“I want it done. Leave be.”
Her eyes flew to his face. He smiled at the spark of anger he saw there. But it immediately recalled another matter to mind. “What did you do to Blanche in my absence? She was very upset.”
She cocked her head to one side, clearly puzzled. “I . . . I do not understand.”
“She was crying earlier.” Indeed, she had wet his tunic through. “You are not to give her orders, Kassia, or make her life unpleasant. She is a gentle lady, and deserving of kind treatment.”
Surely, Kassia thought, he could not be talking about his sister-in-law, Blanche! Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Which Blanche do you mean, my lord? One of the serving maids?”
“Perhaps,” he said coldly, “Blanche could teach you submissiveness and the proper respect for your husband.”
She felt such a surge of anger that she feared what she would say if she remained with him. She gasped her rage, turned on her heel, and ran as fast as she could back along the narrow walkway.
“Kassia! Come back here!”
She tripped on her long gown at his furious voice, and swayed for an instant, the cobblestones of the inner bailey rising upward toward her.
“Hellfire, you stupid wench!” Graelam roared, his gut wrenching at the sight of her weaving toward the edge of the rampart. He lurched forward, grabbed her arm, and jerked her back. “Have you no sense?” he yelled at her, shaking her so hard her neck snapped back.
She cried out, a soft, broken sound that froze him. He stared down at her white face, cursed savagely, and pulled her against him. He enveloped her in his arms, unconsciously rocking her. She leaned pliantly against him, her cheek pressed against his chest. He could feel her small breasts heaving against him as she tried to stop her gasping breaths. He felt a bolt of lust so powerful that he was momentarily stunned. He realized vaguely that it was born of fear for her, and anger, but it did not matter. She was his wife, dammit, and he had not possessed her for six days!
In one swift motion he lifted her over his shoulder and strode toward the steep wooden stairs that led down to the inner bailey. He paid no attention to the scores of gaping servants or to his men who watched his progress. He was breathing hard when he finally reached their bedchamber, but not from exertion. He kicked the door closed behind him and strode to the bed. He eased her off his shoulder and laid her on her back. He pulled his trousers open, his hands shaking, then turned back to her. He jerked off her leather slippers, pulled up her clothes, baring her to her waist, and flung himself down over her.
“Damn you,” he growled harshly, and kissed her brutally.
Kassia felt suspended, as if time had stopped, and she was another, gazing down upon the furious man savaging a girl who was no longer she. She felt his hands upon her, roughly jerking her legs apart. When he reared over her, she realized starkly that he was going to force her. Still, her mind held her utterly still, like a stick puppet with no will of her own. She felt his fingers parting her, felt his rigid manhood thrust inward. A tearing pain seared her, plummeting her mind back into her body. She screamed, a high, thin wailing sound that melded with his harsh breathing, and her body fought the pain. She began to fight him, striking his shoulders and back with all her strength, but she was impaled, helpless.
Graelam felt himself tearing into her small, unwilling body. Thrusting his full length, he seated himself to his hilt. Her pounding fists made no impression on him as he sought to subdue her, to force her to utter submission. He flung himself onto her, grasped her face between his hands, and thrust his tongue into her mouth. At the taste of her salty tears, his mind balked, but his body, intent upon release, rammed into her until his senses blurred and his seed burst from his body, filling her. He was insensate for several moments. It was her helpless moan that jerked him to awareness. He raised himself over her and stared down at her face. Her eyes were pressed tightly closed, her thick lashes wet spikes against her cheeks. There was a spot of blood on her lower lip, bitten in pain.
He closed his own eyes for a moment, wishing he could close out the enormity of what he had done.
“Kassia.” Her name was a growl of pain on his lips. He withdrew from her, feeling her quiver, and drew her into his arms. She lay utterly still, unresponsive even as he smoothed the curls back from her forehead.
“Look at me, damn you! Kassia, open your eyes.” He clasped her jaw and shook her head until her lashes fluttered and she looked up at him.
What he saw chilled him. She was staring up at him, and he knew that the wide, unseeing look in her eyes reflected her thoughts.
“Stop it!” he shouted at her, shaking her shoulders. She did not respond. For the first time in his life, he felt himself to be despicable, a brute who had hurt someone who had not half his strength. He knew a churning fear that made him tremble. “Kassia,” he whispered, and buried his face in her hair.
“You hurt me.”
Her small, stricken voice made him jerk his head up. The blind look was gone from her eyes and she was regarding him like a child who does not understand why the parent has struck him.
“You promised you would never hurt me again. You lied to me.”
He wanted to beg her forgiveness, but the words stuck in his throat. Never in his life had he uttered such words to a woman. Images of his father telling him that a wife was her husband’s possession, to do with as he pleased, careened through his mind. A woman had no will; she existed only through her husband and through her children. He was struggling with himself when she spoke again, softly, her voice holding no anger, no reproach.
“You told me that being a wife was better than being a dog. You told me that there were benefits to being a wife.”
“Aye,” he said helplessly, “I told you that.”
“I think,” she said very clearly, “that I should prefer being a dog.”
“You have no choice in the matter!” he said sharply. “You are as God fashioned you.”
“Must I also blame God?” She moved away from him and he let her go. She pulled her clothing down and stood a moment by the bed. She looked remote, yet utterly calm. “Have I your permission to leave now, my lord? There is the meal to see to. I would not want you displeased.”
He stared at her, frustrated, sunk in his own guilt. “Go,” he said harshl