Free Earth Song by Catherine Coulter Page B

planning to do if you managed to get a horse?”
    Philippa slowly turned to face him. Dienwald de Fortenberry was standing in the open doorway of the stable, holding a lantern in his right hand. He wasn’t even breathing hard. How had he found the time to light a lantern?
    â€œI don’t know,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “You have so many people within the keep, I hoped mayhap the gates would be open, with people milling in and out, that mayhap the guards and porters wouldn’t notice me, but they all appear to be in the great hall eating, and—”
    â€œAnd mayhap the moon would make an appearance and guide you to London to court, eh? And thieves would salute you and blow you sweet kisses as you rode past them, your gown up about your thighs. Stupid wench, I would not have gained my twenty-sixth year if I’d been so heedless of myself and my castle. We are quite snug within these walls.” He leaned down and set the lantern on the ground. Philippa backed up against a stall door as he straightened to look at her.
    â€œIf you don’t begin to think before you act, I doubt you will gain your twentieth year. You ripped off a sleeve.”
    â€œNay, one of your clumsy men did that.” She remembered another man’s coarse jest and felt suddenly quite exposed, standing here alone with him, her right arm hanging naked from her shoulder. “Please, my lord, may I leave? I’m thinking clearly now. I should be most grateful.”
    â€œLeave? Tread softly, lady. Your position at present is not passing sweet. I think it more fitting that I should beat you. Tie you down and beat you soundly for your audacity and disrespect—something your father never did, I suspect. Do you prefer a whip or my hand?”
    â€œStay away!”
    â€œI haven’t moved. Now, you told me that you didn’t want to be my mistress. Then, like a female, you danced away to a different tune and said you would prefer my using you as my mistress rather than wedding the man your father selected for you. Have I the sequence aright?”
    She nodded, her back now flat against the stall door. “I should prefer Satan’s smiles, but that doesn’t seem to be an available choice. You told me you would give me choices but you didn’t.”
    â€œDon’t keep pushing against that stall door, wench. Philbo, my destrier, is within. He isn’t pleased with people who disturb him, and is likely to take a bite of your soft shoulder.”
    Philippa quickly slid away from the stall door and looked back at the black-faced destrier. He had mean eyes and looked as dangerous as his master.
    â€œAre you a shrew?”
    â€œCertainly not! ’Tis just that de Bridg—” She broke off, stuffed her fist in her open mouth, and gazed at Dienwald in horror.
    â€œWilliam de Bridgport?” Interest stirred inDienwald’s eyes. He got no response but he saw that she’d terrified herself just by saying the man’s name. He imagined anyone could eventually get everything out of this girl. She spoke without thinking, acted without considering consequences. She was a danger to herself, a quite remarkable danger. He wondered if she would yell in passion without thinking. “He is a repulsive sort,” Dienwald said. “Fat and rotten-toothed, not possessed of an agreeable disposition.”
    â€œNay, ’tis someone else! I just said his name because he looks like . . . your horse!”
    â€œMy poor Philbo, insulted by a wench with threadbare wits.” He became silent, watching her, then said, “You would prefer my using your fair body to wedding him. I know not whether to be flattered or simply amazed. Are you certain Lord Henry won’t ransom you? I really do need the money. I would prefer money to your doubtless soft and fair—but large—body.”
    Philippa shook her head. “I’m sorry, but he won’t. You must