Blanche gazed after her husband, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. “You do not look well, Kassia,” she said. “Joanna remarked it to me yesterday.”
“Joanna remarked many things. Indeed, she dominated, did she not, with her vicious tongue?”
“Aye,” Blanche said honestly, “she did.”
“Are you happy now, Blanche?”
Blanche narrowed her eyes on Kassia’s face, but could see no hidden meaning there. “A husband is a husband,” she said, shrugging, her words sounding utterly false even to her own ears.
“Nay, I find Guy most accommodating.”
“He is my husband,” Blanche said sharply.
“I know. Please, Blanche, I have never taken anything of yours.” Kassia did not realize that Blanche’s words were spurred by jealousy, and added, a touch of sarcasm in her voice, “Incidentally, Dienwald de Fortenberry sends you his greetings.”
Kassia heard Blanche’s hissing breath, but she merely nodded and turned away.
Graelam remained occupied with his friends, and it was Rolfe who accompanied Kassia and Etta on a tour of London. So many beautiful things, she thought, fingering bolts of exquisite material. But she had no coin, and was too ashamed to admit it to Rolfe.
Late that evening Kassia lay huddled in the soft bed, wondering where Graelam was. When she at last heard the door to their bedchamber open and close, she closed her eyes tightly. She felt the bed sink under Graelam’s weight, and tried to calm her breathing, to pretend sleep.
“I know you are awake, Kassia,” he said, his words slightly slurred from too much ale.
“Aye,” she admitted. “I am awake.”
“Tell me, wife, when I left you alone with Blanche, were you again unkind to her? I saw her standing alone, her head bowed, after you so callously left her. What did you say to her, Kassia?”
She sucked in her breath. “I said nothing untoward to her!”
“Why do I not believe you?” he snarled at her softly.
Kassia could no more prevent her actions than stop the sun from rising. Lurching up, she drew back her arm and slapped him as hard as she could. He looked at her with blank surprise, then his eyes darkened in fury. She cried out and rolled off the bed. Naked, she ran toward the bedchamber door.
He caught her about the waist and jerked her around to face him. His fingers bit into her soft flesh but she made no sound. She stared numbly at his hair-covered chest and waited.
“If I thrust myself between your lovely legs, will I again find you warm and ready for me?” His voice was softly taunting.
She shook her head, afraid to speak, afraid of what would come from her mouth.
He entwined his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back.
“Will you howl your pleasure before I have scarce begun to couple with you?”
She saw the vague imprint of her palm on his cheek. “Will you strike me?” she asked.
“You deserve it,” he said, his eyes falling to her small white breasts. “But no. There is a more effective punishment for you, is there not? I must simply ensure that your fear of me douses your passion.”
She trembled. “You will force me again, rape me like you did poor Mary?”
“Why not?” he asked harshly, hating himself for the desire he felt for her. “I can do anything I wish with you. You are my wife.”
“Please, Graelam,” she whispered, trying to pull away from his searching hands, “do not hurt me.”
He lifted her and carried her to the bed. “No, I will not hurt you, but neither will I allow you pleasure.” He pressed her onto her stomach and spread her legs. She heard his jerking breathing, and closed her eyes against the humiliation. She knew he was staring down at her, and when his fingers touched her, she quivered and cried out softly. Suddenly he released her.
“Go to sleep,” he said harshly. “I do not want you.”
She curled into a ball, drawing the covers to her chin. She felt tears sting her eyes, and quickly and angrily dashed them away.