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Updated: June 29, 2025
Gazing at her, Randalin's admiration mounted to wistfulness. "Were I like that, I should be sure of his feeling toward me," she sighed. Certainly, as she looked to-day sitting under the towering trees, it was easy to understand why the King's wife had been named "the gift of the elves."
To find out where the fabrics are kept and try some cloth of gold against these pearls?" As the servile murmur answered, Randalin's brow darkened. Cloth of gold and pearls, when a wolf was tearing at her heart! She spoke desperately, "I wish that the way to the fabrics might lie past the King's House, lady." The King's wife sent her a glance, half resentful, half questioning.
Brand is kindled from brand Till it is burnt out; Fire is kindled from fire; A man gets knowledge By talk with a man, But becomes wilful by self-conceit. Ha'vama'l. Tap tap, tap tap, like dripping water dripping slowly. Drop by drop the sound filtered through the thick wrappings of Randalin's slumber, till she knew it for the beat of horses' hoofs, and stirred and opened her eyes.
Flaring crimson under her brown skin, Randalin's Viking blood leaped to answer the call. For Rothgar's shout she gave another, and laughed out of sheer delight when he tossed her upon the back of a pawing horse. Away with woman's fears! The world was a grand brave place, and men a race of heroes.
The approach of the first of these bands caused Randalin's heart to leap and sink under her brave green tunic. For all that she could tell from their dress, they might as well be English as Danish. If her disguise should fail! As they bore down upon her, she drew her horse to the extreme edge of the road and turned upon them a pale defiant face. On they came.
For at that moment, Canute's silver horn gave the signal, and he was free to leap aside. Randalin's trained hand upon the reins was as firm as it was light, and her trained eye was keenly alert to every motion of the black ears, but in her brain all was whirling confusion, and no longer any thought of her tunic. What was the King's purpose in making this change?
This time it was not a shadow but a sparkle of sunshine that mocked in Randalin's ear: "You have not dared to be a woman, so you must dare to be a man." She acknowledged the pitiless truth with a sigh of submission. "Take your hands off me, and it shall be as you wish."
"The Etheling is here!" While the warrior was turning, a new voice spoke. "Canute's page?" it repeated after some unseen informant. "Is he dead?" It was a young voice, and deep and soft, for all the note of quiet authority ringing through it; something in its tone was agreeably different from the harsh utterance of the first speaker. Randalin's eyes rose dreamily to find the owner.
As the only adequate means of expression, she threw her arms around her friend in a rapturous embrace. Something in the touch of her soft body, the caress of her satin hands, was indefinably comforting. Randalin's arms closed about her and pressed her close, while the little gentlewoman chided her gayly.
In all probability his nimble departure saved him from a scolding for, as she tripped after him down the corridor, a little frown was forming between Randalin's brows. "I think it is not well-mannered of the fellow to say 'the King's Marshal' as though my lord were Canute's thane," she was reflecting, "and I shall put an end to it.
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