Maurice shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I did not want you to become upset, not when you continued so weak.”
“But you are telling me now. What has happened?”
“The messenger who arrived today was from Lord Graelam, informing me that his master is to wed an English heiress.”
“I see,” Kassia said. She felt weak with shock. Married, she thought again, and to an English lord! She stared at her father, trying to understand.
“There is more, Kassia. The first messenger was sent by the Duke of Brittany. Evidently Geoffrey found out that you were still living at Belleterre, that you had not accompanied your husband to England. He has tried to convince the duke that your marriage was all a sham, a plot by me to keep you and Belleterre out of his hands. The duke demands an explanation. If the explanation pleases him not, he threatens to have the marriage annulled and wed you to Geoffrey.”
“Is this English lord, this Graelam de Moreton, strong enough to protect Belleterre from Geoffrey?”
“Aye,” Maurice said, eyeing his daughter carefully.
It was odd, Kassia thought, sifting through her father’s words, but she felt the stronger of the two now. He looked ill with worry, and, she realized, he was dreading her anger at what he had done. Perhaps, she thought, she would have done the same thing were she her father. She loved her father more than anyone else in the world, more than herself. And she loved Belleterre. She thought of Geoffrey, sly, greedy Geoffrey, and felt a rippling of a shudder at the thought of him as her husband. She said, very firmly, “I understand, Father. I do not blame you for what you did. Do not distress yourself further.”
She slid from his lap and forced a calm smile to her lips. “I must prepare myself, Father. I will return with this messenger to England, to my . . . husband. It would not do at all for him to take another wife.”
Maurice gaped at her, wondering why she was not in tears, remembering her mother’s tears, shed so quickly and with such devastating effect.
“I think also,” Kassia continued thoughtfully, “that you should pay a visit to the Duke of Brittany. You could tell him, I suppose, that I fell ill and was unable to accompany my husband back to England. There is some truth to that! And, Father, you must not worry about me. I had to marry someone, and if you believe this Lord Graelam to be a fine man, then I am satisfied. I only wish he were French and lived near. I shall miss Belleterre.”
“Cornwall is not so far away,” Maurice said helplessly. He suddenly realized that he did not know Graelam all that well. He was a man’s man, a brave warrior, strong and proud. How would he deal with a wife he had believed dead within hours of his marriage? Kassia was so innocent, so very young. He had protected her, guarded her, shown her only gentleness and kindness. My God, he thought, what had he done! He rose with sudden decision. “I will accompany you, Kassia, to Cornwall.”
“Nay, Father. You must protect Belleterre from Geoffrey’s grasping hands. ’Tis the Duke of Brittany you must see.”
Maurice continued to argue, but Kassia knew that he had no choice in the matter. She knew she had no choice either. She felt tears sting her eyes, and resolutely blinked them back. She pictured this Lord Graelam and imagined him to be no different from her father. “Is he old?” she asked, dreading his answer.
“Graelam? Nay, daughter, he is young and well-formed.”
“A kind man, Father? Gentle?”
“I trust so, Kassia.”
She smiled. Young and well-formed and gentle, like her father. All would be well.
“Graelam gave you a ring upon your marriage. I have kept it safe for you.”
“I suppose it would be wise to have it. I imagine that I look a bit different than I did on my wedding night.”
Kassia left her father and hurried to her chamber, calling Etta. “Imagine,” she said as she shook out a yellow wool gown, “I am married, and I didn’t even know it! Etta, did you see this Lord Graelam?”
“Aye, my baby. He was most gentle when the priest said the vows. He held your hand through it all.”
“And he is young and handsome?”
“Aye,” Etta said. He was also formidable-looking, a huge man who could crush her gentle mistress like a fly. “Aye,” she said again, “he is as your father described him.” Likely, Etta thought, Lord Maurice was quite flattering in his description of his son-in-law. After all, Lord Maurice was a man, just as was the powerful English nobleman. And did he have any choice? “Now, my baby, I will send some servants to assist you. I must pack my own belongings.”
Kassia smiled widely and threw her arms about her old nurse. “We shall conquer England again, Etta, just as did Duke William two hundred years ago!”
7
Joanna de Moreley held the hooded peregrine falcon gracefully on her wrist and eyed the wretched Blanche from beneath her lowered lashes. Miserable bitch! Her mare suddenly sidestepped and the falcon shrieked, digging his claws into her thick leather glove. Joanna would have liked to fling the falcon into the nearest pile of dung, but Lord Graelam was watching her. She smiled prettily, but jerked the mare’s reins, hurting her tender mouth.
Graelam turned away, a frown gathering on his brow. Although the mare belonged to Joanna, it angered him that she would so mistreat the animal. He sighed, wishing he were miles away from Wolffeton, in the heat of battle, breaking heads with his ax, feeling sweat trickle down his face and back with exertion. Anything but playing the gallant to this ridiculous vain girl! She was not ill-looking, he admitted to himself, and he supposed that her arrogance, bred by an overly doting father and mother, he could control soon enough, once she was his wife. Her hair was fair, so blond in fact that when the sun shone down upon her head, it appeared nearly white. He had always been partial to fair-haired women, until now. Her best feature, now covered with a wimple that appeared like stiff flapping wings, left him little to admire. He had eyed her body carefully and noted the wide hips, well-suited for childbearing, and her abundant breasts. Perhaps, he thought doubtfully, her proud opinion of herself would turn to passion once he had her in his bed.
He heard Blanche question Joanna in her soft-spoken way, and winced at Joanna’s patronizing tone when she answered. It hadn’t taken long for Graelam to realize he would have no peace in his own castle until Blanche was gone. Unfortunately, he had had two weeks to compare the two women, and to his mind, Blanche, already gentle and submissive, would make his life less troublesome. At least Blanche was no budding shrew. He hardened his jaw. If Joanna proved difficult, he would beat her. The thought of her dowry had not swayed him; indeed, the jewels he had brought back from the Holy Land had provided him enough to finish the work on Wolffeton, enough to buy sheep and more cattle for his freehold farmers and two villages, and finally enough to bring at least another dozen men-at-arms into his service. No, it was the Duke of Cornwall who had pressed him into this alliance. With Edward still out of England, it would not be wise to anger the king’s uncle.
“My lord,” he heard Joanna lisp in that affected way of hers, “I grow overheated. My mother does not like me to spend too much time in the sun.”