nough about me to see that the differences between our families do not
matter. You know what I am. And we care more about each other than we do
about your uncle opposing what my king wants."

"Oh, Simon!" Now there were tears running down her cheeks, but she did
not try to pull her hand away. It pained him to see how this was hurting
her, though he did not understand why it should.

She said, "You are telling tales to yourself if you imagine we could
ever marry. You should not even think of it. Whatever your mother did,
you are still the Count de Gobignon. You are almost a member of the
French royal family."

"I am sure Cardinal Ugolini does not agree that your family is so
obscure," Simon said. "It is time I talked to him about this. Then you
will believe I mean it."

She struck her hands against his chest. "No, no! You must not do that.
Do you not realize how upset he is about this war, and how he feels
toward the French? If he even knew that I had been alone with you today,
he would force me to go back to Siracusa at once."

The feel of her hands on him, even to hit him in reproof, excited him.

"I would not let that happen," he said gravely.

He heard wild geese flying southward calling in the distance. Their
cries made this place seem terribly lonely. Even though the little lake
was only a short ride from Perugia, he had seen no sign of a human being
anywhere.

The fire was burning low. He went to gather more wood.

Sophia frowned at him when he came back. "What did you mean, you would
not allow my uncle to send me away?"

He leaned closer, seizing both of her hands in his. The pleasure of
holding her hands rippled through him like a fluttering of angels'
wings. In his exalted state he was moved to utter extravagant words.

"I mean that if you were to leave Perugia, I would ride after you. I
would fight any men your uncle had set to guard you. I would take you
back to Gobignon with me, and there with you inside my castle I would
defy the world."

"Oh, Simon!"

His words sounded foolish to him after he spoke them aloud. Yet men, he
knew, had done such things--Lancelot--Tristan--if the old songs were to
be believed. How better to prove his love than to commit crimes and risk
disgrace for her?

She was crying again. She put her hands over her face. Why, he wondered,
when he declared his love for her and told her he wanted to marry her,
did it make her so unhappy? If she did not care for him, she shoul