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Updated: June 29, 2025
Nor can you chide my sinful brain that it gladly believes what mine eyes tell it. No, you may not be angry so long as I do not tell you all this." Bertrade de Montfort did not know how to answer so ridiculous a sophistry; and, truth to tell, she was more than pleased to hear from the lips of Roger de Conde what bored her on the tongues of other men.
Bertrade crossed the room and leaned against a massive oak table, blackened by age and hard usage to the color of the beams above, dented and nicked by the pounding of huge drinking horns and heavy swords when wild and lusty brawlers had been moved to applause by the lay of some wandering minstrel, or the sterner call of their mighty chieftains for the oath of fealty.
Now he rode once more with lowered visor, and in silence, a little to the rear of Bertrade de Montfort that he might watch her face, which, of a sudden, had excited his interest.
"He lives!" she almost shrieked. "Quick, Henry, our son lives!" Bertrade de Montfort had regained consciousness almost before Philip of France had raised her from the floor, and she stood now, leaning on his arm, watching with wide, questioning eyes the strange scene being enacted at her feet. Slowly, the lids of Norman of Torn lifted with returning consciousness.
"Ah, Bertrade, my Bertrade," he cried, "what is this thing that I have done! Forgive me, and let the greatness and the purity of my love for you plead in extenuation of my act." She looked up into his face in surprise, and then placing her strong white hands upon his shoulders, she whispered: "See, Roger, I am not angry. It is not wrong that we love; tell me it is not, Roger."
Therefore will the friend of Lady Bertrade de Montfort ride with Monsieur le Prince to his destination that Monsieur may arrive there safely." "It is kind of you, Sir Knight, a kindness that I will not forget. But, again, who is it that shows this solicitude for Philip of France?" "Norman of Torn, they call me," replied the outlaw. "Indeed!" cried Philip. "The great and bloody outlaw?"
The young man stood silent for a moment, then he drew his hand across his eyes as though to brush away a vision. "There be a reason, Father, why I must remain in England for a time at least, though the picture you put is indeed wondrous alluring." And the reason was Bertrade de Montfort. The visit of Bertrade de Montfort with her friend Mary de Stutevill was drawing to a close.
"Wait, my lady, until I return, then shall you decide, and if ye be of the same mind as today, never fear but that I shall take ye. Again, farewell." And with a brave smile that hid a sad heart, Norman of Torn passed out of the castle yard. When he undid the parcel which Bertrade had tossed to him, he found that it contained a beautifully wrought ring set with a single opal.
See, I kneel to thee, my dove!" And with cracking joints the fat baron plumped down upon his marrow bones. Bertrade turned and as she saw him her haughty countenance relaxed into a sneering smile. "Thou art a fool, Sir Peter," she said, "and, at that, the worst species of fool an ancient fool. It is useless to pursue thy cause, for I will have none of thee.
His life had been a hard and lonely one. The only ray of brilliant and warming sunshine that had entered it had been his love for Bertrade de Montfort and hers for him. His every thought was loyal to the woman whom he knew was not for him, but he longed for the companionship of his own kind and so welcomed the friendship of such as Joan de Tany and her fair guest.
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