“Sire, do not misjudge me.”
“You are too honest, child, to be misjudged.”
His fine spirit of chivalry and self-restraint rescued them both from the discomfort of the moment. He slipped the ring upon his finger, and seemed ready to forget what he had asked.
“There are other things to be remembered,” and he looked thoughtfully at the orchard trees. “What are your wishes as to the secret you have given me to share?”
His self-repression pleased her, with its immediate turning to interests that were hers alone.
“You seem to think for me. I feel my lips close when I see these men.”
“Such a truth is not easy in the telling.”
“It is not that I am afraid. But there are memories—and thoughts.”
“That the best of us hold sacred. Do I not understand? Let the truth wait till you meet Beaumanoir at Josselin.”
Her eyes thanked him, for she was loath to expose her pride to these grim men who were sating their blood-lust with staring at a carcass.