The irregularity was very slight--not
large enough to give him a combative look or to mar the fine proportions of
his face, but it did unquestionably add to his stately bearing an expression
of complacency that was unforgettable.
He repeated his inquiry: "What is the amusement, my thanes? From the clamor
which awakened me, I had some notion of an attack."
Norman of Baddeby bent in a second reverence. "Your expectations are to this
degree fulfilled, my royal lord," he made answer. "Behold the enemy!"
Stooping, he raised the red-cloaked figure by its collar and held it up in the
firelight. As a murmur of laughter went around, he lowered it again and spoke
more gravely. "A hand needs not be large to get a hilt under its gripe,
however. The young wolf is of northern breed,--how he penetrated to the heart
of an English camp, I cannot tell,--and there grows in his spirit a
bloodthirsty disposition. He seeks my life because in a skirmish, a few days
gone by, I had the good luck to kill his father. If it--"
He said more, but Randalin did not listen to him. All at once Sebert of
Ivarsdale reached out, and taking her by her cloak, drew her gently to his
side, interposing his sword-arm between her and the others. Though his hand
manacled her slim wrists securely, the clasp was more one of protection than
of restraint; and the warm human touch was like a talisman against the
haunting shadows.
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