Secret Song (6 page)

 

The words continued to flow from his mouth through her mind: “. . . Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus: who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: but emptied himself . . .”

Father Corinthian paused, oddly, then resumed, his voice lower, his pace quickened.

 

Daria's head whipped up and she stared at him. His look was limpid, his hands raised, even as he repeated yet again:

 

No, it wasn't possible, yet she hadn't mistaken his words. Her lips parted and she stared at him, even as he said again, in Latin, “I am losing my eyesight and getting deaf.”

 

She whispered the words in English, “The foe is at our heels.”

 

“I will refuse you nothing . . . My wishes are being fulfilled . . . What will become of me? . . . The ships sail from the harbor . . . About a hundred of our men fell . . . Sweet wood, sweet nails, bearing a sweet weight: which alone wert worthy to bear the king of heaven and the Lord. Alleluia.”

Daria's expression was one of astonishment and amazement. She quickly realized that the earl, his head raised in proud arrogance before his God, his eyes closed in exaltation, hadn't realized that his new priest, his learned and erudite Benedictine, had been having a fine time mixing the Mass with a layman's Latin. But he hadn't done it in the manner of the last priest. No, this man was educated, and he had the ability to juggle and to substitute, but . . .

The remainder of the Mass went quickly, and the priest seemed to have gathered his memory together, for he made no more references to foes or cut-off heads.

He blessed the earl and Daria, saying, his arms raised,
“Dominus vobiscum,”
and the earl replied by rote to the priest's exhortation of the Lord be with you with
“Et cum spiritu tuo.”

Father Corinthian looked at Daria expectantly, and she said softly,
“Capilli horrent.”

Roland nearly lost his ale and bread and his bland expression, so taken aback was he. There was no expression on her face as she repeated, not the expected
“Et cum spiritu tuo”
but again
“Capilli horrent.”

The little twit knew Latin. By all the saints, she was mocking him, she could give him away. He looked appalled, as well he might; then he caught himself as he heard her say clearly, “Bene id tibi vertat.”

He bowed his head, her words buzzing with the Latin Mass in his mind.
I wish you all success in the matter.

Roland stepped back and raised his hands. “Deo gratias.” He smiled at the earl, who looked as if God himself had just conferred honors upon him.

“Thank you, Father, thank you. My soul rejoices that you are here.” The earl rubbed his large hands together. “Aye, I feared whilst there was no man of God in my castle, feared for my own soul and the souls of my people.”

He turned to Daria and said, his tone disapproving, “You said something I did not recognize as a response. What was it?”

She didn't pale; she didn't change expression. She said, “It was nonsense. I couldn't remember what to repeat, and thus conjured up the sounds. I am sorry, my lord, Father, it was disrespectful of me.”

The earl's face grew even more stiff with disapproval. “It is blasphemous to do such a thing. I shall have the good Father Corinthian teach you the proper responses, and you will learn them now. It is shameful not to know them, Daria.”

She bowed her head submissively.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Your uncle was remiss in his responsibilities toward you. You will spend the next hour with Father Corinthian.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The earl nodded once again to Roland and took his leave. They were alone in the dank chapel.

“Who are you?”

“That is quick and to the point,” Roland remarked, his eyes on the closed chapel door. “Let me make certain no one is about outside.”

“It wouldn't matter if there were a dozen men listening at the door. This wretched chapel is sound as a crypt, the door nearly as thick as the stone of the walls.”

Nonetheless Roland strode to the door, opened it, and slowly closed it again. He turned to face her.

“Who are you?” she repeated.

“You speak Latin.”

“Yes, I speak Latin, something you didn't expect.”

“No I didn't. You didn't give me away to the earl. May I assume that you still wish to escape him?”

She nodded and asked again, “Who are you?”

“I am sent by your uncle to rescue you. As you know now, I am no Benedictine priest.”

She gave him a dazzling, perfectly wicked smile that rocked him back on his heels. He thought he'd made a perfectly adequate priest, damn her impertinence. He was frowning, but she forestalled him. “But you are an educated man, unlike the previous priest, who could barely string together sounds that resembled Latin. The earl, of course, didn't know any better. Did you get rid of him?”

“Yes, it was quite easy, for he was miserable here at Tyberton, and most willing to accept a bit of coin for his absconding. You recognized me, then, yesterday when you fainted? You knew I was no priest from just looking at me? That is why you turned so pale and collapsed?”

She shook her head and looked embarrassed. “I don't know why—that is, I didn't know you then, and yet I did know you, perhaps even better than I know myself.” That sounded like utter drivel. She ground to a painful halt and looked up at him for his reaction. Again, that shock of knowledge, that feeling that he was there, deep inside her, part of her, and she took a step back. She wasn't making sense and he would think her utterly mad.

“What is it? Do I frighten you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I don't understand this.”

Roland chose for the moment to ignore her mysterious words. Indeed he didn't understand any of what she'd said and didn't have time at present to seek enlightenment. “As I said, I am here to rescue you.”

“I don't wish to marry Ralph of Colchester. He is lewd and weak and without character.”

Roland frowned at her. “That is something that has nothing to do with me. Your uncle is paying me to bring you back, and that is what I shall do. What happens to you then is up to your uncle. He is your guardian. It is his decision. No female should have the power to decide who her husband will be. It would lead the world into chaos.”

“This world you men have ruled since the beginning of time stews continuously in chaos. What more harm or disaster could women bring to bear?”

“You speak from ignorance. Mayhap your uncle isn't wise or compassionate, but it is the way of things. It's natural that you submit.”

Daria sighed. He was naught but a man, like all the other men who had come into her life. Men ruled and women obeyed. It was a pity and it brought her pain, which she promptly dismissed. This man whom she knew, this man who didn't know her, also didn't care what happened to her. Why should he? This absurd recognition was all on her side, these bewildering feelings had naught to do with him. It came to her then that once he'd gotten her free of Edmond of Clare, she could then escape from him. He cared not, after all, what became of her.

“You have not yet told me your name.”

“You may call me Roland.”

“Ah, like Charlemagne's fearsomely brave Roland. When do we leave, sir?”

Roland rocked back on his heels at that. “Just like that? You believe me? You will go with me? You require no more proof?”

Daria shook her head, smiling at him, that darling innocent, yet strangely knowing smile. “Of course I believe you. I am pleased you aren't a priest.”

“Why?”

She wanted to tell him that she was delighted that he was a just a man, a man of the world, and not a man of God, but she didn't. He would truly believe her mad. She shook her head again, saying, “My mother, did you see her? Is she all right? You went to Reymerstone Castle?”

“Yes, and your mother appeared well. You have something of the look of her, not her coloring, but something of her expression. If I recall aright, your father was dark as a Neapolitan.”

“You knew my father?”

“As a young man in King Edward's company, aye, I knew him, as did most of the young knights. Sir James was brave and trustworthy. It is a pity he died so inopportunely. Edward missed him sorely in the Holy Land.”

The chapel door suddenly opened and the earl reappeared. “Well, girl? Tell me the correct response.”

Daria didn't change expression. She repeated swiftly, her eyes lowered meekly, “Et cum spiritu tuo.”

The earl nodded. “Well said. I am pleased with you. I have never agreed that women had not the ability to learn, and you have proved me correct. Do you agree with your brothers, Father?”

Roland looked benignly upon Daria as he would upon a dog who had just performed a trick well. He smiled to himself as he said in a pontifical voice, “Women can learn to mouth words—in any language—if they are allowed sufficient time for repetition. It's doubtful she gleans the true meaning, but God is understanding and forgiving of his most feeble creation.”

The earl nodded and Daria ground her teeth.

“You will come with me now, Daria,” the earl continued. “A tinker is here and I wish you to select a piece of finery you wish to have. You will become my wife at the end of the month, and thus I wish to show you my favor.”

She stared at him dumbfounded, and Roland waited, tense and anxious, but she said nothing, merely nodded and followed the earl docilely from the chapel. Only when they were alone did she touch the earl's sleeve to gain his attention. She looked up at him, her expression puzzled, and said, unable to keep her surprise to herself, “This is why you kidnapped me, my lord? You wished to wed me?”

The incredulity in her voice was understandable, as was her question, though it bordered on impertinence. He decided to deal gently with her this time. “Nay, little one, I took you in revenge against your uncle, who is a man I hate above most men. At first I demanded your dowry as a ransom. Then, your graceful presence has made my heart quicken in my breast, and I changed my demand to him. He will send me his own priest and your dowry by the end of May and we will be wedded. Then he will be safe from my vengeance.” He frowned even as the words came out of his mouth. “Mayhap not. Mayhap I shall change my mind, for Damon Le Mark is a poisonous snake to be crushed.”

“What did you tell him you would do if he refused your demand? Did you threaten to murder me?”

The earl reacted swiftly, for this was beyond what in his mind was permissible for a woman, particularly for a woman who would be his wife. He struck her with his open palm on her cheek and she reeled backward, her shoulder striking the doorway, sending pain jolting through her body.

“Keep your pert tongue in your mouth, Daria. I will tell you what you need to know, and it will be enough for you. No more of your insolence—it displeases me, as it must displease our Lord.”

It was odd this rage she felt. It wasn't the same she felt toward her uncle. This rage burned hot within her, but she also saw Edmond of Clare as apart from the awful anger he'd brought her. Her uncle was purposely cruel. Worse, he pleased himself with cruelty and the suffering of others, whereas Edmond of Clare simply saw her—a female—as a being to be constantly corrected and admonished, for her benefit, not because it gave him demented pleasure. He believed devoutly in God, at least in a God that suited his own convictions and expectations, and saw it as his duty to teach her the proper way of behaving. Her rage simmered and she sought to control it.

Roland held himself back in the shadows. It required all his control to do so. He'd heard her question of Clare and seen him strike her.

He didn't particularly wish to, but he found that he admired her in that moment. He saw the grit in her that would grow stronger as she gained years, if only she would be given the least encouragement and opportunity. She didn't cry. She didn't speak. She merely straightened her clothing and stood there stolid and silently proud, waiting for the earl to tell her his bidding. Roland wondered how many times he'd struck her during her captivity, to show her a woman's place. He must get her away from here, quickly. Not only was the earl growing perilously close to ravishing her, he just might injure her badly in a fit of rage.

During the remainder of the day, Roland examined the castle and found the escape route he would use. He learned that Daria had her maid with her, but he knew the older woman would hold them back and they wouldn't have a good chance of escaping if they took her with them. The old woman would have to stay here. If Daria protested, he would simply—What would he do? Strike her, as did Edmond of Clare? He shook his head on that thought.

That evening the earl again monopolized him so that he had no opportunity of speaking privately with Daria. She no longer looked at him as if he were some sort of specter to be gawked at, or a man she'd seen before, perhaps in another place or in another time. Still, though, she tended to avoid his eyes, and it bothered him because he didn't understand her.