“Why, sir,” she gasped, “you do not think I could kill you now?”
“You vowed I should die if your cousin died,” he reminded her. “I think you must keep your word. It is the fortune of war.”
“The fortune of war!” Brilliana gave a bitter laugh. “I would not have you die to save—Oh, I must not say—but fly, sir, fly! Ride hot and hard to Cambridge, where you will be safe. You shall have the best horse in my stable. You are my prisoner. I give you back your parole. Only, for God’s sake, go! My friends would kill you if they caught you here.”
Evander begged a boon.
“May I kiss your hand before I go?”
Brilliana tried to smile.
“A Cavalier would not have asked.”
“I am Puritan, ingrain,” he asserted.
“You are a dear gentleman.”