned tasks, Nan, else you will go into the laundry shed or the fields.”

  “Nay, my lady,” Nan said, eyeing her with open contempt. “Ye haven’t the power to do that. My lord would never allow it.” She ran a hand through her gleaming long hair. “Aye, ye haven’t the power. ’Tis hard work, cleaning the trestle tables. My lord wouldn’t want me to use my energy and become too tired for him.”

  Kassia heard a soft snicker behind her. She closed her eyes for a brief instant. She was the mistress of Wolffeton. This little slut could not be allowed to speak to her thus, else she would lose all control. She drew herself up to her full height.

  “You will still your insolent mouth, Nan, and do the work I ordered you to do. Now.”

  “Nay, my lady. ’Tis too hard a task. My lord won’t want me to harm his child.” She clasped her arms about her belly, her eyes challenging Kassia.

  Child! Graelam’s child! Kassia felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Her eyes traveled over Nan, and even she could now see the slight bulge at her waist. If she had had a knife, she would have stabbed it into Nan and then into Graelam.

  Graelam stood in the shadows of the great oak door. Nan’s startling words surprised him, but it was not she who held his attention. Kassia looked both ill and furious. He knew that he could not allow Nan to gainsay her mistress, knew it as well as he suspected Kassia did. He strode forward, drawing all eyes.

  Kassia saw him and wondered dully how much he had overheard. She stood numbly, waiting for him to complete her humiliation.

  “My lord!” Nan cried, and started toward him.

  Graelam raised a hand. “What is happening here, my lady?” he asked Kassia.

  He knows exactly what has happened, she thought, and he is baiting me. He will make me say what I believe in front of the servants, then say exactly the opposite. She forced herself to meet his dark gaze. She said in a cool, clear voice, “I have given Nan a task, my lord. She does not wish to do it because she carries a child.” Your child.

  “I see,” he said. He turned to Nan. “What is this task that would be so wearing on you?”

  “Scrubbing the trestle tables, my lord. The duke’s men were pigs, and left them filthy.”

  Graelam gazed back toward his wife. He saw her hands fisted against her sides. He smiled slightly. “Begin the task, Nan, as your mistress instructed. My lady, you will please accompany me now.”

  Begin the task. Kassia looked at him warily. Nan cocked her head to one side, but realized enough to keep her mouth shut. Perhaps he simply didn’t wish to embarrass his skinny wife in front of all the servants. She probably should have told him of the child before she attacked Kassia.

  “Very well, my lord,” she said sweetly. “I shall begin the work.”

  “Come, Kassia,” Graelam said, and walked from the hall.

  Kassia knew she had no choice. She trailed after him, her shoulders square and her chin raised.

  He waited until she had entered their bedchamber, then quietly closed the door. He said nothing for a long moment, merely watched her. That little chin of hers, he noticed, was raised again for battle.

  “It is your child, of course,” Kassia said, hearing the tremor of anger in her voice.

  “I suspect so,” he said calmly.

  “I suppose you expect me to thank you for not humiliating me in front of the servants.”

  “You could, but I doubt that you will.”

  His utter disinterest riled her beyond reason. “I am the mistress of Wolffeton!” she shouted at him.

  “Are you?” he asked calmly. “In some ways I suppose that you are. In others, my lady, you are sorely lacking.”

  “Just as are you, my lord!”

  To her surprise, he nodded. “It is true. Now, you will heed me well, my lady. I put a stop to Nan’s insolence for the moment. I will handle the wench to your satisfaction if you will agree to become the mistress of Wolffeton in all ways.”

  “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “I see I have your full attention. Here is the bargain I propose, my lady. You will come to me willingly in my bed. You will no longer act the outraged maiden or the passive victim. If you refuse, I imagine your life could be particularly unpleasant.”

  He expected her to draw back in disgust, but she didn’t move. Her eyes remained wide and questioning on his face. “What do you mean that you will handle Nan to my satisfaction?”

  “Ah, the terms of the agreement. You are wise to have everything clear before agreeing or disagreeing. I will marry the wench off and remove her from Wolffeton. You will never have to deal with her insolence again. That is, if you agree.”

  Kassia could easily imagine what would happen if Nan gained the upper hand. She raised her chin even higher. “I do not think that it is your right to interfere at all in how I manage the servants. And that includes your precious mistress.”

  “Then I take it that you do not agree to my . . . bargain?”

  He thought he heard her curse, and it made him want to smile.

  “You have not the right! Will you take everything from me?”

  “On the contrary,” he said smoothly. “I wish to give you more. A woman’s pleasure, for example. Such pleasure truly does exist, I promise you.”

  “Give it to your slut, damn you!”

  He regarded her calmly and said, “How I envy Guy. I heard Blanche’s cries of pleasure on their wedding night. Would you grant to Guy what you refuse to grant to me?”

  “I would grant none of you anything!”

  “Enough, Kassia. What is your answer?”

  “If I refuse, will you release Nan from all her duties and make her the mistress of Wolffeton?”

  Of course he would not, but he saw that Kassia did not realize that. He merely shrugged, looking bored and impatient.

  She looked away from him, her hands clenching and unclenching in front of her. “I don’t know what to do!” she cried.

  “All I desire is your . . . cooperation. I will teach you the rest. Come, wife, my men await me. What is your answer?”

  “I . . . I agree,” she said in a whisper.

  He made no move toward her. “Very well. Now you will come with me back into the hall and give Nan her orders. I will endeavor to find her a husband.”

  Kassie followed him, her thoughts in a whirl. Why did he even bother? Why was it so important to him that she enjoy coupling? She did not understand him.

  Nan gasped in disbelief, her eyes pleading on Graelam’s face. She pleased him, the whoreson, she thought venomously, and now he was choosing his skinny wife over her! It occurred to her that she had pushed Kassia too hard, chall
enged her too openly. She saw it in the eyes of the other servants. They were enjoying her downfall, rot them! She had to speak to Graelam alone.

  Graelam took Kassia’s hand and drew her with him to the inner bailey. “You will begin to fulfill your bargain this night, wife.” He squeezed her hand slightly, and left her to stare after him, gooseflesh rising on her arms.

  Later Graelam watched Sir Walter wash down his head and torso at the well. “All goes well, Walter?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “I wish you to ride with three men tomorrow morning to the demesne farm that lies due west three miles. The farmer’s name is Robert, I believe, and he has recently lost his wife. I want you to bring him to Wolffeton.”

  Walter readily agreed, not caring why Graelam wanted the farmer brought to Wolffeton. He only wished he could travel farther than the three miles, toward Dienwald de Fortenberry’s stronghold.

  Graelam decided wisely not to speak to Nan until the following day. He had no real faith that Kassia would hold to the bargain. He felt nothing in particular about Nan or the fact that she carried his child. He would provide support, of course, and pay the farmer well to marry her. It was his second bastard. The first, a girl, had died in her first year of life. His father had bragged about the wenches he had gotten with child, and claimed more than a dozen children. However, Graelam had never seen any resemblance to himself in any of the peasants around Wolffeton. He thought of Kassia’s small belly filled with his child and felt an intense jolt of pleasure. I am becoming a half-wit, he told himself, and roared furiously at one of his men-at-arms who had bungled his lance.

  “Your hair is growing quickly, my baby,” Etta said as she brushed through the shiny tresses. “I believe it is thicker than before your illness. Still, you should not wear a wimple or even a snood.”

  Kassia looked into the polished silver mirror. Her chestnut hair fell in soft curls nearly to her shoulders. “Aye,” she said in a clipped voice, “I begin to look like a female again.” In just a few minutes, I will have to pretend that I like being one! Oddly enough, she remembered how she had liked her husband touching her and kissing her, until he had hurt her. Until he had shown how much he despised her. How could anything be different now?

  “Your lord dealt well with that little slut, Nan,” Etta continued as she straightened the chamber from Kassia’s bath. “You will no longer have to put up with her tantrums.”

  “No, I will not,” Kassia said.

  “I have also heard that the new knight, Sir Walter, is not as popular with the men as was Sir Guy.”

  “Where did you hear that?” Kassia asked sharply.

  Etta shrugged. “From one of the men, likely. I do not remember. I find him a cold lout, and a secretive one.”

  “I wonder what Graelam thinks of him,” Kassia said, more to herself than to her old nurse.

  “Your lord is an astute man. If Sir Walter is not what he appears, he will soon be ousted.”

  “I trust you are right, Etta.”

  “Right about what?” Graelam asked as he came into the chamber.

  Etta replied readily enough, “Right about Sir Walter.”

  “Perhaps,” Kassia essayed bravely, “he is not what he appears to be.”

  Graelam’s brows drew together in a mighty frown. “Has he bothered you?”

  Kassia blinked at him. “Nay, my lord, it is just that I do not completely trust him. He reminds me somehwat of Geoffrey.”

  “I see,” Graelam said. He dismissed Etta and stood quietly watching his wife fidget about the room, her hands going again and again to the sash at her waist.

  “Are you still of the same mind, my lady?” he asked quietly.

  She swallowed and nodded, not meeting his eyes.

  “I promised you once that I would not force you again. You still believe that you will have to bear pain and pretend to enjoy me, do you not?”

  “I have known nothing else,” she said, her eyes focused on her bare feet, sinking down into the soft carpet.

  “You will tonight.”

  “I . . . I will try, Graelam.”

  There was a soft rap on the door and Graelam opened it. Evian handed him a tray upon which stood wine and two goblets.

  “You do not have to make me drunk, my lord!”

  He smiled at her. “Nay, but I do think you need to relax a bit, my lady. Here.” He handed her a goblet of wine, then poured himself one.

  She sipped at the cool sweet wine slowly, wondering vaguely how it slipped down her clogged throat. She felt her face grow warm as she downed a second goblet. Everything seemed softer, her tongue loosened, and she spoke her thoughts aloud. “Why is it important to you that I . . . that I like coupling with you?”

  “I do not want my child conceived in fear,” he said, knowing he wasn’t being honest with her.

  “Does it matter?”

  “To me it does.” He did not want to probe his own reasons, and said abruptly, “Enough wine, Kassia. Get into bed now.”

  She obeyed him, forcing herself not to burrow under the covers.

  He watched her from the corner of his eye as he quickly undressed. Indeed, he thought, why did it matter what she felt? She was but a woman, and his wife. But it did matter, and for whatever reason, he was pleased that he had thought of a way to ensure her compliance. He saw her face pale when he eased into the bed beside her. She thinks I will savage her now, he thought. He smiled wryly, stretched upon his back, and pillowed his head with his arms. After a moment he asked, “Did Nan do your bidding?”

  “Aye, but unwillingly.”

  Her reply was barely above a strangled whisper. It was time, he decided, to see if she would hold to the bargain. “Kassia, come here.”

  He did not look at her, but felt the bed sink down as she moved toward him. “Now,” he said quietly, turning his head to look at her, “I want you to kiss me.”

  Kassia frowned a moment, wondering at him. He hadn’t moved. His hands were still pillowed beneath his head. Slowly she rose on her elbow, leaned down, and quickly pecked him on his mouth.

  “Excellent,” he said gravely. Still he did not move. “Now I want you to kiss me again, only this time, part your lips just a bit.”

  He felt her warm breath, sweet from the wine, as her lips brushed his mouth again. He looked up into her eyes and smiled. “That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

  She shook her head.

  “I want to feel your tongue on my mouth. It will not hurt, I promise you.”

  As Kassia, filled with embarrassment and wariness, did as he bid her, she became aware, very slowly, of her body pressed against him. He is so large, she thought vaguely, for the first time feeling his tongue lightly touch hers. She drew back an instant, but as he made no move, joined her tongue with his. It is the wine that is making me feel warm, she thought. She was unaware that her hand now rested on his chest, and her fingers were tentatively winding in his thick mat of hair.

  When she raised her head, she was panting slightly, and there was a look of profound worry in her eyes. He wanted to laugh and at the same time to crush her against him, but he did neither. “Again, Kassia,” he said softly.

  He allowed her to do just as she wished, and was delighted when she deepened the kiss, her hand now on his shoulder, her fingers digging into his flesh. He felt her soft breasts pressing against his chest, and wondered if he could control himself. Very slowly he brought one hand from beneath his head to rest lightly on her back. He felt her start and draw back, wary again. He began to stroke her soft hair, steeling himself against the raging desire she was raising in him.

  He thought he would explode when her hand drifted over his chest, downward to his belly.

  “Do you like the way I feel?” he asked her, the words warm in her mouth.

  He answer was a small gasp as she whipped her hand away. She did not know why she had wanted to touch him. It was as if her body was no longer taking orders from her mind.

  “I . . . I do not mind kiss
ing you,” she managed after a breathless moment.

  “I am pleased,” he said, hearing the rough huskiness in his voice. St. Peter’s bones, he thought, barely stifling a groan, this was a torture he could never have imagined.

  She was kissing his chin now, her fingers sliding beneath his head to bring him closer to her.

  When she made another foray into his mouth, he felt her quiver when his tongue touched hers. Her bare thigh was rubbing lightly against his, and he could feel her tentative urgency. If he allowed her to continue, he knew that he would lose control.

  He gently brought his other hand down and clasped her shoulder, pushing her away from him. “You have done well,” he said, looking closely into her vague eyes. “Go to sleep now, Kassia.”

  She stared at him stupidly, aware of the coiling heat in her belly, aware that her breasts felt tingly and swollen, aware that she did not want to stop what she was doing. “I . . . I don’t understand,” she gasped.

  “Go to sleep,” he repeated. He pushed her gently away from him and rolled over onto his stomach, his head turned away from her. He knew that she had not moved. He smiled painfully, and added quietly, “I want you to take off your bedrobe. When you become cold during the night, I want you to come to me for warmth. Good night, wife.”

  Kassia’s numbed fingers pulled at the belt, flinging it away from her. She slipped out of the bedrobe, and with a deep, confused sigh, curled up on her side. “I will never understand you,” she said into the darkness.

  Perhaps, he thought, still striving to calm his breathing, he would never understand himself.

  23

  The farmer Robert was delighted with the offer of a new wife. That she carried the lord’s child bothered him not a bit. She was a comely wench and quite young. With the sons she would doubtless bear him, his farm would prosper, and him along with it. As for the lord’s child, that one would be well taken care of. He realized quickly that she was not at all pleased with the prospect of becoming his wife, but he thought tolerantly that would quickly change.