Simon stirred the dagger with his foot.
“The means lies there, madame. Take up that plaything and sate your vengeance.”
“Nay, I will meet thee on equal terms, milor’! At the head of mine army!”
“Ay, I have heard that ye lead your men into battle. Ye were better occupied in your stitchery, madame.”
She laughed then, and came a step nearer to him.
“Were I so, my lord? Yet I did defeat Umfraville, and would have defeated you, had you not taken Belrémy by a trick!”
“It was thy wits against mine, madame, and my wits won the day.”
“A coward’s trick!”
“A ruse, madame, and one that beat you. I could have starved you into submission, but I chose the quickest road as always.”
She flung back her head.
“Not yet have I submitted, Lord of Beauvallet!”
“Thou wilt submit.”
“Ye know me not! Ye may do what ye will with me, but ye will kill me before I bend to you!”
“We shall see, madame. There are many things I can do to you, but I think ye are not worth it.”
Colour flew into her cheeks.
“Thou insolent! Out of my way!” She caught up her train and would have gone up the stairway had not Alan blocked her path, coming slowly down. His arm still lay in a sling, but the bandage had been removed from his head. He wore his hair long to conceal the scar upon his temple.
“Your pardon, madame.” He came down into the hall, and bowed to her.
Her eyes rested on his wounded arm for a moment, and travelled from there to his forehead.
“My men strike hard, Sir Alan, is it not so? They leave their mark. A little deeper, and that scar that mars thy beauty would have dispatched thee!”
A swift tread sounded behind her. Simon’s hand descended on her shoulder, pulling her round to face him.
“By the Rood, madame, I am minded to have thine arrogance whipped out of thee! Get thee gone to thine apartment, and let me see you no more today!”
“Simon, Simon!” Alan remonstrated.
Margaret laughed at him.
“The gentle knight would protect me from the English boor’s wrath! I need no protection, Sir Alan! Had I that dagger now ye were dead a minute since, Lord of Beauvallet! Take thy hand from my shoulder! I go when I will, and how I will, I’ll have you know!”
“Ye go now,” Simon said grimly. “Away with you, or I call my men to carry you to your apartments!”
“Oh, you—you—!” Margaret struck him furiously, on his stern mouth. Then she broke free, and ran quickly up the winding stairway to her chamber.
Alan drew a deep breath, looking at Simon.
“The termagant! Simon, what will you do with her?”
“Conquer her,” Simon answered, and led him to a chair. “Sit, lad. The vixen, to taunt thee so!”
Alan smiled.
“I would not be alone with her for untold gold. Yesterday she braved Geoffrey so that he was trembling when he came to me, with anger and fear. He said she would have killed him had she a weapon to hand. She is like a tigress in her fierceness.”
“She hath never met her master—until now. But I will school her.”
Alan looked at him through half-closed eyes. He said nothing, but his smile grew.
Upstairs, Margaret had cast herself into Jeanne’s arms in a fit of wild weeping.
“I could not slay him! I could not slay him! Oh, he is a devil, a devil! He knew that I was there, yet he heard me not! Oh, that I had had the strength to strike home. His fingers on my wrist—ah, was ever a woman so beset?”
“I knew thou couldst not slay him,” Jeanne said calmly. “I saw thee creep down the stairway, but I feared not.”
Margaret sprang away.
“Wait! Wait! I will do it yet, I swear! I will escape—I—” She stopped. “Ah, no! Thou wilt tell Sir Geoffrey. I had forgot.”
“Oh, my dear, my dear!” Jeanne cried, and flung her arms about her. “Would I betray thee? Not for an hundred Sir Geoffreys.”
“He—deems me a creature of no account!” Margaret said tensely. “He scorns me because I am a woman. I will show him what a woman can do!”
VII
How He Found Geoffrey and Jeanne on the Terrace
On the broad terrace Jeanne sat sewing, a fur cloak about her plump form, for although the sun was shining it was but a wintry sun, and the day was frosty. To her came Malvallet, bedight in crimson velvet and gold lacing. Mademoiselle looked up, surveying him.
“Oh, fie!” she murmured and turned her head to gaze pensively at a robin. “The soldier turned popinjay, i’ faith. He shames the sun.” She picked up her needle again.
“This is cruelty,” Geoffrey said mournfully, and sat down upon the parapet, facing her.
“Doubtless he will take a chill,” Mademoiselle sighed. “Such cold stone!” She sent a fleeting glance towards the damp parapet.
“I wonder, will she be sorry?” Geoffrey asked the sky.
“He dreams of his English love,” Mademoiselle nodded sagely.
“In truth, she is unkind today,” Geoffrey said. “She doth not look at me.”
“Oh, she hath no mind to be blinded!”
“Yet every time I do look into her eyes I am blinded and so bemused that I can see naught else forever after.”
“She must be very beautiful,” Mademoiselle said. “This English maid.”
“Not English yet,” Geoffrey answered. “Please God I will make her so ere long.”
Mademoiselle bit her thread.
“The gentleman is courageous indeed,” she said, and bent again over her work.
For a time there was silence.
“Jeanne,” Geoffrey said pleadingly.
Mademoiselle started.
“Oh, are ye here still?” she asked in innocent surprise.
Geoffrey came to her side and knelt. He stole one arm about her trim waist.
“Nay, Jeanne!”
“He will certainly be pricked,” Jeanne said, plying her needle faster still.
His right hand imprisoned hers.
“Sweet, thou shalt not torment me. Listen, and I will tell thee of my ladylove.”
Mademoiselle gazed blankly before her. A provocative smile lingered about her lips.
“I might call for help,” she mused.
“Nay, I need none,” Geoffrey answered promptly. “This
