Part 30 (1/2)
Thus, as the sun declined, they came forth of the forest-lands and beheld that broad sweep of hill and dale that was Mortain.
”O loved Mortain!” she sighed, ”O dear Mortain! 'Tis here there lived a smith, my Beltane, who sang of and loved but birds and trees and flowers. 'Tis here there lived a d.u.c.h.ess, proud and most disdainful, who yearned for love yet knew naught of it until--upon a day, these twain looked within each other's eyes--O day most blissful! Ah, sweet Mortain!”
By pleasant ways they went, past smiling fields and sleepy villages bowered 'mid the green. They rode ever by sequestered paths, skirting shady wood and coppice where birds sang soft a drowsy lullaby, wooing the world to forgetfulness and rest; fording prattling brook and whispering stream whose placid waters flamed to the glory of sunset.
And thus they came at last to Blaen, a cloistered hamlet beyond which rose the grey walls of the ancient manor itself.
Now as they drew near, being yet sheltered 'mid the green, old G.o.dric halted in his stride and pointed to the highway that ran in the vale below.
”Lady,” quoth he, ”mine eyes be old, and yet methinks I should know yon horseman that rideth unhelmed so close beside the lady Winfrida--that breadth of shoulder! that length of limb! Lady, how think ye?”
”'Tis Duke Ivo!” she whispered.
”Aye,” nodded G.o.dric, ”armed, see you, yet with but two esquires--”
”And with Winfrida!” said the d.u.c.h.ess, frowning. ”Can it indeed be as I have thought, betimes? And Blaen is a very solitary place!”
”See!” whispered G.o.dric, ”the Duke leaveth her. Behold him kiss her hand! Ha, he summoneth his esquires. Hey now, see how they ride--sharp spur and loose bridle, 'tis ever Ivo's way!”
Now when the Duke and his esquires were vanished in the dusk and the sound of their galloping died away, the d.u.c.h.ess sprang lightly to the sward and bidding them wait until she summoned them, hasted on before.
Thus, in a while, as Winfrida the Fair paced slowly along upon her ambling palfrey, her blue eyes a-dream, she was suddenly aware of a rustling near by and, glancing swiftly up, beheld the d.u.c.h.ess Helen standing before her, tall and proud, her black brows wrinkled faintly, her eyes stern and challenging.
”Lady--dear my lady!” stammered Winfrida--”is it thou indeed--”
”Since when,” quoth the d.u.c.h.ess, soft-voiced yet menacing, ”since when doth Winfrida hold sly meeting with one that is enemy to me and to Mortain?”
”Enemy?--nay, whom mean you--indeed I--O Helen, in sooth 'twas but by chance--”
”Is this treason, my lady Winfrida, or only foolish amourette?”
”Sweet lady--'twas but chance--an you mean Duke Ivo--he came--I saw--”
”My lady Winfrida, I pray you go before, we will speak of this anon.
Come, G.o.dric!” she called.
Then the lady Winfrida, her beauteous head a-droop, rode on before, sighing deep and oft yet nothing speaking, with the d.u.c.h.ess proud and stern beside her while Beltane and G.o.dric followed after.
And so it was they came to the Manor of Blaen.
CHAPTER XXII
CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR
Now in these days did my Beltane know more of joy and come more nigh to happiness than ever in his life before. All day, from morn till eve, the d.u.c.h.ess was beside him; each hour her changing moods won him to deeper love, each day her glowing beauty enthralled him the more, so that as his strength grew so grew his love for her.
Oft would they sit together in her garden amid the flowers, and she, busied with her broidering needle, would question him of his doings, and betimes her breast would heave and her dexterous hand tremble and falter to hear of dangers past; or, talking of the future, her gracious head would droop with cheeks that flushed most maidenly, until Beltane, kneeling to her loveliness, would clasp her in his arms, while she, soft-voiced, would bid him beware her needle.
To him all tender sweetness, yet to all others within the manor was she the d.u.c.h.ess, proud and stately; moreover, when she met the lady Winfrida in hall or bower, her slender brows would wrinkle faintly and her voice sound cold and distant, whereat the fair Winfrida would bow her meek head, and sighing, wring her shapely fingers.