“You shall bring honour with you into my house once more,” said Erlend, “not I drag you down into dishonour.”
Kristin shook her head. Then she said:
“ ’Tis like you will be glad then, when you hear that I have talked with Simon Andressön—and he will not hold me to the pact that was made for us by our fathers before I met you.”
At once Erlend was wild with joy, and Kristin was made to tell him all. Yet she told not of the scornful words Simon had spoken of Erlend, though she said that before Lavrans he would not take the blame upon himself.
“ ’Tis but reason,” said Erlend shortly. “They like each other well, your father and he? Aye, me he will like less, I trow—Lavrans.”
Kristin took these words as a sign that Erlend felt with her she had still a hard road to travel ere yet they reached their journey’s end; and she was thankful to him for it. But he did not come back to this matter; he was glad above measure, saying he had feared so that she would not have courage to speak with Simon.
“You like him after a fashion, I mark well,” said he.
“Can it be aught to you,” asked Kristin,“—after all that has come and gone between you and me, that I can see that Simon is an honest man and a stout?”
“Had you never met me,” said Erlend, “you might well have had good days with him, Kristin. Why laugh you?”
“Oh, I did but call to mind somewhat Lady Aashild said once,” answered Kristin. “I was but a child then—but ’twas somewhat about good days falling to wise folk, but the best days of all to those who dare be unwise.”
“God bless my kinswoman, if she taught you that,” said Erlend and took her upon his knee. “ ’Tis strange, Kristin, never have I marked that you were afraid.”
“Have you never marked it?” she asked, as she nestled close to him.
He seated her on the bedside and drew off her shoes, but then drew her back again to the table.
“Oh, my Kristin—now at last it looks as if bright days might come for us two. Methinks I had never dealt with you as I have done,” he said stroking and stroking her hair, “had it not been that each time I saw you, I thought ever ’twas not reason that they should give so fine and fair a wife to me.—Sit you down here and drink to me,” he begged.
A moment after came a knock on the door—it sounded like the stroke of a sword hilt.
“Open, Erlend Nikulaussön, if you are within!”
“ ’Tis Simon Darre,” said Kristin, in a low voice.
“Open, man, in the devil’s name—if you be a man!” shouted Simon and beat on the door again.
Erlend went to the bed and took his sword down from the peg in the wall. He looked round, at a loss what to do: “There is nowhere here you can hide—”
“ ’Twould scarce make things better if I hid,” said Kristin. She had risen to her feet; she spoke very quietly, but Erlend saw that she was trembling. “You must open,” she said in the same tone. Simon hammered on the door again.
Erlend went and drew the bolt. Simon stepped in; he had a drawn sword in his hand, but he thrust it back into its sheath at once.
For a while the three stood in silence. Kristin trembled; but yet, in this first moment, she felt a strange, sweet thrill—from deep within her something rose, scenting the combat between two men—she drew a deep breath; here was an end to these endless months of dumb waiting and longing and dread. She looked from one to the other, pale and with shining eyes—then the strain within her broke in a chill, unfathomable despair. There was more of cold scorn than of rage or jealousy in Simon Darre’s eyes and she saw that Erlend, behind his defiant bearing, burned with shame. It dawned upon her, how other men would think of him, who had let her come to him in such a place, and she saw ’twas as though he had had to suffer a blow in the face; she knew he burned to draw his sword and fall upon Simon.
“Why have you come hither, Simon?” she cried aloud in dread.
Both men turned towards her.
“To fetch you home,” said Simon. “Here you cannot be—”
“ ’Tis not for you, any more, to lay commands on Kristin Lavransdatter,” said Erlend fiercely, “she is mine now—”
“I doubt not she is,” said Simon savagely, “and a fair bridal bower have you brought her to—” He stood a little, panting; then he mastered his voice and spoke quietly: “But so it is that I am her betrothed still—till her father can come for her. And for so long I mean to guard with edge and point so much of her honour as can be saved—in others’ eyes—”
“What need of you to guard her; I can—” he flushed red as blood under Simon’s eyes. Then, flying out: “Think you I will suffer threats from a boy like you,” he cried, laying his hand on his sword-hilt.
Simon clapped both hands behind him.
“I am not such a coward as to be afraid you should deem me afraid,” said he as before. “I will fight you, Erlend Nikulaussön, you may stake your soul upon that, if, within due time, you have not made suit for Kristin to her father—”
“That will I never do at your bidding, Simon Andressön,” said Erlend angrily; the blood rushed into his face again.
“Nay—do you it to set right the wrong you have done so young a maid,” answered Simon, unmoved, “ ’twill be better so for Kristin.”
Kristin gave a loud cry, in pain at Erlend’s pain. She stamped upon the floor:
“Go, then, Simon,
