Or Sire Tristan or Sire Gawain, what would they do now?
There was no more time to think. He must act. He threw himself to his knees, arms outstretched, and waited. A long, silent moment passed. Finally Sophia turned her head. Her lips—those tender, rose-colored lips—parted and her eyes widened. She turned all the way around.
She started to laugh.
"Laugh at me if you will, but do not cast me out." The sound of her laughter was like the chiming of a bell. After a moment she stopped laughing and smiled. A lovely smile, he thought, a kindly smile. He could happily kneel here for as long as she went on smiling.
"I have never had a man kneel to me before." A faint vexation flickered across her face. "First you accuse me of kissing you only to further my uncle's plots against the Tartars. Then you kneel to me. What am I to make of you?"
Relief swept over him as he realized she was no longer angry.
"Make me your slave."
"My slave? You are toying with me, Your Signory."
"Toying with you? Never. Call me Simon if it please you."
"You would be my friend?"