"He said to fetch--Praise Odin!" For at that
moment, Canute's silver horn gave the signal, and he was free to leap aside.
Randalin's trained hand upon the reins was as firm as it was light, and her
trained eye was keenly alert to every motion of the black ears, but in her
brain all was whirling confusion,--and no longer any thought of her tunic.
What was the King's purpose in making this change? Certainly he was in no mood
to honor her,--what could he have in his mind? While her tongue answered
mechanically to Ulf Jarl's observations concerning the weather and the fair
farmland they were riding through, her eyes were furtively examining her
companions' steeds. No fiery ambitions disturbed their easy gait, spirited
though they were. Indeed, Elfgiva, looking back at this moment, singled her
out with a rippling laugh.
"By the blessed Ethelberga, you have a horse in all respects befitting your
spirit, my shield-maiden! I hope it is not the King's intention to punish you
by frightening you."
Could it be possible that he should stoop to so unworthy an action, the girl
asked herself? And yet it was as understandable as any of his behavior during
the last fortnight. Suddenly it seemed that a hand had awakened the Viking
blood which slumbered in her veins; it fired her cheeks and flashed from under
her lashes. She answered clearly, "I hope it is not, lady,--for he would
experience disappointment.
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