She and Jeanne climbed cautiously up the worm-eaten ladder into the loft.
“Oh, how dark!” quavered Jeanne. “Was—was that a rat?”
From below came Ranaud’s deep voice.
“If the lass is affrightened I will fetch a lantern.”
“Oh, thank you!” Jeanne said fervently.
Heavy footsteps were heard retreating. After a short pause they came back again, and Ranaud mounted the ladder, bearing a lantern.
“It will last the night if ye burn it low,” he told Margaret.
By its feeble light they saw a heap of straw in one corner.
“Soft enough,” grunted Ranaud, and clambered down again. “Pleasant dreams to thee.”
“And to thee,” Margaret called after him, and closed the trapdoor, bolting it securely. “Oh, Jeanne! Did—did you really see—a rat?”
“I heard a scuffle,” Jeanne answered tearfully. “Shall you take this Ranaud with us?”
“I know not. Think ye he is honest?”
“He is large,” Jeanne said, as if that were more to the point.
“That is true. And withal his fierceness I think he is gentle enough, and chivalrous. Mayhap I will take him as far as Turincel. I hope he is not a rogue, cozening us so that he may the more easily rob us.”
“I do not think so at all,” Jeanne said, and sank gingerly down upon the straw. “God be thanked, it is soft and clean!”
Margaret stretched herself down beside her.
“Ah, how soft! Indeed, I am weary unto death.”
“Lewd fellows, dirty food, and rats,” Jeanne sighed. “Perhaps Geoffrey will have discovered our absence by now,” she added hopefully.
“Never! Thou dost speak as though didst want him to come in pursuit!”
“I do want him.”
Margaret raised herself on her elbow.
“Faint heart! His coming means my death! Art turned traitor, Jeanne? Think ye Simon of Beauvallet would hesitate to kill me for this?”
“I would entreat Geoffrey to intercede for thee.”
“Geoffrey! Beauvallet would heed him not! If I read him aright, he follows his own road in all things. He is the leader, and thy Geoffrey hath but to obey his commands.”
“Geoffrey is no weakling!”
“He is not the man Beauvallet is. Beauvallet counts no cost.”
“Art very interested in the Iron Lord,” Jeanne said snappishly.
“Interested! I hate him! Do I not go to summon aid against him?”
“I have a feeling that this stupid, mad emprise is hopeless,” Jeanne remarked. “Geoffrey will come.”
“Nay, I will succeed! If any come it will be Beauvallet, but he will come too late! He shall see of what make is Margaret of Belrémy.”
“And when he comes, Margaret of Belrémy will see of what make he is. And when Geoffrey comes—”
“Oh, cease thy prating of Geoffrey!”
“Then cease thy prating of Beauvallet,” flamed Jeanne, and turned her back.
X
How the Lady Margaret Came to Turincel
By a brook which gurgled joyously over the pebbles at its bed, surrounded by gaunt, leafless trees, three travellers sat, eating their midday meal. The air was frosty, the ground hard, and the three sat close together for warmth, and were wrapped in great cloaks. In the middle, munching a crust of bread and meat, was the Lady Margaret and on one side of her Jeanne crouched, on the other Ranaud, who was humming to himself.
“How many leagues to Turincel?” inquired Margaret, between bites. “Dost thou know, Gaston?”
“Two, belike,” he answered, and produced a bottle of wine. “Will ye drink, lassie?” he asked Jeanne. “ ’Twill warm thee.”
“Where got ye that?” demanded Margaret, round-eyed.
Ranaud chuckled.
“From the landlord’s cellar while ye slept last night.”
“Did—did you steal it?” Jeanne asked, shocked.
“Hard words, hard words.”
Margaret uncorked it and drank a little.
“Stolen or no, ’tis grateful and warming,” she said. “I could have paid, Gaston.”
“No need,” he grunted. “Best keep thy gold pieces close. What do ye at Turincel?”
Margaret hesitated.
“I—I would fain trust thee, Gaston, but—”
“Ye may well do so. I give away no secrets.”
Jeanne tugged at Margaret’s sleeve.
“Nay, nay, chérie!” she whispered. “Have a care!”
“Why should I not tell him? He is honest, I know, and he hath befriended us! Gaston, I—I seek Fernand de Turincel.”
“So I thought,” said Ranaud calmly.
“You thought—? But how—why—!”
“Belike ye bear a message from the Lady Margaret?”
Margaret drew her cloak more about her legs.
“I—I am—the Lady Margaret,” she said.
“Well, I know that,” Ranaud said composedly, and took a pull at the wine-bottle.
“You—know it?” Margaret stared at him in amazement. “How? When didst thou guess?”
“When ye pulled out your dagger at yonder inn,” Ranaud answered. “I was once at Belrémy, and I saw you ofttimes. But the disguise is good,” he added. “Go ye to seek help ’gainst the English?”
“Ay! To throw them out of Belrémy. Ye too will stand my friend?”
Ranaud nodded, his mouth being too full for speech. Margaret laid her hand on his arm.
“Thou art a good fellow,” she said gently. “When I am come into mine own again, shalt ask me for what ye will.”
“Bah, I want no reward,” he said. “I am Ranaud, and I go where I please, and do what I please.”
“Ye call no man master?”
“Nay, I am a masterless man. Lord, Lord, but none will take me for a rogue.”
“I will take thee,” Margaret said. “Shalt be my bodyguard, an thou wilt.”
“I will think on it,” Ranaud answered. “The lass is not thy sister?”
“Nay, but my dear friend.”
“Ay, so I thought. It will serve best for me to call thee Léon, madame.”
“Ah, please! I am not ‘madame’ now. In—in this gear.” She blushed a little, but Gaston’s glance was impersonal enough.
Presently they arose from their frugal repast, and proceeded on towards Turincel, arriving there shortly before three in the afternoon. The gates of the town were open, nor did anyone challenge their entrance. They walked soberly along the narrow streets towards the castle, which stood in the middle of the town.
The drawbridge was down, and some men-at-arms were lounging upon it. Margaret walked up to them boldly, and accosted one of them.
“Is my Lord Fernand within?” she asked.
The man stared at her, then nudged his companion, and laughed.
“Ye should have given warning of your coming, Highness,” he said with mock solemnity. “Then my lord would surely
