Secret Song Read Online Free PDF Page B

to account for it or explain it. Was this poor young priest to die? She didn’t think so, but she simply didn’t know. But she’d looked at him and felt something deep within her move, open, and then he’d taken her hand as any priest might, and the touch of him had pierced into her, leaving her naked and raw, confused feelings flooding through her.
    And like a lackwit, she’d fainted. She’d fainted in front of the earl, and she’d known even as she’d felt herself falling that she was still gaping at the young priest.
    There came a knock on the chamber door. Daria turned to see Ena speed to the door and open it slightly to peer out. She heard Edmond of Clare’s voice. He pushed Ena out of his way, nearly knocking the old woman to the floor, and strode into the room.
    â€œYou’re awake,” he said, looking down at her from his great height. “What happened to you? Are you sickening with something?”
    She shook her head, fearing in that moment what might come out of her mouth if she spoke.
    â€œThen what?”
    Should she tell him that her grandmother had died mad, died cursed as a witch, and that mayhap she was a witch too? Tell him that the priest who’d shriven her grandmother had been pale and stammering with fear in the presence of that mad old woman? “I am sorry to upset you. I just suddenly felt faint. The Benedictine priest—he is to remain here at Tyberton?”
    â€œAye. I wanted you to meet him, but you fell at our feet, and the poor young fellow was naturally concerned. You frightened him, and now I must wonder if you did it apurpose, to beg his help, mayhap? To beg his assistance to help you escape me?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI did not really think so. You haven’t the guile, Daria, to gain your ends through perfidy.”
    She stared at him, wondering how he could come to believe she was so transparent. She prayed a moment would come when she would best him with her perfidy.
    â€œHe appears a pious and learned young man,” Edmond of Clare continued after a moment. “The Benedictines spawn dedicated priests, from what I hear. He will remain here in my service.”
    â€œWhat is his name?”
    â€œHe said the name given him at the Benedictine abbey was Father Corinthian. He will hold a Mass for us on the morrow morning. You and I will attend, no one else. My soul is needful of cleansing. As for yours, your sheltered youth sustains you, but still God’s word will not come amiss to your ears.”
    Daria didn’t want to see the young priest again, and yet at the same time she wanted to see him, touch him, just once more, just to see if the first time had been a vague aberration, an accident brought about by her fear and frustration at her captivity.
    He was a priest, this man who wasn’t a man. He was God’s man, God’s weapon, God’s gift to man. “I will come to the chapel,” she said, and Edmond of Clare stared down at her silently for another long moment, lightly touched his fingers to her hair. “So soft you are,” he said, then left her.
    She lay there frozen. There was no meanness in his look or his light touch, but a certain tenderness, and it terrified her. It wasn’t lust, yet there was lust in it, and something else far more harmful as well. She closed her eyes. Her heart pounded loudly.
    That evening at the late meal, she came slowly into the great hall, glad for its loudness, its sheer number of people, for their very presence was a sort of protection for her. She saw Edmond already seated in his great chair, the new priest seated at his left. The chair to his right—her chair—was empty. Her step lagged. She couldn’t take her eyes off the priest. She saw in the rich light of the flambeaux that his dark hair shone clean and silky. He was dressed simply, but unlike other priests she’d known, both he and his clothing were clean. Even in the loose