The whispered words made him close his eyes over an elusive pain that he did not understand.
“I swear I will not force you,” he said finally. Perversely, the moment the words were out of his mouth, he felt that he had given in to her, and saw himself as one of those weak men he despised. He added, knowing well the cruelty of his words, “You are a child, and as unresponsive as a nun. It would give me no pleasure to take you again. You do not have a woman’s grace, a woman’s yielding, or a woman’s softness.”
She wanted to scream at him: Like your slut Nan? But she said nothing. She walked slowly to the bed, slipped between the covers, and pulled them to her chin.
She listened to him splash in the tub. Slowly, without wishing to, she stroked her hand over her body. I have the body of a child, she thought. Would he have been more pleased with her if she were full-fleshed like Blanche? Her hand paused a moment in the valley of her belly. Her pelvic bones were still prominent when she lay upon her back. She tensed and quickly whipped her hand away when her fingers lightly touched the nest of curls. She did not want to touch herself where he had. When she saw him step from the tub, she tightly closed her eyes.
She heard his firm footsteps toward the bed. She held herself rigid, terrified that he would not keep his word.
But he did nothing. He lay on top of the covers on his back, motionless for many minutes. Suddenly he turned toward her. Startled, she whimpered softly, and rolled to the side of the bed.
He cursed softly, but made no move to touch her. Kassia did not ease until she heard his breathing become slow and regular in sleep.
16
“What lovely stitches,” Blanche said. “I can scarce see them. You sew them much more proficiently than I.”
Kassia’s fingers froze over the material. She looked up warily at Blanche. “Thank you,” she said finally, her voice clipped. The last thing she wanted to endure was more baiting and insults from that lady! But Blanche was smiling at her.
“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while? I have a rent to mend in my tunic. Perhaps I can improve my stitches if I watch you closely.”
“What do you want, Blanche?” Kassia asked without preamble.
Blanche lowered her head a moment. She said softly, “I want us to be friends, Kassia. I know that I have not been kind to you.”
Kind! You have treated me like a blight!
Blanche persevered, her voice liquid with shame. “ ’Twas jealousy that made me act as I did. I wanted Graelam, but he chose first Joanna, then you. It was not well done of me. I wish there to be peace between us.”
Kassia did not think herself a gullible fool, but she was lonely, and terribly unhappy. The past week and a half had dragged past even though Blount had enthusiastically approved everything she wished to do within Wolffeton, and work had begun. It was not that she was bored or felt useless. No never that. She was the mistress of Wolffeton. she felt herself go tense remembering how Graelam had watched the great hall scrubbed clean of years of filth, sniffed at the fresh reeds that were scattered with a special mixture of sweet rosemary, lavender, and other herbs and flowers handed down from Kassia’s grandmother. She had waited for him to say something, anything, but he had merely grunted, ignoring her.
Blanche saw Kassia looking wistfully toward the far whitewashed wall and guessed the direction of her thoughts. She said with gentle praise, “You have performed wonders. I had not believed Wolffeton could be so beautiful.” She forced herself to sigh softly. “And the servants respect you and obey you. I wanted to make changes, you know, but they would not heed me. And the cushions you are making! How often I have wished to be more at ease in my chair!”
That brought a reluctant smile to Kassia’s lips. “Aye,” she said with a bit more enthusiasm, “I have felt the same way.”
“Will you let me help you?” Blanche asked humbly. “I do have some skill with a needle.”
“Aye,” Kassia said again slowly, still wary of the incredible change in Blanche. “If you would like, ’twould make us all more comfortable that much sooner.”
The two women sewed together companionably until the light faded. “Just a few more minutes,” Kassia said, “and I shall be through with this cushion.”
“It is for your lord?” Blanche asked, her voice sympathetic.
“It is,” Kassia said shortly, wondering what Graelam would say, wondering if Graelam would even notice.
She started when Blanche reached over and gently patted her hand. “All will be well between you, Kassia. You will see. Graelam is a man unused to gently bred ladies, but your care of him will soon change his thinking.”
Kassia felt tears cloud her vision. “Perhaps you are right, Blanche.”
“Of course I am right,” Blanche said stoutly. “Whilst you finish your lord’s cushion, is there something you would like me to do?”
Kassia sniffed back her tears. “Nay,” she said, managing a wan smile. “The servants have things well in hand. I do thank you, Blanche. I really do.”
Graelam noticed the rich red velvet cushion immediately. It was thick and soft, stuffed with goose down, and beautifully made. He ran his hand over its smooth surface.
“I have begun another cushion for the back of your chair,” Kassia said.
He heard the wariness in her voice but ignored it. “Will you make more cushions? For your chair as well?”