Secret Song (Medieval Song 4)

Dienwald looked up and saw Daria staring fixedly at her husband, her face flushed, her lips slightly parted. His grin was wicked as a devil’s as he said loudly to his wife, “Would you observe that expression, wench—nay, not your own, Daria’s. Now, I would say that she was well-pleasured last night. Is it true, Roland? Did you please your wife?”

“I cannot control him, Daria, forgive me. But I can offer him food so that he can keep his strength up and his mouth closed. Here, husband, chew on this wonderful honeyed pastry.”

Just as suddenly, the odor of the sweet pastry sent her stomach roiling wildly and she gasped in distress and flew from the hall.

When she returned, Roland handed her a goblet of fresh milk. “Drink this slowly and then eat some of this bread. Alice told me it was just for you, made with special herbs that came from her great-great-great-grandmother, and it would make the babe happy.”

Daria said nothing. She was embarrassed. The bread did settle her belly, and as she chewed slowly, she listened to her husband say, “I would certainly enjoy you extending your stay, Dienwald. I would put you to work. The eastern wall needs more men and labor than I have at present.”

“You mistake the matter, Roland. I am a lazy lout, of no account at all. It is my sweet wife here who is the worker. She pines to work. She languishes when she is not about some task. And she rides me constantly now to make repairs on St. Erth. She wears me down. Alas, Roland, I must return her to her home. I fear I cannot leave her to direct your reparations, for my son, Edmund, is more and more on her mind.”

“Aye, the officious little tadpole,” Philippa said fondly. She turned to Daria. “Once you’ve settled in and Roland grows bored with his domestication, then you must come to St. Erth.”

“My uncle has no friends,” Daria remarked later to Roland as they watched Dienwald, Philippa, and all their men ride from the keep. “No neighbor wants to see him even from a distance. He was always fighting, arguing, trying to steal their lands, debauch their daughters and wives, and I used to wonder when one of them would sneak into Reymerstone and slay all of us in our beds.”

“The king’s uncle, now dead, God bless his soul, bound men together here in Cornwall with his smooth wit and his unspoken power. Aye, if any of the lords hereabouts wanted to wage war on his neighbor, he would regret it, for the Duke of Cornwall acted swiftly. Dienwald was the only renegade, and he was only an occasional renegade. The duke chose to be amused by him. And once Dienwald was wedded to the king’s daughter, his fate was sealed. How do you feel, Daria?”

“Fine. Thank you for the milk and bread.”

“Actually,” he said, frowning into the distance, not looking at her, “I meant from last night. Was I too rough with you? I have heard it said that a woman’s breasts grow very tender. I did not mean to hurt you.”

She shook her head quickly, and Roland, not hearing her speak, slewed his head around to look down at her flushed face.

His expression hardened. “You won’t now pretend that you were forced or abused, will you?”

“Nay, I shan’t pretend pain when there was naught but pleasure. You gave me great pleasure, I admit it.”

He’d looked away from her again and she joined him in searching the horizon for nothing in particular.

“You are sweet,” he said abruptly. “Your taste pleased me. If I think of tasting you, I grow hard and randy as one of our goats.”

That was a surprise. “But it is only morning.”

“Look yon, Daria, to the southeast, at the base of that small hillock. There is a field of summer flowers there, thick as a woven mat, and warm and sweet. I would take you there and strip you naked. I would caress you and let you caress me and watch the sweat dew your soft flesh as the passion builds in you, and when you are twisting beneath me, I would taste you again and then press you down in the bed of fragrant flowers and sink into you.”

He saw the pulse pounding in her throat, the heated color on her cheeks, the wild anticipation in her eyes. He smiled, pleased. There was no reason to argue with her, to constantly make her pale and draw back, no, there had been too much of that. He was wedded to her and that was an end to it. He would simply make the best of it; to discover that she was filled with passion would bring unexpected satisfaction to his future days and nights. And what of the child? If it is a boy, he will be your heir and you will have to swallow your bile and your honor—

Roland shook his head. There was naught he could do to influence the sex of the child. Nothing. He wouldn’t fret about it. He’d never really fretted in his life, yet he’d done more of it in the past weeks than he had imagined possible. It solved naught, this fretting, and it made him nervous and irritable. “Come,” he said, his voice curt, “I’ll introduce you to the keep servants. You are the mistress now and they must accustom themselves to the fact. It has been many years since a lady was in residence here. Sir Thomas tells me most of the keep servants are well-meaning, but they’ve grown lazy.” He paused a moment. “I trust you have the training to oversee the work?”

“Aye, my mother did not neglect my household duties.”

“But she found opportunity to teach you to read and to

write. Very unusual, I should say. Did you know that Philippa is St. Erth’s steward?”

“I have not been taught those duties. But if someone will but show me, then—”

“Nay, there is no need. You will meet my steward shortly. If he is a cheat, well, then, I will beat him and throw him into a ditch.”

Daria grinned at that, then said, her voice diffident, “My mother, Roland. Robert Burnell will bring to us, will he not?”

“Think no more about it,” he said, and left her.

Alice, the many-times-removed offspring of the Great Alice, had pain in her joints. Daria stood a moment in the cooking outbuilding, watching the old woman stir a stew with a long wooden spoon. It pained her, but Daria didn’t know her well enough as yet to suggest a possible remedy. She praised her cooking, and settled back to hear advice on her pregnancy.

The advice journeyed through time back to the Great Alice herself, whence all knowledge began, Daria realized. She was close to nodding off when Alice, remembering her pastries, yelled, “By all the saints. Go ye, little mistress, and lie ye down. I’ll send one of those lazy wenches with something fer ye to eat.”

She slept away the afternoon. When she awoke, Roland was seated on the bed beside her. His look was intent and by far too serious for her peace of mind. Had he been there long? Just looking at her? What was he thinking?