“Yes—­she of the ruddy locks and handsome face and figure.  He said they loved each other, but that Richard had laughed at their affection and their prayers and had bade her prepare to marry another.  Consequently, to avoid all danger of her being forced into the nuptials before the revolt, they had arranged that she be abducted by some of his men, and then lie concealed in his castle until after Richard were deposed.  And it seems they did effect their plan—­at least, so he told me the last time he came to Brecknock.  But methinks he is no better off now, so far as the Countess is concerned.”

“Rather the worse off, I fancy,” said Ratcliffe.  “Two months since, with the King’s approbation, the Countess of Clare became the affianced bride of Sir Aymer de Lacy; and Lord Darby’s tale, as to her love for himself and Richard’s treatment of them, is pure falsehood.”

The Duke looked at him in sharp surprise; then shrugged his shoulders.

“Pasque Dieu!  I have been an easy dupe,” he said.  “A child in intrigue should have picked the flaw though he were half asleep.  Yet it was a pretty enough story—­a loving lady, a frowning King, a false abduction. . .  And all a lie.”

“All but the abduction—­that is true enough,” said Ratcliffe.

Buckingham frowned slightly.  “I do not follow you, my lord.  Methought you said the Countess was betrothed to Sir Aymer.”

“And so she is—­yet she has been abducted, none the less, these four weeks back, and no trace of her been found.  Now, however, you have furnished the clue.”

“Nay, simply confirmed the one we had,” exclaimed Sir Aymer de Lacy, who from sheer fury had been too choked to speak; “and I have done with waiting—­already two weeks have been wasted.  If the King want me let him send to Roxford Castle.”—­His hand was on the door when Ratcliffe seized his arm.

“Compose yourself, De Lacy,” he said kindly yet sternly.  “Have you learned Richard so little as to think that even we of the Ring dare disobey him?”

“Nor forget, Sir Aymer,” added the Duke quickly, “it will be my word against Lord Darby’s; and I am a condemned traitor. . .  Yet, stay a moment, there is one other knows it.  The Abbot of Kirkstall Abbey was in Darby’s secret and engaged to aid his scheme.”

De Lacy, who was handling his drawn dagger, suddenly sent it deep into the table beside him.

“We seem to have been a pair of fools, Stafford!” he exclaimed.  “The very morning after the Countess disappeared I found those two villains together at the Abbey yet suspected them not at all.”  He drew out the dagger, then plunged it in again.  “Well, so be it.  I shall wait until the King has heard your story.  Then I go North—­with his permission, if may be; without it if I must.”

“It will be a triple pleasure,” said the Duke, “to revenge myself on Darby and do some service to the Countess and to you.”