“Doth she still talk thus, living the life she lives,” said Erlend, and laughed bitterly. “Aye, aye—if it comfort her—Said she naught else of me?”
“What should she have said?” asked Kristin—she knew not why she was grown so strangely heavy-hearted.
“Oh, she must have said”—he spoke in a low voice, looking down, “she might have said that I had been under the Church’s ban, and had to pay dear for peace and atonement—”
Kristin was silent a long time. Then she said softly:
“There is many a man who is not master of his own fortunes—so have I heard said. ’Tis little I have seen of the world—but I will never believe of you, Erlend, that ’twas for any—dishonourable—deed.”
“May God reward you for those words, Kristin,” said Erlend, and bent his head and kissed her wrist so vehemently that the horse gave a bound beneath them. When Erlend had it in hand again, he said earnestly: “Dance with me to-night then, Kristin. Afterwards I will tell how things are with me—will tell you all—but to-night we will be happy together?”
Kristin answered: “Aye,” and they rode a while in silence.
But ere long Erlend began to ask of Lady Aashild, and Kristin told all she knew of her; she praised her much.
“Then all doors are not barred against Björn and Aashild?” asked Erlend.
Kristin said they were thought much of, and that her father and many with him deemed that most of the tales about these two were untrue.