“Once,” said Pendragon, putting his arms about her and drawing her on to her feet.
As she slid down from the stone—
“I never said you could move,” said Audrey de Lisle.
“You shouldn’t ’ve made me a King,” shouted her squire, and with that he kissed her.
“I wanted you to do that the very first day,” whispered the girl. “But if you had I’d never have stayed at Sundial.” She slid an arm round his neck. “And you say you didn’t figure . . .” She threw up her glorious head and smiled into his eyes. “Why, my blessed, you made it. It’s not been a nursery rhyme—it’s been my love-story.”
“Audrey, Audrey, my darling. . . .”
“When I saw the Arms that morning, I nearly fainted. Then I went all cold, to think that you—my Prince Charming—were really the wicked lord. . . . The moment you let me go I saw my mistake. In a flash I realized that you were playing some game. Then I got all mad to think that you’d kept it from me—so I started in too. . . . But I nearly gave it away that evening at Domesday Mill, when you said he had watery eyes. It—it was so libellous, Christopher. . . .”
Pendragon smiled.
“My beautiful lady,” he said, “that came to me out of the blue. There never was, I believe, such a fairy-tale. I was afraid to kiss you for fear of breaking things up. You know. The Sleeping Beauty. If I waked you with a kiss, you might kiss me back: but then, again, you mightn’t. And then in the end I did . . . and the worst happened.”
“But you didn’t, dear,” said Audrey. “If you had . . .”