Secret Song (43 page)

In the next moment, he was snoring loudly.

“Roland. Stop that. You're pretending.”

He kissed her ear, nuzzling at her throat until she raised her head and gave him her mouth.

“It's odd, you know. I've always thought kissing a woman was pleasurable, but nothing more, really. But you, Daria, your mouth drives me mad. Aye, I'll kiss you until God removes me from this earth.”

And as he kissed her, she lightly laid her hand on his hip. He jerked and kissed her harder. “And what will you do if I touch you here, Roland?” Her hand dipped to his flat hard belly. She could feel his muscles tensing, feel the crisp groin hair beneath her finger and his smooth hot flesh. “And here?” she whispered into his mouth as her fingers lightly closed around his member.

Roland had not believed it possible, but at the touch of her warm fingers closing around him, he swelled until he was pressing against her palm, pushing, thrusting against her fingers.

“This is what I'll do,” he said, and fell onto his back, bringing her over him. “Ride me, Daria. Take me.”

When she neared her release, he pushed her, and she went wild, bringing him with her.

He was stunned at this mating. It should have been slow and tender, but it had been as frenzied as the first time.

She nuzzled her face against his chest.

He was thoughtful for a moment. “This is very strange,” he said at last. “Never in my life have I taken a woman so many times in so many short minutes.”

She raised her head and frowned at him. “But I thought that perhaps we could—”

He slapped her buttocks. “You're lying and you just don't do it well.”

“No, I'm teasing you, Roland. You enjoy me. I like that.”

She looked so pleased with herself that he was obliged to chuckle. “Aye, I enjoy you. Now, however, we must see to ourselves, somehow, before Salin sends out a party to search for us.”

“Must I try to stand up?”

“Aye, and so must I.”

He smiled as he helped her up. They stood facing each other, dirty as urchins, smiling, smelling of sweat and sex and grass. He sighed and stepped back. “There's no hope for it,” he said, glancing about at their strewn torn clothes.

No one said anything when the master and mistress came into the inner bailey looking like they'd been attacked and rolled in the dirt.

Roland had stroked his fingers through her tangled hair, but it had done little good. Daria was very aware that a multitude of eyes were staring at them and knowing what had happened. And if they didn't know immediately, her downcast eyes and the bright flush on her cheeks gave them away. Roland, curse him, was smiling like a fool.

She quickened her step and looked at her toes. Her other slipper had somehow disappeared. Roland chuckled beside her, then leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Are you are ready to race me to our bedchamber?”

“I'm a woman, Roland. I have great endurance.” He leaned down, cupping the back of her neck in his hand, and kissed her, in front of all their people, in front of the children, in front of all the dogs and cats and goats, and because kissing him was more wonderful than nearly anything else she could imagine, Daria kissed him back, pressing upward against him.

She dimly heard a raucous cheer and flushed from her hairline to her dirty toes.

He continued to kiss her until he was satisfied with his result. Then he raised his head and gave her the most insolent grin imaginable. And he said softly, smiling down at her flushed face, “You're mine, all mine. Never forget that, ever. Have water fetched for us. I shall join you in our bedchamber very shortly.”

 

“I would say that things have improved between your daughter and Roland.”

Katherine turned smiling eyes to Sir Thomas. “Aye, it would appear so. She looks so at ease with herself.”

“She has the look of a woman well and truly pleasured, Katherine. Her eyes appear even greener. Were her father's eyes that startling color?”

“Nay, her grandmother had eyes as green as spring grass. She shares nothing at all with her father.”

“You should be proud of her. She's a lovely girl. If she continues to be so well-pleased with her husband, I doubt not that another babe will soon be here.”

Oddly enough, Roland shared that thought nearly at the same time. He was watching Daria chew on a braised meat bone with great thoroughness. Her teeth were white, her tongue pink, her concentration profound. He wanted her again; he wanted her to kiss and fondle him with such absorption as she was giving that damned meat bone.

It was perplexing, this effect she had on him, and as mystifying as it was belated. He'd kept his distance from her, both mentally and physically, since their marriage. Until today. Until she'd run out of the great hall screeching at the top of her lungs and jumped on Rollo's back, uncaring about herself, wanting only to save her husband. A woman who didn't love a man wouldn't do that. Even as he'd felt anger, then amusement, in the depths of him, he'd felt valued, he'd felt incredibly cherished. And now everything had shifted, changing even before he'd had time to question it. He suspected this damned change was irrevocable. He'd never before considered himself a man to be a slave to his sex, as were some men he'd known. Even when he'd been in the Holy Land and played the indulgent owner of six women, each of whom was eager to do nothing but please him, he hadn't been controlled by lust. And yet here was his wife, too thin, but with flesh softer than a summer rain, her cheeks rosy from the sweet wine she'd been drinking, and he wanted to jerk the meat bone out of her hand and take her here, this very instant. He was hard, and he was vastly relieved that the full-cut tunic covered him. He shifted in his chair.

If he continued to want her, she would soon be again with child. His child this time. He sat back, listening to all the voices that filled the great hall, blending together in a low rumble, the individual words indecipherable. It was pleasant, all this noise, and it gave him peace, strangely enough. He looked over at Lady Katherine and Sir Thomas. Thomas was smitten, no doubt about that, besotted to the roots of his grizzled hair. He wondered about Katherine. Perhaps they would wed. If that happened, he hoped they would remain at Chantry Hall. The idea of having a large family surrounding him was satisfying. It made him feel needed; it made him feel like he belonged. Finally there was a place for him and he would fill it with those he cared about and those who cared about him.

Roland took a slow drink of his wine. He replied to a question from one of his men. As he spoke, he heard Daria's clear laughter. It warmed him more than the sweet wine. Then, quite suddenly and unbidden, he remembered walking beside her into the cathedral in Wrexham to get out of the endless Welsh rain. He was sicker than the devil's dog, aye, he remembered that. He'd felt weak, and his throat was raw and his head pounded and he'd wanted to puke. He remembered desperately trying to keep control of himself, but he couldn't. He remembered clearly when his mind blanked away and he was sliding to the floor. He remembered nothing else. But he should remember more, and he didn't understand why he couldn't. He frowned as he emptied his flagon.

Why couldn't he remember anything else? Two days were missing from his life. Two days until he'd come to himself to see Daria standing over him, and he remembered the feelings of humiliation when he'd had to relieve himself but was too weak to see to it without her help. But even much of that time was blurred and indistinct in his mind. He saw an older woman standing over him, smiling and giving him an evil potion to drink. Her name was Romila and she hadn't told him Daria had disappeared until he'd threatened to go search for her. What had he done in those two days? Had he possibly taken his wife's virginity during one of those two nights?

 

Graelam de Moreton felt good, for at least ten more seconds. He felt very good during those seconds, for under guard on the eastern side of his camp was the Earl of Reymerstone. Then he heard a woman's voice and he started to his feet, dropping the wooden goblet of ale, when he recognized that the voice belonged to Kassia. And then she was striding up to him as if she were conqueror of the damned world, dressed like a boy in tunic and hose, a feathered cap over her hair, and she was laughing. When she got five feet away from him, she let out a whooping yell and hurled herself at him.

He caught her, holding her tightly to him. She was laughing and babbling, her words tumbling to and fro, saying things about paying her debt to Daria, and here he was doing the same thing, and they'd more than paid back their obligation.

Graelam shook his head, set his wife away from him, and tried to look fearsome. It wasn't difficult, for he was stripped down to a loincloth, preparing to bathe his sweating, dirty face and body. He was large and hard, and when he wished to, his expression could be as frightening as the devil's.

“Oh,” Kassia said, looking at him from his toes to his mouth. “Oh,” she said again, and she smiled up at him brilliantly. “You're nearly naked, Graelam.”

He clasped her waist between his hands and lifted her. When her nose was right in front of his nose, he said, “You are here in my camp, a wild and lonely place that lies twenty miles from Wolffeton, a place you shouldn't be, and you are garbed like a silly boy in clothes you shouldn't be wearing, and you are grinning like a half-wit. I heard your wild babbling but didn't understood it. Now, madam, you will tell me what the hell you're doing here and why—”

She laughed, leaning forward to kiss him. “I will tell you everything, my dear lord, if you will but let my feet touch the ground again. I should love some ale. This tracking makes one vastly thirsty.”

“Kassia.”

She danced away from him, and he watched her, shaking his head, knowing she would tell him everything in her own good time. He commenced with his bathing. When he felt her take the wet cloth from his hand, he smiled, and gave a contented moan as she scrubbed his back.

He was naked now and they were alone in his tent and she was standing between his legs, her fingers massaging his scalp.

“I worried about you, Graelam.”

“There was nothing to worry even little Harry. The Earl of Reymerstone wasn't expecting me, needless to say. I took him and his men with no bloodshed. He lies yon in a tent with Rolfe and three of my soldiers guarding him. He's a very unhappy man at this moment, and likely confused as to why I, a stranger to him, would take him prisoner.”

She leaned down and kissed him. “Let the lout suffer awhile longer.”

“And will you tell me what you've done, Kassia?” he asked, all calm inquiry. “Clearly this time.”

“Aye, I will tell you, my lord. I have the Earl of Clare with me, and four of his men.”

His incredulous reaction warmed her to her fingertips. She grinned. “I owed Daria a debt for saving your life. You were going after the Earl of Reymerstone, but what was I to do? Oh, yes, I overheard Rolfe speaking of it, that's how I found out. There was a shortage of enemies. Then the most wonderful news came to Wolffeton whilst you were gone. The Earl of Clare—that Marcher Baron who'd held her captive for all those months—had come into Cornwall to try to recapture her. Nay, Graelam, don't bellow at me. Please, heed me, my lord, for I have right and reason on my side.”

Graelam's face was grim. He couldn't believe his ears, couldn't believe what his wife—this cocky little twit—was telling him. “Continue,” he said, but he wasn't at all certain he wanted to hear the rest of it.

Kassia said happily, “I saw it as a sign from God, Graelam, surely you must understand that. You were gone and thus I saw it as a divine signal for me to act. It was my opportunity to repay my debt to Daria. None of my men—your men—were hurt. The Earl of Clare lies bound and in some discomfort in the small copse just beyond your camp. The man has the reddest hair, did you know that? The fool had thought to sneak into Chantry Hall, steal Daria away, and disappear like a thief. I told him that I wouldn't allow that. He's equally as unhappy as the Earl of Reymerstone, I daresay.”

Graelam stared at his delicate, white-skinned, very small wife. “I should beat you,” he said, his eyes darkening.

“I pray that you don't, my lord, for I am very weary from my hunting.”

He rose, towering above her, his naked body gleaming in the lone candlelight, and pulled on a bedrobe. As he belted it, he heard her say from behind him, “I would prefer you naked, husband. Just to look at you makes me hungry for you, not for a boring meal.”

He turned on her, roaring, “You won't make me forget your reckless stupidity, Kassia. Don't try your woman's wile on me.” He paused, eyeing her, then said, “There is some bread and meat left from our supper. I will have one of the men bring it to you. Remain in this tent or it will go badly for you.” With those threatening words that didn't make Kassia tremble in the least bit, Graelam strode out of his tent. He quickly found Rolfe, his master-at-arms.

Rolfe grinned at him. “Nay, my lord, don't bite off my tongue. Your lady took him fairly, and your men protected her well. I've bedded him down on the western side of the camp. Both our knaves are well-guarded, my lord.”

Graelam could manage nothing more than a grunt. Rolfe chuckled. “I don't lie to you. Your men did guard her well, my lord. Indeed, they much enjoyed themselves, taking the Earl of Clare and hearing your lady crow in triumph. Would you like to sit down and drink a bit of this wine? It's from Lady Kassia's father. It will warm your innards and make you smile.”

Graelam, knowing there was nothing for it, did as Rolfe suggested. Rolfe asked, “What will ye do with the bastards, my lord?”