“That’s not true. I was careful when I searched through his chamber. I saw him ride away before I went into the room. It was just bad fortune that he had spies and one of them saw me. And what about his dishonesty? You, so astute, such a keen and intelligent male, didn’t even begin to realize he was robbing you down to your last tunic, to your last hay straw, to your last . . . You, a brave male, didn’t realize anything at all. You might even now give a thought to the fact that Alain’s spies are very likely still here. Ha!”
“Females don’t have the brains to resolve problems and keep correct records of things.”
Philippa just stared at him, her bile spent, her rage simmering down to weary resentment.
“Females,” Dienwald continued, waxing fluent now, “don’t know the first thing about organizing facts and making decisions. Females have one useful role only, and that is—”
“Don’t you dare say it!”
“They should see to the weaving and the sewing and the cooking. They are useful for the soft things, the things a man needs to ease him after he’s toiled a long day with both his body and his brain.”
“You’re a fool,” Philippa said, and without another word, for she’d spent even her anger now, turned on her bare heel and strode toward the oak doors.
“Don’t you dare leave, wench!”
She speeded up, and was through the door within moments. She raced across the inner bailey, dodging chickens and Tupper, who squealed with berserk joy at the sight of her. She felt his wet snout against her ankle as she ran. Children called to her, women stared, and men just shook their heads, particularly when the master emerged from the great hall, his face a storm, his temper there for all to see.
“Come back here, you stupid wench!”
Philippa turned to see him striding toward her. “By the saints, you are a miserable clod!” She ran now, holding the frayed gown to her knees. Her legs were long and strong and she ran quickly—right into Gorkel.
“Mistress,” Gorkel said. “What goes?”
“I go,” she said, and jerked away from his huge hands. “Release me, Gorkel!”
“Hold her, Gorkel. Then, if you wish, you can watch me thrash her hide.”
Gorkel gave a mournful sigh and shook his ugly head. “Ye shouldn’t prick t’ master.”
“He’s a fool and I’d like to kick him hard.”
Dienwald winced at that mental imagine. At the same time, he felt an unwanted sting of distress at her words, but shook it off. “Come with me,” he said, and grabbed her arm.
“Nay.”
He stopped, looked from Gorkel back to Philippa, who was pale with fury. “You’ll but hurt my back if you force me to carry you again.”
Philippa drew back her right arm and swung with all her strength. Her fist struck his jaw so sharply that his head snapped back. He lost his balance and would have gone down in humiliation into the dirt had not Gorkel grabbed him and held him until he regained his balance.
Dienwald looked at Philippa as he stroked his sore jaw. “You’re strong,” he said at last. “You’re really very strong.”
She raised her fist and shook it at him. “Aye, and I’ll bring you down again if you try anything.”
Dienwald looked beyond her, his eyes widening. He shook his head, and Philippa snapped about to see what or who was behind her. In the next instant, she was flung over his shoulder, head down, her hair nearly trailing the ground as she yelled and screeched like hens caught in a rainstorm.
He laughed, and strode back toward the great hall. He took the solar stairs, aware that all his people were watching and talking about them and laughing, and the men, ah, they were shouting the most explicit and wondrous advice to him.
When he reached the solar he tossed her on her back onto his bed. “Now,” he said. “Now.”
“Now what?”
“I suppose you expect me to give you wages?”
She stared at him, her brain fuzzy from hanging upside down.
“Well?”
“Wages for what?”