“As you will,” she said.
He rose. “I must return to the king to see what other pleasures he’s planned for me. How is your stomach?”
“I’m fine now.”
He stood there frowning down at her. “Will you be able to travel?”
Was there another choice? she wondered. Would he leave her here? Drop her in a ditch somewhere? “Aye, I’ll be fine.”
He looked at her a moment longer, feeling uncertain, feeling guilt that she would have to travel, feeling resentment that he would have to go slowly so she wouldn’t become too ill.
He said from the doorway, “Sleep now. I won’t bother you tonight. I will go to argue with the king once again, but I don’t think he will change his mind. He is the most stubborn man in all of England. He insists that someone will try to slit my throat unless I go directly to Cornwall, and he doesn’t want that to happen until after I have sired my first—” His voice disappeared in a low curse. He was silent as death, and so was she. “We will leave early, if it pleases you.”
She wondered, once he’d gone, what he would have done if she’d told him it didn’t please her at all. So the king believed her a liar as well. It didn’t particularly surprise her. He was a man, after all. Her stomach twisted suddenly and she tensed. Then her muscles eased again. She fell asleep still clothed and dreamed of her mother, abused by her uncle. What was she to do about her mother? Then she knew. She would ask Roland to allow Robert Burnell to bring her mother to her.
13
The morning air was thick with fog. Daria, bundled to her chin in one of her winter cloaks, waited silently for Roland to finish speaking to the king.
She’d already said good-bye to the queen, kissing Eleanor’s hand as she curtsied deeply and thanking her with great sincerity for her care and advice. The queen had even prepared a large vial of the herb drink should she become ill again.
“You will be patient with Roland,” the queen had said, hugging her, wishing she could spare her pain but knowing that she couldn’t. She would pray that the babe closely resembled Roland; there was naught else she could do. “He is a proud man, loyal, and sound in judgment save, it appears, in the matters of the heart. I heard it said that once, many years before, he gave his heart to a girl who betrayed him. I know no more than that. My lord told me that, saying that Roland had been miserably unhappy at the time, and had confided only that much.” She looked smug as she said that, pleased that her husband, King of England though he be, was faithful to her and only to her. Daria nearly burst out that the girl had been Joan of Tenesby, but she held her tongue. Roland wouldn’t thank her to tell his secrets.
The queen added, “When you arrive in Cornwall I hope you will visit St. Erth Castle. It is where my lord’s daughter lives with her husband, Dienwald de Fortenberry. Philippa is a sweet but spirited child and plants gray hairs in her husband’s head. It will be your husband’s decision, of course, to select where you will reside until he has managed to purchase this keep of his.”
“He just told me of Thispen-Ladock last evening.”
The queen said comfortably, “Worry not that he is closemouthed. He isn’t in the habit of confiding in others. Roland will come to tell you many things before long. I am pleased the earl did not resist returning the clothing and household goods that you were carrying to Colchester when he abducted you. You and your Roland will be finely prepared once you move into your new keep.”
Daria glanced back now, seeing that the pack mules disappeared into the fog, so thick it was. She did bring Roland many things for his new keep. She didn’t bring him only herself. No, indeed, she brought him more coin than he needed, and rich furnishings, for at the time he was planning for her to wed with Colchester, her uncle’s pride had been at stake. She remembered Roland’s sour look at the sight of all the goods half an hour before. She’d wanted to slap him when he said, “I feel like a greedy merchant, traveling about with all my wares. Mayhap I can sell some of this to Graelam.”
“The goods are mine,” she’d said instead, so furious she was pale with it. “Don’t you dare speak of selling
what is mine. Some of the materials were stitched by my own mother.”
He had looked up at her then, astride her mare, and he’d smiled and said, “Nay, sweet wife, you have nothing now. Did you not understand? All you have is a claim to my name and protection, and were I you, Daria, I would believe that both had a very hollow ring. All this rubbish, well, I shall do exactly as I please with it.” He’d turned away from her then to speak to the men.
At least her belly was calm this morning, for she’d drunk some sweet goat’s milk and eaten a piece of soft white bread. For that she was thankful. She allowed herself to know some excitement. After all, regardless of what Roland said or did, she was beginning a new life, one she hadn’t known would exist such a short time before.
“Are you ready, Daria?”
She gave him a temperate smile. “Thank you for getting Henrietta for me,” she said, patting her mare’s neck as she spoke. She realized then that Roland wasn’t looking at her, rather he was testing and pulling at the straps on her saddle. He looked up at her now as he also stroked her mare’s neck, his fingers touching hers. “Your Henrietta is as fat as Cantor. No matter, both of them will be strong and lean within the week. You will tell me if you feel ill.”
“Yes.”
He lightly touched his hand to her thigh, nodded, and strode to the head of their small cavalcade. Daria turned and waved toward the keep. The queen, in her endless kindness, was very likely still gazing at her from one of the castle windows. She waved even as they rode from the inner bailey of Tyberton. At the last moment, she turned again, and her eyes met the Earl of Clare’s. There was no expression on his face; but his eyes—she flinched at the fury she saw in them. She shook off the bolt of panic she felt. After all, he had nothing more to do with her life. He couldn’t harm her now. He couldn’t strike her ever again. And, after all, if he hadn’t abducted her, hadn’t brought her to Tyberton, well then, she would never have met Roland. The vagaries of fate were something to think about.
The fog burned off within three hours and the day grew warm. Much to the men’s surprise, Roland called a halt. He gave them no explanation, merely rode to where Daria sat her mare and pulled his destrier in beside her. He said nothing, just looked at her.
“Would you like to rest for a few minutes? Relieve yourself?”
She nodded.
“Which? Or both?”
She gave him a look and simply nodded again. He laughed, dismounted his horse, and clasped her about her waist, lifting her from her mare’s back. “Are you certain you don’t miss the old woman? I could send one of my men back to Tyberton for her if you wish it.”
“Nay, she frightens me now. I think she is mad. The earl won’t harm her.”