She had ceased to resist and his face was getting perilously near her own.

Suddenly, and with a smile De Lacy never forgot, she drew forth the bit of torn lace.  “Here, take it, dear,” she said.

“And you with it, sweetheart?” he cried.

“Unto death, my lord,” she answered; and once more the blushes came.

She tried to hide her face in her hands, but with a joyous laugh Aymer lifted her from the saddle and swung her across and into his strong arms.

XV

THE FROWN OF FATE

It was the Countess’ wish that the betrothal should remain secret for the present, and therefore none but Their Majesties and Sir John de Bury were acquainted with it.  The old Knight, when approached by De Lacy on the subject, had clapped him heartily on the shoulder.

“Take her, lad,” he exclaimed; “and be worthy, even as I think you will.  The King, himself, has spoken in your behalf . . . to say naught of the maid herself.  But by St. Luke! this fortune will bring its drag.  The Countess has had too many suitors for the favored one to escape unhated.  Nay, do not shrug your shoulders . . . or, at least, there is no harm in shrugging if your wit be keen, your dagger ever ready, and your arm strong.  Remember, De Lacy, that you are a stranger, high in favor with the King, and that Beatrix has broad acres as well as a fair face.”

“And also that there is a certain, flat-nosed, red-haired knave at large, who, perchance, may honor me, even as he did you.”

“Spare him, lad, spare him for me! . . .  Yet if he should come under your sword, put a bit more force in the blow for my sake.”

“Trust me for that. . .  I shall split him six inches deeper—­and tell him why as I do it.”

“It will make me still more your debtor.  By the Holy Evangels! if I were assured the Abbot Aldam of Kirkstall had aught to do with that attack upon me, I would harry his worthless old mummery shop so clean a mouse would starve in it.”

“Hark you, Sir John,” said Aymer, “I may resign the Flat-Nose to you, but I shall claim a hand in that harrying business if the time ever ripen.”

“Sorry the day for the Cistercian when we batter down his gates,” the old Knight laughed, yet with a menacing ring in his words.

“Sorry, indeed, for those on the other side of the gates,” came a voice from behind the arras, and the King parted the hangings. . . .  “Though may I ask whose gates are in to be battered and for what purpose?”

“The gates of Kirkstall Abbey, under certain conditions, so please Your Majesty,” said De Bury.

Richard elevated his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“And the conditions?” he asked.

“Proof that the Abbot Aldam was concerned in a recent murderous assault upon me, or that he harbors a certain flat-nosed ruffian who led it,” Sir John replied.