Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
EPILOGUE
Dear Reader:
Secret Song, the fourth novel in the Song Series, came out in 1991. Like its first three cousins, I didn’t change the story, just sang with joy at the gorgeous new cover.
In Secret Song, we get down and dirty. You met Roland de Tournay in Earth Song—a handsome man with a subtle wit and quick tongue who was variously an actor, an adventurer, a master of disguise. Now in Secret Song he finds his destiny when he must rescue Daria of Fortescue from a Welsh stronghold. She’s as daring, as clever, as talented as he is. What’s a man to do?
The link between them is as unbreakable as the fine forged steel of Roland’s sword, but being obstinate, muleheaded—in other words, a man—he resists with all his might. You’ll see characters from Earth Song and Fire Song stick in their oars to assist this beset pair, with varying degrees of success.
Do write me at P.O. Box 17, Mill Valley, CA 94942 or e-mail me at
[email protected] to tell me which book in the Medieval Song Series you like the best. Actually, I’m hoping you have a really hard time selecting just one of them.
(Yes, I do have a favorite.)
Titles by Catherine Coulter
The Bride Series
THE SHERBROOKE BRIDE
THE HELLION BRIDE
THE HEIRESS BRIDE
THE SCOTTISH BRIDE
PENDRAGON
MAD JACK
THE COURTSHIP
The Legacy Trilogy
THE WYNDHAM LEGACY
THE NIGHTINGALE LEGACY
THE VALENTINE LEGACY
The Baron Novels
THE WILD BARON
THE OFFER
THE DECEPTION
The Viking Novels
LORD OF HAWKFELL ISLAND
LORD OF RAVEN’S PEAK
LORD OF FALCON RIDGE
SEASON OF THE SUN
The Song Novels
WARRIOR SONG
FIRE SONG
EARTH SONG
SECRET SONG
ROSEHAVEN
THE PENWYTH CURSE
The Magic Trilogy
MIDSUMMER MAGIC
CALYPSO MAGIC
MOONSPUN MAGIC
The Star Series
EVENING STAR
MIDNIGHT STAR
WILD STAR
JADE STAR
Other Regency
Historical Romances
THE COUNTESS
THE REBEL BRIDE
THE HEIR
THE DUKE
LORD HARRY
Devil’s Duology
DEVIL’S EMBRACE
DEVIL’S DAUGHTER
Contemporary
Romantic Thrillers
FALSE PRETENSES
IMPULSE
BEYOND EDEN
FBI Suspense Thrillers
THE COVE
THE MAZE
THE TARGET
THE EDGE
RIPTIDE
HEMLOCK BAY
PRAISE FOR NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR CATHERINE COULTER
“Bawdy fare, Coulter-style . . . romance, humor, and
spicy sex talk.”—Kirkus Reviews
“A hot-blooded romp.”—People
“Coulter is excellent at portraying the romantic
tension between her heroes and heroines, and she
manages to write explicitly but beautifully about sex
as well as love.”
—Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
“Unexpected plot twists, witty dialogue, and an
engaging cast of characters.”—Publishers Weekly
“Catherine Coulter delivers . . . straightforward, fastpaced
romance.”—Minneapolis Star Tribune
“Sexy.”—Booklist
“Coulter’s characters quickly come alive and draw
the reader into the story. You root for the good
guys and hiss for the bad guys. When you have to
put the book down for a while, you can hardly
wait to get back and see what’s going on.”
—The Sunday Oklahoman
“Charm, wit, and intrigue. . . . Sure to keep readers
turning the pages.”—Naples Daily News
SIGNET
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand,
London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Books Australia Ltd, 250 Camberwell Road,
Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue,
Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2
Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, Cnr Rosedale and Airborne Roads,
Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Previously published in
an Onyx edition.
First Signet Printing, March 1999
Copyright © Catherine Coulter, 1991
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To my parents, Charles and Elizabeth Coulter,
who passed along what talent genes I can lay claim to.
All my love and thanks.
PROLOGUE
Near Grainsworth Abbey
March 1275
Daria wished the heavy clouds overhead would free the snow. She wanted the misery of freezing snow blowing into her face, stinging her eyes, mixing with the burning tears.
But as the afternoon lengthened, the weather simply grew colder, the wind more vicious, twisting and ripping throug
h the few naked-branched oak trees that lined the narrow road, but it didn’t snow.
She hunched down in her miniver-lined cloak and closed her eyes. Her mare, Henrietta, plodded onward, her head bowed, keeping rhythm with the destrier’s pace ahead of her. Every few minutes, Drake, Lord Damon’s master-at-arms, would swivel about to see that she still rode docilely behind him, that she hadn’t somehow fled without him noticing, that she was keeping herself silent and submissive and obedient. Drake wasn’t a bad man, or cruel, but he was her uncle’s minion, and he always carried out his master’s orders without hesitation or question. Also, she knew, it would never occur to him to question his master’s right to dispose of his niece in any way that suited him. She was naught but a female and thus all decisions were made for her and around her.
She had no choices. She knew now that she’d never had a choice. She simply hadn’t realized it so starkly before. Before, Daria, the child, had had to obey only occasional commands from her uncle, nothing of the magnitude that would make her want to crawl away and die. After all, what could a man want with a child? But now she was seventeen, more than old enough to be weighed and judged and a value set on her. She was no longer a child and her uncle had seen it and acted on it. A girl went from her father—or in this case, her uncle—to her husband. From one man to another. Chattel of one man to be chattel of another. No choice, no argument. It was as the man dictated, as the man ordered. She felt tears again, and hated them, for crying was useless. Crying meant that there was hope, and there wasn’t any of that to be had.
Daria dashed her palm over her eyes, and when she opened them again she saw in her mind’s eye her uncle Damon, as clear to her as the armored back of Drake, who rode directly in front of her. She saw him in his bedchamber and she heard his voice, deep and clear and indifferent, his words of a month ago still as fresh as if he’d spoken them but moments before. No, she thought now, he hadn’t been indifferent, not at all. It had been an act. He’d been looking forward to this—to humiliating her and then telling her what he’d planned for her. No, her uncle was never indifferent in his cruelty. He relished it.
He’d been sitting up in his fur-covered bed, Cora, one of the castle serving wenches, naked beside him. Upon Daria’s entrance into Lord Damon’s bedchamber, Cora had giggled and slithered down beside him, pulling the white rabbit furs over her naked shoulders. He appeared not to care that the furs left his own chest bare. He appeared not to care that he was naked and in his bed with his mistress in front of his niece. Of course he’d planned it. There was no doubt in her mind. Daria had said nothing, merely waited for him to tell her why he’d sent for her. He in turn was silent for many moments, negligently stroking his right hand over Cora’s shoulder.
Daria had closed her eyes, knowing he did this for her benefit, to show her yet again that a female was naught but what a man wanted her to be.
Daria had felt the familiar feelings of hate, revulsion, and helplessness surge through her. She loathed her uncle and he knew it, and she guessed it amused him, this silent hatred of hers. This meaningless silent hatred of hers. What did he want? For her to scream at him, to cry, to cower in humiliation and embarrassment? She stood perfectly still. She’d learned patience with him. She’d learned to wait silent as a rock, giving him no encouragement.
She didn’t move. Her expression didn’t change.
Suddenly he seemed to tire of his game. He pulled the furs higher over Cora and told her to be still and turn her back to him. “I tire of your sheep’s face,” he added, his eyes all the while on his silent niece.
“You sent for me,” Daria said finally, holding her voice as calm and emotionless as she was trying to hold her body.
“Aye, I did. You’re more than full grown, Daria. You turned seventeen two months ago. My silly little Cora here—already quite a woman—is only fifteen. You should have a babe suckling at your breast by now, as do most females. Aye, I’ve held you here overlong. But I had to wait, you see, wait for just the offer I wished.” He smiled then, showing all his very white teeth. “At least next month you will finally have a husband to plow that little belly of yours. And he’ll do it enthusiastically, I doubt it not.”
She paled and stepped back. She couldn’t help it.
He laughed. “Doesn’t the thought of a husband please you, niece? Or do you fear and dislike all men? Don’t you wish to escape me and become mistress in your own keep?”
She stared at him, mute.
“Answer me, you silly girl.”
“Aye.”
“Good. It will be done. When you leave me, Daria, tell your mother I wish to see her. Cora has but whetted my appetite.”
Daria didn’t move this time, and after a moment, Damon merely shrugged, as if tiring of baiting her. Daria knew he forced her mother, her gentle, sweet mother—his dead half-brother’s wife—and had taken her since the accidental death of his half-brother, James of Fortescue, in a tourney in London some four years before. But her mother, Lady Katherine, had never said a word to Daria, never complained, never cried. She was told she was to go to the lord and she went without comment, without objection, to Damon, and later emerged, still silent, her eyes cast down, her mouth sometimes swollen and bruised-looking. But Daria knew; all the servants spoke of it and she’d overheard them. This was the first time he had spoken openly of it before to her. But he wanted her to know, she guessed, but she wouldn’t do what he wanted, she wouldn’t plead with him, she wouldn’t beg him to spare her mother. She said instead, “Who is to be my husband?”
“So you do have some interest, do you? You will doubtless be happy about my choice for you.” He paused and she saw the malicious gleam in his pale blue eyes. She knew she wouldn’t like it and so did he. She waited, silent and still and cold, wishing now she’d kept her mouth shut and hadn’t asked. She didn’t want to know, not yet. But Damon said, his voice relishing his words, “Why, it is Ralph of Colchester, eldest son of the Earl of Colchester. They visited Reymerstone, don’t you remember? Last November. Ralph told me he is most pleased with you, as is his father.”
“Not Ralph of Colchester. No. You would not, he is loathsome. He raped Anna again and again and he got her with child and—”
Damon roared with laughter. She’d finally reacted and he was pleased with himself. “Aye, I know it,” he said, still laughing, shaking the big bed with his mirth. “I made him a wager, you see. I told him that his father and I wanted him to get you with child immediately, and to see if he was capable, I gave him Anna, who was ready to be bred in any case. He impregnated her quickly. I was pleased and relieved, as was his father.”
Daria just looked at him, stunned and repelled, but not really surprised. She heard herself ask, “What did you offer as your wager with him?”
Damon laughed again. “So there is still a portion of defiance in you? Well, no matter now. I wagered your mother’s gold necklace. The one my half-brother gave her upon their marriage.” He watched her face closely.
She gave him no more satisfaction. She’d given him more than enough. She said instead, shrugging, “It is of very little value.”
She looked at him, and for an instant, just a brief moment, she thought she saw some resemblance to her father in him. But she wasn’t certain. She couldn’t remember her father clearly anymore, even though it had been only four years since his death. But her father had been gone so often, for long stretches of time, and he hadn’t particularly noticed her even on his rare visits to Fortescue Hall, for she was naught but a girl, a female whose only worth lay in a marriage advantageous to him. Still, surely he hadn’t been as vile as his elder half-brother, surely.
And now it was Damon, his half-brother, who would gain the advantages of her marriage.
“What did you offer Ralph and his father? All my inheritance?”
“Why, certainly, most of it, but I dislike your impertinent tongue. Hold it quiet or I will have your mother brought here and she will tell you the value of obedience to me. Aye, Colc
hester will have most of your immense dowry and I will have the Colchester land that will extend my boundaries all the way to the North Sea. It is precisely what I wanted, what I’ve waited for so patiently. Actually, I will tell you why I allowed you to become so aged. The boy, Ralph, was mightily ill last year and I didn’t know if he would survive; his father was concerned that even if he did survive, he wouldn’t still have potent seed. But I was content to wait. He did survive, as did his seed, and aye, little Daria, I have got what I wanted, all of it.”
“It is my money, my inheritance. All that my father owned, he gave to me. You take everything, and it isn’t yours to take.”
His face darkened and he threw back the furs. He came to his feet, standing naked by his bed. Cora stared at him as he strode to Daria. For a moment Daria believed he would strike her, but he didn’t. He’d never struck her. It wasn’t his way. He just smiled at her now, but she knew that it was rage burning bright in his eyes, not amusement.
“Go now,” he said at last. “Even you have managed to offend me, which is surprising. Your mother will prepare for your trip to Colchester. You will have wagons full of household items, as every bride should. You are the Reymerstone heiress; thus I have been more than generous with you. I would not wish to make a niggardly impression or leave any person in doubt of my affection for you, for I want no questions. You will leave in three weeks. I will come in time for your wedding, of course. And if you are obedient, I just might bring your mother with me. Well, why don’t you say something? No? Leave me, then.”
She stared at him a moment, not at his body—for the very hardness of him, all that pale blond hair that covered him, frightened her—but at his hated face. Then she turned and walked from the chamber.