Secret Song (Medieval Song 4)

Daria’s hair was long and loose, denoting a young girl coming to her marriage a virgin. There was a strange smile on Daria’s face when Ena had insisted on this old custom, but she’d said nothing. She would have preferred to braid her hair tightly around her head. What would the earl have thought of that? she wondered.

“Ye’re excited,” Ena said, seeing the glitter in her young charge’s eyes. “Aye, ye’re ready to settle down now and forget yer pretty young priest. He left ye, and if it weren’t fer the earl, ye’d be dead or worse by now. Nay, tell me no lies. I always guessed ye tried to escape, not the pap the earl spread about, curdling the cream even as he spoke the words. But things are the way they should be. Ye’re a little lady and ye don’t deserve a poor priest, no matter how pretty he was. Ralph of Colchester isn’t here, so ye’ll have the earl. Aye, all is well again.”

Daria lowered her eyes. The old woman saw a lot even though she was becoming more and more vague. She didn’t necessarily see the right things, at least in this instance, but still, she didn’t want Ena announcing to the earl that the little mistress was all eager and impatient. The earl might well believe she’d released him from his oath and ravish her before the ceremony. Daria gave a restless gesture as Ena plaited in a final white daisy into her hair.

Where was Roland? She felt the now-familiar fear that it was indeed only his destrier he’d come for. She was no longer important to him. He would no longer risk rescuing her. The coin wasn’t enough. He’d realized the earl was right. He would have no chance in any case. But how would the old beggar steal his destrier?

“Yer veil, little mistress.”

Veil. Daria stared at the thick gold circlet with its flowing gauzy veil. It would be hot. On the other hand, it would blur her vision. She wouldn’t be able to see the earl clearly; she could imagine and dream that—

“Give it to me.”

There was a knock on the chamber door. Before Daria could say anything, the door cracked open and two women entered, an older woman Daria didn’t recognize and a very young one that she did. They entered furtively and quickly, the older woman closing the door behind her.

“What is this? What is it you wish?” The words were scarce out of Daria’s mouth when she felt his presence, and she jerked up, staring at the two.

“Well,” the older woman said, her eyes lowered, “I come to tell ye, little mistress, that the earl’s telling all that he’s ready to tumble ye the instant the priest pronounces ye his bride.”

“I’m ready,” Daria said, excitement filling her. By all the saints, was she ready. “Shall we take Ena with us?”

The older woman shook her head. She looked toward Ena and said, “I need yer help, old witch.”

“Who are ye calling an old witch,” Ena shrieked. “Here, now. What do ye want?”

Daria watched Roland put his arm about Ena, pull her close, and then lightly smack his fist into her jaw. Ena crumpled to the floor. “Tie her up quickly, Daria. As you probably know, she’s defected to the earl’s camp. We can’t afford to take any chances.”

The other woman was young Tilda, daughter of the castle blacksmith, all of fourteen years old and so beautiful that men stopped whatever they chanced to be doing to stare as she passed. She was a bit larger than Daria, her hair a bit lighter, but with the wedding finery, the veil—

“She wishes it,” Roland said shortly before Daria could question him. “Quickly, out of those clothes whilst I tie up the old woman.”

Within minutes Daria was arranging the veil over Tilda’s lovely face. The young girl was shaking with excitement, but Daria was worried. Cora was of peasant stock. What would the earl do to her when he discovered the deception?

“Daria, quickly, put on your boy’s clothes. And braid all that damnable hair of yours.”

“Ah, Roland, you are such a fussy mother.”

He grinned at her. “Didn’t I fool you for the veriest instant?”

She shook her head. “Not even when you smiled up at me as a miserable old beggar with rotted black teeth.”

And he remembered that first time he saw her, that astonishment in her eyes as she’d stared at him, a priest, that knowledge, and he frowned. And she’d fainted, as if seeing him had affected her in some way that he couldn’t understand. But his disguises were foolproof. But then again, Daria wasn’t a fool. He shook himself, tied up the old woman, and shoved her under the bed. Then he stood guard at the door until Daria emerged and touched his arm. “I’m ready.”

He turned and saw that she was smiling up at him, complete trust in her eyes, that and complete—There was something different about her, something—

“Tilda, leave that veil on until you’re commanded by the earl to remove it. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded. She was happy. “Thank you, Tilda.” Daria gave her a quick hug, turned, and took Roland’s hand.

“Keep your head down and don’t say anything.”

“This sounds very familiar, Roland.”

“I’m your damned mother, silly twit.”

All the castle servants and retainers were outside the keep, for the day was hot and dry and the Earl of Clare had provided kegs of ale and more food than most of the people saw for a year. There was much merriment and shouting and wild jests. She didn’t see the earl.

“Aye,” Roland said to a soldier who offered him a goblet of ale and asked him what he was about. “Just look ye at the little fiend. Trying to peep at the earl’s bride, he was. I’ll strip off his hide, the little impertinence.”