" She glanced back where
the girl in the short tunic stood drawing on her gloves, a picture of stormy
beauty.
Amused, the King's eyes followed hers, then lighted with sudden purpose. "As
you will," he laughed, "and I will give your Valkyria a steed that shall match
her appearance." Advancing again, he spoke to a groom; and the signal set the
whole party in motion.
Randalin heard his words, but at the moment she was too deep in angry
embarrassment to heed them. It seemed to her that every eye in the throng was
fastened upon her as she walked forward, that every mouth buzzed comment
behind her. It was not until she was in the saddle that his intention reached
her understanding.
The powerful black charger, which a groom led toward her, had been pawing and
arching his glossy neck impatiently since the first horn set his blood-drops
dancing; at the touch of her foot upon the stirrup, he snorted satisfaction
through his wide-flaring nostrils and would have leaped forward like a stone
from a sling, if the man had not hung himself upon the bit. The girl awoke to
surprise as she barely managed to reach her seat by the most agile of springs.
"This is not the horse I ride, Dudda! He must belong to one of the nobles."
"He is--the horse--that King Canute said--you should take," the man panted, as
he struggled to keep his footing.
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