Earth Song (13 page)

“Hush,” he said, and pressed his palm against her belly to push her down again, and then his finger eased more deeply within her, and more deeply still. “Does that pain you, wench? I can feel you stretching for my finger. Ah, there it is, your badge of innocence. Your precious maidenhead. Intact, ready for my assault.” He shuddered, his whole body heaving, and for a moment he laid his face against her, his finger still inside her, not moving now, soothing and warm. “You almost died tonight, Gorkel told me. I'm sorry, Philippa. I thought you well-protected—from
yourself, truth be told—yet my trusted man was an enemy of the worst sort. I'm so sorry.” He kissed her belly, licked her soft flesh, and his finger pressed more deeply into her, testing the strength of her maidenhead. He moaned, a jagged raw sound, and withdrew his finger.

He came over her and his mouth covered her, and Philippa, excited and quiescent in the dark of the night, yielded completely to him.

His tongue was inside her mouth, tasting her, savoring her, and she touched the tip of his tongue with hers. Then, once again, without warning, he rolled off her, leaving her abruptly.

“Please,” Philippa whispered, holding her hand toward him. She felt nearly frantic with longing—for what, she knew not.

“Nay, wench,” he said, sounding as though he'd been running hard. “Nay, ‘tis just that I've been without a woman for a week and my loins are fit to burst with lust. Get you back to sleep.”

She cried out at his words, hating them, hating him for making her realize yet again that she was nothing to him, nothing but a vessel, nothing more. She heard him leave the chamber and slam the door.

She turned onto her side and wept, her sobs a faint sound in the quiet darkness.

When Dienwald returned some time later, she pretended to be asleep. He made no move to touch her when he climbed into the bed beside her. She listened to his breathing even into sleep and knew she had to leave him and St. Erth.

As soon as she could find a way.

The next morning, Philippa awoke to the slap of a hand on her naked buttocks and lurched up.

“You're awake. ‘Tis time I had some answers from you, wench. I leave my castle in fine fettle, only to return and find my steward dead and everything in an uproar. Get you up and come into the great hall.”

Dienwald smacked her bottom one more time and left her alone. She lay there wondering what would happen to her if she cracked his head open with a scythe. The cockscomb.

She rolled onto her side and tried to go back to sleep, but it was impossible.

In the great hall, Dienwald was staring at his fool, stretched on his side on the floor. “Tell me again what happened, Crooky, and say it in words that make sense. No rhymes, no songs.”

Crooky looked at Dienwald. His master was
tired, ill-tempered, and had obviously ridden back to St. Erth in haste. Why? To see the mistress? He'd missed the girl? Crooky hadn't seen him the previous evening when he'd stormed into the hall yelling his head off because the porter had screeched about Philippa being covered with blood and dead bodies everywhere.

Crooky grinned at his master. “Methinks you grow cockhard, master.”

“I grow what? Listen, you damnable mule offal, I don't—”

“You caught the bastards who burned the crops?”

Dienwald tore into a piece of bread with his strong teeth. “Aye, three of them, but curse their tongues, they were already dead and couldn't tell me who'd sent them.”

“ ‘Twas Walter de Grasse, the slimy serpent.”

“Aye, in all likelihood.” Dienwald chewed another piece of bread, not speaking again until he'd swallowed. Then he bellowed, “Margot! Bring me ale!”

“Let the mistress tell you of her adventures, master. ‘Twill make your hair stand up in fright.”

“You dare to call the wench ‘mistress'? It's mad! I should kick you—”

Crooky quickly rolled away from his master's foot and came up onto his knees. “She's good for St. Erth,” he said. “And stouthearted. She saved herself.”

Margot brought the ale, giving Dienwald a wary look as she served him. “What's the matter with you?” he demanded, then waved an irritable hand when she paled at his words.

He turned back to the hapless fool. “You were
here, damn your ears! I want to hear what happened.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” came Philippa's irritated voice from behind him. “The last thing I want to listen to is Crooky singing at dawn.”

Dienwald turned about and eyed her. It required all his will not to smile at her. It took him only a few moments more to tamp down on the wild relief he felt upon seeing her whole and ill-tempered. “ ‘Tis about time you deign to come to me,” he said. “You look like a snabbly hag.”

Actually, she looked tousled and soft and very, very sweet. He eased back into his chair, stretching out his legs in front of him, folding his hands over his chest. He'd fetched her another old gown worn by his first wife, this one a pale gray, frayed and baggy. It stopped a good three inches above her ankles.

“Thank you for the gown. There is no overtunic?”

“I didn't even have the chance to see you in the other gown I gave you. This one doesn't fit you at all, but there was nothing else. And don't whine. Why haven't you yet sewn yourself a new gown and overtunic?”

“I should have,” she said, wanting to kick him. He'd touched her and caressed her and kissed her, then left her to find himself another female vessel. And now he was baiting her and insulting her. But she also remembered how he'd laid his head on her stomach and told her how he'd been afraid when he'd heard what had happened. Had she dreamed that? He didn't seem at all concerned about her this morning, just bad-tempered. She raised her chin. “I think I shall begin
immediately.” She picked up a piece of bread and begin to chew it with enraging indifference.

“Tell me what happened, wench. Now.”

She chanced to look down at her wrists. They were bruised and raw but there wasn't much pain now.

Dienwald hadn't yet noticed her wrists; now he did, and sucked in his breath. His irritation rose to alarming heights. “I don't believe this,” he bellowed at her. “I leave my keep, and look what happens. Have Margot wrap up your wrists.” He added several lurid curses, then sat back, closing his eyes. “Tell me what happened whilst I was gone.”

Philippa looked at him closely, decided he'd calmed himself sufficiently, and said, “Not all that much happened at the beginning. We spun nearly all the wool into cloth, and now we've gotten most of it dyed. The sewing has begun, just yesterday. Oh, just one small happening out of the ordinary—Gorkel had to break your steward's neck, but Alain deserved it. I have determined that you are the most pious of saints when compared to the loathsome departed Alain.”

“I see. Now, before I take you to my chamber and thrash you, you will tell me why my loathsome steward wanted you dead.”

Philippa just shrugged. She knew it infuriated him, and, unable to stop herself, she shrugged again.

He rose swiftly from his chair, walked to her and grabbed her beneath the arms, and lifted her off the bench. He held her eye-to-eye. “Tell me what happened, else you'll be very sorry.”

“What will you do? Will you continue what you did to me in my sleep during the night?”

A spasm of some emotion Philippa couldn't identify crossed his face; then his expression was closed again. “Give over, Philippa, give over. I am weary and wish to know what happened.”

His serious voice, empty of amusement, brought her eyes open. “I'll tell you. Put me down.”

Dienwald very slowly lowered her to her bare feet. He walked back to his chair, pressing his hand against the small of his back. “Your weight strains even my strength,” he remarked to the black-beamed ceiling, and sat down again, waving his hand at her.

She told him of what she'd found in the steward's chamber. “I didn't trust him, even from that first day I was here. He hated me, and there was no reason I could see. Well, my lord, he's been cheating you all the time he's been here, and when he held the knife to my throat in your chamber, he admitted it and insulted you and me and said he was going to kill me.”

He made a strangled sound but said nothing. Philippa, swallowing against the remembered fear, spoke in a clipped and precise voice, emotionlessly telling him of coming to in the stables, of killing one of the men with the scythe, of running into the great hall, and of Gorkel's killing of the steward. “Alain also sent his men out to take the other wool wagon. He had the farmers killed. It was from them that he learned that I could read and write and that I'd acted as my father's steward.”

Dienwald said nothing for a very long time. He merely looked beyond her, over her right shoulder, she thought, as she waited tensely for him to say something, anything. To show concern
perhaps for her safety, as he had in the dark of the night. To tell her of his undying gratitude. To tell her that he was glad she wasn't hurt, to tell her he was sorry it had happened. To exclaim over the perfidy of his steward. To thank her for her diligence, her concern for him and for St. Erth. To tell . . .

He exploded into her thoughts, nearly yelling, “What in the name of St. Andrew am I to do now? I have no steward because you ensured that he'd die, curse you! Poor Gorkel had no choice but to dispatch him, and ‘tis all your fault!”

Philippa stared at him, nearly choking on the piece of buttered bread in her mouth. “He was
cheating
you! Didn't you attend me? He was a filthy knave! Didn't you hear me? Don't you care?”

Dienwald merely shrugged, causing her to leap to her feet and throw the remaining bread at his head. He ducked, but some of the sweet butter hit his cheek in a yellow streak.

“You ungrateful fool! You—”

“Enough!” Dienwald rose from his chair, wiping the butter from his face with his hand.

“I repeat, wench, what will I do for a steward?”

She stuck out her chin, squared her shoulders, and readied herself for his insults. “I will be your steward.”

It didn't take him long to produce the insults she expected at her announcement. “You? A female? A female who has no more sense than to spy on a man and be caught and nearly butchered for her stupidity? Ha, wench, ha!”

“That's not true. I was careful when I searched through his chamber. I saw him ride away before I went into the room. It was just bad fortune that
he had spies and one of them saw me. And what about his dishonesty? You, so astute, such a keen and intelligent male, didn't even begin to realize he was robbing you down to your last tunic, to your last hay straw, to your last . . . You, a brave male, didn't realize anything at all. You might even now give a thought to the fact that Alain's spies are very likely still here. Ha!”

“Females don't have the brains to resolve problems and keep correct records of things.”

Philippa just stared at him, her bile spent, her rage simmering down to weary resentment.

“Females,” Dienwald continued, waxing fluent now, “don't know the first thing about organizing facts and making decisions. Females have one useful role only, and that is—”

“Don't you dare say it!”

“They should see to the weaving and the sewing and the cooking. They are useful for the soft things, the things a man needs to ease him after he's toiled a long day with both his body and his brain.”

“You're a fool,” Philippa said, and without another word, for she'd spent even her anger now, turned on her bare heel and strode toward the oak doors.

“Don't you dare leave, wench!”

She speeded up, and was through the door within moments. She raced across the inner bailey, dodging chickens and Tupper, who squealed with berserk joy at the sight of her. She felt his wet snout against her ankle as she ran. Children called to her, women stared, and men just shook their heads, particularly when the master emerged from the great hall, his face a storm, his temper there for all to see.

“Come back here, you stupid wench!”

Philippa turned to see him striding toward her. “By the saints, you are a miserable clod!” She ran now, holding the frayed gown to her knees. Her legs were long and strong and she ran quickly—right into Gorkel.

“Mistress,” Gorkel said. “What goes?”

“I go,” she said, and jerked away from his huge hands. “Release me, Gorkel!”

“Hold her, Gorkel. Then, if you wish, you can watch me thrash her hide.”

Gorkel gave a mournful sigh and shook his ugly head. “Ye shouldn't prick t' master.”

“He's a fool and I'd like to kick him hard.”

Dienwald winced at that mental imagine. At the same time, he felt an unwanted sting of distress at her words, but shook it off. “Come with me,” he said, and grabbed her arm.

“Nay.”

He stopped, looked from Gorkel back to Philippa, who was pale with fury. “You'll but hurt my back if you force me to carry you again.”

Philippa drew back her right arm and swung with all her strength. Her fist struck his jaw so sharply that his head snapped back. He lost his balance and would have gone down in humiliation into the dirt had not Gorkel grabbed him and held him until he regained his balance.

Dienwald looked at Philippa as he stroked his sore jaw. “You're strong,” he said at last. “You're really very strong.”

She raised her fist and shook it at him. “Aye, and I'll bring you down again if you try anything.”

Dienwald looked beyond her, his eyes widening. He shook his head, and Philippa snapped about to see what or who was behind her. In the
next instant, she was flung over his shoulder, head down, her hair nearly trailing the ground as she yelled and screeched like hens caught in a rainstorm.

He laughed, and strode back toward the great hall. He took the solar stairs, aware that all his people were watching and talking about them and laughing, and the men, ah, they were shouting the most explicit and wondrous advice to him.

When he reached the solar he tossed her on her back onto his bed. “Now,” he said. “Now.”

“Now what?”

“I suppose you expect me to give you wages?”

She stared at him, her brain fuzzy from hanging upside down.

“Well?”

“Wages for what?”

“For being my steward, of course. Have you no brain, wench?” Suddenly he smacked his palm to his forehead. “I cannot believe what I'm saying. A female who has so little sense that she escapes in a gown reeking of a moat in a wagon of wool. And this female wants to control all that happens at St. Erth.”

“My father trusted me.” Philippa came up onto her elbows. She looked wistfully toward the empty chamber pot on the floor beside the bed. Old Agnes had seen that it was mended.

Dienwald said absently, “Don't do it, wench, else you'll regret it. Now, just be quiet. I must think.”