She dropped on her knees close to him, tossed the lute aside, and pulled out her girdle knife.
“Hold out your hands.”
She spoke and acted like one in a fever of impatience, who could brook neither argument nor delay.
“Hold out your hands, fool! Don’t sit and stare! Shall I have to push you and your pride out of death’s way? I have lied and played the jade for your sake, and I tell you I am out of temper. I’ll cut you out of these thongs, and say good riddance.”
Her anger was so headlong that he felt driven to breast it as a swimmer breasts a wave.
“You have been putting Merlin off with lies?”
“That’s right—ask every question you can think of! What can we do with such a stubborn fool but tell lies on his account? I said I had persuaded you to play the King. Hold your hands out.”
He did not move.
“Oh—well, I can begin elsewhere.”
She bent forward and cut the thongs that bound his legs and ankles, severing the leather with vicious jerks of the knife.