Secret Song Read Free Page A

man’s character. He’d seldom been wrong in the past five years. Indeed, his only huge mistake had been in his dealings with a woman. A lady, so very young, so very fair, and he a young man of very tender years. He shook off the memory of Joan of Tenesby.
    The earl gave Roland a brief nod and Roland knew he’d been weighed in those short minutes as well. “You have come in good time, thank the saints, de Tournay. Come and sit with me. We have much to discuss.”
    Roland accepted a cup of ale and waited for his host to come to the point.
    â€œI will pay you well,” Damon Le Mark said, and raised his own cup for a toast. Roland sent him a bland look and asked, “Whom do I have to kill?”
    The earl laughed. “I do not seek to hire an assassin. Any enemy I have I will slay myself. I hire a man who’s known for his ingenuity, his ability with languages, and his skill at changing his appearance to suit any situation in which he finds himself. Is it not true that you were accepted in the company of Barbars himself in the Holy Land? That you passed yourself off as a Saracen for two years? That you masqueraded as a Muslim with such finesse even the most devout didn’t know you for what you were?”
    â€œYou are well-informed.” Roland wasn’t about to deny the earl’s recital. He wasn’t vain; nor was he foolishly modest. For the most part, it was true. Odd how the very attributes Roland held to be in his favor sounded vile on the earl’s lips. He waited, more interested now. The earl’s need must be great. The task must be beyond his own abilities, and it irked him.
    Damon Le Mark knew he must suffer the arrogance and impertinence of the young man seated in front of him, a young man who, in addition to his reputation for boldness and cunning, was passing handsome, his lean face well sculpted, his black hair thick and gleaming, his dark eyes bright with intelligence. But he was swarthy as a savage Irishman, and didn’t look to be a man of particular wealth or refinement. Damon Le Mark also reminded himself that this man was of no inborn worth at all despite his birth and his heritage. He held no title and, more important, no land. He was a man who made his way by playacting and deceit, and yet he, a man his superior in every way, must be gracious, and he must offer him a great deal of money. It was galling.
    â€œI am always well-informed,” the earl said. “It took my couriers a good deal of time to locate you.”
    â€œI received your message in Rouen. I was passing the winter there very pleasantly.”
    â€œSo I hear.” He’d been told by his own man that de Tournay had been living with a very pretty young widow in Rouen.
    â€œHer name was Marie,” Roland said easily, and sipped at his ale. It was warm and dark and very smooth. “But do not mistake me. I was ready to come home, very nearly. As soon as the weather grew warmer.”
    â€œTo earn money by guile?”
    â€œYes, if need be, though I believe that wit is more to the point than guile. Would you not agree?”
    The earl knew he’d been insulting when he shouldn’t have. He retrenched, shrugging. “Ah, it’s those other things that must interest me, de Tournay, for I wish you not to do them just yet. The reason I asked you here is vital. It concerns my beloved niece, Daria. I will be brief. She was kidnapped on her journey to Colchester, where she was to wed Ralph of Colchester. All twelve of the men in her train were butchered in an ambush. All the wagons carrying her wedding goods were stolen. I want you to rescue her and I will pay you very well.”
    â€œHas a ransom been demanded?”
    The earl’s eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth. “Oh, aye, the damnable impertinent whoreson. I would that you would kill him as well, but I suppose that the rescue of my dearest niece must take precedence.”
    â€œWho stole