CONCERNING THE WILES OF WINFRIDA THE FAIR
Now in these days did my Beltane know more of joy and come more nigh to
happiness than ever in his life before. All day, from morn till eve,
the Duchess was beside him; each hour her changing moods won him to
deeper love, each day her glowing beauty enthralled him the more, so
that as his strength grew so grew his love for her.
Oft would they sit together in her garden amid the flowers, and she,
busied with her broidering needle, would question him of his doings,
and betimes her breast would heave and her dexterous hand tremble and
falter to hear of dangers past; or, talking of the future, her gracious
head would droop with cheeks that flushed most maidenly, until Beltane,
kneeling to her loveliness, would clasp her in his arms, while she,
soft-voiced, would bid him beware her needle.
To him all tender sweetness, yet to all others within the manor was she
the Duchess, proud and stately; moreover, when she met the lady
Winfrida in hall or bower, her slender brows would wrinkle faintly and
her voice sound cold and distant, whereat the fair Winfrida would bow
her meek head, and sighing, wring her shapely fingers.
Now it befell upon a drowsy afternoon, that, waking from slumber within
the garden, Beltane found himself alone. So he arose and walked amid
the flowers thinking of many things, but of the Duchess Helen most of
all. As he wandered slowly thus, his head bent and eyes a-dream, he
came unto a certain shady arbour where fragrant herb and climbing
blooms wrought a tender twilight apt to blissful musing. Now standing
within this perfumed shade he heard of a sudden a light step behind
him, and turning swift about, his eager arms closed upon a soft and
yielding form, and behold--it was Winfrida! Then Beltane would have
loosed his clasp, but her white hands reached up and clung upon his
broad shoulders, yet when she spake her voice was low and humble.
"My lord Beltane," she sighed, "happy art thou to have won the love of
our noble lady--aye, happy art thou! But as for me, alas! messire,
meseemeth her heart is turned 'gainst me these days; I, who was her
loved companion and childish play-fellow! So now am I very desolate,
wherefore I pray you speak with her on my behalf and win her to
forgiveness. Ah, messire, when thou shalt be Duke indeed, think kindly
on the poor Winfrida, for as I most truly love the Duchess--" here
needs must she sigh amain and turn aside her shapely head, and
thereafter spake, clear and loud: "so will I love thee also!" Then,
while he yet stood abashed by the touch of her and the look in her
eyes, she caught his hand to her lips and fled away out of the arbour.
But now as he stood staring after her beyond all thought amazed, a
white hand parted the leafy screen and the Duchess stood before him.
And behold! her slender brows were wrinkled faintly, and when she spake
her voice was cold and distant.
"Saw you the lady Winfrida, my lord?"
"Why truly," stammered Beltane, "truly I--she was here but now--"
"Here, my lord? Alone?"
"She besought me speak thee for her forgiveness; to remind thee of her
love aforetime, to--"
"Would'st plead for her, in sooth?"
"I would but have thee do her justice, Helen--"
"Think you I am so unjust, my lord?"
"Not so indeed. But she is so young--so fair--"
"Aye, she is very fair, my lord--there be--others think the same."
"Helen?" said he, "O Helen!"
"And thou dost plead for her--and to me, my lord! And with her kisses
yet burning thee!"
"She did but kiss my hand--"
"Thy hand, my lord! O aye, thy hand forsooth!"
"Aye, my hand, lady, and therewith named me 'Duke'!" quoth Beltane,
beginning to frown. Whereat needs must the Duchess laugh, very soft and
sweet yet with eyes aglow beneath her lashes.
"'Duke,' messire? She names thee so betimes, meseemeth. Thou art not
Duke yet, nor can'st thou ever be but of my favour!"
"And the time flieth apace," sighed Beltane, "and I have mighty things
to do. O, methinks I have tarried here overlong!"
"Ah--and would'st be going, messire?"
"'Tis so methinks my duty."
"Go you alone, messire--or goeth she with thee?"
"Ah, God! How dare ye so think?" cried Beltane, in anger so fierce and
sudden that though she fronted him yet smiling, she drew back a pace.
Whereat his anger fell from him and he reached out his hands.
"Helen!" said he, "O my Helen, what madness is this? Thou art she I
love--doth not thine heart tell thee so?" and fain would he have caught
her to him.
"Ah--touch me not!" she cried, and steel flickered in her hand.
"This--to me?" quoth he, and laughed short and bitter, and catching her
wrist, shook the dagger from her grasp and set his foot upon it.
"And hath it come to this--'twixt thee and me?" he sighed.
"O," she panted, "I have loved thee nor shamed to show thee my love.
Yet because my love is so great, so, methinks, an need be I might hate
thee more than any man!" Then, quick-breathing, flushed and trembling,
she turned and sped away, leaving Beltane heavy-hearted, and with the
dagger gleaming beneath his foot.