The next day Fru Angerd was not as friendly toward Kristin as she usually was. The young maiden realized that she must have heard something and felt that the betrothed girl had not received her son in the manner that his mother felt she should have.
Later in the afternoon Simon mentioned that he was thinking of trading for a horse that was owned by one of his friends. He asked Kristin whether she would like to go along and watch. She said yes, and they went into town together.
The weather was clear and beautiful. It had snowed a little during the night, but now the sun was shining, and it was still so cold that the snow squeaked under their feet. Kristin enjoyed getting out in the cold and walking, so when Simon had found the horse that he was thinking of, she talked to him about it in the most lively manner; she had some knowledge of horses, since she had always spent so much time with her father. And this one was a fine animal: a mouse-gray stallion with narrow black stripes along his back and a short, clipped mane. He was well built and spirited, but quite small and slight.
“He won’t last long under a fully-armed man,” said Kristin.
“No, but that’s not what I had in mind, either,” said Simon.
He led the horse out to the open area behind the farm, let him run and walk, rode the animal himself, and then had Kristin ride him too. They stayed outdoors in the white pasture for a long time.
Finally, as Kristin was feeding bread to the horse from her hand, Simon leaned against the animal with his arm over his back and said suddenly, “It seems to me, Kristin, that you and my mother have been rather cross with each other.”
“I haven’t meant to be cross with your mother,” she said, “but I can’t find much to say to Fru Angerd.”
“You don’t seem to find much to say to me, either,” said Simon. “I won’t force myself on you, Kristin, before the time comes. But things can’t go on like this; I never get a chance to talk to you.”
“I have never been talkative,” said Kristin. “I know that myself, and I don’t expect you to think it a great loss if things don’t work out between us.”
“You know what I think about that subject,” replied Simon, looking at her.
Kristin blushed as red as blood. And she was startled to find that she was not averse to Simon Darre’s wooing.
After a moment he said, “Is it Arne Gyrds?n, Kristin, that you think you can’t forget?” Kristin stared at him. Simon continued, and his voice was kind and understanding, “I won’t blame you for that. You grew up as siblings, and barely a year has passed. But you can depend on this: I want only what’s best for you.”
Kristin’s face had grown quite pale. Neither of them spoke as they walked through town in the twilight. At the end of the street, in the greenish blue sky, the crescent of the new moon hung with a bright star in its embrace.
One year, thought Kristin, and she could hardly remember when she had last given Arne a thought. It gave her a fright—maybe she was a loose, vile woman. A year since she had seen him lying on the bier in the death chamber, when she thought she would never be happy again. She whimpered silently in fear at the inconstancy of her own heart and at the transitory nature of all things. Erlend, Erlend—would he forget her? But worse yet was that she might ever forget him.
Sir Andres and his children went to the great Christmas celebration at the king’s castle. Kristin saw all the finery and splendor, and they were also invited into the hall where King Haakon sat with Fru Isabel Bruce, the widow of King Eirik. Sir Andres went forward to greet the king, while his children and Kristin remained behind. She thought of everything that Fru Aashild had told her, and she remembered that the king was Erlend’s close kinsman—their fathers’ mothers had been sisters. And she was Erlend’s wife by seduction; she had no right to stand here, especially not among these good, fine people, the children of Sir Andres.
Suddenly she saw Erlend Nikulauss?n. He had stepped forward in front of Queen Isabel and was standing there with his head bowed and his hand on his breast while she spoke a few words to him. He was wearing the brown silk surcoat that he had worn to their banquet rendezvous. Kristin stepped behind Sir Andres’s daughters.
When Fru Angerd, some time later, escorted the three maidens over to the queen, Kristin could not see Erlend anywhere, but she didn’t dare raise her eyes from the floor. She wondered if he was standing somewhere in the hall; she thought she could feel his eyes on her. But she also thought that everyone was staring at her, as if they could tell that she was standing there like a liar with the gold wreath on her hair, which fell loosely over her shoulders.