Griffin sets his hand on his dagger.
“Hast killed her?” he says sharply.
“No; married her.”
“To whom, then?”
“To a man whom the Witan will not have as a king at any price.”
“There you broke faith with me,” says Griffin, snarling. “I would have taken her, and chanced that.”
“My oath was in the way of that. You missed the chance on the road the other day, which would have made things easy for us both. There was no other for you.”
Now Griffin curses Ragnar, and the Welsh tongue is good for that business.
“Who is the man, then?” he says, when he has done.
“The biggest and best-looking countryman of yours that I have ever set eyes on,” answers Alsi, looking askance at Griffin’s angry face. “There is a sort of consolation for you.”