Secret Song (Medieval Song 4)

“I’m inside you, and you’re wet and hot around me. Don’t be a fool, Daria. There is no part of you, save your woman’s vanity, that co

uld possibly hate me.”

“Then I hate this need you seem to have to hurt me. I hate your cruelty, Roland. I don’t understand why you do it.”

He pulled out of her and rose, straightening his clothes with abrupt clumsy movements, for his body was sluggish and slow from the intensity of his release. He was, truth be told, angry at himself. The words had come unbidden from his mouth; her damned virginity—of course he’d stood there whilst the Earl of Clare had—He shook his head. He couldn’t bear to think of that. When she thinks about it, what does she feel? More fretting, and now he’d shoved her away from him yet again. He didn’t particularly understand why he’d baited her either. But it didn’t matter. It put him back in control, firmly away from her. He smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. At least he’d gained pleasure from her before he’d pushed her away, and pushed himself away as well. As to what it felt like to kiss her, he refused to be touched by it. “I thank you for the diversion. I feel very much at my ease now. Now, I think it wise for you to go to the hall and oversee the servants. I wouldn’t want them to forget you are their mistress.”

She lay there, her body still pulsing slightly with lazy shocks of pleasure. She watched him stride quickly to the door. He turned and said over his shoulder, “You are mistress here. See to your duties.”

“Are you one of my duties?”

“Aye, and you’ve done well by me last night and today. Very well indeed. I shan’t complain at your lack of skill. It will come. A wench with your enthusiasm will learn rapidly. And I am a good teacher. Aye, Daria, I am your first responsibility and you will see to me whenever I wish it.” And he left her, and she thought she heard him whistling before the door closed behind him.

She was such a fool, she thought wearily as she rose from the bed, to think that he could possibly have changed with her arrival. She should have remained at Wolffeton. But to do what? To sit about doing nothing at all while Kassia went humming about her duties? Whilst Kassia laughed and teased her husband and nibbled his ear when she didn’t believe anyone saw? No, staying there would have destroyed her.

Daria grinned then. By coming here she’d learned what passion was all about, and she quite liked it, even if Roland must needs ruin it after he was through with her. She more than quite liked it. Roland wasn’t the only one to feel as though his body was shattering, flying out of control, yet demanding more and more until it was all chaos and sensation and nothing else mattered. He used her and she would use him. It was even. She wouldn’t think of anything else. She would care for her babe when it was born, shower her love on her son or daughter. And she would use her husband and ignore his insults.

It was true about passion, she thought again, her eyes closing as a vague tremor of feeling passed through her. It was beyond any experience that she could have imagined. If Roland thought of her as only a convenient receptacle for his lust, why, then, she would view him as a convenient—What? She wasn’t certain how to divide up a man. She touched her fingertips to her lips. She could still feel him, feel his hunger, his urgency, and then his simple enjoyment of kissing her. He’d acted like a starving man. Ah, she loved to kiss him as well. Well, then, she was fortunate that she enjoyed his kisses. She didn’t need anything else from him.

She felt his seed on her thighs, rose slowly from the bed and bathed herself, but the scent of him lingered and the scent of her as well, and she wanted to weep because there was no part of her, even her perverse vanity, that hated him.

What was she to do?

It was obvious to her now what she had to do. If any niggling feelings for her husband crept unasked into her mind, she would simply take him to her bed until the feelings disappeared and she was glutted with passion.

She went down into the great hall. Soon she would take things into hand. But not now, not whilst Sir Thomas was here. She quite liked him, she didn’t wish to hurt him or make him feel an outsider. The servants seemed to respond to her nicely, she realized with some relief by the time the evening meal had been justly consumed. She suspected that Old Alice, the resident autocrat, had dictated that she was the mistress and thus to be obeyed, bless her. Even Gwyn smiled at her, and did her bidding with satisfying speed.

There was no one to hold her in dislike save her husband.

Two weeks later, on the first Monday in August, the king’s soldiers, led by Robert Burnell, arrived with Daria’s dowry from the Earl of Reymerstone.

They also arrived with something else.

Burnell was weary to his bones, worried that the king was suffering from his absence, and relieved that the Earl of Reymerstone hadn’t tried to murder him, though he’d seen the burning hate in the man’s pale eyes, and known that it had been close for a time. Burnell didn’t know if God had interceded on his behalf, but it made him feel blessed to believe it was so. The Earl of Reymerstone had allowed them to leave with a dozen mules, all laden with more goods that would have been Daria’s had she married Ralph of Colchester. If Burnell hadn’t insisted upon reading the marriage contract the earl had signed with Colchester, he never would have known about all the other goods. And that had made the earl all the more furious. Thank the good Lord he hadn’t tried to murder them on their journey to Cornwall.

Daria looked from Robert Burnell’s tired face toward the mules. There were coin, plate, jewels—she knew that there had been more that her uncle would have brought to her wedding. But so much more? Daria was stunned at the number of laden mules that came into the inner bailey, one after another.

So much, and now it belonged to Roland.

It was then that she saw her mother. Daria let out a yell and darted between people and animals and piles of refuse and deep gouges between cobblestones toward the woman who was bent over her palfrey.

“Mother! You’re here! Oh, my.”

The two men watched as Salin strode to the woman, and gently as he would handle a babe, lifted her from the mare’s back. Roland saw his wife enfold the slighter woman, saw tears streaming down her face, saw her shoulders heaving as she kissed and hugged her mother.

“I have brought Lady Fortescue, Roland, just as you requested,” Burnell said, turning away from mother and daughter. “The earl—I saw him strike her viciously and repeatedly before I could stop him. It was after I’d made the demands, and he realized there was naught he could do—he agreed to let her leave with me. He was yelling at her that he’d show her what he’d do to her bitch of a daughter when he got his hands on her. I knew he would kill her if I hadn’t taken her away from him. She is still weak—several ribs are bruised, I think—her wrist is hurt, but bound securely. She’s a nice lady, Roland, soft-spoken and gentle. You did well to bring her here.”

Roland remembered the woman when he’d first gone to see the Earl of Reymerstone; he remembered the weariness in her eyes, the acceptance of things when there was no hope to change them.

“I’m glad you saved her.” He nodded to Burnell and strode to Lady Fortescue.

“My lady,” he said, and watched her try to straighten at his greeting, watched her try to offer him a curtsy.

“Nay, don’t. Daria, your mother isn’t feeling well. Take her to your solar. She must rest.”

Daria saw her mother’s bruised body a few minutes later in the solar when she helped her onto a narrow bed. She closed her eyes a moment, wishing more than anything that her uncle was present and that she had a knife. She would kill him. And she would enjoy it. She sent word to Alice, and a sweet-smelling warm potion of wine and herbs quickly arrived. Daria stayed with her mother until she slept. She smoothed back the vibrant red hair, still untouched by gray, saw the lines smooth from her mother’s face. She lowered her head in her hands and wept. She was so very grateful to Roland for bringing her mother to her, and to safety. After a long time Daria rose, straightened her gown, and called to Gwyn, who was cleaning in Sir Thomas’s bedchamber. She asked her to remain with her mother.

“She’s a beautiful lady,” Gwyn whispered. “I’ll see that she’s all right.”