“Fresh milk,” the duke mused aloud. “It has been a long time, my lady. Yea, a very long time.”
“It is very beneficial to your health, I am told, my lord duke. Please, will you not be seated?”
Graelam eyed his wife. She was acting every bit the lady of the castle, and for some reason, that angered him. Perhaps her pleasing hesitancy before him was all an act. Perhaps she was just as much the shrew as Joanna.
“I will see to your milk, my lord,” he said to the duke. “This glass is for my wife.” He thought perversely that she was more in need of it than the duke.
Kassia looked quickly up at her husband. He was kind, she thought, and she had no reason to fear him. He could not, after all, help his harsh looks and huge body.
The Duke of Cornwall chuckled at Graelam’s retreating back and obligingly settled his old bones into Graelam’s chair. “Tell me of Brittany, my lady,” he said, drinking the milk she handed him.
“It reminds me much of Cornwall, my lord,” she said, sitting on the edge of a bench, all the world like a precocious child eager to please. “Perhaps a bit colder.” She shivered, her eyes upon the damp stone walls of the hall.
“Wolffeton has long been without a mistress, my lady,” the duke said kindly. “Lord Graelam is a warrior and thus pays heed only to his fortifications. And his sojourn in the Holy Land left Wolffeton in my nominal care. The serfs have grown lazy, I fear.”
“I know nothing of fortifications, my lord,” Kassia said firmly, “but I will endeavor to make Wolffeton more pleasing for you on your next visit.”
The duke shifted slightly in his chair. He had thought Kassia a pleasing child, but without spine. Now he saw differently and he felt a surge of concern for her. Graelam was no gentle man to be ruled by a woman.
The duke’s silence made Kassia shiver with dread. “Has my husband . . . accepted me, my lord duke?” she asked quietly, unaware that her fingers were clutching the wool of her gown.
The duke frowned. “So he spoke to you of an annulment,” he said.
Kassia nodded. “Aye, last evening.” She raised her head and gazed at the duke directly, her eyes proud and intense. “He must accept me, my lord duke. My father chose him to be my husband and the protector of Belleterre. Perhaps he prefers the Lady Joanna, but I will bring him wealth and much valuable land.”
“Aye, he told me as much.” The duke set down the empty goblet and hunched forward in Graelam’s chair, his bony fingers tapping together. “My lady,” he began, “your husband is a powerful man. The alliance with the de Moreleys would have added to his power and his wealth. He is a close friend of my nephew, the King of England. You offer him land, ’tis true, but to hold it, he will have to fight, undoubtedly. And that, my lady, requires fighting men.”
“You are telling me, my lord duke, that my father asked too much of Lord Graelam?”
The duke chuckled. “Nay, dear child, Graelam is not a man to be led by the nose. He is more comfortable bashing heads than sitting in his castle. He is a man bred to war. ’Tis just that I would prefer he fight in England, if need be, or in the service of the king. I tell you this so you may understand. A marriage is an alliance between two houses, each bringing value to the other. You have brought Lord Graelam value, but to keep it, he will tempt his unscrupulous neighbors to take advantage of his absence.”
“You believe,” Kassia said slowly, “that I should allow my marriage to be annulled?”
“Nay, child. You are being too fair. You cannot protect both your father’s interests and Lord Graelam’s. I suspect that your loyalties still lie with your father. After all, you do not know your husband. Allow Lord Graelam to decide, and do not interfere.” The duke sat back a moment, watching Kassia think about what he had said. She is intelligent, he thought, not particularly discomfited by his observation, even though she was but a woman.
“I believe,” Kassia said finally, “that Lord Graelam has already decided. He presented me to you as his wife.”
“Aye, he has decided, my lady. But your problems are not yet solved. There is still Charles de Marcey, the Duke of Brittany, to placate. This cousin of yours appears to have some part of the duke’s ear. You must bear a son within the year, my lady, else Charles may still believe your cousin’s charges that this marriage is a sham.”
A child! Kassia gulped, her hands moving unconsciously to her belly.
“Ah, Graelam, I was just giving your bride an old man’s advice.”
Graelam set another goblet of milk before Kassia. He cocked a black brow at the duke, saying nothing.
“It would perhaps be worth your trouble to take Kassia for a visit to Belleterre and to the Duke of Brittany when she is carrying your child. Her swollen belly would do much to still her cousin, I believe.”
Graelam slanted a look toward Kassia at the duke’s blunt words. She was sipping her milk, her eyes downcast. “You are right,” he said calmly. “But first my lady must regain her health and her strength.”
“I am strong and healthy now, my lord,” Kassia said, her chin thrusting upward.
The Duke of Cornwall threw back his head and laughed heartily. Graelam saw Kassia’s face drain of color. He grinned, knowing she had not realized the import of her words. “It is wise, is it not, Kassia,” he said, “to think carefully before you speak?”
He was teasing her, Graelam thought, somewhat surprised at himself. Rarely had he jested with a woman. He turned to the duke and assisted him out of his chair.
“I will take my leave of you, Graelam,” the duke said. “I have but one word of advice to you, my lord,” he added, his eyes resting for a moment on Kassia. “Wolffeton now has a mistress—”
Aye, Kassia thought, likely several mistresses, given the look on the serving wench’s face.