“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.