Secret Song by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page A

horrent.”
    Roland nearly lost his ale and bread and his bland expression, so taken aback was he. There was no expression on her face as she repeated, not the expected “Et cum spiritu tuo” but again “Capilli horrent.”
    His hair stands on end.
    The little twit knew Latin. By all the saints, she was mocking him, she could give him away. He looked appalled, as well he might; then he caught himself as he heard her say clearly, “Bene id tibi vertat.”
    He bowed his head, her words buzzing with the Latin Mass in his mind. I wish you all success in the matter.
    Roland stepped back and raised his hands. “Deo gratias.” He smiled at the earl, who looked as if God himself had just conferred honors upon him.
    â€œThank you, Father, thank you. My soul rejoices that you are here.” The earl rubbed his large hands together. “Aye, I feared whilst there was no man of God in my castle, feared for my own soul and the souls of my people.”
    He turned to Daria and said, his tone disapproving, “You said something I did not recognize as a response. What was it?”
    She didn’t pale; she didn’t change expression. She said, “It was nonsense. I couldn’t remember what to repeat, and thus conjured up the sounds. I am sorry, my lord, Father, it was disrespectful of me.”
    The earl’s face grew even more stiff with disapproval. “It is blasphemous to do such a thing. I shall have the good Father Corinthian teach you the proper responses, and you will learn them now. It is shameful not to know them, Daria.”
    She bowed her head submissively.
    â€œYes, my lord.”
    â€œYour uncle was remiss in his responsibilities toward you. You will spend the next hour with Father Corinthian.”
    â€œYes, my lord.”
    The earl nodded once again to Roland and took his leave. They were alone in the dank chapel.
    â€œWho are you?”
    â€œThat is quick and to the point,” Roland remarked, his eyes on the closed chapel door. “Let me make certain no one is about outside.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t matter if there were a dozen men listening at the door. This wretched chapel is sound as a crypt, the door nearly as thick as the stone of the walls.”
    Nonetheless Roland strode to the door, opened it, and slowly closed it again. He turned to face her.
    â€œWho are you?” she repeated.
    â€œYou speak Latin.”
    â€œYes, I speak Latin, something you didn’t expect.”
    â€œNo I didn’t. You didn’t give me away to the earl. May I assume that you still wish to escape him?”
    She nodded and asked again, “Who are you?”
    â€œI am sent by your uncle to rescue you. As you know now, I am no Benedictine priest.”
    She gave him a dazzling, perfectly wicked smile that rocked him back on his heels. He thought he’d made a perfectly adequate priest, damn her impertinence. He was frowning, but she forestalled him. “But you are an educated man, unlike the previous priest, who could barely string together sounds that resembled Latin. The earl, of course, didn’t know any better. Did you get rid of him?”
    â€œYes, it was quite easy, for he was miserable here at Tyberton, and most willing to accept a bit of coin for his absconding. You recognized me, then, yesterday when you fainted? You knew I was no priest from just looking at me? That is why you turned so pale and collapsed?”
    She shook her head and looked embarrassed. “I don’t know why—that is, I didn’t know you then, and yet I did know you, perhaps even better than I know myself.” That sounded like utter drivel. She ground to a painful halt and looked up at him for his reaction. Again, that shock of knowledge, that feeling that he was there, deep inside her, part of her, and she took a step back. She wasn’t making sense and he would think her utterly mad.
    â€œWhat is it? Do I frighten