“Unless?”
“Two falcons soar into the blue.”
She kept him at arm’s length, but her eyes were shining in her dim face.
“Ah, you think well of yourself, Fulk of the Forest. Have you the strength to fly with me? I tell you I am a flame, a storm, a sunset.”
“I have wings as strong as yours.”
“To fly in the face of the sun?”
“Over the moon—if needs be.”
They were like two flames, flaring and leaping against each other. An intoxication seized them, though there was a challenge and a defiance in the rushing together of desire. Their hands gripped hard, yet resisted. Their mouths provoked each other, yet held apart.
“Isoult, I swear troth.”
“Wait—wait, madman!”