Fire Song by Catherine Coulter

afraid, my lady,” Guy said gently. “Lord Graelam is within and he is not yet wed. Your timing, in fact, is exquisite. The wedding is tomorrow.” As he spoke, the enormity of the situation broke over him. Poor Joanna! Poor Blanche! He wanted to laugh, but he saw the pain of utter weariness in Kassia’s eyes, and gently cupped her elbow, pulling her forward. He spoke to one of Lord Graelam’s men and motioned him toward Stephen.
    “Your men will be taken care of, my lady. Now it is time for you to meet your husband.”
    Kassia felt the warmth of his hand through her cloak.But still she felt cold, icy to her very bones. Pride, my girl, she wanted to shout. Her feet obeyed, yet each step upward was a terrible obstacle to overcome. She stepped into the massive hall. It was darker and cooler within, and for a moment she could see nothing for the dim light. She shook her head, allowing Guy to lead her toward the end of the hall. She saw a man seated in an ornately carved high-backed chair. Next to him, seated in a smaller chair, sat a young woman with blond hair so light that it looked nearly white. There were at least fifty men and women standing about, some richly garbed. She became aware suddenly that all the voices were dying away. Closer and closer they came to the man. She could see him clearly now. He was as dark as Guy was fair. He appeared huge, even seated, and his face looked stern and forbidding. Oh no, no! she thought frantically. Not this man!
    “My lord,” Guy said in a loud voice, “may I present your wife, Lady Kassia de . . . Moreton, to your guests.”
    The young woman seated beside Graelam let out a shriek and jumped to her feet. Lord Graelam merely gazed at her, his face telling her nothing.
    There was a suddenly furious babble of voices, all of them raised, all of them outraged. Kassia was vaguely aware of an older man, richly garbed, stepping toward her.
    It took a moment for Guy’s words to sink in. Graelam looked at the slight girl, covered from throat to toe in a dusty cloak. He saw the short curls capping her small head. He ignored the strident, angry voices about him, ignored the cries from Joanna and the guttural moans from Joanna’s mother, Lady Eleanor. Slowly he rose from his chair, his eyes never leaving her face. It was the short, curling chestnut hair that made him believeit was Kassia de Lorris, for he could not place this girl into the wraith’s body he had seen at Belleterre.
    Suddenly he could not help himself. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Laughter at himself, laughter at the uproar this girl had caused, laughter at the sudden inevitable turn his life had taken.
    Kassia gaped at the huge man whose whole body was convulsed with laughter. She felt the hostility and the blatant disbelief of the people around her.
    “I carry your ring, my lord,” she said in a loud, clear voice.
    She slid it off her finger and thrust it out toward him.
    Graelam stopped laughing. He stared down at his ring, banded with thick horsehair to keep it on her slender finger.
    He heard Lord Thomas shrieking like an idiot woman, demanding to know the meaning of this outrage. He heard Joanna or perhaps Blanche, he couldn’t tell which, yelling insults at the girl. Another woman, likely Joanna’s mother, was wailing with piercing loudness.
    “Graelam,” the Duke of Cornwall said in a voice of awful calm, striding forward, “perhaps you will tell me the meaning of this? Who is this girl?”
    Graelam ignored him. He stepped closer to Kassia and gently cupped her chin in his hand, drawing her face upward.
    Kassia felt his dark eyes searching her face. She could not bring herself to look up at him. Why did he not say something?
    “My lord,” Joanna cried, “I will not allow you to have your whore here! How dare you!”
    Blanche was laughing, her eyes alight with malicious joy on Joanna’s contorted face. “Well, my lady ,” shesaid softly to Joanna, “it appears your wedding must