"And why!" said Joan a little haughtily. For she did not like Conrad"s sister to be treated lightly even by her chief captain.
"Ah, love--love," said Werner, nodding his head sententiously. "It is well, my lady, that I ever trained you up to care for none of these things. Teach a maid to fence, and her honour needs no champion. Give her sword-cunning and you keep her from making a fool of herself about the first man who crosses her path. Strengthen her wrist, teach her to lunge and parry, and you strengthen her head. But you do credit to _your_ instructor. You have never troubled about the follies of love.
Therefore are you our own Joan of the Sword Hand!"
Joan sighed another sigh, very softly this time, and her eyes, being turned away from Von Orseln, were soft and indefinitely hazy.
"Yes," she answered, "I am Joan of the Sword Hand, and I never think of these things!"
"Of course not," he cried cheerfully; "why should you? Ah, if only the Princess Margaret had had an ancient Werner von Orseln to teach her how to drill a hole in a fluttering jackanapes! Then we would have had less of this meauling ap.r.o.n-string business!"
"Silence," said Joan quickly. "She is here."
And the Princess came running in with joy in her face. Instinctively Werner drew back into the shadow of the window curtain, and the smile on his face grew more grimly experienced than ever.
"Oh, Joan," cried the Princess breathlessly, "he had not really gone off without bidding me goodbye. You remember I said that I could not believe it of him, and you see I was right. One cannot be mistaken about one"s husband!"
"No?" said Joan interrogatively.
"Never--so long as he loves you, that is!" said Margaret, breathless with her haste; "but when you really love any one, you cannot help getting anxious about them. And then Ivan or Louis might have sent some one to carry him off again to tear him to pieces. Oh, Joan, you cannot know all I suffered. You must be patient with me. I think it was seeing him bound and about to die that has made me like this!"
"Margaret!"
Joan went quickly towards her friend, touched with compunction for her lack of sympathy, and resolved to comfort her if she could. It was true, after all, that while she and Conrad had been happy together on Isle Rugen, this girl had been suffering.
Margaret came towards her, smiling through her tears.
"But I have thought of something," she said, brightening still more; "such a splendid plan. I know Maurice would not want to go away when there was fighting--though I believe, if I had him by himself for an hour, I could persuade him even to that, for my sake."
A stifled grunt came from behind the curtains, which represented the injury done to the feelings of Werner von Orseln by such unworthy sentiments.
The Princess looked over in the direction of the sound, but could see nothing. Joan moved quietly round, so that her friend"s back was towards the window, behind the curtains of which stood the war captain.
"This is my thought," the Princess went on more calmly. "Do you, Joan, send Maurice on an emba.s.sy to Pla.s.senburg till this trouble is over.
Then he will be safe. I will find means of keeping him there----"
A stifled groan of rage came from the window. Margaret turned sharply about.
"What is that?" she cried, taking hold of her skirts, as the habit of women is.
"Some one without in the courtyard," said Joan hastily; "a dog, a cat, a rat in the wainscot--anything!"
"It sounded like something," answered the Princess, "but surely not like anything! Let us look."
"Margaret," said Joan, gently taking her by the arm and walking with her towards the door, "Maurice von Lynar is a soldier and a soldier"s son.
You would break his heart if you took him away from his duty. He would not love you the same; you would not love him the same."
"Oh, yes, I would," said Margaret, showing signs that her sorrow might break out afresh. "I would love him more for taking care of his life for my sake!"
"You know you would not, Margaret," Joan persisted. "No woman can truly and fully love a man whom she is not proud of."
[Ill.u.s.tration: "Joan indignantly drew the curtain aside." [_Page 323_]]
"Oh, that is before they are married!" cried the Princess indignantly.
"Afterwards it is different. You find out things then--and love them all the same. But, of course, how should I expect you to help me? You have never loved; you do not understand!" And, without another word, Margaret of Courtland, who had once been so heart-free and _debonnaire_, went out sobbing like a fretted child. Hardly had the door closed upon her when the sound of stifled laughter broke from the window-seat. Joan indignantly drew the curtains aside and revealed Werner von Orseln shaking all over and vainly striving to govern his mirth with his hands pressed against his sides.
At sight of the face of his mistress, which was very grave, and even stern, his laughter instantly shut itself off. As it seemed, with a single movement, he raised himself to his feet and saluted. Joan stood looking at him a moment without speech.
"Your mirth is exceedingly ill-timed," she said slowly. "On a future occasion, pray remember that the Lady Margaret is a Princess and my friend. You can go! We ride out to-morrow morning at five. See that everything is arranged."
Once more Von Orseln saluted, with a face expressionless as a stone. He marched to the door, turned and saluted a third time, and with heavy footsteps descended the stairs communing with himself as he went.
"That was salt, Werner. Faith, but she gave you the back of the sword-hand that time, old kerl! Yet, "twas most wondrous humorsome. Ha!
ha! But I must not laugh--at least, not here, for if she catches me the Kernsbergers will want a new chief captain. Ha! ha! No, I will not laugh. Werner, you old fool, be quiet! G.o.d"s grace, but she looked right royal! It is worth a dressing down to see her in a rage. Faith, I would rather face a regiment of Muscovites single-handed than cross our Joan in one of her tantrums!"
He was now at the outer door. Prince Conrad was dismounting. The two men saluted each other.
"Is the d.u.c.h.ess Joan within?" said Conrad, concealing his eagerness under the hauteur natural to a Prince.
"I have just left her!" answered the chief captain.
Without a word Conrad sprang up the steps three at a time. Werner turned about and watched the young man"s firm lithe figure till it had disappeared.
"Faith of Saint Anthony!" he murmured, "I am right glad our lady cares not for love. If she did, and if you had not been a priest--well, there might have been trouble."
CHAPTER XLVII
THE BROKEN BOND
Above, in the dusky light of the upper hall, Conrad and Joan stood holding each other"s hands. It was the first time they had been alone together since the day on which they had walked along the sand-dunes of Rugen.
Since then they seemed to have grown inexplicably closer together. To Joan, Conrad now seemed much more her own--the man who loved her, whom she loved--than he had been on the Island. To watch day by day for his pa.s.sing in martial attire brought back the knight of the tournament whose white plume she had seen storm through the lists on the day when, a slim secretary, she had stood with beating heart and shining eyes behind the chair of Leopold von Dessauer, Amba.s.sador of Pla.s.senburg.
For almost five minutes they stood thus without speech; then Joan drew away her hands.
"You forget," she said smiling, "that was forbidden in the bond."
"My lady," he said, "was not the bond for Isle Rugen alone? Here we are comrades in the strife. We must save our fatherland. I have laid aside my priesthood. If I live, I shall appeal to the Holy Father to loose me wholly from my vows."
Smilingly she put his eager argument by.
"It was of another vow I spoke. I am not the Holy Father, and for this I will not give you absolution. We are comrades, it is true--that and no more! To-morrow I ride to Kernsberg, where I will muster every man, call down the shepherds from the hills, and be back with you by the Alla before the Muscovite can attack you. I, Joan of the Sword Hand, promise it!"
She stamped her foot, half in earnest and half in mockery of the sonorous name by which she was known.