CHAPTER VI
THE LADY URSULA
She was only nineteen then. Not very tall, yet perfectly proportioned,and with that small, oval face of hers which delighted yet puzzled allthe artists of the epoch.
The dark hood of her cloak had fallen back at the impertinent gesture ofthe young Spaniard; her fair hair, slightly touched with warm gold,escaped in a few unruly curls from beneath the stiff coif of brocadewhich encircled her pretty head.
The neck was long; the shoulders, rich, young and firm, gleamed likeivory beneath the primly folded kerchief of lace of a dead, bluishwhite, a striking note of harmonious contrast.
Have not all the rhymesters of the period sung the praises of her eyes?What shall the poor chronicler add to these poetical effusions, savethat Ursula's eyes were as changeable in colour as were her moods, herspirits, the expression of her face, and the inflexions of her voice.
And then there was the proud little toss of the head, that contemptuouscurl of the lip which rendered her more desirable than any of her moreyielding companions.
Indeed, Don Miguel felt in luck. His arm was still round her waist. Hefelt the young figure stiffen beneath his admiring glances.
The fair one was half mad with rage, and quite adorable in her wrath.
"My lord Marquis, this is an outrage!" she said at last, "and here inEngland----"
"Nay, fair one," rejoined the Spaniard with a slight accent of irony,"even in England, when two ladies, masked and alone, are held prisonersat nightfall, and in a public place, by their ardent adorers, they mustneeds pay ransom for their release. What say you, my lord?" he added,turning gaily to where his friend held pretty Margaret a not toounwilling prisoner.
"'Tis but justice," assented Lord Everingham, "and yours the firstprize, Marquis. Fair one," he said, looking down into Margaret's shylyterrified eyes, "wilt pay toll to me the while?"
"Gentlemen!" proudly protested Lady Ursula, "an there's any honour inyou----"
"Nay! honour lies in snatching a kiss from those sweet lips," rejoinedDon Miguel with a graceful flourish of his plumed hat.
This act of gallantry, however, almost cost him the price of hisvictory. Ursula Glynde, born and bred in the country, was the daughterof a sturdy Cornish nobleman. Accustomed to ride untamed foals, to havebouts at the broadsword or the poniard with the best man in the county,she would not yield a kiss or own herself vanquished quite as readily asthe Spaniard seemed to expect.
With a vigorous jerk of the body she had once more freed herself fromthe Marquis's grasp, and running up to Margaret, she snatched her by thehand and dragged her away from Lord Everingham, readjusting her hood andmask as she flew towards the booth, vaguely hoping for shelter behindthe folds of the tent.
But once more fate interposed relentlessly betwixt her and her attemptsat escape. Two gallants, seeing the episode, eager to have a hand in theadventure, friends no doubt too of Don Miguel and Everingham, laughinglybarred the way to the steps, just as the two girls had contrived toreach them. With a cry of disappointment Ursula, still dragging Margaretafter her, tried to double back. But it was too late. Don Miguel andLord Everingham were waiting for them on the other side. They were twoto one now, and all chances of escape had hopelessly vanished.
Never had Ursula Glynde felt so mortified in her life.
"Many thanks, gentlemen, for this timely interference," came in mockingaccents from that odious Spaniard. "The ransom, sweet one," he added, asthe chase 'twixt gallants and maids became more general, and the girlsat last felt themselves quite helpless and surrounded.
Ursula's pride alone prevented her from bursting into tears.
"By my faith! here is strange sport!" said a pleasant, slightly mockingvoice suddenly. "What say you, Harry Plantagenet? A lively sight . . .what? . . . four gallants frightening two ladies!"
Instinctively every one had turned in the direction whence the voice hadcome. A man was standing some dozen yards away with mantle tightly drawnround him, his tall figure stooping to pat and fondle a powerful-lookingboarhound, which clung closely to his side.
He had spoken very quietly, apparently to the dog, whose great ears hewas gently stroking.
Without taking any further heed of the somewhat discomfited gentlemen,he came forward towards the little group.
"Ladies, your way stands clear," he said, with that same pleasant ironystill apparent in his voice, and without casting more than a cursoryglance at the close hoods and dark masks, which was all that he couldsee of the ladies, whom he had so incontinently saved from an unpleasantposition.
"Sir," murmured Ursula, under her breath and without attempting tomove, for she felt as if her knees would give way under her.
"Nay, Madam," rejoined the newcomer lightly, "if my interference hasangered you, I pray you forgive me and I'll withdraw, as these gentlemenhere obviously desire me to do. But an you really wish to escape, myfriend here will assure you that you can do so unmolested. . . . Eh,Harry? what say you?" he added, once more turning his attention to thedog.
The boarhound, as if conscious of this appeal to his chivalry, turned aknowing eye on the two girls.
The four men had been taken so absolutely unawares that during the fewseconds while this brief colloquy took place they had scarcely realisedthat an interfering and unknown stranger was trying to hamper them intheir amusements.
They had remained quite speechless, more astonished at the newcomer'simpertinence than wrathful at the interruption; and when the nextinstant Ursula and Margaret suddenly fled with unaffected precipitancy,no one attempted to stop them.
Harry Plantagenet's intelligent eyes followed the retreating figuresuntil they were out of sight. Then he yawned with obtrusive incivility,and plainly showed his master that the present company no longerinterested him.
"Well, Harry, old man, shall we go?" said the stranger, calmly turningon his heel.
But at this final piece of cool insolence Don Miguel de Suarez at lastrecovered from his astonishment. This tame ending to an unwarrantableintrusion was certainly not to his liking, and he, for one, wasunaccustomed to see his whims or caprices thwarted.
In these days tempers ran high, hot blood was allowed free rein, and ata word or a smile out of place, swords and poniards were soon out oftheir sheaths and friendships of yesterday changed to deadly antagonismin the space of a few minutes.
"Carramba!" swore the young Spaniard, "this passes belief. What say you,gentlemen?"
And, drawing his long, tapering sword, he barred the way threateninglyto the stranger.
The silence, thus broken, seemed to restore at once to the other threegallants the full measure of their wrath. One and all following DonMiguel's example, had put their hands to their sword-hilts.
"Aye! unmask, stranger," said Lord Everingham peremptorily.
"Unmask! unmask!" came in threatening accents from all.
"Unmask, or . . ."
"Or by our Lady!" rejoined the stranger lightly, "you'll all run yourblades into my silken doublet and thus end pleasantly a chivalrousescapade. Eh?"
One could divine the pleasant, ironical smile lurking behind the thickcurtain of the mask. The Spaniard's blood was boiling with vexation.Harry Plantagenet gave an impatient whine.
"Your name, stranger, first," commanded Don Miguel haughtily, "then yoursword if you are not a coward; after that I and these gentlemen willdeal with your impudence if you have any left."
There was a moment's silence; the stranger whistled to his dog.
"My sword is at your command," he said; "mine impudence you shall dealwith as you list. . . . My name is Wessex!" he added with a suddenhauteur which seemed to tower above Don Miguel as the gigantic oak ofthe glen towers above the bustling willow beneath.
And he removed the mask from his face.
The Tangled Skein Page 7
