He sat as stiff and relentless in his saddle as an Attila, his red eyes staring, a very wickedness of foretasted relish grinning in his hungry teeth. A fourth servant in livery stood a little apart, holding his own and the others’ horses.
“So,” said the master, whispering as out of a dream, “you are caught at last, my lady.”
I felt for the first time a little flush come to my cheeks, and answered his gaze resolutely.
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘caught,’ my lord,” I said. “These are not the days of King John.”
He rubbed his gloved hand across his chin.
“No, by God!” he said, with a hoarse chuckle. “But they are the days of King Hardrough, by your leave.”
“I have done no wrong.”
“Tell that to my lady,” said he.
“Jealousy has no ears.”
He gave a hyæna laugh.