He reached the inn where he was staying, hurried through the taproom with a bare wave to the landlord and the drinkers, thudded upstairs and along a hallway. The Blue Lion was for those who could afford the best that became a commoner: clean, safe, with a pair of bedroom for hire in addition to the general one. He knocked on a door of the former.
Ingeborg let him in. She had bought an image of the Virgin and stood it on a shelf. He saw from wrinkles in her gown that she had been praying. Her gaze sought his, she trembled and parted her lips but could not speak.
He closed the door. “Ingeborg,” he said, “we’ve won.”
“O-o-oh. . . .” A hand went to her mouth.
“The bishop agrees. He’s a fine fellow. Well, he does want
to move slowly, but that’s all right, that’s wise. Our luck has turned.” Niels whooped. He danced where he stood, for the bed left scant floor space. “Our luck, Ingeborg! No more poverty, no more toil, no more whoredom-the world is ours!”
She crossed herself. “Mary, I thank you,” she whispered.
“Aye, me too, we’ll light many candles, but flfst let’s rejoice,”
Niels babbled. “We’ll feast this eventide, I’ll have the kitchen get whatever you like and cook it for you, we’ll have wine and tapers and music—Oh, Ingeborg, be glad. You deserve gladness.”
He clasped her waist. She regarded him through tears. “Teach me how to be happy,” she asked.
He fell moveless, staring down at her. It came suddenly to him that she was fair to see, full figure, gentle features, luster of brown eyes and billowing hair. They had kissed before, but quickly, in simple friendliness. Now the whiplash need was off him-off them both. He’d wondered in fleeting moments how that would feel, being free to remember Eyjan all the time. Now he knew; but here was Ingeborg.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, amazed.
“Niels, no,” She tried to draw back. He pulled her against him.
Her mingled scents of woman were dizzying. The kiss went on and on.
“Niels,” she breathed shakily into his bosom, “do you under-stand what you seek?”
“Yes, Ingeborg, darling.” He lowered her to the bed.
· Afterward, as they lay resting in embrace, she said, “I beg one thing of you, Niels.”
“It’s yours.” He stroked the softness of her back.
“Never call me ‘love,’ or ‘dearest,’ or any such word, as you
were doing.”
He lifted his head off the bolster, astonished. “What? Why not?”
“We have only each other. Gold or no, it’ll be long before we’ve friends we can trust. Believe you me. Then let there be no lies between us.”
“I care for you!”
“And I for you. Very, very much.” Her lips brushed his cheek.
“But you are too young for me, too good—“
“No.”
“And it’s Eyjan you yearn for.”
He had no answer to that.
She sighed. “It’s Tauno for me, of course,” she owned. “I fear
we’ve neither of us any chance. Well, maybe I can guide your heart toward a mortal maiden.”
“What of you?” he asked through her tresses.
He felt her shrug. “I’m tough. Besides, whatever happens,
while we stay honest, we have each other.”