"Not upon thy hand did I hope to place my golden ring; I have put my own
true love aside, to keep the clans together, and wedding thee thus have I
been false to the desires of my heart, so do I turn from thee who art my
bride."

Thus did he take her to his castle in silence, and, lifting her from his
steed, bid her enter the strong gates before him.

So shut they with a clang upon her youth and her merry heart, and she
became the neglected mistress of the gray towers she had looked on from
afar, and bride of the great Earl she had dreamed of so long.

But to the Black Roderick she was as nothing; he sought her not, neither
did he speak of her; she was but the cruel small hand that closed upon his
heart and drew it from its love, claiming him in honor her own. And to her
claim was he faithful, turning even his thoughts away, lest he should be
false to his vow. But no more than this did he give her.

So was she left alone, the young bride who did not understand a man's
ways, and, fearing where she loved, hid from his presence lest he should
look upon her in hate. Oft had she dreamed of the wonder of being the wife
of this proud Earl, in trembling desire and hope, hearing her parents
speak of him and of the troth. Oft had she listened to their murmured
words, as they spoke of the clans and the peace these two could bring.

"Stern he is, and black for the young child," said her mother, "and I am
afraid"; but the child stole away to the hill behind her father's castle,
and there looked into the valley of Baile-ata-Cliat to watch the white
towers of the Black Earl glistening in the sun, to dream and to tremble.