Secret Song (Medieval Song 4)

Daria watched him from beneath her lashes. She was pretending to sew the rip in his tunic, but her eyes and her attention were focused on him. She wasn’t certain she understood the depths of his feelings, but she accepted his anger. She cou

ld only imagine what she would feel like if she were ill and had to relieve herself with his help.

When the leech arrived, she was profoundly thankful. He eyed Roland, spoke in soft Welsh to him, and seemed pleased. At one point, he gestured toward her, but Daria didn’t understand his words or Roland’s reply. She doubted her husband would be complimenting her.

And as Roland and the leech spoke, she felt free to look at him, and felt such a surge of relief that he was improved that she wanted to shout. When at last the leech turned to her, she was smiling despite her supposed husband’s foul humor.

“Yer husband does well,” the old man said. “He tells me he will leave on the morrow, and I told him if he does, he’ll die and leave ye alone to the tender mercies of lawless bastards. He is now considering things.” He paused, giving her a significant look, and Daria quickly paid him. “Nay, worry not, lass, he’s not a stupid man.” He gave her a small salute and took himself off.

“You give him my money, do you?”

“Since I have none of my own, there’s no choice.”

“So, you found where I’d hidden my coins and now you make free with them?”

“Perhaps I should have pleaded poverty and the priest could have dumped both of us in a ditch. As for the leech, of course I pay him. To put up with your temper, he deserves all the coins I give him. Of course, since he’s a man and not a simpleminded female, you accorded him more courtesy and attention.”

“You should have told me.”

“You’re right. I should have somehow roused you and asked humbly for your permission to use the coins. Such a pity I also am paying for the stabling and care of your destrier. Should I tell the priest to throw Cantor into a ditch, perhaps let him run loose until you are ready for him again?”

“You become a shrew, Daria.”

“You are merely bad-tempered because you cannot bear the fact that you, my stalwart rescuer, are all too human. You aren’t a god, Roland. You’re only a man.”

“So you have noticed that, have you?”

She gave him a smile that, had he but realized it, would have shown him just how much she did know. “Aye,” she said. “Be patient, my l—have patience.”

“How can I? The damned earl will come, and then what will you do? Tell him to be patient until I am well enough to protect you?”

She shook her head and spoke without thought. “I should protect you.”

He snorted and lost some of his newly acquired healthy color. “No, say nothing more. Bring me food. I must get my strength back.”

Daria considered starving him. He was ungrateful and seething all because he himself became ill. As if it were her fault. She sighed. Men were difficult creatures. “Very well. Please rest whilst I’m gone. I will return shortly with food for you.” She marveled that she’d sounded so calm. She snapped the chamber door closed with a bit more force than was necessary and walked with a bit more pressure than was fitting for a priest’s abode.

Romila took one look at her face and cackled. “Aye, yer pretty husband makes ye furious, eh?”

“Aye, I’d like to strangle him.”

“He’s a man, child, nothing more, nothing less. Feed him; he’ll chirp in harmony again once his belly’s full.”

If Roland didn’t chirp, he at least seemed to regain his calm after he’d eaten Romila’s stewed beef and coarse brown bread covered with sweet butter.

“We leave on the morrow,” he said, not bothering to look at her. He was calm and sure of himself and of her.

“No.”

“In the afternoon.”

“No.”

“Daria, you will do as I tell you. I am not your husband but I am the man in charge of you, the man responsible for you and, thus you—”

“No. We won’t leave until you are well, completely fit, and not before. I have hidden your clothes, Roland. If you go, then you will go naked. You cannot force me, nor can you threaten me. I won’t let you go until you are well again.”

He cursed, but Daria only smiled. He’d lost and he knew it. His foul language was just a man’s adornment for his frustration. After he’d cursed himself out of words and into a near-stupor, he fell asleep and she moved to sit beside him. She lightly touched her fingers to his face, and leaning close, whispered, “You have no memory of two nights past, do you? I have wondered what I would do and say if you had. Would I have denied it and claimed it a fevered dream? Or a fancy, mayhap? But it hurts nonetheless, Roland, very much. Now I find I’m disappointed that you don’t have any memory of ridding me of my maidenhead.