Etta did not pretend to misunderstand her. “Your lord is most concerned for your welfare,” she began.
“Do not spin tales, Etta. He believes a wife’s only worth is in breeding children. I was stupid, and forgot that.”
“You will carry another child, my baby. I could see no harm done.”
“Aye, it is my duty to do something my lord approves of,” she said dully. “I will not be so stupid as to want something more—ever again.”
“You will cease this silly talk!” Etta said sharply, her brow furrowed with worry. “ ’Tis a man’s kingdom,” she continued after a moment, searching for the right words. “ ’Tis men who rule, men who make the rules.”
“Aye, and it is a woman’s duty to give birth to more of them so they may subjugate the lot who have the misfortune to be born girls!”
Etta tried frantically to think of something soothing to say, for Kassia was becoming flushed. Her thinking halted abruptly at the sound of Lord Graelam’s voice. Oh my God, she thought frantically, how much had he heard?
“You speak the truth, my lady, but your words are overly harsh and bitter. Men rule because they are the only ones fit to do so. A woman does have worth, you are right, for men cannot continue unless women birth them.”
“Now I have no worth,” Kassia said matter-of-factly. She felt oddly devoid of feeling, and blessedly numb.
“I did not say that,” Graelam said evenly. “I trust only that you now will see to your woman’s duties.”
She looked at him straight, all hope in her quashed, and said very calmly, “If I but knew how to get a message to Dienwald de Fortenberry, I should be tempted to offer him that wretched necklace to take me away. That would please you. ‘Tis a pity that Blanche is no longer here to wed you.”
He clenched his teeth, feeling a muscle in his jaw jump convulsively. “But you do know how to reach Dienwald de Fortenberry, do you not?”
“My lord,” Etta said, rising to face him, “she is overly tired and knows not what she says. She must have rest!”
Graelam smiled grimly, remembering how he had come to comfort her, to spend time with her while she mended. But her drawing words had wrenched anger from him. “I will leave her to your tender ministrations,” he said, and left the chamber.
“You must not say things like that,” Etta scolded her gently.
“Why? It matters not, Etta. Nothing matters, not anymore.”
The inked quill hovered over the parchment, but she knew she could not write to her father of the despair in her heart. She inquired after his health and the winter weather in Brittany, then detailed inanely all the household improvements she had made. She did not ask him about Geoffrey, knowing that if he were to plan anything, her father would send a message to Graelam, not her. She wrote nothing of the lost babe or the state of calm indifference that existed between her and Graelam. She had just finished sprinkling sand on the parchment when Blount entered the small chamber.
“You write your father, my lady?”
“Aye, ‘tis done, Blount.”
He looked at her and then down at the parchment. “My lord will read what you have written, my lady,” he reminded her in gentle warning.
She took his meaning well, but merely smiled wearily at him. “I know. There is naught within to anger him.” She rose and shook out the skirt of her wool gown. “Indeed, it is so boring, perhaps my lord will think it useless to send.” She walked slowly to the small window and drew back the wooden shutters. “It does not feel like the end of February. There is the sweet smell of spring in the air.”
“Aye, ‘tis uncommonly warm today.” Blount eyed his mistress, worry drawing a deep furrow in his brow. “Why do you not ride out, my lady?” he suggested gently.
“Perhaps I shall,” Kassia said, turning. “Aye, ‘tis a good idea.”
Though the weather was mild, Kassia dressed warmly, choosing a velvet mantle lined with miniver. A month, she thought, walking slowly to the stables, a month waging a war without fighting. She smiled grimly. She should be used to it by now. During her short marriage she had endured more bitter than sweet, and now the bitter seemed unending. She greeted servants and Graelam’s man-at-arms, all of whom, had she but noticed, held sympathy in their eyes.
Bran was in the stables. At the sight of her his face turned pale and he rushed to her. “My lady, you must forgive me! Those damned horses, and ’twas all my fault!”
Kassia raised a hand. “You will not blame yourself, Bran. ’Twas my decision to compete and my decision not to ride my mare. No, say no more. It is over and best forgotten. I am well again. Indeed, I am riding out now to enjoy the lovely weather.”
No one tried to stop her. She waved to the porter, but did not slow Bluebell’s gentle canter. The sky was a vivid blue with fleecy clouds drifting slowly overhead. The slight breeze grew stiffer the closer she drew to the sea. She threw back her head and breathed in the crisp, salty scent of the water. She guided Bluebell down the rocky path to the small cove, the place where Graelam had taken her so slowly, and held her so gently. No, she would not think of that. She slid from Bluebell’s back and tethered her to a bare-branched yew bush that thrust out of a rocky crevice.
Kassia walked along the beach, watching the water slowly rise closer as the tide came in. It was so peaceful here. If only, she thought, raking her hand through her hair, she could know this peace all of the time. She sat down on an outjutting boulder, tucking her feet beneath her to protect them from the encroaching waves that pounded against the lower rocks, spewing white mist upward. Her mind flitted to many things, always returning to Graelam and the bitterness of her life with him. She accepted that she loved him, knowing she was a fool to do so, but unable to change the feelings that seemed so deeply embedded within her. He would always blame her for losing the babe. After all, what else was she good for? She gave vent to a mirthless laugh. She should not allow herself to forget what excellent meals he and his men now enjoyed.
And he would always believe her guilty of trying to escape him and of freeing Dienwald. After all, had she not stupidly admitted guilt to him? All to spare further anger, further recriminations. What a fool she had been! Dienwald. His face formed in her mind and she did not allow it to fade. Peace, she thought; she could hope for nothing more now. Brittany and her father. The irony of this thought made her smile bitterly. She rose slowly to her feet and shook out her velvet mantle. Her idea burgeoned and she nourished it, not thinking for the moment how she would accomplish it. Her slender shoulders straightened and her chin rose with new determination. She thought of the barbaric necklace, and laughter gurgled from her throat. If Blanche could manage it, then so could she!
Graelam read the message from the Duke of Cornwall, bidding him to come to him. He frowned, for the duke gave no indication of any urgency. Damn, he was a warrior, trained to fight. Affairs in England had been more interesting when he was a lad. Aye, he would even be pleased were one of his neighbors to try some mischief. He sighed, wondering what the duke wanted. He decided to leave immediately, for there was nothing to hold him here. Having made his decision, he called Rolfe, gave instructions, then went in search of Kassia. She was not in their bedchamber, nor could he find her in any of the outbuildings. He saw Bran approach him and paused.
“My lord,” the man began, “I hear you search for Lady Kassia. She went riding, I know not where.”
Graelam felt his jaw tighten, for he had given orders to Osbert that she was never to ride out without his permission. The man had obviously disobeyed him. He was on the point of striding to the stable when he saw Kassia’s still face in his mind. She was not foolish enough to ride from his lands. Let her mend, he thought, let her regain her health and her spirit. When he returned from the Duke of Cornwall’s, he would go more gently with her. She had not, after all, known she was with child; though she had been foolish . . . Here his thinking stopped. She had tried to impress him, believing he would admire her if she could be like Chandra. He felt a gnawi
ng pain, and flinched from it. It made him feel uncomfortable, because it made him feel uncertain about himself and what he wanted. A man who was soft with women was weak and despicable. He shrugged, forcing his mind to picture her lovely body, the silkiness of her flesh, the warmth of her when he was deep within her. He would once again enjoy her in his bed and see her smile.
Kassia still had not returned when he left Wolffeton, twenty of his men with him. He instructed Blount merely to tell her that he was visiting the Duke of Cornwall and would return to Wolffeton soon.
He looked back at Wolffeton once before a steep hillock obstructed his view. He would miss her, he realized, but it was for the best that he be apart from her for a while. Being with her constantly made him want her. And it was still too soon. He wanted her well first.
Kassia felt a crushing emptiness when Blount, unable to meet her eyes, told her what Graelam had instructed him to. For a moment she could not seem to draw enough breath into her lungs. Graelam had left. He had not cared enough even to see her, to tell her of his business or when he would return. Any niggling doubts she had felt were gone. She cursed him softly, and it made her feel better.
She rode with Bran and an escort of six men the same afternoon to the village of Wolffeton. The merchant Drieux would help her. The small wrapped package would indeed be delivered as soon as possible to Dienwald de Fortenberry, Drieux assured her. That the package contained the necklace and letter to Dienwald would remain her secret.
To Bran’s pleased surprise, his mistress laughed deeply on their ride back to Wolffeton.
32
“Little chick, may I say that you have surprised me more than I ever believed possible?”
Kassia smiled at Dienwald de Fortenberry, quite unaware that it was a sad smile, one that tugged at his heart. “But you did come,” she said.
“Aye, though I was tempted to believe it another ruse on the part of that whoreson Sir Walter.”
“My husband rewarded Sir Walter by making him castellan of Crandall,” she said stiffly. “At least he is no longer at Wolffeton. He disliked me as much as he did you, I believe.”
Dienwald looked at her closely for a long moment, then moved his destrier closer to her mare. “Your message said only that you needed me, little chick. I see you have some baggage with you. And you sent me the necklace. What is it you wish?”
Kassia drew a deep breath. “I want to return home to Brittany, to my father. The necklace is payment.”
Dienwald stared hard at her, saw that she was quite serious, then threw back his head and roared with laughter. He quieted quickly enough. “So,” he said slowly, “that fool husband of yours has finally driven you away. The irony of it can’t have escaped you, little chick.”
“Aye, it has made me laugh as well. I would have been much wiser to let you return me to Belleterre the first time.”
He could not miss the bitterness in her voice. He noticed the bruised shadows beneath her expressive eyes, and said in a savage voice, “Did that bastard beat you?”
Kassia shook her head wearily. “I lost a babe through my own foolishness. I cannot really blame him for being angered, though I did not know I was with child.”
He saw her hands tug convulsively at her mare’s reins. “I am most sorry, Kassia. If you are certain this is what you wish, I will take you to your father.”
“It is what I must want,” she said quietly.
“He will come after you.”
“Perhaps, but I beg leave to doubt it. He is blessed with many powerful friends. It is more likely that he will have our marriage dissolved and marry a proper English lady. One who will most willingly accept her place.”
Dienwald cursed fluently, making the men behind him stare at him in surprise. She was so damned helpless and vulnerable and trusting. St. Peter’s teeth, how he wished he could knock some sense into Graelam’s thick head! He knew well enough that she loved her husband, else he would have begged her to let him care for her, to wipe the sadness from her eyes. He grew silent.
“Will you help me, Dienwald?”
“You are not content with what he gives you,” he said flatly. “What is the place you cannot accept?”
“Being treated as though I had no more importance than a brood mare . . . No, that is not precisely true.” She slashed her hand through the still air. “He does not love me and never will. I thought perhaps I could gain his trust, his esteem, but it was for naught. I can bear no more. I ask you again, Dienwald. Will you help me?”
“Aye, little chick.” He smiled ruefully. “It seems to be my fate to have my life intertwined with yours. I do not want the necklace, Kassia. I think the damned thing is cursed.”
“Nay, it is yours. I fancy that it will cost you much to get me to Brittany.”
He glanced at her oddly for a long moment. “You trust me not to take advantage of you?”
She looked surprised and cocked her head to one side. “Should I not trust you?”
“I did leave you in my cell at Wolffeton to face your husband.”
“Aye, but I understood. I would likely have done the same in your place. It is over now, and there is no need to speak of it again.”
“Very well, my lady. We will return to my keep for supplies. I will have you safe in your father’s hands within two weeks, I promise you.”
“Thank you, Dienwald. Please, keep the necklace. Any merchant will pay you greatly for it.” Her voice rose with cold determination as she saw him still hesitate. “I wish never to see it again.”
He nodded, then asked curiously, “How did you manage to leave Wolffeton without your husband’s knowledge?”
She gave a short, bitter laugh. “He left to visit the Duke of Cornwall, for what reason I know not. He was growing restless at Wolffeton. Perhaps there is some dispute the duke wishes him to settle. I did not even see him.”
Dienwald ignored the pain in her voice. “Good. Now I do not have to look over my shoulder! Come, little chick. We have some distance to go!”
“So, Graelam, you came more quickly than I had expected,” the Duke of Cornwall said as he eyed the younger man over his wine goblet.
“As your loyal and dutiful vassal, is it not what you would expect?” Graelam asked dryly.
The duke chuckled. “Aye, you are in the right of it, of course. Actually, I wished to have your opinion on Edward’s grandiose plans.”
“Ah, he chafes already under the weight of his kingly robes? I take it he is ready to journey to Wales?”
“Aye, I imagined he had spoken to you of it. He is ready to begin building. Unlike his father, his plans do not include cathedrals.”
“It is well,” Graelam said, sipping at the sweet red wine in his golden goblet. “The Marcher barons have not the strength to keep the Welsh raiders in check.” He grinned at the duke. “Now that you have my opinion, my lord duke, you wish me to leave?”
“Nay, you impudent rascal. Actually, I have planned a tourney and wish you to take part. Does that interest you?”
Graelam rubbed his hands together, his dark eyes lighting up. “It interests me. I have grown bored with naught to do but see to the reparations of Wolffeton. When will the tourney take place?”
“I had thought of April. It gives me no pleasure to think of knights floundering about in foot-deep snow and slush.”
“Will Edward deign to come?”
“Can you doubt it, Graelam? This building of his will cost dearly, and his nobles, of course, must dig into their coffers.”
“I imagined as much. Still, it is wiser to have his nobles bashing each other’s heads in a tourney sponsored by the king’s uncle than attacking each other without his permission.”
“What do you think your lady would say to your fighting, my lord? She would accompany you, would she not?”
Graelam stiffened, his dark eyes narrowing. He forced himself to ease, and sipped negligently at his wine again before answering. “She has been ill. We will have to see when the time grows near.”<
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“Ill? Does the child do better now?”
“She lost our babe,” Graelam said evenly. “She is well now, at least in body.”
“A pity, but she is young and appears quite healthy. She will bless you with many sons.”
Graelam held himself silent, and the duke continued after a moment. “I have heard from Sir Guy. It appears that his new bride, Blanche, is with child. He is most pleased.”
“I will visit him soon. He is a good man and a valiant warrior. I miss him sorely.”
“But it pleases you that he is now landed, does it not?”
“Aye, it pleases me.”
“How did your lady lose her babe?”
Taken off guard, Graelam said, his voice filled with anger, “She was playing at being the man. My master-at-arms, Rolfe, had taught her how to shoot the bow. He arranged a competition with the most clumsy of my men, to make her look good, of course. One of the horses attacked her mount and she was thrown.”
The duke leaned forward in his chair, a questioning smile on his face. “I do not understand. What made her do such a thing?”
“She met the Lady Chandra at Edward’s coronation. She was most impressed with Chandra’s prowess. She thought to . . . impress me.”
“And did she?” the duke pressed quietly.
Graelam sighed, the truth coming easily now, for he was beset with guilt. Still, his voice was hesitant. “Aye, but ‘twas not necessary. I was coming to admire her without such ruses.”
The duke felt as though the world had taken a faulty turn. He knew he was staring, but he could not help it. He had always believed Graelam a warrior without equal, a proud man, a man who took what he wanted, be it possessions or women. But there was always a part of Graelam he knew to be lacking. He said quietly, “My lord, to love a woman does not weaken a man or make him a mewling fool. The stronger the man, the more gentle he is with his lady. Your father was quite wrong, you know.”
Graelam gave a snort of disdain. “You sound like the troubadours, my lord duke. Can you see me kneeling before a lady and vowing her eyes are brighter than the stars and her complexion a rival to the fairest rose?”
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