Beauvallet · Chapter 4 (2/2)

“Nay, I constrain no maid against her will, be assured. But you will allow it to be clearly within my power.” He paused, and his eyes questioned.

Don Manuel watched the swing of the golden pomander from long fingers, looked higher, and met the imperative gaze. “We are in your hands I know full well,” he said evenly.

Beauvallet nodded. “But that easy course is not the one I will take, señor. Nor am I one to enact the part of ravisher, of betrayer. I will take you to Spain, and there leave you. But, señor⁠—and mark me well! for what I swear I will do that I shall certainly do, though the sun die and the moon fall, and the earth be wholly overset!⁠—I shall come later into Spain, and seek out your daughter, and ride away with her on my saddlebow!” His voice seemed to fill the room, vibrating with some leaping passion. A moment he looked down at Don Manuel with a glint in his eyes, and his beard jutting outwards with his lifted chin. Then the fire left him as suddenly as it had sprung up, and he laughed softly, and the glitter went out of his eyes. “Judge you by this, señor, if I do truly love her as you would have her loved!”

There was silence. Don Manuel turned his head away on the pillow and brushed the sheet with one restless hand. “Señor,” he said at last, “if you were not an enemy and a heretic, I would choose to give my daughter to just such a one as you.” He smiled faintly at the quick surprise in Beauvallet’s face. “Ay, señor, but you are both these things, and it is impossible. Impossible!”

“Señor, a word I do not know. I have warned you. Take what precaution you will, but whether you are quick or dead, I shall have your daughter, in spite of anything you may do.”

“Sir Nicholas, you have a brave spirit, and that I like in you. I have no need to take precautions, for you could never penetrate into Spain.”

“God be my witness, señor, I shall penetrate.”

“You must needs be forsworn, señor. At sea you may be a match for us, but how might you dare face all Spain in Spain itself?”

“I shall certainly dare, señor,” said Sir Nicholas calmly.

Don Manuel seemed to shrug his shoulders. “I see, señor, there is to be no ho with you. You may be but an idle boaster, or a madman, as they say⁠—I know not. I could wish you were a Spaniard. There is no more to say.”