Read Online Secret Song by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online Page B

relieved that the earl didn’t turn to address some question to him or he might still have wrapped his hands around Edmond of Clare’s neck and wrung the life out of him.
    Daria scrambled up from the bed and raced to the door. She forced herself to crack the door open and look out. The earl and Roland were gone. She retreated again, closing the door. There was no key to keep him out. She didn’t yet know of Roland’s plan for their escape, only that he would come for her. She began to pace, feeling so shamed, so humiliated at what he’d done to her that she couldn’t bear being within herself, being at one with her body. She wasn’t aware that tears were streaming down her face until Ena slipped into the chamber and gasped at the sight of her.
    â€œHe’s ravished you. And that miserable priest with him. I knew he wasn’t a priest, too pretty he is, too lean and hungry. Aye, both of them—”
    Daria, maddened beyond control, turned on the old woman in a fury and yelled, “Shut your stupid mouth, you miserable old crone. I will hear no more of your filth.”
    It was shock that made Ena obey her mistress. Never had the girl spoken thus to her, and she could but stare at her.
    â€œLeave me. I don’t wish to see your hag’s face until the morning. Go.”
    The old woman scuttled out. Alone once again, Daria stared at the closed door. She felt only a bit of guilt, for Ena had become more and more unstable during their months of captivity. Once she was gone, if she managed to escape, the old woman would be safe enough here. She knew the earl wouldn’t waste his time killing her.
    She paced until her leg cramped. She sat down on her bed and began rubbing her calf. What to do? Wait for Roland to appear? She simply didn’t know. She supposed she had no choice but to remain here until he came for her. Or, she thought, rising quickly, she could try to escape herself. The door wasn’t locked. Perhaps she could slip by the guards; perhaps she could race through the inner bailey and no one would attempt to stop her; perhaps—It was ridiculous and she knew it.
    She’d nurtured such ridiculous plans frequently during her confinement. There was no escape for her; she knew it. Then, she wondered, how could Roland get her out of here? He’d said tonight. But how? She saw no way, no glimmer of a chance.
    She was crying again, feeling again the earl’s callused fingers digging into her flesh, touching her, pushing against her until his finger entered her, probed inside her, and the pain mixed with the humiliation of it caused her to cry out, covering her face in her hands. And Roland had watched.
    It was too much. Something inside her gave way and she suddenly felt outside herself; she felt as outside and as gray as the falling dusk, and filled with numb purpose. She rose and walked slowly toward the narrow window. She measured its width with her hands. She climbed up on a stool and tried to stick her head through the opening. It was too small even for her head. She pushed harder, bruising her temples. Staggering pain coursed through her head. She scrambled off the stool, her hands pressed against her temples, and she stared down at it and then at the window and was horrified. She’d wanted to leap through it; she’d wanted to kill herself. She drew a breath and forced herself to suck in air slowly and deeply. She’d lost her reason. Slowly she lay down on her narrow bed. She closed her eyes. She would remain calm. She would wait; she had no choice. The pain in her head subsided.
    She didn’t know how many hours passed, if hours indeed did slip by. Perhaps it was a succession of minutes that crept by her, so very slowly, until she wanted to scream. The chamber grew dark with the night; soon the one lone candle gutted.
    There was but a quarter-moon to glimmer in the night sky, and its light cast no shadows into the chamber. It was dark and