Fire Song by Catherine Coulter Page B

hall down the thick, well-worn oak stairs. She was indeed lovely, his body recognized that, but she felt she must needs playact with Graelam. Guy knew she wasn’t the meek, gentle creature she showed to Graelamwhen he had come upon one of the serving wenches in tears, a livid bruise on her cheek from the slap Lady Blanche had given her. He had told Graelam of the incident, but his master, after speaking to Blanche, had told him that the wench had deserved the slap for insulting his sister-in-law.
    It was odd, Guy thought as he walked beside Graelam into the inner bailey, how his master enjoyed women in his bed, pleasuring them until they squealed with delight, but had little understanding of them outside his bedchamber. To Lord Graelam, women were soft bodies and little else, save for the one, Chandra de Avenell, Graelam had tried to steal and wed nearly two years before. But even that beautiful creature, though she had doubtless intrigued Graelam with her warrior ways, had been only a challenge to him, like an untamed mare to be covered and broken by a stallion. He suspected that Graelam’s black fury following his failure had resulted more from wounded pride than injured feelings. But now Chandra de Avenell was Chandra de Vernon, and Graelam had made peace with both her and her husband in the Holy Land. She was nothing more to him now, Guy knew, than a vague shadow of memory.
    The wench Nan appeared none too clean, Graelam thought as he watched her, her arms pressed against her breasts to better entice him, as she drew the bucket of water from the well. Her thick long dark brown hair would be lovely were it not lank and stringy from lack of washing. Her face was a perfect oval and she smiled at him pertly.
    “If she were bathed,” Graelam said to Guy, “I wouldn’t kick her out of my bed.”
    “Nor would I,” Guy said, laughing.
    “How many men have enjoyed her favors?”
    “Not many, my lord. She was married quite young, when she was fourteen, to a young man who worked with the armorer. He died some two months ago from the wasting disease. According to my knowledge, she has kept her legs together, awaiting your return.”
    Graelam gave the girl a long, slow smile, then turned away toward the newly repaired stables. “Now, Guy,” he said, “ ’tis time to see the four-legged mare.”
    A gale blew in that evening, and the shutters banged loudly in Graelam’s bedchamber. He had spent the past two hours trouncing Guy in a game of chess and drinking more ale than was his habit. He was not overly surprised to find Nan lying in his bed.
    Indeed, he thought, she did have lovely hair. It was now clean and shining and he wondered idly how long she had spent in a bathing tub to prepare herself for him. He strode to the edge of the bed and smiled at her as he stripped off his clothes. He watched her eyes widen when they fell to his swollen manhood.
    “Ye are huge, my lord,” she gasped.
    “Aye,” Graelam laughed, “and you’ll know every inch of me.”
    He drew back the cover and studied her plump white body. “Aye,” he said, his dark eyes caressing her, “every inch.”
    He fondled her and kissed her, pleased that her breath tasted fresh. Her soft flesh was silky and giving beneath his fingers and his mouth. When she was throbbing and hot, he pressed himself between her open legs. She sheathed him to his hilt, wrapping her legs about him, drawing him even deeper, and he realized vaguely, not particularly displeased, that she was as experienced as any whore. He reared back, thrusting deep, and felthis body explode. He rolled off her onto his back. He wondered if her soft cries of pleasure had been real or feigned.
    “My lord?”
    “Aye?” he said, not turning to her.
    “May I rest with ye the night? ’Tis cold and the storm frightens me.”
    “Aye, you may stay.”
    He felt her fingers running through the thick tufts of hair on his chest. “But expect, my pet, to be awakened during the night. My