Secret Song (Medieval Song 4)

“Nay, it was twice. Our wedding night and that first time, in Wrexham.”

He cursed, long and fluently and loudly. Her words pushed him beyond sanity, beyond reason, and he was a man, astute and logical and not at all mean-spirited. Until he got near her, his wife, his damned lying wife.

“I should send you back to Wolffeton, but I doubt Graelam would want the keeping of you now. By God, he’d have to have you watched just as the Earl of Clare did. Nay, I shan’t ask that of him. I wonder. Perhaps after several weeks, would you try to convince him that the babe you carry in your womb is his?”

He caught her wrist before she could strike him. He hauled her close and said very softly, not two inches from her nose, “Do not strike me again, Daria. I give you fair warning. Never again.”

17

To the surprise of all the visitors present, the evening meal was delicious. The herring was baked to perfection, tender as snowflakes melting in the mouth, the slabs of beef spicy with herbs Daria couldn’t identify. Whoever was the cook here deserved to be praised. The myriad rush torches that lined the stone walls cast vague shadows and softened the harshness of the great hall, and in this gentle light the lacks weren’t all that noticeable. Indeed, Daria thought as she was savoring a particularly fine bite of stewed mutton, it was warm and cozy. She swallowed blissfully, then grinned when she chanced to see Sir Thomas smiling at her.

“You are surprised at the quality of my food.” He shook his head. “At my age, food is one of the few pleasures left. The cook is an individual I would send my men to protect. Aye, I wonder what your husband would say if I asked to take my cook with me when I leave.”

“I think I should hunt the fellow down, Sir Thomas, and offer him the world to remain.”

“Where did you find this god of a cook, Sir Thomas?” Dienwald called out over a mouthful of sweet almond bread dripping with dark amber honey. “Can I steal him away with me under the cover of darkness? Or perhaps steal him under cover of my large and beautiful wife?”

Daria laughed, as did everyone else. She hadn’t believed earlier that she would ever want to eat again or even smile again, and here she was eating her head off and laughing until her ribs ached.

Tomorrow, she knew, Dienwald and Philippa would return to St. Erth, and she would be alone with her husband. She smiled at Sir Thomas. Perchance he’d choose to remain longer. At least he would be here until the king’s men arrived with her dowry.

“Actually,” Sir Thomas said, lifting a delicate herring fillet for all to see, “my wondrous cook is a bent old crone who tells me that her great-great-great-grandmother cooked for the Conqueror himself. Supposedly it was Mathilda herself who gave instructions to that long-ago Alice. You needn’t worry that I’ll steal her or that Dienwald will whisk her away. I believe all her magic lies here at Thispen-Ladock.”

“I’m devoutly thankful for that,” Daria said.

Roland was chewing thoughtfully on a piece of braised mutton. It was so tender that his mouth watered even as he chewed. “I don’t know how you remain so thin, Sir Thomas. A man could become a stoat quickly enough.”

“A young man newly wed, Roland? Fie on you. You will be far too busy, far too occupied with your new bride, to gain flesh on your belly.”

“Aye, that’s true,” Dienwald called out. He stood suddenly and pulled up his tunic, baring his belly and his chest. “Look and feel pity for me, Roland. I was once possessed of a magnificent manly body, just weeks ago, in fact. But now my ribs stick out like barrel staves, my belly sinks into my back like a riverbed in a drought, and all because of the demands placed on me by my new wife. She works me harder than the meanest of our serfs work our oxen. This marvelous food keeps me alive, Sir Thomas, to toil at least another d

ay in her demanding service. Then once again I shall have to avoid strong winds. And—”

Suddenly, without warning, Philippa de Fortenberry jumped to her feet, grabbed her husband’s neck by his tunic, and stuffed a large handful of green peas into his open mouth. He sputtered and choked, spitting the peas in every direction. He turned on his wife, blood in his eye, and yelled, “My strength after this meal is awe-some, Philippa. I can even reduce you, an oversize female with the strength of a female water buffalo, to begging within seconds.”

Daria shook her head, she was laughing so hard. The two of them never seemed to tire of baiting each other.

“Begging for what, Dienwald?” Sir Thomas asked.

“Why, begging me to pleasure her, naturally.”

Philippa squeaked, scooped up another handful of peas, but her husband was quicker. He reached down, grabbed her by the waist, and threw her over his arm. He kissed her then, hard and long, in front of the entire company. When he finally released her, she was laughing and pummeling at his chest. Only Daria saw the desire in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, the softness of her open mouth as she looked into her husband’s face.

Daria turned away, unable to bear their unity. She wondered if perhaps Philippa had known that Dienwald was meant for her and only for her, when she first saw him. The men were cheering and shouting out jests and trying to catch the serving wenches who were near to them, and they were successful most of the time because the women were laughing just as hard as the men and wanted to be caught and wooed so humorously.

Roland remarked to her, “There was a time when there wasn’t such amity between them. But I remember the anger that flared was all on Dienwald’s side. As I recall, he was furious that she dared to have the king for a father.”

Daria’s head whipped up and she stared at him. “That makes no sense.”

“When you come to know Dienwald, you will understand. Now, Daria, I have promised a game of chess to Sir Thomas. There is no reason for you to begin your duties as mistress of this keep until the morrow.”

He was dismissing her, and she rose stiffly, both from hurt at his careless rejection, and from her sore muscles, and bade her good-nights.

Sir Thomas watched her walk slowly and gracefully from the great hall. Then he noticed she was limping slightly and he frowned.

“She fell,” Roland said shortly, his eyes also following his wife’s progress.

“Aye, so I heard from one of the women.”