At those words Alys caught her breath in a little gasp, and Eleanora tightened the clasp of her loving arms.
"My mother will indeed desire to see thee and to welcome thee, sweet Alys. Thou must know that well. But fear not what may befall. My father—ay, and Amalric too—will never urge thee to any act against which thy heart rebels. We cannot give our love as if it were a toy. Our hearts will speak, and they discourse eloquent music that no man hears save ourselves. I would fain call thee sister, but I will be thy friend. It shall never be said of the house of De Montfort that its sons wooed unwilling brides!"
The Demoiselle threw back her head with a gesture of pride, and then kissed Alys on the mouth. It was no revelation to Alys that she had been brought to Kenilworth with the idea of being shown there as the future bride of the Lord Amalric. Her father had never said as much openly, but she had had an instinct of this, and now these words from Eleanora showed her that she had not been deceived.
But it was not a subject on which she could speak. Her heart and mind were alike in a chaotic state. She revered the house of De Montfort; she had the warmest liking for Amalric, and would hate to give him pain. She might well have loved him, and she knew it, had there been no other image graven on her heart. And now it was hard to know what to say or do. Indeed she felt, whatever the Demoiselle might aver, that little option would be given her in the matter. Her father would decide the question of his daughter's betrothal. She would be expected simply to obey. She could not urge any dislike to the chivalrous young lord who had honoured her by his preference, and to confess that she had given her heart to one who had never spoken a word of love to her was not to be dreamed of.
Just now, however, there was little time to think of such matters. Kenilworth Castle was filled from end to end, and all the wild revelry incident to the Christmas season was in full swing.
Alys had seen nothing like it in all her life, and her whole time and attention was engrossed by watching the brilliant scenes about her. She was admitted into the immediate family circle at the Castle—ranked as the companion and friend of the Demoiselle, tenderly treated by the Countess, and evidently regarded by the Earl and his sons as the future bride of young Amalric.
His own attentions were unfailing, but so chivalrously and deferentially proffered that she could not repulse him. Indeed, she had no desire to give him pain, although in her heart of hearts she shrank from any open step which should force the thought of marriage upon her.
Just now, however, there seemed too much on hand for any one to press such a matter to a conclusion. The Earl had his hands and his thoughts full to overflowing, and although he went about with a face full of courage and serenity, it could not be disguised that the clouds were gathering ominously round him in many quarters.
For one thing, the Pope had excommunicated him; and that was in itself a serious matter in those days. True, he had appealed against the interdict, which had been brought by a legate, and having been lost at sea had never been delivered. The clergy of the realm had joined with him in his appeal; and the Pope having died meantime, the matter was still in suspense, and could not be settled till a successor was chosen. So that for the present the Earl's household received the benefits of the church, and were not cut off from communion; but the cloud of uncertainty rested over them, and made some even of their friends look slightly askance upon them.
Nor was it any light matter that they held in their power the person of the King's son.