France -- History -- Henry IV, 1589-1610 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"I know that you have ruined me," he said, looking darkly at her.
"And in return for--what?" she answered, with a look as dark.
His nostrils quivered, a pulse beat hard in his cheek. Only the sheer
boldness of that which she had done, only the appeal of the lioness in
her to the lion in him--and her beauty--held his hand; held his hand
from striking her down, woman though she was, at his feet. Had she
faltered, had she turned pale or trembled, had she uttered but one
word of supplication, or done aught but defy him, he had flung her
brutally to the floor and trampled upon her.
For the Captain of Vlaye was no knight of romance. And no scruple on
his part, no helplessness on hers would have restrained his hand. But
he loved her after his fashion. He loved her beauty, which had never
been more brilliant or alluring; he loved the spirit that proved her
fit helpmeet for such as he. And thwarted, tricked, baffled, hanging
still on the verge of violence over which the least recoil on her part
would push him, he still owned reason in her claim. She was the more
worthy--of the two; such beauty, such spirit, such courage would go
far. And not many weeks back he had looked no higher, aimed no
farther, but had deemed her birth fit dower. But love sits lightly on
the ambitious, and driven by a new danger to a new shift, forced to
look abroad for aid, he had put her aside at the first temptation--not
without a secret thought that she might be still what she had been to
him.
Her eyes, her words told a different story, and in his secret heart he
gave her credit for her act; and he held his hand. But his looks were
dark and bitter and passionate, as he told her again that she had
ruined him, and flung it coarsely in her face that she brought
herself, and naught besides to the bargain.
"It is but a little since you thought that enough!" she replied, with
flashing eyes.
"You are bold to speak to me thus!" he said between his teeth. "What?
You that call yourself my wife, to beard me!"
"That am your wife!" she answered, though sick fear rapped at her
heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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