He learned that she could not respond to him in bed if something was on her mind, a problem with a servant perhaps, or a new project taking shape in her thoughts. Thus it was that he was beginning to learn how she thought, how she felt about her thoughts, and how she came to decisions about problems within the keep. He smiled ruefully, recalling the first time he had wanted nothing more than to fling her onto the bed and love her until she was panting for him. She had not refused him, but he saw a frown on her forehead as he was kissing her most expertly. At first he was insulted and infuriated with her, and had snapped, “What is wrong with you, Kassia? Where is your mind?”
She cocked her head at him, a soft smile on her lips. “It is Bernard,” she said ruefully. “I don’t know what to do about him, and I must do something!”
“Bernard,” he repeated blankly, finally picturing the quiet, shaggy-looking boy who had come to the castle to tend the dogs after ten years with his father’s sheep.
She nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip, then burst into a wide smile. “Why did I not ask you immediately? You will know what to do!”
Thus it was that they discussed the problem of Bernard and his odd and painful reaction to dog lice until they found a solution that pleased them both. Her response to him afterward was something he could not have imagined.
He gave her free access to all the material in his trunk, telling her to do with it as she wished. But of course she did not. She always asked him, and he knew it would take a long time for her to forget his initial reaction when she had taken material to make him a tunic.
He realized also that he liked his wife. It was a terrifying, nonsensical thought, and one he did not wish to consider. A wife sees to her husband’s comfort, both in his keep and his body, most men of his acquaintance believed and parroted religiously. He turned again, hearing her laughter, and realized that it was coming from the practice field. Whatever would Kassia be doing among his men? He strode to the wide field and drew to an abrupt halt. There she sat, wearing a white wool cloth over her hair and a faded green wool gown, his men gathered around her. If he had not recognized her laugh, he would have thought her a serving wench.
“Nay, Bran,” he heard her say, the laughter still in her voice, “the remaining pie is for my lord. You have already had your share!”
He saw that she was holding a tray and his men were either eating or wiping their mouths.
Her lord. Any thought of chastising her for interrupting his men disappeared from his mind. When she saw him she skipped toward him, startled pleasure at seeing him in her eyes.
“I had thought you buried with Blount,” she said gaily. “Here, my lord. It is an apple tart, freshly baked.”
He accepted the pastry from her, realizing belatedly that his expression was probably just as besotted as the rest of his men’s.
He wiped his mouth and smiled down at her. “It was delicious, my lady. But I do not believe that these stupid louts are deserving of your consideration.”
He heard loud guffaws from behind him. Kassia was laughing with the rest of them. Without really wishing to, he lightly touched his fingers to her smooth cheek. “Go now, little one,” he said softly. “Else I might be tempted to toss you over my shoulder and show you how delicious you are.”
She flushed, disclaimed, smiled wickedly at him, and sped from the practice field. Sometime later, Rolfe said to him, “You are a lucky man, my lord. Aye, very lucky.”
“Aye,” Graelam said blandly, wiping the sweat from his brow and gazing toward the fortified eastern wall. “Wolffeton is a castle to be proud of. The jakes no longer stink, and Bernard does much better in the stables with the horses.” He stretched, eyeing his master-at-arms from the corner of his eye. Rolfe could not recognize a jest if it kicked him in his lean butt.
Rolfe cleared his throat. “Aye,” he said slowly, “that is true, my lord, but I was speaking of your lady wife.” He drew himself up,
frowning at the slight smile on his master’s lips. “She brings joy to us, my lord. It pleases me—all the men—to see her smile again.”
She didn’t betray you! He immediately quashed the thought. He had decided many days before that he had been as much to blame as she for her leaving him. And, he had thought over and over, she had returned to him. But why will she not tell me the truth?
He shook his head, realizing vaguely that it brought him a measure of pain to think about it. He said aloud, “There is enough pain in life without adding to it.”
Rolfe pulled on his ear. “She is a dear child,” he said at last.
“Nay, my old friend. She is not a child,” Graelam said.
Late that night as he caressed her soft belly, feeling her rippling response to him, he said quietly, “You are no longer a child, Kassia.”
Her answer was a moaning cry that made his loins tighten. He wanted to bury himself within her. He pushed her to the edge of her climax, then thrust into her. Her release was immediate and rending. She cried out helplessly into his mouth, her back arched up against him, so beyond herself in that long moment that she could think of nothing, only feel. He was held spellbound in her pleasure before his own need consumed him. He moved slightly, afraid that his weight was too much for her.
He felt her slender arms clutching around his back. “Nay,” she whispered, “do not leave me.”
He slipped his arms around her and rolled onto his back, bringing her on top of him. She laughed, surprised, for he was still deep inside her. “You are now to be ridden, my lord?”
“Aye,” he said, cupping her face in his hands and bringing her lips down, “in a moment, Kassia. In a moment.”
“I feel so . . .” She paused, her eyes caressing his face, as her lips curved into a smile. “Not so full as I did!”
He lightly slapped her hips. “Mouthy wench.” He stroked his hands over her back. Gently he eased her off him and laid her on her back. He leaned over her, balanced on his elbow.
Kassia felt embarrassed at his scrutiny, and brought her hand up to cover herself.