Beltane the Smith Part 89

"O my lord, thine arms are so--so tyrannous that I do fear thee-- almost! And how may a poor maid, so crushed and helpless thus, gainsay thee? So prithee, O prithee take my poor letter an thou wilt ravish it from one so defenceless--O beseech thee, take it!"

So she gave the crumpled parchment into his hand, yet while he read it, nestled closer in his arms and hid her face against him; for what he read was this:

"Beloved, art thou angered, or sorrowful, or humble in thy foolish jealousy? If angered, then must I woo thee. If sorrowful, cherish thee.

But being Beltane, needs must I love thee ever--so write I this, bidding thee come, my Beltane the Smith, for I--"

The crumpled letter fell to the ground.

"Helen!" he whispered, "Beloved, I am all of this, so do I need thy comfort, thy cherishing, and all thy dear love--turn thy head--O Helen, how red is thy sweet mouth!" Then stooped he, and so they kissed each other, such kisses as they ne'er had known, until she sighed and trembled and lay all breathless in his arms.

"O my lord," she whispered, "have mercy, I pray! Dear Beltane, loose me for I--I have much to tell thee."

And because of her pleading eyes he loosed her, and she, sinking upon the bench, leaned there all flushed and tremulous, and looking on him, sighed, and sighing, put up her hands and hid her face from his regard.

"Beltane," she whispered, "how wondrous a thing is this our love, so great and fierce it frighteth me--see how I tremble!" and she held out to him her hands.

Then came he and knelt before her, and kissed those slender fingers amain.

"Dear hands of Fidelis," said he, "but for their tender skill and gentle care I had not lived to know this night--O brave, small hands of Fidelis!"

"Poor Fidelis!" she sighed, "but indeed it wrung my heart to see thy woeful face when I did tell thee Fidelis was lost to thee--Nay, Beltane, stay--O prithee let me speak--"

Quoth Beltane 'twixt his kisses:

"Wherefore wert so cold and strange to me but yesterday?"

"Dear my heart," she murmured, "I needs must make thee suffer a little-- just a very little, for that I had known so much of pain and heartache because of thee. But I was glad to see thee bear the wallet of poor Fidelis--and O, 'twas foolish in thee to grieve for him, for he being gone, thy Helen doth remain--unless, forsooth, thou had rather I came to thee bedight again in steel--that did so chafe me, Beltane--indeed, my tender skin did suffer much on thy account--"

"Then soon with my kisses will I seek--" But a cool, soft hand schooled his hot lips to silence and the while he kissed those sweet arresting fingers, she spake 'twixt smiling lips: "Prithee where is my shoe that was Genevra's? Indeed, 'twas hard matter to slip it off for thee, Beltane, for Genevra's foot is something smaller than mine--a very little! Nay, crush me not, messire, but tell me, what of him ye came hither seeking--the man in the long cloak--what of him?"

"Nought!" answered Beltane, "the world to-night doth hold but thee and me--"

"Aye, my Beltane, as when sick of thy wound within the little cave I nursed thee, all unknown. O love, in all thy sickness I was with thee, to care for thee. Teaching good Roger to tend thee and--to drug thee to gentle sleep that I might hold thee to me in the dark and--kiss thy sleeping lips--"

"Ah!" he sighed, "and methought 'twas but a dream! O Helen, sure none ever loved as we?"

"Nay, 'twere thing impossible, Beltane."

"And thou art truly mine?"

"Beltane--thou dost know this! Ah, love--what would you?" For of a sudden his mighty arms were close about her, and rising, he lifted her upon his breast. "What would'st do with me, Beltane?"

"Do?" quoth he, "do? This night, this very hour thou shalt wed me--"

"Nay, dear my lord--bethink thee--"

"It hath been my thought--my dearest dream since first I saw thee within the woods at Mortain--so now shalt wed me--"

"But, Beltane--"

"Shalt wed me!"

"Nay, love, I--I--thou art so sudden!"

"Aye, within this hour shalt call me 'husband'!"

"Wilt force me, my lord?"

"Aye, verily," said Beltane, "as G.o.d sees me, I will!"

"Why then," she sighed, "how may I gainsay thee!" and she hid her face against him once more. But, as he turned to leave the arbour, she stayed him:

"I prithee, now, whither dost take me, Beltane?"

"To the minster--anywhere, so that I find good Friar Martin."

"Nay, prithee, Beltane, prithee set me down!"

"What would'st, my Helen?"

"Loose me and shalt see."

So Beltane, sighing, let her go, whereupon she took a small silver whistle that hung at her girdle and sounded it.

"Ah--what do you?" he questioned.

"Wait!" said she, roguish-eyed.

And in a while came the sound of steps from the outer garden, and looking thither, Beltane beheld a tall man in cloak of blue camlet, and when this man drew near, behold! it was Giles.

"Giles!" quoth he, "thou wily rogue--"

"Giles," spake the d.u.c.h.ess softly, "I pray you let them come!"

Then Giles bowed him low, and smiling, hasted joyously away.

"Beltane, dear my lord," said the d.u.c.h.ess a little breathlessly, "because thou art true man and thy love is a n.o.ble love, I did lure thee hither to-night that I might give myself to thee in G.o.d's holy sight--an so it be thy will, my lord. O Beltane, yonder Giles and Roger do bring--Friar Martin to make me--thy wife--wherefore I do grow something fearful. 'Tis foolish in me to fear thee and yet--I do--a little, Beltane!" So saying, she looked on him with eyes full sweet and troubled, wherefore he would have kissed her, but steps drew nigh and lo! without the arbour stood the white friar with Giles and Roger in the shadows behind.

Now came Beltane and took the friar's hand.

"Holy father," said he, "O good Friar Martin, though I am but what I am, yet hath this sweet and n.o.ble lady raised me up to be what I have dreamed to be. To-night, into my care she giveth her sweet body and fair fame, of which G.o.d make me worthy."

"Sweet children," spake the friar, "this world is oft-times a hard and cruel world, but G.o.d is a gentle G.o.d and merciful, wherefore as he hath given to man the blessed sun and the sweet and tender flowers, so hath he given him love. And when two there be who love with soul as well as body, with mind as well as heart, then methinks for them this world may be a paradise. And, my children, because I do love thee for thy sweet lives and n.o.ble works, so do I joy now to bind ye one to another."

Then hand in hand, the d.u.c.h.ess and my Beltane knelt together, and because he had no ring, needs must she give to him one of hers; so were they wed.

As one that dreamed, Beltane knelt there murmuring the responses, and thus knelt he so long that he started to feel a soft touch upon his cheek, and looking up, behold! they were alone.

"Dost dream, my lord?" she questioned, tender-voiced.