In the dusk under the trees her eyes held his, and from her red mouth the words came with the vehemence of a rhapsody. Fulk felt like the strings of her lute swept by the fingers of that dim hand that now rested among the bracken. The pale vehemence of her beauty called to the man in him with the clashing of cymbals and the wailing of flutes.
He thrust his face nearer to hers, almost fiercely.
“Isoult, have a care; I am no mere boy.”
She drew in a deep breath.
“A boy? You, with that fierce mouth and eyes like a hawk’s! The naked soul of a woman calls only to the naked soul of a man. I’m not one to plead and wheedle. What did Merlin desire? That I should debauch you into playing the King.”
He set his jaw at her, and his hands strained at the thongs.
“I guessed it.”
“And I, at first, thought of it as a great adventure, as of two falcons soaring together into the blue. But now I see the shine of your pride, and my pride is bright as yours.”
He felt a strange stirring of his blood.
“Well—what then?”