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Roland remembered Joan of Tenesby. He saw her clearly in that moment and could swear, right now, that her fierceness of spirit had exceeded any man’s he’d ever known. She’d destroyed those around her with an arrogance and ruthlessness that staggered him with numbing awareness even now, nearly six years later.
“But you lust after the young Daria, do you not? You bought her finery from the tinker because you wished to please her, to flatter her vanity. But it was your vanity that enjoyed your purchases.”
“You twist words, Father. This talk of vanity is an absurdity. As for my lust for the girl, well, God wills it so. If we were not driven to take what the female holds, we would not continue; thus it is our lust that is the true gift from God. God gives them to us and it is our right to use them when they are able. Indeed, it is our responsibility to beget our children in their wombs.”
Roland smiled and said easily, even as he moved his king’s bishop, “Nay, my lord earl, it’s you who are gifted with facile argument. You would make a good bishop.” Roland suddenly realized that to move his bishop would irrevocably cripple the earl’s position on the chessboard. He quickly retracted it.
“Leave it,” the earl said, not seeing the danger from the move. Roland replaced the piece and sat back in his chair.
But the earl wasn’t interested in the game, but in expressing his own views. He tugged on his ear, cleared his throat, saying finally, “There is another matter, Father. Something that has bothered my spirit for many weeks now. Daria is young, as I said, but I find her occasionally frivolous, impious, exhibiting a woman’s vanity. I can break her of these habits. But I now find that I doubt her virtue. You see, I know her uncle well, and he is a vile lecher. And I wonder again and again: Is she still a maiden? Or did her uncle give her to Ralph of Colchester when he visited Reymerstone Castle?”
Roland was shaking his head even before he said quickly, “Nay, her uncle would have protected her, not offered her to Colchester. Doubt it not.”
The earl shook his head, unconvinced, not wanting to be convinced, Roland realized in a flash of insight. “I have little trust for women. They seduce men with their beauty and their modest manners, which are really practiced and sly. Perhaps that is how she gained Colchester’s favors. I must know before I wed her, I must know, and I will know.”
“You must believe me, my lord. The girl is a maid. Her uncle would never have allowed Colchester to have her. She would have lost her worth, her good name, more, the good name of her family. It matters not that he is a vile lecher. He isn’t stupid, is he?”
The Earl of Clare only shrugged. He didn’t want to acknowledge the truth of his priest’s words, Roland realized. Roland looked grim as he said, “Then what you want, my lord, is for the Church to bless your forcing of her before you take her to wive. You want the Church to bless this mad scheme of yours. Truly, my lord earl, I cannot condone that. There is another solution, another way to have your question answered. You will allow me to ask her. I can see through falsehood, my lord. It is a gift I have. I will know if she lies or not. I will tell you true.”
“And you will believe, Father, the words that flow from her mouth, or will you examine her for the truth of her vow?”
Roland very nearly rocked back in his chair with surprise and distaste. The earl seemed as vile as did Damon Le Mark. Did the earl really expect a man of God to examine a woman to discover if she still possessed a maidenhead? He managed to say steadily enough, his eyes meeting the earl’s straightly, “I will know, when she tells me, whether she speaks the truth.”
Roland waited, his fingers so tense they whitened on his black queen. Finally the earl nodded.
“You will speak to her, then. Do it now, Father. I must know.”
But the earl did not wish Roland to leave him to his task until they had finished their game of chess. Roland wanted to trounce the earl but he guessed it would not hold him in good stead. Thus, he blundered deliberately, setting his queen in the path of the earl’s white knight. It was over quickly.
“You play well, Father, but not as well as I. I will continue to give you instruction.”
Roland drew on priestly reserves that must contain, he thought, a goodly supply of humility and deceit. He nodded gravely. “It will be an honor to be so instructed.”
His meekness pleased the earl, and he added, “And I will think on your words, Father.”
Roland yet again inclined his head. Ten minutes later he was lightly knocking on Daria’s bedchamber door.
It was opened by the maid, Ena.
“Is your mistress within?”
The old woman nodded. “He’s sent you to her, Father?”
“Aye. I will speak with her. Alone.”
The maid looked quickly back at Daria, then left the bedchamber.
Daria was on her feet and hurrying toward him. “What has happened? Do we leave now? What do—?”
“Hush,” he said, and took her hands in his, squeezing them. “The earl sends me here to speak with you. He wishes me to ensure that you are still a virgin.”
She blinked at him.
It was answer enough, and he smiled down at her. “I know, think no more about it. The earl has unusual views regarding God’s interest in his—the earl’s—lust. Come, we must speak, and quickly, for I doubt not that he will soon come to see the result of my question.”
He was still holding her hands and she felt his vitality flow through into her and it made her tremble with anticipation. He seemed to sense something, and released her hands. He took a step back, saying quickly, “I distrust the earl. He desires you mightily. Indeed he has spoken to me of taking you before you are wedded. I have tried to dissuade him, but I don’t know if God’s wishes will take precedence over his lust for you, for as I said, he regards his wishes as one and the same as God’s. We are leaving Tyberton tonight. Listen to me, for we haven’t much time.”
Roland spoke low and quick, but he wasn’t quick enough, for the door burst open and the earl strode into the bedchamber. He looked from his priest to Daria. They stood apart, and it seemed to him that Father Corinthian was speaking earnestly to her. It seemed innocent enough, but he asked, his voice filled with suspicion, “Well, Father?
