Read Online Earth Song by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online

hair loose around her head.
    â€œGod’s greetings to you, lady,” he said easily to Philippa. “Sit thee here and take your fill.”
    â€œWhat? The master offers me a chair rather than the dank floor?”
    He eyed her. Some show of gratitude. He should have guessed. She wasn’t one whit broken; not a shadow of submissivenes. She was still insolent. He should have held to his original plan and left her in that chamber alone for twenty-four hours. He continued, still tolerant, lounging back in his chair, “There are no females at St. Erth as great-sized as you, lady, so moderate your appetite accordingly, for there are no more gowns for you.”
    â€œGod bless your sweet kindness, sir,” Philippa said with all the gratitude of a nun who’d just been made an abbess. “You have the charitable soul of Saint Orkney and the pious spirit of a zealot.”
    â€œThere is no Saint Orkney.”
    â€œIs there not? Why, with your example, kind lord, there should be. Yes, indeed.”
    Philippa smiled at him, her dimples deep, so pleased with herself that she couldn’t help it. Then she smelled the food. Her stomach growled loudly. She forgot Dienwald de Fortenberry, forgot that her situation was fraught with uncertainty, and looked down at her trencher, onwhich lay a thick slab of bread soggy with rich gravy and decorated with large chunks of beef.
    Dienwald watched her attack the meal. A bold wench with a ready tongue. No wonder she thought her father didn’t want to ransom her. Who would want such a needle-witted wench in his keeping? Unaccountably, he smiled. When she mopped up the trencher with her last chunk of bread, he said, “Will you eat all my mutton and pigeon as well? Every one of my boiled capons, with ginger and cinnamon, and all of my jellied eggs?”
    â€œI don’t see the jellied eggs.” There was stark disappointment in her voice.
    â€œPerhaps you ate them without seeing them. Your hands and your mouth toiled very diligently.”
    She turned to him. “And surely you wouldn’t have mutton, would you? Didn’t you lose all your sheep?”
    Dienwald had to pause a moment on that one. He saw her dimples deepen again, and realized she was enjoying herself mightily at his expense. One could not allow a woman to have the last word. It was against the laws of man and God. It was as intolerable as a kick to the groin.
    He shook himself. “What wear you beneath that gown?”
    A man, Philippa thought, used whatever weapons available to him. Her father was a master at bluster. His nose turned red, his eyes bulged, and he raged long and loud. Her cousin Sir Walter de Grasse, if she remembered aright, turned sarcastic and cold when he was in a foul temper. Her father’s master-at-arms never thought, just struck out with his huge fists. As for this man, at leasthis dagger still lay snug in its sheath at his belt, so a show of violence wasn’t on his mind. It relieved her that he wished to best her with words, even though they were meant to shrivel her with embarrassment. Unfortunately, she’d taken a sip of the strong ale when he’d spoken, and now she choked on it. He slapped her on the back, nearly sending her face into a wooden platter of boiled capon.
    â€œI can feel nothing,” Dienwald said as he leaned down close to her. His fingers splayed wide over her back. “No shift? No pretense at modesty?”
    Philippa felt the urge to violence—after all, she was her father’s daughter—and she acted instantly. Quick as a snake, she reached for his dagger. She felt his hand lock around her wrist until her fingers turned white from lack of blood.
    â€œYou dare?”
    She’d thought with her feet again, and the result had brought his anger on her head. She shook her head.
    â€œYou don’t dare?”
    But there was no anger in his tone, not now. He seemed amused. That was surprising, and