The roast pork was tender, well-seasoned, and altogether delicious. Graelam saw that Kassia was regarding him for all the world like a child waiting for her parent’s approval, her own food untouched. He sampled the other fare with negligent thoroughness whilst he talked with Blount.
“The merchant Drieux would settle at Wolffeton, my lord,” Blount said. “He of course brings some dozen or so men with him.”
“And their families?”
“Aye, my lord. As you know, we need no more labor in the fields or in the mill. Our wheat production already exceeds our needs.”
“I know it well, Blount. What we do need is money and the ability to trade our excess wool. Prepare a charter. I will meet with Drieux when it is done to settle on terms.”
“If it is successful, my lord, it is likely other craftsmen will make their way here.”
Graelam nodded, then turned to Kassia. “Did you procure some new wine, my lady? I believe I find something of an improvement.”
Her lips tightened until she saw his dark eyes were alight with laughter.
“The merchant Drieux, you know, my lord,” she said demurely. “He wished to be in your good graces. The wine is from Bordeaux.”
“You lie as fluently as do I,” Graelam said, smiling at her.
“But imagine how fluent I shall be when I have gained your years, my lord!”
Blount, trying to hide his gasp, said quickly, “Nay, my lord, ’tis not the wine that is different. My lady but jests.”
Graelam turned a surprised look toward his steward. “ ’Tis the pork, my lord!” Blount continued feebly.
Graelam felt something of a shock when he realized that Blount was trying to protect Kassia from his wrath, that he had, indeed, expected Graelam to be furious at his wife’s gentle teasing. But Graelam wasn’t angry. He had, in fact, been on the point of continuing the jest with his wife when Blount interrupted.
“And the bread and vegetables and pheasant pie,” Kassia added on a laugh, wondering why the well-spoken, polished steward was fumbling about for his words.
“I imagine,” Graelam said coolly, “that there is even an improvement in the apples. Do they taste redder, Kassia?”
“Actually,” Kassia confided, leaning toward her husband, “I did polish yours on my sleeve.”
Graelam claimed her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. “I doubt,” he said softly, “that this excellent meal—aye, I did notice, you may be certain—could taste as tempting as do you.”
“Oh,” Kassia said helplessly as his tongue lightly brushed over her palm. She was thrown into confusion, but Graelam merely sat back in his chair and grinned shamelessly at her. He was relieved that his robe was full cut, for his body was reacting just as shamelessly to her.
“He is bewitched,” Blanche muttered just loud enough for Guy to hear her.
Guy turned thoughtful eyes to her flushed face. “You must cease this, Blanche,” he said finally. Christ, if only he had something to offer her! “Listen to me,” he continued in an urgent voice. “Kassia is his wife. That is an end to it. And,” he added, seeing that she would say more, “he appears quite pleased with her. How oft must I remind you?”
“Things change,” Blanche said. “Aye, he will soon grow bored with her.”
“ ’Twould make no difference in any case.”
“Mayhap he would send her back to her father, or she would leave.”
“I doubt, Blanche, that you will still be at Wolffeton should such a thing occur.”
“You take her part too! Can it be, Sir Guy, that you are also bewitched with the skinny little—”
“Blanche,” he said, now thoroughly irritated with her folly, “I would that your thoughts matched your outward beauty. Stop being such a bloody shrew!” Guy turned abruptly away from her, his eyes upon his master and mistress.
Graelam bid an abrupt good night to his men, and rose, grasping Kassia’s hand. “At last,” he said, drawing her arm through his.
“Does your arm pain you, my lord?” Kassia asked as she skipped up the stairs to keep up with him.
“Nay, ’tis other parts of me that are in dire pain.”