“Now—the hands. I want the burden of your pride off my conscience, to be rid of your heroics. They put one in a tangle.”
He held out his hands, and she cut them free.
“Done. The falcon will find his wings stiff. Fly ten miles before daybreak. As for me—I may be able to get some sleep.”
She sat back on her heels and began to laugh with a casual inconsequence that had a touch of mockery. Fulk was stretching his arms, and moving his wrists and fingers, and all the while a slow and puzzled anger was gathering in him against Isoult. He could make nothing of her moods and passions, and this laughter of hers mocked the desire for her that seemed to have flashed out of nothingness but an hour ago.
“You can set a man free, but you cannot make him walk.”
She still laughed softly as though her whole nature mocked him.
“Am I to drive you like a pig to market? Take up your bed and walk, my friend, and thank my mouth for deigning to tell a lie.”
He turned on one hand and knee, and stared at her fixedly.
“Have a care how you laugh at me.”
“Threats! Oh, my good comrade, run away and leave me in peace. You know not what manner of trouble I have had to be rid of you and your pride, to get your neck out of Merlin’s grip. Be grateful for having made me laugh a little.”