Lord, give me leave to go home,--I pray it of you! Beseech it of you!"
Entreating, she would have fallen at his feet if he had not caught her hands
and stayed her.
He did not release them immediately but tightened his grasp as his eyes, grown
suddenly keen, searched her face. His voice dropped low. "Randalin, it is very
unlikely that Elfgiva's scratches have brought you to this. Do you stand in
need of reminding that any man who has angered you has angered me? That my
sword lies under your hand?"
Her face seemed to have become glass before him, through which he looked into
the innermost chambers of her mind. Terror-stricken, she snatched her hands
away to cover it. "No, no!" she cried wildly. "I am angry with no one. I have
found fault with no one. Draw no sword for me--only let me go!"
Again he turned from her and stood looking out at the clouds; but when at last
he spoke, his voice was the gentlest she had ever heard it. "You are wise in
this, as in other things, Frode's daughter," he said, "and you shall certainly
have your way. I take it that I am your guardian to protect you from harm, not
to force you into things you do not want. Soldiers I can trust shall go with
you, in case there be danger from Norman's people, and for women--"
She spoke up eagerly, "There is an old nun at Saint Mildred's, King, who loves
me.
Pages:
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355