Earth Song (18 page)

He was suddenly very afraid. He turned to Graelam and saw his friend nodding.

“I shield her as best I can. She is so small, and the child grows large in her belly. She insisted upon coming to St. Erth today. She grows bored and restless at Wolffeton—the women won't let her do a thing within the castle, and even my men hover about her when she is in the bailey—and I couldn't deny her. You should see Blount, my steward—he feels a quill is beyond her strength. She frets.”

“How much longer before the babe comes?”

“Not until June. I die each day with the thought of it.” Graelam then cursed luridly, and Dienwald, looking hopeful and thoughtful, said, “She appears well and is beautiful and laughing.”

“Aye,” Graelam said, and drained his flagon. He eyed Dienwald. “I wish you wouldn't speak of my wife as though you were her lover. It irks me. Now, ‘tis true you didn't steal the wine from Kassia's father? You didn't have the ship wrecked with false warning lights from the point?”

“I wish I'd thought of it,” Dienwald said, his voice gloomy with regret.

“Roland, then,” Graelam said, nodding in satisfaction at his conclusion. “I'll break two of his ribs for his impertinence.”

“That I should like to see,” Dienwald said.

 

Kassia slowly climbed the solar stairs. She held to the railing, careful, as always, of the babe she
carried. She felt wonderful and healthy and very alive. If only Graelam would but believe her and stop his worrying and his endless agitation. It was driving her to distraction. And there was her father, now threatening to come to Wolffeton and watch over her. Between the two of them she'd go mad, she knew it.

She reached Dienwald's bedchamber and knocked softly on the solid door. Then she turned the handle. It was locked. She called out, “Please, Morgan, let me in. ‘Tis Kassia de Moreton.”

Philippa stared at the door from her huddled spot in the middle of Dienwald's bed.

Morgan!

Who in the name of St. Andrew was Morgan? She rose, wrapped the blanket securely about her, and padded on bare feet to the door. She opened it and smiled.

“Come in, my lady.”

“Thank you. Oh, dear, I see Dienwald was speaking true. You have no clothes.”

Philippa simply shook her head.

“You are no villein's daughter, are you? What prank does Dienwald play now?”

“What did he tell you?”

“That you are his mistress.”

Philippa snorted and tossed her head. Her hair was nearly dry now, and curled wildly down her back.

“Your hair is beautiful,” Kassia said. “I've always wished for hair such as yours. Not long ago I was very ill and my head was shaved. My hair has grown back thicker, but not like yours. Do you mind if I sit down? My burden is heavy.”

Philippa realized as the small lady walked across Dienwald's bedchamber that this female
was very nice and probably hadn't a mean bone in her very feminine body. She was also heavy with child. She was married to that huge warrior. For an instant Philippa imagined that huge man covering this very small female. It didn't seem possible. But it didn't matter. This Kassia was safely out of the way; Dienwald was safe from her perfection.

It was an unspeakable relief.

“Forgive me,” Philippa said. “Would you care for some milk perhaps? I don't imagine that Dienwald thought of that.”

“Nay, I am fine as I am, and no, he didn't. He is a man much like my dear lord. Tell me, what is your real name?”

Philippa wanted to spit it out, all of it, but she paused. She realized that she didn't want Dienwald to be put upon or doubted or questioned, even by his friends. Nor did she want to go to her cousin Walter. She wanted to stay right here. “Morgan
is
my name,” she said, and her chin went up.

Kassia thought: You're a truly awful liar. She merely smiled at the tall, very lovely girl who sat on Dienwald's bed, a blanket wrapped around her. What was she doing here? It was a mystery, and Kassia was quickly fascinated. Then she thought of Robert Burnell's visit and of Dienwald as the husband of Edward's illegitimate daughter and how she and her husband had praised Dienwald's very eyebrows to Burnell. She felt a frisson of worry, but shook it off. If Dienwald loved this girl, then he would simply say no to Edward if he offered him his daughter's hand in marriage. Dienwald would say no to anybody, even the Pope. He would laugh in the king's face if it
pleased him to do so. No, Dienwald couldn't be coerced into doing anything he didn't wish to do. She wouldn't worry. Everything would work out as it was meant to.

“I have come to offer you clothes, Morgan. I have none with me, but if you will let me see your size, then I can have some sent to St. Erth on the morrow.”

Philippa had sunk into guilt over the truly violent thoughts she'd harbored toward this elegant lady. “I have woven wool. I merely haven't had time to see to clothes for myself. There were Edmund and Dienwald, even the fool, Crooky. He was so worn and ragged and so . . . so
accepting
of it. I couldn't bear it. I will sew myself something this evening. But I thank you, truly. You are kind.”

“This is very interesting,” Kassia said, cocking her head to one side.

“What is, my lady?”

“You and Dienwald. He is not, in the usual course of everyday events, a man in the habit of giving much of his attention to ladies.”

That's because he's thinking of you.
“Is that true?” Philippa said, noncommittal.

“Aye. Don't mistake my words. He has always enjoyed women, that is true, but not for longer than it takes him to relieve his needs with them. He's a complicated man, and obstinate, yet loyal and true. He is also a rogue, sometimes quite a scoundrel, and he much enjoys being unpredictable.”

“I know.”

“You do? Well, that is even more interesting. Do you know him well, then? You've been at St. Erth a long time?”

Philippa raised her chin. Was this lady toying with her? Showing her that it was she, not Philippa, who held Dienwald? No covering it up with fresh rushes, she thought, and said with the most emotionless voice she could dredge up, “ ‘Tis you, my lady, who holds Dienwald's interest, not me. ‘Tis you he worships and admires, not me. ‘Tis you he bleats on about, not me. He finds me unwomanly, ungainly, clumsy. But he speaks of you as if you were a . . . a
shrine,
and he wishes to fall on his face and worship at your feet.”

“By all the saints' waggery, that is wondrous stupid,” Kassia said, and burst into laughter. “And not at all like Dienwald.”

“Dienwald is a man,” Philippa said when Kassia had subsided into only an occasional giggle.

“Aye,” Kassia said slowly, “he is, is he not? He is just like my lord. A man who dominates, a man who must rule, a man who yells and bellows when one dares cross his will or challenge him, and a man who will cherish and protect those weaker then he with all his strength.”

“I'm just barely weaker than Dienwald.”

“I doubt that, Morgan.”

“He doesn't cherish me at all. He knows not what to do with me. I am a thorn in his flesh.” Philippa's chin went up yet another notch. “But I am also his steward, though he doesn't wish to tell anyone, the obstinate cockscomb. He said were your husband to know, he would burst his bladder with laughter.”

“His steward? Tell me, please. What happened to Alain?”

Philippa's dam burst, and words poured out of her mouth. She didn't tell Kassia de Moreton who she really was or how she came to be at St. Erth,
but she told her of Alain's perfidy and how he'd tried to kill her and how she had since taken his place because Dienwald had no one else of the
proper
sex to do it.

Kassia stared at this rush of confidences, but before she could speak, the door burst open and Dienwald catapulted into the chamber, yelling even before his two feet were firmly planted on the floor, “Don't believe a word she says!”

Philippa jumped to her feet. “Morgan!” she shouted. “Who the devil is this Morgan?”

Dienwald drew up, frowning. “I don't know. The name merely popped into my mind. I like it. It has a certain dignity.”

“What is your name, then?” Kassia asked.

“ 'Tis Mary,” Dienwald said quickly. “Her name is Mary. A nice name, a simple name, a name without pretense or deceit.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Graelam de Moreton said as he came through the bedchamber door. He looked over at his grinning wife. “I once knew a Mary who was as cunning and devious as my former mistress, Nan. You remember, Kassia? Ah, perhaps you don't wish to. You wonder why I'm here, sweetling? Well, Dienwald feared what the girl was telling you and bolted out of the hall. What was I to do? All that was of interest was here, so I followed.”

“This is the wench, Mary,” Dienwald said, and he gave Philippa a look that would rot off her toes if she dared to disagree with him.

“You don't look like a Mary,” Graelam said, coming closer. He studied Philippa, his dark eyes intent. Then he looked troubled, questioning. “You look familiar, though. Your eyes . . . aye,
very familiar, the blue is brilliant, unique. I wish I could remember—”

“She doesn't look familiar,” Dienwald said, stepping in front of Graelam. “She isn't at all unique. She looks only like herself. She looks like a Mary. Nothing more, just a simple Mary.”

“She looks clean,” Graelam said, and turned to his wife. “Kassia, have you learned all of Dienwald's secrets? Did he steal my Aquitaine wine?”

“Dienwald isn't a thief!” Philippa turned red the moment the words flew out of her mouth, but proceeded to make matters worse: “He isn't except when necessity forces him to be, and—”

“Ph . . . Mary, be quiet! I don't need you to plead my innocence before this hulking behemoth. I didn't steal your puking wine, Graelam.”

Kassia rose slowly to her feet. “This is quite enough. Now, I suggest that we have our meal up here, since Mary can't come to the hall wearing naught but a blanket. What say you, Dienwald?”

What could he say? he wondered, both his brain and belly sour, even as he nodded.

The evening meal, all cozy in Dienwald's bedchamber, passed off more smoothly than Dienwald could have hoped. Philippa held her tongue for the most part, as did Kassia. The men spoke of men's things, and though Philippa would have liked to join in, because she was, no matter what Dienwald said, St. Erth's steward, she kept still. She was afraid she would inadvertently give something away. Neither Graelam de Moreton nor his lovely wife was stupid.

Why had Graelam looked at her so oddly? Could he believe she looked familiar because he remembered seeing her very briefly at Beauchamp some years before?

Graelam sat back in his chair, a flagon of ale between his large hands. “Kassia and I will return to Wolffeton on the morrow. She wished merely to see that you were all right.”

“Why? Nay, Graelam, your lie contains more holes than a sieve. You wished to see if I was drinking your wine.”

“That as well.” Graelam paused a moment, then continued easily, “Let us go for a walk, Dienwald. I have something to discuss with you.”

Kassia shot him a questioning look, but he only smiled and shook his head.

What was going on here? Philippa wondered. She watched the two men leave the bedchamber. On the threshold, Dienwald turned, saying, “Mary, we will give our bed over to Graelam and Kassia tonight. Tell Edmund that he is to sleep with Father Cramdle. No, wait—we will sleep in your small bed in the steward's chamber.” That taken care of to the master's satisfaction, Philippa was left sitting on the bed, her face red with anger and embarrassment.

“I will surely kill him, the miserable bounder,” she said to no one in particular.

To her surprise, Lady Kassia laughed.

 

Graelam made a decision as he and Dienwald walked down the solar stairs and into the inner bailey. He wouldn't tell Dienwald of Burnell's visit. Kassia was right: leave things alone. Dienwald delighted in doing precisely what he wanted to do, and King Edward at his most cajoling or his most threatening wouldn't change his mind once he'd set himself a course. The two men walked toward the ramparts and climbed the ladder to the eastern tower.

“Your steward stole everything?” Graelam asked, leaning his elbows on the rough stone.

Dienwald nodded. “Bastard. Gorkel the Hideous broke his neck. But Alain had a spy who managed to flee St. Erth. My fool, Crooky, somehow knows such things—his ways of finding out things both amaze and terrify me. He believes Alain was involved with Walter de Grasse and that one of the men who tried to kill Ph . . . Mary is even now at Crandall. He is the cistern keeper.”

Graelam said nothing for several moments. Finally: “I know of the hatred between the two of you, needless to say! And yes, I heard about the burning of your crops on the southern border and the butchering of all your people. You have no proof that Sir Walter was behind it, though, do you?”