“Go to bed, Kassia,” he said shortly, and turned away from her.
He heard no sound or movement. “Do as I tell you,” he said over his shoulder.
“I . . . I am afraid of you.”
The whispered words made him close his eyes over an elusive pain that he did not understand.
“I swear I will not force you,” he said finally. Perversely, the moment the words were out of his mouth, he felt that he had given in to her, and saw himself as one of those weak men he despised. He added, knowing well the cruelty of his words, “You are a child, and as unresponsive as a nun. It would give me no pleasure to take you again. You do not have a woman’s grace, a woman’s yielding, or a woman’s softness.”
She wanted to scream at him: Like your slut Nan? But she said nothing. She walked slowly to the bed, slipped between the covers, and pulled them to her chin.
She listened to him splash in the tub. Slowly, without wishing to, she stroked her hand over her body. I have the body of a child, she thought. Would he have been more pleased with her if she were full-fleshed like Blanche? Her hand paused a moment in the valley of her belly. Her pelvic bones were still prominent when she lay upon her back. She tensed and quickly whipped her hand away when her fingers lightly touched the nest of curls. She did not want to touch herself where he had. When she saw him step from the tub, she tightly closed her eyes.
She heard his firm footsteps toward the bed. She held herself rigid, terrified that he would not keep his word.
But he did nothing. He lay on top of the covers on his back, motionless for many minutes. Suddenly he turned toward her. Startled, she whimpered softly, and rolled to the side of the bed.
He cursed softly, but made no move to touch her. Kassia did not ease until she heard his breathing become slow and regular in sleep.
16
“What lovely stitches,” Blanche said. “I can scarce see them. You sew them much more proficiently than I.”
Kassia’s fingers froze over the material. She looked up warily at Blanche. “Thank you,” she said finally, her voice clipped. The last thing she wanted to endure was more baiting and insults from that lady! But Blanche was smiling at her.
“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while? I have a rent to mend in my tunic. Perhaps I can improve my stitches if I watch you closely.”
“What do you want, Blanche?” Kassia asked without preamble.
Blanche lowered her head a moment. She said softly, “I want us to be friends, Kassia. I know that I have not been kind to you.”
Kind! You have treated me like a blight!
Blanche persevered, her voice liquid with shame. “ ’Twas jealousy that made me act as I did. I wanted Graelam, but he chose first Joanna, then you. It was not well done of me. I wish there to be peace between us.”
Kassia did not think herself a gullible fool, but she was lonely, and terribly unhappy. The past week and a half had dragged past even though Blount had enthusiastically approved everything she wished to do within Wolffeton, and work had begun. It was not that she was bored or felt useless. No never that. She was the mistress of Wolffeton. she felt herself go tense remembering how Graelam had watched the great hall scrubbed clean of years of filth, sniffed at the fresh reeds that were scattered with a special mixture of sweet rosemary, lavender, and other herbs and flowers handed down from Kassia’s grandmother. She had waited for him to say something, anything, but he had merely grunted, ignoring her.
Blanche saw Kassia looking wistfully toward the far whitewashed wall and guessed the direction of her thoughts. She said with gentle praise, “You have performed wonders. I had not believed Wolffeton could be so beautiful.” She forced herself to sigh softly. “And the servants respect you and obey you. I wanted to make changes, you know, but they would not heed me. And the cushions you are making! How often I have wished to be more at ease in my chair!”
That brought a reluctant smile to Kassia’s lips. “Aye,” she said with a bit more enthusiasm, “I have felt the same way.”
“Will you let me help you?” Blanche asked humbly. “I do have some skill with a needle.”
“Aye,” Kassia said again slowly, still wary of the incredible change in Blanche. “If you would like, ’twould make us all more comfortable that much sooner.”
The two women sewed together companionably until the light faded. “Just a few more minutes,” Kassia said, “and I shall be through with this cushion.”
“It is for your lord?” Blanche asked, her voice sympathetic.
“It is,” Kassia said shortly, wondering what Graelam would say, wondering if Graelam would even notice.
She started when Blanche reached over and gently patted her hand. “All will be well between you, Kassia. You will see. Graelam is a man unused to gently bred ladies, but your care of him will soon change his thinking.”
Kassia felt tears cloud her vision. “Perhaps you are right, Blanche.”
“Of course I am right,” Blanche said stoutly. “Whilst you finish your lord’s cushion, is there something you would like me to do?”
Kassia sniffed back her tears. “Nay,” she said, managing a wan smile. “The servants have things well in hand. I do thank you, Blanche. I really do.”
Graelam noticed the rich red velvet cushion immediately. It was thick and soft, stuffed with goose down, and beautifully made. He ran his hand over its smooth surface.
“I have begun another cushion for the back of your chair,” Kassia said.
He heard the wariness in her voice but ignored it. “Will you make more cushions? For your chair as well?”
“Aye, but ’twill take me several weeks.”
“The material appears very valuable. Did Blount approve its purchase?”
Kassia wanted to throw the cushion in his face. She fought down anger at his barely veiled accusation, but was saved from answering him by Blount himself.
“Aye, my lord,” he said proudly. “I agreed with your lady that Wolffeton should boast only the best. With her skill, it is achieved.”
Graelam grunted and sat down. “It is an improvement,” he said, and reached for his wine goblet.
Blount gave his master an incredulous look. He caught Lady Kassia’s eye, and bit back his words. He did not understand Lord Graelam. He had been in a black, savage mood for so long now that the household was afraid to come near him. His bellows of anger made their blood run cold. But to treat his gentle lady as he would his servants! Blount shook his grizzled head and walked slowly down the trestle table and seated himself down on the bench beside Sir Guy.
Kassia waited until Graelam had drunk two goblets of wine and eaten heartily of his dinner. “My lord,” she said carefully.
“Aye?”
He can’t even bring himself to look at me! She gritted her teeth and continued. “The merchant Drieux assures me that we can barter wool for carpets from Flanders. The carpets at Belleterre come from Spain, but he tells me that Flanders weaves beautiful ones as well. I thought crimson, to complement the chair cushions.”
“Carpets, my lady?” Graelam asked, turning slightly in his chair to face her, his dark brows raised. “Is it your desire to turn this keep into a palace? Do you find Wolffeton so much to your distaste?”
Damn you, my lord! she thought. She knew well that Graelam had been to the Holy Land and admired the comfort and luxury of the furnishings there. Her father had told her so.
“Aye,” she said baldly. “If you do not wish to barter wool, I will send a message to my father. Surely he will be most willing to fill Wolffeton with beauty.”
“You will send no message to your father!” He hit his fist against the trestle table, making his trencher tremble.
“Very well,” Kassia said calmly, forcing herself to hold firm in the face of his ill-humor. “What is your wish then, my lord?”
I am spiting myself, Graelam realized suddenly, and the little witch knows it well. God’s bones, he wanted to break her! How dare she criticize his home? She had held h
er little chin high and ignored him during the past days, knowing that she was safe from him at night, for, fool that he was, he had sworn he wouldn’t force her. The power he had given her unthinkingly!
He was saved from a reply by Guy’s laughing voice reaching him over the din. “My lord! You have the look of a man whose buttocks are well content! Will you grant your lesser men such comforts?”
“All you deserve, Sir Guy,” Graelam shouted back, “is the flat of my sword against your buttocks!”
There were hoots of laughter from the men, and Drake, the armorer, slapped Guy on the back. “I’d say,” he chortled, “that yer young butt needs nothing more than a good strapping.”
Graelam turned back to his wife. She was laughing, and there was a gentle smile in her eyes. He followed the direction of her gaze and felt himself stiffen. Guy! She was smiling at the handsome younger man openly. A knot of anger burned in his gut.
“Kassia!”
She flinched at his harshness, her smile at the men’s jests dying on her lips. She forced her eyes to his, and waited for him to continue.
“Fetch your cloak. I wish to speak to you.”
She hesitated, cursing herself for her cowardice, but still afraid of his intentions.
He lowered his voice to a soft, menacing snarl. “Would you prefer the privacy of our chamber?”
She jumped up from her chair. Nan stood closest to her, and she called to the serving girl, her voice abrupt in her fear. “My cloak, Nan. ’Tis in my chamber.”
Nan gave her a venomous look before leaving the hall.
Kassia downed the remainder of her wine, willing herself to be calm.
“Are you always so sharp with the servants, my lady?”
She gave him a wide, uncomprehending look.
“My servants?” he added with stark emphasis.
“You mean your slut,” she muttered under her breath, bur she shook her head, her eyes lowered.
Kassia felt Guy’s sympathetic gaze upon her as Graelam led her from the hall, his hand cupping her elbow. She looked at him, giving him a tentative smile.
Graelam jerked at her arm. She walked hurriedly beside him down the deep-set stairs and into the inner bailey. The moon was nearly full and cast a silvery light over the keep.
She drew a deep breath. “Where do you wish to go, my lord?”
“To the ramparts.”
Would he throw her over? She pictured her body flailing through the empty air, hurtling toward the ground, and shivered.
When they reached the east tower, Graelam halted, clasped both her arms, and turned her face to him.
Slowly he eased his hands down her arms, his dark, brooding eyes never leaving her face. She felt his fingers circle her throat and tighten slightly.
“You will not escape me in another man’s arms,” he said softly, his fingertips lightly stroking her slender neck.
“I . . . I do not know what you mean, my lord,” she whispered.
“Do you not, my lady?” He stared down at her pale face, and his lips twisted. “A woman is born with lies already forming in her mouth. Most women, I fancy, have the wit to hide their coy looks in their husbands’ presence. But you, Kassia, you were blessed with a father who could not believe ill of you. Listen well, lady wife. I will not tolerate being made the fool, the cuckold.”
Kassia could only stare at him. He believed she wished one of his men as her lover? The only one of his men she spent any time with at all was his steward. It was so ridiculous as to be laughable. She said sharply, forgetting her fear of him, “Am I no longer to smile, my lord? Am I no longer to speak to Blount? By all the saints, he is old enough to be my father!”
“ ’Twas not Blount who won your winsome smile, my lady. You will cease your woman’s deception. You will never lie with another man, and if it is your woman’s wish to have your belly plowed, ’tis I who will do it.”
“No!” she gasped. “You promised me!”
“Think you I will allow Guy to enjoy your favors when my back is turned?”
“Guy,” she repeated blankly.
“Aye, even his name sounds soft on your lips.”
“You are ridiculous,” she hissed at him, drawing out each word.
Graelam gave a growl of anger and jerked her against him. She struck her fists against his chest, but he only tightened his hold and her arms fell uselessly to her sides. He lowered his head, and she twisted back, feeling his kiss land on her throat. His hand wound in her hair, holding her still, and she sobbed softly when his mouth crushed against hers. His tongue was stabbing against her lips to gain entrance. She pictured herself when last he had taken her: docile as a stick, passive, enduring the pain without fight. Let him beat me, she thought. She parted her lips slightly, and when he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she bit down on it, hard.
He drew back from her in fury. “You little bitch,” he panted, touching his mouth. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her until her head lolled back on her neck. Suddenly he dropped his hands and took a step back from her.
Frantic words burst from her mouth. “And will you force me again? Rape me? I want no man to touch me, do you hear? No man! You are all brutes, selfish animals! You spoke once to me of pleasure. Ha! There is none for the woman. She must lie still and endure your cruel rutting! You have done naught but lie to me, Graelam! I hate you!”
He raised his hand, wanting to cover her mouth, to shut out her torrent of words, to bring her against him again. She jerked away, shrieking at him. “Kill me then! I care not!”
His eyes narrowed on her face, dark as the night. Without a word, he turned away from her and strode down the wooden walkway to the inner bailey. He paused but a moment, her soft sobs reaching him, and cursed under his breath.
She is but a woman, my possession, damn her! Her worth is only what I choose to grant her. Still, he could not shut out her broken sobs, after he was too far away to hear them.
Kassia rose slowly, aware suddenly that she was shivering from cold. She pulled her cloak more closely about her shoulders and walked back toward the keep. Graelam’s men-at-arms were in the inner bailey, and she forced herself to square her shoulders and walk up the deep stairs into the great hall, ignoring their glances. Servants were clearing off the trestle tables. She saw Blanche from the corner of her eye, but did not stop. She reached the bedchamber, but her hand froze on the huge brass handle. No, she thought frantically. He is within. I cannot bear to face him now. She turned away and walked slowly toward the spinning room. Moonlight streamed through the unshuttered windows as she stepped quietly into the darkened room. She heard strange grunting sounds coming from the corner where bolts of material were stacked.
She saw them clearly. Graelam was astride Nan, his powerful naked body thrusting between her white legs. Nan was groaning, her hands stroking frantically over his back, her legs wrapped around his flanks.
Kassia felt bile rise in her throat. She was not aware that a soft keening sound came from her mouth. She jerked around and ran from the room.
Graelam’s lust drove him blindly. He was intent upon exorcising Kassia’s pale, distraught face from his mind. He heard the odd wailing sound, and turned quickly to see Kassia flee from the room. His lust disappeared as if it had never existed. He jerked out of Nan’s body, and rolled over, staring toward the door.
“My lord,” Nan whispered urgently. “Please . . .”
He wanted to vomit, to curse, to rail at himself for being such a bloody fool. He said nothing, merely rose and began to pull on his clothes.
He heard Nan call out to him, but he ignored her. He strode to his bedchamber and flung open the door. Kassia was not there. He called out her name, hating the fear in his voice. She was not in the keep. He ran toward the stables, knowing well that she could not simply ride away from Wolffeton, for the porter would never raise the portcullis or lower the drawbridge for her. The postern in the eastern wall! His blood froze in his veins as he remembered how he himself had shown Kassia the hidd
en entrance into Wolffeton. Her mare, Bluebell, was gone. He drew a deep steadying breath, knowing that she had only minutes on him, and quickly drew on Demon’s bridle. He swung himself onto his destrier’s broad back.
He saw her quickly enough, riding along the cliffs, her mare’s pace frantic. He yelled her name, but she did not slow.
He leaned down close to Demon’s neck and urged him forward. The mare was no match for the powerful destrier.
Kassia heard the pounding hooves behind her. She didn’t look back, for she knew it was Graelam. She dug her heels into Bluebell’s sides, her sobs echoing with her mare’s labored breathing in the still night.
Graelam tried to grab the mare’s reins, but Kassia pulled her sharply, jerking her so close to the edge of the cliff that Graelam felt his blood turn cold. He dared not crowd her. He kept pace until the ground evened out, then turned Demon sharply toward the mare and grabbed Kassia about her waist and lifted her off Bluebell’s back. She fought him, struggling wildly, hitting at his chest with her fists. He pulled Demon to a halt, pressed Kassia tightly against him, and jumped to the ground.
“You little fool,” he muttered, tightening his hold about her slender ribs. “God’s bones, you could have killed yourself!”
“I don’t care.”
He eased her back to look into her face. He expected tears, waited for her to plead with him. To his utter surprise, she drew back her foot and kicked him in the shin. He grunted with the sharp pain.
“You test the fates,” he said, his voice low and calm.
She said nothing, merely stared up at him.
“Did you really think to escape me? By yourself? Have you no wits at all?”
“What could have happened to me, my lord?” He felt her stiffen, felt her draw herself up. “Mayhap brigands would have caught me. What could they have done to me? Beat me? Rape me? Cut my throat?” She shrugged, looking away from him, out over the white-capped sea.
“You saw me in the weaving room.”
She cocked her head, her eyes wintry. “Aye, I saw you.” She heard him draw in his breath, but continued in a deadly calm voice, “Forgive me for interrupting your . . . pleasures.” She shrugged again. “At least it keeps you away from me.”