Secret Song (Medieval Song 4)

Why should she have ever hated Gwyn? Daria wondered blankly as she walked down the winding stone steps.

Daria felt a bystander in the transaction between Burnell and her husband. She stood quietly in the great hall, watching the men bring in trunk after trunk. Sir Thomas, Robert Burnell, and her husband opened each trunk, commented on the goods, smiling sometimes, drinking ale. Then there came the leather coin pouches, and she watched as Roland solemnly passed the counted out coins to Sir Thomas. The men embraced each other. Still she didn’t move.

She heard Roland tell the men to take two of the trunks to his bedchamber. It was her bedchamber as well, but in important matters such as this, it was the man’s. She’d learned that well enough during the past two weeks. The time had passed quickly, for there was so much newness at Thispen-Ladock, so many places to visit, so many new people to meet. Nor, Daria thought, as she saw to it that Burnell and the king’s men were served quantities of ale and sweet buns from Alice’s huge ovens, had she taken the reins in hand as yet. Actually, the reins had simply seemed to drift slowly yet surely there, and one day she was the mistress and all asked her for direction and orders. Roland had said nothing, nor had Sir Thomas. She seated herself finally, still saying naught. Her goods, her coin—but it was as if she wasn’t even there.

“It’s incredible,” Burnell said, sat back in his chair, and sighed deeply. His eyes remained closed as he bit into another sweet bun filled with raisins and almonds and nutmeg.

“Keep your thoughts away from my cook,” Roland said, then laughed. “You will not seduce her from me even though you are a man of God.”

“But the king, Roland, his belly would mellow from such wondrous food and—”

“He would become fat as a stoat, belch in foreign dignitaries’ faces, sire no more children off the queen because he would be constantly eating, and she would be repelled, aye, Burnell, and he would die one day from gluttony, and England couldn’t afford that loss, sir. And it would be your fault, all for lusting after my cook.”

“Perhaps,” Daria said, sittin

g forward, her eyes sparkling now, for the man who had spoken so humorously was the Roland she had met and known in Wales. “But what is a certainty, sir, is that Alice has no choice but to remain here. You see, she is tied to this place by bonds that go deeper than the spirit, all her skills derive from this earth and none other, and she told me that she must remain here else she would lose all her knowledge and abilities.”

“Ah,” said Burnell, and frowned deeply.

Roland shot his wife a surprised look and she returned it limpidly.

“You are blessed with a golden tongue, Daria,” he said to her some moments later when Sir Thomas turned to speak to Burnell. “Poor Burnell.”

“Perhaps my lie was a bit more effective, but yours was by far more humorous, Roland. I’d forgotten how you could make me laugh.”

“There isn’t much to laugh about now, is there?”

“I suppose not, and I miss laughter. I miss it more than I minded the endless rain in Wales.”

He gently clasped her face between his hands. He tilted up her chin and kissed her mouth. He continued kissing her, light, soft kisses that made her flesh warm. After a moment he released her, asked, “How is your mother?”

“Alice made a potion for her. She is sleeping soundly at present, and Gwyn is with her. She will fetch me when Mother awakens. Thank you, Roland.”

Roland picked up his goblet and began to examine the texture of the carvings on its surface. “Your mother is a beautiful woman. You look like her, you know, save that your hair isn’t so strong and pure a red.”

“True. I always thought I’d been diluted, though of course she would tell me that it was I who purified her.” Daria pictured her mother’s bruised body and suddenly, without warning, she burst into tears.

Roland saw the men turn to stare aghast at his wife. Conversation began to die. He waved a hand, then turned to her and said quietly, “I know you are hurt, hurt that you think you failed her, but you didn’t. She is safe now, thanks to you. Hush, now, Daria, else Burnell will tell the king that I abused you in front of everyone and with no provocation, and he will annul our marriage and take all your dowry from me. Sir Thomas will kick me out from my new home and I’ll be cursed to wander the world again. Let me tell you that wandering grows tedious and I want no more of it.”

His words were amusing and his voice was light and teasing, so she was able to ignore the truth of his words, and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

“The babe,” he said, not looking at her.

Daria hugged her arms around her belly. There was a slight roundness now and her waist was thickening. She wondered when he would look at her and be repelled.

“I haven’t enjoyed you since this morning, too many long hours ago.”

They were in their bedchamber. Daria closed her eyes, accepting more kisses, returning them with growing enthusiasm. When he caressed her and came into her body, he was kind and gentle and loving. If afterward he withdrew and became cold, well, it seemed it was her price to pay. She found she couldn’t become cold as well as he did, so she said nothing, merely tried to pretend sleep as quickly as possible. Slowly, even as he continued kissing her, his hands still cupping her face, her hands lowered, stroking over his belly, lower, until her fingers closed about him. He moaned, his body jerking at her touch. Then he shoved against her fingers, and he was larger now, nearly too large for her hand, and she held him between her hands, lightly stroking him, gliding downward to touch the rest of him, and he was breathing hard and low and his kisses were deeper and more demanding and she continued to caress him until he jerked back from her, his chest heaving. She’d only touched him like this some three days before and she was more than pleased with her discovery. He’d said nothing about it, but his reaction when she touched him and caressed him with her hand was more than gratifying. She remembered the queen’s ladies and their advice and knew that soon she would touch him with her mouth. She wondered how he would react to that.

He stared down at her now but his eyes closed suddenly. He said her name softly, then, without warning, lifted her onto her back on a narrow table, knocking off the basin to the stone floor. It cracked, but he didn’t notice. Her jerked her hair free, threading his fingers through it until it hung down off the edge of the table, thick and tangled. He pulled her forward until her hips were at the edge of the table, her legs dangling. “Don’t move, Daria.”

She couldn’t have moved in any case, for if she did, she would probably crash like the basin had to the stone floor. Her gown was tangled about her legs. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear his breathing, harsh and raw. Then he was over her, lifting her hips with his hands, and slid deeply into her. She cried out and he stopped.

“Do I hurt you?”

She shook her head.