Earth Song (Medieval Song 3)

“What?” Dienwald said, and pulled back to look at his wife’s laughing mouth.

“ ’Tis what Old Agnes said, that I would fetch you home and keep you in my bed until you begged me to let you sleep and restock your seed.”

“Aye, all is in readiness for you, greedy wench. I ask for nothing more in this sweet life than to be debauched by you each night.”

“A promise easily made and more than easily kept.”

Epilogue

Windsor Castle

October 1275

Dienwald quickly closed the door to the opulent chamber, locked it, drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly as he sagged against the door, his eyes closed.

“My lord husband, you did well. My father thinks you nearly as wonderful as do I.”

Dienwald opened his eyes at that. “He does, does he? Ha! I’ll wager you he still thinks Roland de Tournay would have made the better husband and the better son-in-law. And I have to call Roland, that damned brute, friend! It passes all bounds, Philippa.”

She wanted to laugh, but managed to keep her mouth from quivering, her eyes slightly lowered. “Roland is just a common fellow, husband, of little account to my life and of no account at all to my heart. And since my father no longer has any say in the matter, it’s not important. What did you think of Queen Eleanor?”

“A beautiful lady,” Dienwald said somewhat absently, then frowned, moaned, and closed his eyes again. “The king looked at me and knew, Philippa—he knew I’d raided that merchant’s goods near Penrith.”

Philippa laughed. “Aye, he knew. He was amused, he told me so, but he also hinted to me that I should scold you just a bit—‘never be a testy nag, my daughter,’ he said—and somehow keep you from plundering about the countryside. I truly believe he said nothing to you because he doesn’t want to break your spirit.”

/> “He doesn’t want to break my spirit! I don’t suppose you told him that you were with me, riding at my side, dressed like a lad, laughing at how easily we sidetracked that merchant who’d cheated us?”

Philippa straightened her shoulders and looked down her nose at him. “Naturally not. I am part Plantagenet, thus part of the very highest nobility. Besides, do you think me an utter fool?”

“Next time we will take greater care,” Dienwald said. He pushed away from the door and walked to the middle of their chamber and stopped. The room was dazzling in the elegance of its furnishings, and the overwhelming luxury of it stifled him. The bed was hung with rich velvet draperies, their thick crimson folds held with golden rope and ties. The velvet was so thick, so voluminous, one could suffocate if the hangings were drawn at night.

“The ceremony was moving, Dienwald, and you looked as royal as my father and his family.”

Dienwald grunted. He looked down at his flamboyant crimson tunic, belted with a wide leather affair studded with gems. A ceremonial sword was strapped to his waist. He looked well enough, he supposed, but one couldn’t scratch in such clothing, one couldn’t really stretch. One couldn’t grab one’s wife and caress her and fondle her and fling her onto the bed and wrestle with her, tearing off clothing and laughing together and tumbling about.

“ ‘Dienwald de Fortenberry, Earl of St. Erth.’ Or perhaps I prefer ‘Lord St. Erth.’ Ah, that has a sound of proud consequence and arrogant privilege. It fits you well, my lord earl. And Edmund will grow nicely into that appellation, for already he scowls like you do when displeased, and orders me about as if I were his wench.”

Dienwald was silent. He sat down in an ornately carved high-backed chair, stretched out his legs, and looked morosely into the fireplace.

Philippa, her humor fled, knelt in front of him and gazed up at his distracted face. “What troubles you, husband? Do you wish now that you weren’t tied to me?”

He stretched out his hand and lightly touched his fingers to her hair. It was arranged artfully, with many pins and ribbons and fastenings, and he feared to dislodge such perfection. He dropped his hand.

Philippa snorted and flung away the pins and ribbons, shaking her head until her hair hung free, framing her smiling face.

“There, now do what you will. As you always do when we are home.”

Dienwald sat back, his fingers absently sliding through strands of her hair, his eyes still melancholy, as he gazed at the orange flames in the fireplace.

“I’m no longer just me,” he said at last.

“True,” Philippa agreed, leaning her cheek against his knee. “I’m part of you now, as is the child I carry.”

His fingers stilled abruptly and his dulled expression vanished in a flash. “The what?”

“The child I now carry. Our babe.”

“You didn’t tell me.” She heard the beginnings of outrage in his voice and smiled.