Secret Song (Medieval Song 4)

Daria shrugged and turned back to the window slit. “Perhaps I was wrong; perhaps I wanted so much for you to whisper my name, to moan that you loved me. Perhaps you will never remember that instant in time when you were with me, when we were together, when you belonged to me—”

He laughed, a low, mocking laugh. “Remember a moment of time that is naught but an elaborate fancy of yours? A fabric you have woven of unreal cloth? If I remember aright, you say that you bathed my sex and groin afterward, that you—my embarrassed little virgin—wiped me free of your blood and my man’s seed.”

“That’s right. There was no embarrassment. I’d cared for you because you were ill, and I loved you. Aye, I bathed you because I didn’t want you to wonder and perhaps guess what had happened between us, and feel guilt and obligation for me. As I told you, it was my decision to give myself to you, and thus the responsibility was mine. But then it all went awry. For that, Roland, I am truly sorry. But the child, our child—I just wanted—”

He sliced his hand through the air. “Enough of your lies, Daria. The saints know you’ve gotten exactly what you wanted, though I cannot see that I am such a prize to any woman. So you have me and my name; your child will have my name. And if it is a male child you birth, why, then, I will have my honor shoved down my throat to the day I die.”

“Roland, would you have still not wanted to marry me if I had not been with child?”

He stared at her, for a moment nonplussed. He held himself silent over the words that wanted to pour out of his mouth. He said then, quietly, “If the king had still insisted that I marry you, then yes, I would have.”

“And you would have been kinder to me when you took me?”

“Enough of this. I will hear no more of your ridiculous surmises, Daria. I will tell you that now—this instant—I want nothing more than to sink into your soft woman’s flesh. Remove your clothing and lie on the bed. Be fast about it, I have not had a woman in a long time.”

“You had me not very long ago.”

“That duty hardly counted. It was a simple rutting, a coupling to be endured, little more. Perhaps I shall take my time this night and take you until I am sated on your skinny body.”

“No.”

He walked to her then and very gently clasped her upper arms in his hands. He turned her around until she was facing him. His breath was warm on her face. His voice was as cold as his eyes as he said, “Never will you refuse me. Never.”

“I’m refusing you now, Roland. I must. I cannot allow you to grind me beneath your heel, I cannot allow you to treat me like I’m worth so very little.”

“I’m the one ground down, Daria. There is a proverb my father used to throw into the breach at odd moments and that is: a man must begin as he means to go on. You will not gainsay me; you will not willfully disobey me in anything. I won’t tolerate that. I have paid too dear to allow it. I will force you, Daria, if you continue to refuse me.”

She didn’t move. Then, suddenly, she jerked free of him and dashed to the chamber door. She heard the chair crash to the floor, heard him trip over it. She was through the door in an instant, his flung-out arm missing her shoulder by inches.

“Where will you go?” he yelled after her. “You stupid girl, where will you go?”

He heard her dashing footsteps on the winding stone stairs. He heard a loud cry and a thud. His heart heaved to his throat, and he dashed to the top of the steps just outside the bedchamber door. He took them two at a time, nearly falling himself in his haste. Around the curve of the stairs, he saw Salin, consternation writ on his ugly face, bending down to where Daria lay slumped against the stair wall.

“What happened?”

“She flew into me,” Salin said. “Then she bounced back and struck her head against the stone.” He waited for Roland to rush to his wife, but he didn’t come any nearer. He waited another few moments, then leaned down and picked her up. She was conscious now but her eyes were vague on his face.

“You’re all right, little mistress,” he said. “You just knocked the breath from yourself and lightly coshed your head.” Salin didn’t wait for a word from his master. He carried Daria into the chamber and laid her gently on the bed.

“Shall I fetch Lord Graelam’s leech?”

“Nay. I shall see to her.” Roland waited until Salin saw himself out, and then turned to close and lock the chamber door.

He returned to his dazed wife, methodically felt her arms and legs, then just as methodically began to remove her clothes. She gave him no fight now.

“I struck my head. It hurts dreadfully.”

“I heard the crack, but there is naught but a small bruise forming. You’re too stubborn to be sorely hurt by a knock on your head. If it hurts you, well, then, you deserve it, I should say.”

“Will you force me now, Roland?”

He stilled, frowning down at her. “I don’t want you; I should have to think of other women in splendid detail if I wished to regain my desire.”

Still he continued to pull off her clothing. When she lay on her back, naked, he rose and simply stared down at her. He studied her, stroking his fingertips over his jaw, his expression one of indifference. “You’re so very flat. It’s hard to believe a babe lies in that skinny belly of yours. Mayhap the father was a dwarf.”

She lurched up, grabbed the half-filled carafe from the table beside the bed, and flung it at him. It struck his chest, splashing a wide arc of water up onto his face.

But it cost her dearly, and she turned away, her eyes closed against the pain in her head. She cared not at the moment whether he would seek retribution or not. All had gone wrong. She heard him suck in his breath; then there was nothing. Finally she heard his footsteps going toward the chamber door. He said as he unlocked and opened the door, “I am leaving on the morrow. You will remain here with Lord Graelam and Lady Kassia. They will take care of you.”