"What—" said Sir Charles, dropping his voice and leaning over her—"what if I had been the wounded one?"
"I would have made your gruel with great pleasure, cousin."
She laughed again, and looked at him half tenderly, half mockingly. There were silver candlesticks upon the spinet and the light from the tall wax tapers fell with a white radiance over the slender figure in brocade and lace, the gleaming shoulders, the beautiful face, and the shining hair. Her eyes were brilliant, her mouth all elusive, mocking, exquisite curves.
He raised a wandering lock of gold to his lips. "The King hath written, commanding me home to England," he said abruptly.
"Yes, my father told me. He says the King loves you much."
Sir Charles left her side, twice walked the length of the room, and came back to her. "Am I to go as I came—alone?" he asked, standing before her with folded arms.
"If you so desire, sir?"
"Will you go with me?"
"Yes."
He caught her in his arms; but she cried out and freed herself.