"If you fare further to-day," said Darby, "I will wait and we can ride
together to Doncaster--a short delay will be well repaid by your
company."
It was but a play to know if De Lacy intended to stay the night at
Pontefract, and it got its answer instantly.
"Your Lordship tempts me sorely," said Sir Aymer, "but I am obliged to
remain here until the morrow." Then he smiled blandly at him; "it is
unfortunate you have already started," he added.
Darby's black eyes brightened.
"Yes," said he, "it is."
He glanced quickly toward his escort, which was now at the foot of the
hill, and laid his hand upon his bugle, as though to sound the
recall--then he gave a mocking laugh.
"The luck is yours, this toss," he said; and with a wave of his hand,
that might have been as much a menace as a farewell, he spurred away.
There were no faces at the windows as De Lacy crossed the courtyard,
and he despatched a page to acquaint the Countess of Clare of his
arrival and of his desire for a short interview. Presently the boy
returned with the information that the Countess was with the Duchess,
and that she could not see him before evening.
He sought the presence chamber at the usual hour, but it was deserted;
and after waiting a short while he was on the point of leaving when the
arras suddenly parted and the Countess entered.
"I am glad to see you," she said, giving him her hand, "even though you
are a laggard and a thief."
"Why laggard?" De Lacy asked.
"Because you should be with the Duke and not here."
"Granted," said he. "Did you call Lord Darby laggard, too?"
"You will have to ask him; I do not now remember."
"I passed him at the gate, and from his temper I might guess you called
him even worse."
"At least I know I did not dub him thief." Then she held out her hand.
"The kerchief," she said peremptorily.
De Lacy slowly drew forth the bit of lace.
"Rather would I lose a quartering," he said very gently, "yet, in
honor, I may not keep it against your will."
"And honor," said she seriously, as she took the kerchief, "is dearer
far than all our quarterings. . . What brings you back to Pontefract?"
"You," said De Lacy, smilingly.
"Of course! but what else?--be serious."
"I am serious. But for you I would be riding fast and hard after the
Duke. I stopped at Pontefract for two purposes; of which, one was to
deliver to you a message from that gallant Knight, Sir John de Bury."
"My uncle!" she exclaimed. "He is in Scotland."
De Lacy shook his head. "He is now at Craigston Castle, whence I have
just come, and bring you his loving greetings."
"The dear old man! How is he?"
"As strong as an oak, save for a slight wound."
"Wounded! How--where?" she demanded, with sharp concern.
"Only a sword thrust in the thigh, got in a skirmish with some brigands
about this hour yesterday," said De Lacy; and told her the story of the
fray in detail.
At the end the Countess arose.
"I must go now," she said. "The Duchess will need me; but first, tell
me the other purpose that halted you here."
"The other," replied De Lacy slowly, "has been accomplished."
She looked at him questioningly.
"How so, if it were on my account you tarried?"
Aymer smiled.
"That I shall leave for you to guess," he said.
To his amazement the Countess did not reprove him, but blushed and
looked away.
He bent eagerly toward her.
"My lady," he said, "in all the years I have worn spurs, I have yet to
ask gage of woman. To-morrow I fare where there may be fightings
enough, as you well know. Grant me, I pray, some token, and let my
first sword stroke in England be as your Knight."
"Did you strike no blow yesterday?" she asked.
"None of which a soldier may be proud--it was but a lot of _canaille_."
For a moment the Countess looked him steadily in the eyes--then
answered in those tones of finality from which he knew there lay no
appeal.
"Sir Aymer, you ask for that which no man has ever had from me. Many
times--and I say it without pride--has it been sought by Knights most
worthy; yet to them all have I ever given nay. Beatrix de Beaumont
bestows nor gage nor favor until she plight her troth."
With a smile, whose sweetness De Lacy long remembered in after days,
she gave him her hand, and he bent low over it and touched it to his
lips. Then suddenly she whisked it from him and was gone behind the
arras.