y. She turned away without another word. He saw her weave a moment, then stiffen and walk slowly toward the door.
Graelam closed his eyes a moment. He pictured the Earl of Drexel in his mind, the man whose page and squire he had been, the man who had knighted the very young Graelam for saving his life at the Battle of Evesham. He had attended him after the battle, as was his wont, and watched his blood lust become sexual lust. It did not surprise him, for he had seen his lord take both willing and unwilling women. But the peasant wench had screamed and fought. The earl had merely laughed, cuffing her senseless. “What else are women good for, lad, if not for a man’s pleasure? The stupid wench wasn’t even a virgin.” He had shaken his head, perplexed. The fat priest with them had said nothing. It was a point of debate among Church prelates whether or not women possessed a soul. Then why, Graelam thought, did he feel so despicable, like a mindless, rutting animal? Kassia was his possession. There would be no one to say him nay or even look at him askance if he beat her within an inch of her life, with or without just cause.
Why then did he feel as if he had destroyed something precious, as if he had wantonly crushed a rare flower underfoot before its petals had unfurled?
He rose slowly, like an old man, and straightened his clothes. He paused, seeing blood on his member. He cursed softly to the silent chamber.
Blanche smiled and said gaily to the stone-faced Sir Guy, “Such a shame, is it not, Sir Guy?”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” he said coldly, not looking at her.
She laughed. “Ah, such a pity! But I do not suppose you heard her screams? And look at her now. No longer the proud, preening little fool she was!”
Guy had been looking at Kassia. She looked dazed, her face so pale as to be waxen. He saw Graelam lean toward her, and felt himself stiffen as she jerked away. Everyone in the castle knew that Graelam had abused his wife. To Guy’s surprise, only a very few of the men had appeared untouched by his actions. Most of them had been tensely silent. Even Blount, Graelam’s crusty steward, had tightened his thin lips in anger. Of course Blanche was delighted. He turned to her, and felt his own anger near the boiling point at the smug smile on her lips. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled and kiss her until she was breathless.
“To anger Graelam so quickly,” she said, shaking her head in mock sorrow. As to her own stirring performance, she firmly repressed her guilt, saying over and over in her mind that she must see to herself and her children, for there was no one else to. She didn’t understand why she acted such a witch in front of Guy. It is because he champions Kassia. It angered her that he did, but she refused to examine why this was so. After all, he was merely a landless knight. She saw him gazing toward Kassia, and the words flowed angrily from her mouth. “I heard that she had stolen some precious cloth from his trunk. Perhaps he will send her back to her home, where she belongs. Surely, Guy, you do not defend her?”
She supposed that she achieved what she wanted. Guy’s lips were drawn in a thin line and his fine eyes glittered at her. His calmly spoken words took her off guard. “Do you know, Blanche, I am tempted to marry you myself. Were you my wife, I would beat you senseless.”
“If the girl were not such a fool,” Blanche said finally, wishing his words did not dig so deeply, and hating the shuddering response they aroused in her, “Graelam would not have struck her. She thinks herself above all of us. My lord would not long tolerate such airs.”
Guy closed his eyes a moment against the temptation to haul Blanche over his shoulder that very instant and carry her from the hall. What he would do with her once he had done this, he didn’t know. He forced his attention back to Graelam. He could not understand the lord of Wolffeton. Until today, Graelam had been so gentle toward his lady. There was no doubt in Guy’s mind that he had missed Kassia during their absence from Wolffeton. His greeting of her upon their return was proof enough. What, he wondered, was in his lord’s mind?
Graelam speared a bit of tender fish on his knife, and thrust it into his mouth. He could feel the tension radiating from Kassia. The fish tasted of fear, her fear, of him.
Damn her! He didn’t want her to be afraid of him. He wanted to hear her laugh again, to see the dimples deepen in her cheeks.
I have no choice, Kassia was thinking. No choice at all. I do not understand him, yet I must bear whatever he metes out to me. The events of the day had effectively destroyed all the budding happiness she had known since she had come to Wolffeton as his wife. Why had he been so gentle with her at first, if it was his intention to become a ravening beast? She closed her eyes, knowing that soon she would have to share his bed. Would he force her again? She picked up her goblet of wine, but her hand was shaking so badly, she quickly lowered it back to the table. Where is your pride, you spineless wench? Will you spend the rest of your days cowering, wondering if he will turn on you again if you serve him a meal not to his liking or speak to Blanche in a voice that pleases him not?
Her chin went up, and she sat straight in her chair. Slowly she turned to face her husband.
“My lord,” she said quietly, drawing his attention from his baked heron.
He looked at her intently, and she had to call upon a strength she had not known she possessed not to cower. “Aye?” he asked, his expression impassive.
“I would like to . . . understand my role at Wolffeton.”
He saw the firmness in her eyes, and felt a moment of pleasure at her defiance. But she is but a woman, his mind told him. A woman, especially a wife, must never dictate to her husband. “Your role,” he said calmly, “is to see to my pleasure.”
Her eyes remained steady on his face. “You told me that you had allowed me to play at being mistress at Wolffeton. I know that I am young, my lord, but I managed Belleterre since my mother’s death, a holding just as vast as this keep. Is it your pleasure that I indeed be the mistress of Wolffeton?”
She saw his eyes go briefly toward Blanche, and felt a surge of fury wash through her. She spoke without thought. “Why did you not wed her, my lord? Why did you not allow our marriage to be annulled?”
It was odd, Graelam thought, but he did not have an answer to her question. Indeed, his thinking continued, how dare she even question him?
“You are the mistress of Wolffeton,” he said coldly. “But you will not harm those less fortunate than you. Do you understand me?”
Again she blurted out her thoughts, sarcasm thick in her voice. “I, fortunate, my lord?”
“Enough, Kassia!” His voice, a low hiss, washed over her. He clutched her arm, and her courage, illusory at best, faltered. She knew she could not try to jerk away from him, not in front of fifty people! Not in front of Blanche or the serving wench, Nan.
“As you wish, my lord,” she said, bowing her head. “As mistress of Wolffeton, I will need funds to see to improvements within the keep.”
“There are none,” he said shortly.
“Soon you will sign the charter with the merchant Drieux. In my experience, the charter will bring you immediate access to goods.”
He stared at her a moment. “In your experience? A woman should not understand those things,” he said slowly. He saw the mounting frustration in her eyes, and shrugged. “Very well, you have my permission to speak with Blount. But, my lady, you will not instruct him.”