Secret Song (Medieval Song 4)

Is she still a maid?”

“She is a maid,” Roland said.

“That is what she tells you.”

“No man has touched me.”

“You are a woman and are born with lies trembling on your tongue. I wish to believe you, Father, but I find myself beset with doubts. When you left me, I heard one of my men telling another that all the castle wenches wish to bed you. I will admit that I saw you not as a man before but solely as a priest. Perhaps I yield to false tidings, and if I do, God will surely punish me for it, yet I see you now as a man alone with her.”

Roland quickly assumed his most pious pose. “Believe me, I do not see your betrothed as a woman. I see her only as one of God’s creatures, nothing more.”

Roland spoke calmly, yet his heart pounded in his breast. He realized that the earl wasn’t entirely sane.

Edmond of Clare drew a deep steadying breath. He’d behaved badly, he knew it. He’d let his jealousy of his Benedictine priest overcome his Christian sense. He would whip the man who’d spoken irreverently of the priest. But he found himself looking again at Daria. Her cheeks were very pale, her eyes dilated. He realized that it mattered not what she’d said to the priest or what the priest believed. He had made up his mind and he knew God approved his actions.

“I would examine her now,” Edmond said, advancing on her. “You will remain to testify that I do not ravish her, Father. And if she isn’t a virgin, you will also so testify so that I can then do as I will with her, for it matters not what a whore wishes.”

Roland cleared his throat and his voice rang stern and hard. “I forbid it, my son.”

The earl stared at him as if he’d lost his wits. “I am lord here, Father Corinthian, and no other man, even be he a man of God, has the right to gainsay me, for my word is law. Do you understand me? Come, you will be my witness.”

But Daria wasn’t to submit without a struggle. She grabbed up her skirts and ran from the earl. He caught her quickly, his heavy arm around her waist, and he lifted her, carrying her to the narrow cot, and threw her down upon her back, knocking the breath out of her.

“Damn you, girl, hold still.” He lifted his hand to strike her into submission, saw the priest standing rigid with disapproval near to him, and slowly lowered his hand. He leaned down, his face close to hers. “Do as I tell you or I will beat you when the priest is gone.”

He’d spoken softly, so that only she heard him. She felt his spittle on her throat. He was both enraged and determined.

“Please, my lord,” she said, “please don’t shame me. I am a maid. What have I done to deserve your distrust? Please do not shame me.”

The earl paid no attention. He was as determined as he was excited, his groin twisting with painful need. He wanted to touch her, thrust his finger inside her, feel her soft woman’s flesh. He felt sweat break out on his forehead, sweat from his growing lust. Daria felt one of his large hands on her belly, his fingers splayed outward, holding her flat, and his other hand was pulling at her wool skirt, yanking it up, ripping it in his haste, and she felt the chill air on her thighs. She cried out and began to struggle, frantically trying to jerk away from him. His large hand clamped about her knee and squeezed. She cried out against the sudden pain.

“Make no more struggles. Lie still and I will be through quickly.”

But she couldn’t make herself lie there like a helpless creature, motionless and obedient to his will, whilst he humiliated her, and looked at her and touched her. Not with Roland standing so close, looking wild and furious and nearly savage with rage. Then she realized if she continued to fight him, Roland would attack him and most likely all would be lost. And Roland would die.

To acquiesce to this, the humiliation of it threatened to choke her, but she forced herself to still, closing her eyes against the knowledge of what he was going to do to her. It cost her dearly, but she held herself perfectly rigid, enduring because she had to endure. The earl looked up at her, then grunted, pleased with her surrender.

And Roland understood. He hated watching this, hated the earl’s hand touching her. He saw his large hand press her legs wide apart, saw his finger disappear between her thighs, and knew he was touching her. He shook with the compulsion to kill him, yet he knew, as did Daria, that they would have little or no chance to escape, not if he gave in to his fury and killed the earl now. He forced himself to stand there stiff and tense and mute, watching, and it was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. The earl’s face was flushed dark with lust and his breathing was loud in the chamber.

Daria whimpered when one of the earl’s thick fingers thrust inside her. As he probed deeper into her, she cried out with the pain of his roughness. He frowned at her and continued deeper, widening her, preparing her for his sex, for he had every intention of taking her soon, regardless. But he knew she was a maid, aye, he knew, but he’d wanted to touch her, to feel her soft flesh.

Finally he withdrew his finger from her body, and his hand from beneath her skirts. He jerked her gown down over her legs. “She is a maid,” he said, and he looked down into her face as he spoke.

“Open your eyes, damn you. I will take you to wive and you will be loyal and obedient to me, your lord and your husband. Do you understand me, Daria? Even though you are flesh of your uncle’s lewd flesh, it matters not, for you will forget his loathsome nature and bind yourself to me and become what I demand.”

The earl rose and looked down at her again. “Rise and straighten yourself. Father, you are my witness that she is still a virgin. Now that it is proved, let us leave her alone.”

Roland nodded and his eyes dropped. He very nearly leapt on the earl in that moment, for he saw that his sex bulged against the cloth of his tunic, thick and hard.

He didn’t look at Daria, for he couldn’t bear to see on her pale face the misery he knew she felt. He forced himself to nod again, and motioned the earl to go ahead of him out of the bedchamber. He knew deep down that the earl would return to ravish her. If the Benedictine priest, Father Corinthian, had not been here bearing witness, the earl would have continued what he was doing. He would have ravished her. But he would return. He would return tonight; Roland knew it. He knew he must get her away from Tyberton first or he would have failed.

Still his rage made him tremble, and he was relieved that the earl didn’t turn to address some question to him or he might still have wrapped his hands around Edmond of Clare’s neck and wrung the life out of him.

Daria scrambled up from the bed and raced to the door. She forced herself to crack the door open and look out. The earl and Roland were gone. She retreated again, closing the door. There was no key to keep him out. She didn’t yet know of Roland’s plan for their escape, only that he would come for her. She began to pace, feeling so shamed, so humiliated at what he’d done to her that she couldn’t bear being within herself, being at one with her body. She wasn’t aware that tears were streaming down her face until Ena slipped into the chamber and gasped at the sight of her.

“He’s ravished you. And that miserable priest with him. I knew he wasn’t a priest, too pretty he is, too lean and hungry. Aye, both of them—”

Daria, maddened beyond control, turned on the old woman in a fury and yelled, “Shut your stupid mouth, you miserable old crone. I will hear no more of your filth.”