Evian nodded, his eyes turning toward Kassia. She was giving him a welcoming, open smile, and he gave her a tentative one in return.
“You are most welcome, Evian,” Kassia said.
“I am nearly as tall as you, my
lady,” Evian ventured.
“Aye, in another year or so, ’tis I who will be gazing up at you.”
Blanche grabbed her son’s hand. “He can sleep in my chamber, Graelam.”
“Nay, Blanche. Guy, come and meet my new page. The boy will sleep outside my chamber, on a pallet, and take his meals with the men.”
He is not like his mother, Kassia thought, and immediately chided herself.
“I have been living with my mother’s cousin,” Evian said confidentially to Guy, “in Normandy.”
“Evian, I would like to speak to you!”
The boy turned large reluctant eyes back to his mother, wishing she would not treat him like a little boy.
“Nay, let him go, Blanche,” Graelam said, to Evian’s immense relief. “You can cosset him later.” He turned to Louis. “Come have some ale, your men also. Nan, bring drink!”
* * *
“He is a fine lad,” Graelam said to Blanche that evening. “Your cousin has raised him well, but ’tis men’s company he needs.”
Blanche forced a bright smile to her lips. Graelam was pleased with her son, just as she had hoped he would be. But it was too late. “You are most kind, Graelam,” she said softly. Such a pity that Nan had not mixed more of the vile herbs in the stew. Blanche knew the wench had done it, for Nan was unable to keep the smug, triumphant grin off her face when she believed no one was looking at her. Blanche frowned, lowering her eyes. Jealousy was a terrible thing, and it made her writhe in self-reproach, hating herself for her feelings, even as she searched for ways to undermine Kassia. Life has not been fair to me, she would tell herself over and over, the litany her excuse.
Kassia watched Graelam and Blanche speaking together, and felt a strange burst of anger. Unlike her, Blanche was endowed with a full and rounded woman’s body and her long dark hair glistened in the rushlight.
“Your thoughts are not pleasant?”
Kassia turned to Guy “Blanche is very beautiful,” she said honestly, bewilderment at her jealousy sounding in her voice.
“That is true,” Guy said honestly. “But she need never concern you, truly. Lord Graelam could have wed her had he wished to.”
Kassia gave him a sad little smile. “It appears that my lord could have wed any lady he wished. ’Tis his misfortune that he came upon my father in Aquitaine, and that I didn’t die.”
“Lord Graelam saw much misery in the Holy Land,” Guy said pensively, “disease, starvation, butchery that seemed to know no end, but never did it really touch him. Yet I tell you truthfully that after he came from your chamber, believing that you were dying, his face was drawn in anguish. You touched him as no other ever has—man or woman. Even now he treats you gently, carefully, and my lord is not a particularly gentle man. When you fell ill from the food, he was distraught. He told me that it was not fair that you should regain your health, only to come to Wolffeton and lose it again.” Guy paused a moment, watching Kassia’s brow furrow deeply in thought at his words. “Lord Graelam is also a man of strong appetites,” he continued carefully after a moment. “Yet he is more concerned with your well-being than his own needs.”
“But I am well now,” Kassia exclaimed, then turned scarlet at her loose tongue.
Guy grinned merrily at her and raised his goblet in a silent toast. “Your noble husband approaches, my lady.”
Kassia raised her face to her husband. She looked like such a naughty child that Graelam laughed.
“I have been telling her of your . . . prowess, my lord,” Guy said blandly.
Kassia choked at his double meaning, and Graelam arched a thick black brow. His eyes fell to Kassia’s trencher and he frowned. “What have you eaten?”
Kassia, who had consumed chicken, fish, and fruit, merely shook her head at him. “I have been a glutton, my lord. May I serve you now?”
He nodded and sat himself beside her. “The boy, Evian,” he said to Guy, “we must begin to toughen him up.”
Kassia looked down the trestle table at Evian, who was leaning sleepily against Drake’s massive shoulder.
“The lad seems willing,” Guy said, “though his mother would like to turn him into a lapdog.”