Free Three Hearts and Three Lions by Poul Anderson

as Alfric and a woman stepped from a door. He had barely a glimpse of her, she slipped swiftly back inside again, but he was stunned. This world seemed full of extraordinary lookers. She was human, taller and more full-bodied than the Faerie ladies, long midnight hair coiled under a golden coronet, her white satin dress sweeping the floor. Her face was ivory pale, curve-nosed, with arrogance lying on the red lips and in the dark brilliant eyes. Hm! The Duke was a lucky fellow.
    Alfric’s scowl smoothed itself out. “Good morrow, Sir ’Olger. How fare you?” As he bowed, his hands moved in curious passes.
    “Excellent well, my lord.” Holger bowed back. “I trust you too—”
    “Ah, there you are, my naughty one. Wouldst run away from me?” Meriven took the Dane’s arm. Now where the devil had she appeared from? “Come, the horses are ready, we’ve some falconry to do.” She bore him off almost before he could draw breath.
    They had a good time, loosing their hawks at cranes, wild peacocks, and less familiar prey. Meriven chattered gaily the while, and he had to laugh with her. That anecdote about the hunting of the basilisk... well, hardly fit for mixed company, but it was funny. Holger would have enjoyed himself more had his memory not been nagging him again. That woman with the Duke—blast and damn, he knew her!
    He’d only had a flying look, but the image remained sharp within him; he knew her voice would be low and her manner haughty, capricious, sometimes kind and sometimes cruel, but all her moods no more than an iridescence on the surface of an intransigent will. Meriven seemed rather pallid compared to... to... what was her name?
    “You’re sad, my lord.” The Pharisee girl laid a hand on his.
    “Oh, no. No. I was only thinking.”
    “Fie on you! Come, let me make a charm to drive thought away, ’tis the child of care and the father of sorrow.” Meriven pulled a green twig off a tree, bent it, and gestured with some words. It became an Irish harp, which she played while singing him love songs. They did lull him most pleasantly, but—
    As they neared the castle again, she caught his arm and pointed. “Nay, see!” she hissed. “A unicorn! They’ve become rare hereabouts.”
    He glimpsed the beautiful white beast flitting between the trees. A stray wisp of ivy had caught on its horn. Wait. He peered through the half-light. Didn’t someone walk beside it?
    Meriven tensed pantherishly. “If we steal close—” she whispered. Her horse moved forward, hoofs noiseless on the turf.
    The unicorn stopped, looked back at them, and was away, a shining shadow rapidly lost to sight. Meriven swore with unladylike imaginativeness. Holger said nothing, because he had seen what accompanied the animal. For one moment he had locked eyes with Alianora. Now she was also gone.
    “Well, lackaday, such is life.” Meriven came back to him and they rode on together. “Be not so downcast, my lord. Mayhap we can make a party later and run the brute down.”
    Holger wished he were more of an actor. He mustn’t let her guess his own suddenly mounting suspicions. At the same time, he had to think them through. It wasn’t that he had any new reason to think badly of Faerie: just that the sight of Alianora had triggered something in him. He needed Hugi’s counsel.
    “If you will forgive me, my lady,” he said, “I’ll go bathe before dinner.”
    “Oh, my bath is large enough for us both, and for some fine sports I can teach you,” she offered.
    Holger wished he had a helmet to cover his ears. They felt incandescent. “I’d like a short nap, too,” he said clumsily. Inspiration: “I must be at my best for you later on. There’s so much competition.”
    He beat a retreat before she could insist, and almost ran to his apartments. Hugi looked up from the bed, on which he had curled himself. Holger bent over the dwarf.
    “I saw a woman this morning,” he said, fast and softly; and he described her, not from