“Is the fault mine? Smile at me, you jade, and look not so sick and passionless.” She contrived to smile, hating him the more for it. “That’s better—much better. Why, I have taught many women to love me, but love does not last, wench; that is why men should marry for a month and no more.” He let her go, and glancing back over his shoulder, he reined in with sudden fierceness. The white horse, checked so roughly, swerved and showed temper. “Stand still, you beast! Hallo! what have we here?” Mellis saw what Fulk de Lisle saw, and her face flamed like a sunset. Martin Valliant had drawn up to within a quarter of a mile of them, but he was holding his horse in and following them with a certain grim leisureliness. This eastern part of Bracknell Plain was an utter wilderness; they had left victory and defeat far behind; nothing moved over the heather. Fulk de Lisle caught a glimpse of Mellis’s face with its shining eyes and its rich rush of tenderness. The droop had gone out of her figure, and her throat had regained its pride. He laughed with malicious insolence. “What is this, my lady? A beggar in a black smock? I am in no temper to give alms to-day.” He spurred on his horse, and jerked Mellis along with him. It was his spear that had broken itself in John Falconer’s body, and he felt to see that his sword was loose in its scabbard. Mellis noticed the act, and smiled strangely. Ahead of them towered the fir woods of Amber Holt, dark and silent, like a great green cloud across the blue. Dense gloom lay behind the tall straight trunks, and bracken foamed at their feet. She glanced back over her shoulder, and realized that Martin had no harness. He had drawn nearer, and she could see that he carried some sort of weapon on his shoulder. Fear for him darkened her eyes. What chance had he, a naked man, against this steel-coated swashbuckler with his sword and dagger? She hated Fulk de Lisle—hated him with such intensity that he turned his head sharply and met her eyes. Even his vanity could not misread the look in them. “So! Madame has a tender heart? You white-bosomed jade!” He drew the white horse in, hooked an arm around her neck, and forced her face close to his helmet. “Look in my eyes, wench. Yes, our friend can see this pretty picture. If he meddles with me I shall kill him; somewhere over yonder in the fir woods. Then we shall be alone together, you and I, and you will give me all that I desire.” She strained away from him. “Beast! Be not so sure!” He laughed. “What—a fool of a monk with a club! I know that sort of clumsy savage. It will be mere murder.” But she would not betray her fear. “Have it so. Strange things happen—even to kings.”