Nan was at first disbelieving, then utterly furious. She shot venomous glances at Kassia, saving her pleading looks for Graelam. But it was all to no avail. As for the farmer, she hated him on sight, though, objectively, he was neither old nor ill-looking.
Wolffeton’s priest, Father Tobias, married the couple with dispatch, and Graelam presented the farmer with a cask of his finest wine, as well as a dowry for Nan.
If Kassia believed Graelam to be rather cold-blooded about casting off his mistress, she had to admit to overwhelming relief that the girl would be gone. Even during the brief ceremony, she found her thoughts going over and over what had happened the previous night. It both galled and frightened her that she had felt something whilst she had kissed him, something that made her feel very warm and . . . urgent. Yet Graelam had pushed her away. Rejected her. This morning when she had awakened, he was gone, and he had greeted her in the hall as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred between them. For a moment she had felt an overwhelming urge to kick him.
She stood quietly beside him, watching Nan and her new husband ride in an open cart from Wolffeton, the cask of wine set up beside Nan like a plump child. She toyed briefly with the notion that she would tell him the bargain was off. He could no longer threaten her with Nan’s insolence. She bit her tongue. She was no longer certain that she didn’t want the bargain to continue, if continue it would. Why, she berated herself silently, hadn’t she asked her father to explain men to her?
Graelam wished fervently for a fight. His energy was inexhaustible, his mood violent. He would have even welcomed Dienwald de Fortenberry pillaging his lands if only he could meet the man in battle. Since his wish wasn’t to be granted, at least that day, he rode off with a dozen men to the village of Wolffeton, and worked frenetically to finish the defensive wall. He was utterly exhausted when he returned late that afternoon, pleased that he had exorcised his wife from his thoughts during most of the day.
But he didn’t feel as exhausted as he had believed when Kassia entered their bedchamber while he was bathing.
“I have come to assist you, my lord,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. He was relieved that the water level hid his desire from her.
“You may wash my back,” he said abruptly, and leaned forward.
Kassia stared at the broad expanse of back. She could feel the movement of sinewy muscle beneath the bathing cloth. To her surprise, she felt a rising warmth, coming, she believed, directly from her belly.
“What did you do today?” Graelam asked rather desperately, trying to distract himself.
“I have finished your new tunic. I trust you will approve.”
“What about your gown?”
“I will begin it shortly.”
Her hand dipped down below the water toward his hips, and he whipped his head around. “That is enough, Kassia. Go see to our meal.”
He thought he saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes, but it was quickly masked.
“I will be down shortly.”
She nodded, unable to speak, for there was a knot of misery forming in her throat. She left the bedchamber, and severely berated a serving wench when she carelessly dropped a silver platter.
Sir Walter de Grasse turned his gaze again to the raised dais, to Lady Kassia. He sensed her dislike of him, and found it angered him. So proud she was, the lord’s wife, who had willingly taken up with Dienwald de Fortenberry. He had heard the description of the man Edmund she had given her husband in her attempts to appease him. Features the color of coarse sand. Aye, it could be none other than de Fortenberry. Just how she had managed to meet him was beyond Walter, but he supposed that women were devious and more capable of deceit and cunning than most men believed. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on either side of his trencher. Soon, he thought, as soon as he had the opportunity, he would bring de Fortenberry here to Wolffeton. He wondered how the proud Kassia would react when she saw her lover. He frowned a moment, thinking of the men who had professed to believe her unlikely tale. No, he was certain she had lied. He only wondered why Lord Graelam seemed so gentle with her. Had she been his wife, he would have beaten her to death for such an offense.
He wondered if he should simply tell Graelam the identity of the man. Graelam’s rage would likely lead him against de Fortenberry. Sir Walter downed his goblet of ale and continued his thinking.
“Do you wish to play a game of chess with me?” Graelam asked Kassia.
“I think so,” she said, fiddling with a piece of bread.
He laughed softly. “You are not certain? As I recall, you have beaten me more times than not.”
She remembered wanting to kick him, and said more strongly, “Aye, I should enjoy it, my lord.”
When they sat across from each other in their bedchamber, the chess table between them, Graelam leaned back in his chair, watching Kassia concentrate on the position of her pieces. Very slowly he stretched out his legs, allowing his thigh to brush against her. She jumped, her eyes flying to his face.
“See to your bishop, Kassia,” he said blandly, ignoring her reaction.
“My bishop,” she repeated, tearing her eyes away from his face.
“Aye, your queen’s bishop.” He smiled at her, seeing her abstraction. He stroked his chin, his eyes gleaming. “Why do we not make the game more interesting?”
“How?”
“We have yet to trade even a pawn. Let us say that every piece you lose to me, you will kiss me.”
Kassia became very still. Her lips twitched. “And what would happen, my lord, were you to lose a piece to me?”
“Ah, in that case, I suppose I shall just have to kiss you.”
She glanced warily at the board between them. “Do you really wish to?”
“Wish to what? Kiss you?”
She nodded, still not looking at him.
“Let us just say that you will suffer my kisses as I will yours. Agreed?”
“I . . . Very well.”
On Graelam’s next move, he took her king’s knight. He sat back, watching the myriad expressions flit over her face. “Well, wife?” he asked.
“That was not a wise move, my lord,” she said stiffly. “You will lose both a bishop and a pawn.”
“I will suffer the consequences,” he said, and patted his thigh. “Come and pay your forfeit, Kassia.”
What disturbed Kassia as she slowly rose from her chair was that she wanted to kiss him. She stood beside him a moment, then allowed him to draw her onto his lap. She closed her eyes tightly and pursed her lips. She felt his large hands holding her loosely about her waist. Slowly she leaned forward and pecked him on his mouth.
“That, Kassia,” he said, his dark eyes mocking, “is hardly a kiss. Try again.”
She ran her tongue nervously over her lower lip. “I believe,” she said, “that this game could last a very long time.”
“Aye,” he said softly.
She looked deeply into his eyes, very aware of him. She wanted to ask him why he was being so kind to her. Was it possible that he finally believed that she hadn’t stolen the necklace, that she hadn’t tried to escape him? She parted her lips slightly and leaned against him. He allowed her the kiss, leaving his hands about her waist, not forcing her at all. He felt her small breasts pressing against his chest, and wondered as her tongue touched his lips if she could feel his hardness beneath her hips.
She was breathing more quickly when she broke off her kiss. He made no move to continue it, merely smiled at her. “I believe you are learning,” he said.
He felt her leaning toward him again, her eyes upon his mouth. He quickly tightened his hold about her waist and lifted her off his lap. “Onward, wife. I believe it is your move.”
Kassia felt slightly dazed. She shook her head as she sat again in her chair, forcing her attention back to the chessboard.
Her wits cleared, and she gave him an impish smile, the dimples in her cheeks deepening. “ ’Tis now your move, my lord!” she said.
“Perhaps not such a long game,” Graelam said. She had not taken his bishop, merely moved her king pawn forward another square.
Without a thought, he took her pawn, laying himself open to at least a check. He said nothing, merely patted his thighs again.
When Kassia leaned away from him this time, she wondered vaguely if he could hear her heart pounding. She squirmed a bit on his thighs, and felt his muscles tighten beneath her. She flushed at what she had done, and hung her head. “I . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she whispered.
“We will see,” Graelam said, and again lifted her off his lap.
She was forced at last to take one of his pieces. She raised her head. “I do not believe I can hold you in my lap, my lord.”
She looked so very worried that he was hard pressed not to laugh. “Then you must come here, I suppose.”
When she was settled again on his thighs, he said softly, “Remember, wife, this is my kiss. You are not to caress me or move against me.”
“But I didn’t!” she began, only to draw in her breath when his mouth closed over hers. She felt his hand on the back of her head, tangling in her hair, bringing her closer. “Just relax,” he murmured in her mouth. “You have nothing to do but close your eyes and let me kiss you.”
He didn’t press her, merely deepened the pressure slowly, as he felt her begin to respond to him. Very slowly he eased his hands around toward her breasts. To his utter delight, when he gently cupped her breasts in his hands, she moaned softly into his mouth, arching her back. He released her immediately.
Never, he thought, somewhat dazed himself, had he seen such a look of disappointment on a woman’s face. Woman. Aye, he thought, tonight he would make her a woman. As he watched her move shakily back to her chair, he wondered if she wouldn’t attack him before the game was through.
He continued to study her as she regained her wits and gazed at the board. He remembered, with some pain, how she had been so open and trusting of him before he had forced her. Would she admit the truth to him once he regained her trust? He wanted her to beg him to take her. His jaw tightened, and the next kiss he gave her was quick and passionless.
After some fifteen more minutes, Kassia had lost all but her king and two pawns.
“An exciting game,” Graelam said. “I am tired,” he continued, rising and stretching. “I wish to go to bed.” He saw her look warily at him, but ignored it. “Unless you wish for another game?”
“Nay,” she said quickly, plucking nervously at the folds of her gown.
“One final kiss for the winner. Come here, Kassia.”
She walked slowly toward him, her eyes never leaving his face. He gathered her gently to him, leaned down, and lightly touched her lips. She parted her lips without any instruction from him, and despite his intentions, his hands stroked down her back to cup around her buttocks. He drew her up until her belly was pressed against his swollen manhood. She wrapped her arms about his neck, unthinking now, only feeling. And wanting to feel more, much more. “Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?” he asked, molding her more tightly against him, his fingers caressing the curve of her hips.
“I . . . I don’t know.”
Her voice was nearly a wail.
“And if I give you what you want, will you finally admit the truth to me?”
She stared up at him blankly; then her face flooded with color, and her arms fell away from him.
If he could have kicked himself, he would have. She was stiff and cold and withdrawn.
“Come to bed,” he said harshly, and turned away from her.
He lay on his back, staring up into the darkness. He heard her sobbing in harsh little gasps, and imagined that she had stuffed her fist into her mouth. He listened until he could bear it no longer.
“Kassia,” he said softly. “Come here. I promise I will not hurt you.”
He waited patiently until she rolled toward him. He drew her into his arms, feeling the wet of her tears against his chest.
Her sobs eased as he gently stroked her back.
“I will say nothing more about it,” he said finally.
But you will never believe me!
“I want to come inside you, Kassia. I don’t think I can hold back another night.”
He felt her quiver at his words, but he did not know whether it was in fear or in anticipated pleasure. He had spoken the truth. His body was aching for release. He quickly pulled off her bedrobe and groaned with the pleasure of her naked body against his.
“You are so small, so delicate,” he whispered against her temple as his hands stroked over her breasts and belly. “Part your legs, Kassia.”
She felt his finger ease inside her and her muscles clenched convulsively. “You are ready for me,” he said. When he withdrew his finger, she felt her own wetness against her belly.
He wanted to caress her, to make her cry out for him, but his body was wound tight as a bowstring. When she moved against him, he thought he would lose control. “I cannot wait,” he gasped, and moved between her legs. Gently he eased inside her, feeling her stretch for him, feeling himself slide easily into her. He moaned at the unbelievable sensation, and thrust his full length into her. He leaned over her, cupping her face in his hands. He wished he could see her eyes. “Am I hurting you?” he asked softly into her mouth.
She shook her head. “It feels . . . odd.” Actually, she thought, as he moved slowly over her, if coupling were always this way, it was quite bearable. The thought was surprising, but more surprising was the slow ache that was building low in her belly, separate from him, yet also a part of him.
“Graelam, I . . .” Her voice suspended in bewilderment when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, just as his manhood was delving deeply into her belly. The urgent heat was building deep within her, and she moved beneath him, arching her back upward, her arms tight around his waist.
“Kassia, do not!” But it was too late. He could no longer hold back. He moaned raggedly, deep in his throat, and thrust into her. For an instant, as she felt his seed explode within her, filling her, she felt a pounding need to respond. But as he quieted over her, the need slowly faded, leaving her vaguely disappointed, not knowing what it was that she sought.
She stroked her hands over his back, kneading the thick hard muscles, enjoying the feel of his man’s body. She heard his breathing slow, felt his body relaxing over her. His weight was great, but she did not mind. No, she thought drowsily, coupling was not too bad. It didn’t hurt.
Graelam raised himself on his elbows and looked down at her shadowed face. He knew he had moved too quickly, that she had not gained a woman’s release. He cursed softly at his loss of control. She stiffened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I do not know what to do.”
“Hush,” he said softly, “ ’tis I who am as fledgling as an untried boy.”
He felt her shake her head against his shoulder.
“You are soft and pleasing, Kassia, and I wanted you very much. Soon, I promise you, you will want me equally.”
He could picture the bewildered question in her eyes at his words. He kissed her gently, and rolled onto his side, bringing her with him.
She fell asleep with the very strange feeling of his manhood resting inside her.
Kassia awoke at dawn, her eyes drawn to the bright slivers of pinkish light coming through the shutters. She stirred slightly, and quieted quickly, aware that she was half-lying on Graelam, his thigh between her legs, her cheek pillowed against the mat of thick hair on his chest. She blinked away the remnants of sleep, allowing a procession of images from the night before to flow slowly through her mind. With the intimate images came a flood of feelings. She blinked, startled at herself, but still did not move. She felt the thick muscles in his thigh pressing up against her and the feelings were no longer memories. She felt a stirring deep within her, awakening her body as surely as she had awakened with the dawn, making her move slowly and quietly against him. She
slid the palm of her hand over his chest, and felt the slow, regular pounding of his heart. She breathed deeply, relieved that he slept. She should move away from him, she thought, but her body had no intention of obeying her. Her hand slipped down through the hair on his chest to his flat, hard belly. Her fingers stroked the ridges of smooth muscle, and moved still lower. Feeling the edge of the scar at his groin, she followed its roughness over his thigh. When her arm brushed against his manhood, lying soft against him, a surge of warmth spurted through her, making her move once more against his thigh. She squeezed her eyes shut at the unbelievable sensations it brought. Her breathing quickened, and her body continued its sensuous movements, knowing instinctively what to do.
She realized that she wanted to touch him, to feel the texture of his flesh, to try to understand why his body, with no effort from him, was making her feel the way she was. Slowly, tentatively, her heart pounding loudly in the silence of the chamber, her fingers closed around him, and she cradled him in her hand.
She did not realize that she was moving rhythmically against his thigh, deepening the pressure. But Graelam did. He did not move. When her fingers closed over him he thought he would jerk upward, but he held himself still. He lifted his thigh very slowly, and the pressing, upward motion brought a small cry from her lips. Never had she taken the initiative, and he smiled with pleasure, then grimaced in the next moment, not certain how long he could remain quietly under her touch.
In a moment her hand could no longer close over him. Her head flew up to his face, and she saw him regarding her intently.
“You are awake,” she said stupidly.
“Aye,” he said, forcing himself to hold still.
A soft moan came unbidden from her mouth, and she flushed, her eyes widening in bewilderment and embarrassment. “I . . . Your leg, it makes me feel so . . .”
Fire Song Page 25
