Quicksilver's Knight

CHAPTER 12

Geoffrey studied her for a long moment, brooding; then he nodded. "I believe you, mi ... Chieftain. But I must sleep, or I shall be too sluggish to fight."

She gave him a smile of harsh satisfaction. "It is a true dilemma, is it not? You must not sleep, so that you may guard against me, in case I attack by night—but if you do not sleep, you will be too slow if I attack by day."

"My remedy, then, is as always with a dilemma, to step outside its terms," Geoffrey said, smiling.

"Outside?" Quicksilver frowned, eyeing him warily. "How can you do that?"

"Why, you assume that you and I have only ourselves to guard with," Geoffrey said. "But you have a hundred men and a score of women warding your slumber, whether you know it or not."

"Aye." Quicksilver's eyes gleamed with amusement. "And though I may have sworn to yield to you if you bested me with your sword, my band has not! Whether I wish it or no, they are quite capable of falling upon you in your sleep and bearing me off!"

Geoffrey nodded. "Therefore I, too, must seek a guardian." He did not tell her that his horse was a better sentry than any human being—though if the mass attack did come, Fess was quite likely to have a seizure trying to defend Geoffrey.

"A guardian?" Quicksilver eyed him with distrust again. "What manner of guardian can you call up on a moment's notice?"

For answer, Geoffrey gazed off into space a moment while he sent a message in the family mode—a very strong message, to penetrate a haze of concentration; a very urgent message, to make the one who heard it come at once, or at least as soon as the work he was engrossed in was done...

Air exploded in a gunshot crack, and a slender, pale youth stood there between them, hands holding not a sword but a book. He was fine-boned and wore a dark blue hooded robe over a royal blue tunic and light blue hose. He seemed entirely unprepossessing until you looked at his face, which was so handsome that it made Quicksilver gasp—but more because of its resemblance to Geoffrey than because of its own beauty.

"No need to be so urgent, brother," he said. "I was only reading Einstein, not meditating on his equations."

"Yet," Geoffrey qualified, with a broad smile that held as much of affection as of amusement.

"Yet," the newcomer agreed.

"What monk is this?" Quicksilver demanded.

The teenager turned a clear, limpid gaze upon her that seemed to see and note everything about her, even to the depths of her soul, and Quicksilver fought to restrain a gasp of alarm, for even as he seemed to note every detail of her, he seemed to dismiss it as inconsequential, and to really only be paying attention to something far beyond her, something much more vast, of which she was only a part. She had never felt so small and insignificant in her life.

But his smile was kind. "I am no monk, fair maiden, but only a poor scholar who delights in study and solitude."

"A most excellent scholar, if he were to speak truly," Geoffrey contradicted, "but his false modesty will not let him. Chieftain Quicksilver, be acquainted with my brother, Gregory Gallowglass. Gregory, this is Quicksilver, chieftain of the bandits of County Laeg."

Gregory showed not the slightest surprise at her profession or rank, but only bowed politely. "I am pleased to meet you, Chieftain."

"And I you." I think, Quicksilver added silently.

He noted that, as he seemed to note everything else about her, and his lips quirked with amusement. "No, you are not, nor is anyone else who meets me—though women even less than men." His brow furrowed. "I cannot understand why that may be."

Quicksilver could have told him—told him of the feelings he aroused in her, of wariness and revulsion, wariness of a man who could be so completely cold, yet seem so innocent. But she was careful to leave the thought unworded, and kept it in her heart even as she raised mental shields to keep it in—though she found herself doubting that any mind-shield could hold against this man, if he did not wish it. Still, she withheld the thought, and was surprised to realize that it was not out of fear of him so much as from fear of hurting him, for he looked so young and vulnerable, and reminded her so of her own younger brother, of whom she still felt violently protective, even though he was much bigger and stronger than she was, now...

She tried to shake off the spell, to pay attention to Geoffrey's words.

"His name means 'sentry,' " Geoffrey was saying helpfully, "or rather, 'watchman.' "

"What difference?" Quicksilver asked, very guarded. "Why," said Gregory, "it is the watchman who sat atop the ziggurats of ancient Mesopotamia, to study the stars, thereby to comprehend always a little more of the universe, and the God who made it, and thereby, perhaps, some notions of humanity's destiny and purpose—and, therefore, how they should live their lives."

"In a word, 'philosopher,' " Geoffrey explained, "which, to Gregory, is the same as 'watchman.' Any official philosopher would disown him, though, for he seeks to know everything there is to know before he draws any conclusions about humanity or its purpose."

"'Tis an impossible task," Quicksilver said, dismayed. "It is," Gregory agreed, "but it is nonetheless vital for that. Indeed, it is the highest praise that one can bestow upon the work, milady, for it ensures that there will always be a cause for striving, always a purpose in life, and never a moment's boredom."

He was an alien creature indeed, and daunting. To defend herself, Quicksilver fastened on the one word he had said that really mattered. "I am not a lady!"

But she wished she hadn't said it, for that keen glance seemed to penetrate right through her again. "Nay, you speak falsely," Gregory said, "for it is clear to any with eyes to see, that no matter what you were born, it is a lady that you have become—and that, through your own goodness and striving."

Quicksilver could only stare at him, speechless. Geoffrey chuckled. "Argue with me if you will," he said, "but never argue with Gregory—for he will not argue, but only explain to you, quite reasonably and calmly, why you are wrong. Worse, he will go on to explain, in far more detail than you wish, what the truth is."

Gregory turned, smiling gently at him. "Come, brother! You wrong me—and praise me overmuch in the same breath."

"Do I so?" Geoffrey countered. "Like Gilbert and Sullivan's King Gama, Gregory, you always tell the truth, whether people want to hear it or not. Therefore do they hold you to be a most disagreeable man!"

" 'And I can't think why,' " Geoffrey quoted, with a smile of amusement. "Ah, well, brother, there is an easy remedy for that." He turned back to Quicksilver. "If you do not wish to hear the answer, do not ask the question."

"I did not," she said quickly. "Nor will I, either!"

The youth's brow furrowed, and he turned to his brother. "Then why did you bring me here?"

"To guard my slumbers," Geoffrey answered. " 'Bare is the back without brother behind it.' "

Gregory stared at him, then gave his head a quick shake and stared again. "Do I hear aright? Geoffrey Gallowglass will spend the night with a beautiful woman, and wishes to be guarded?"

Quicksilver smiled with grim satisfaction. "'Tis even so," Geoffrey said, chagrined.

"'Tis not my charms from which he seeks protection," Quicksilver said, "but his own sword, in my hands."

"Indeed!" Gregory swung back to her. "Then how do you come to be in his company?"

"I am his prisoner," she said grimly. "The King feared to start a war by sending his own soldiers against me and my band, so he sent your brother alone."

"Ah, now I remember hearing of the bandits of County Laeg!" Gregory nodded. "I had wondered why their chieftain had taken the name of an alchemist's element." He turned back to Geoffrey. "Dine, then, and sleep, and I shall guard."

Quicksilver stared. Why hadn't he asked? Did he really know why she had taken the name of the silvery liquid? Even his brother had not heard the true reason! And if Gregory did know, how had he managed to guess it from no more evidence than seeing her?

She decided it would be a good idea to sway Gregory to her side—and certainly it would do no harm to make Geoffrey jealous, perhaps even drive a wedge between the two brothers. Who knew? She might even be able to beguile Gregory so thoroughly that his vigilance lapsed. She knew her own worth as a warrior, after all, but she had known her own power as a woman far longer.

So, during the dinner, she overcame her own revulsion and offered Gregory a bit of roasted partridge. "Come, sir, eat!" She held out a drumstick and fluttered her eyelashes.

"Hm?" Gregory looked up with a start. "Oh. I thank you, maiden, but no. I am fasting this week." And he sank back into his reverie.

"Surely you must partake of something!" She rose to kneel, leaning forward, drumstick held out on both hands as an offering, cleavage fully exposed, smiling her sweetest, head lowered a little so that she might look up through long lashes...

Gregory lifted his head again, and his eyes met hers. She just barely suppressed a shudder; he was looking at her, but not at her—as much through her as though she had not been there. "Nay, thank you, maiden. Too much food would cloud my thoughts." And he was gone again. She stared, astounded. No man had ever dismissed her before, most especially at her most flirtatious. She turned away in a huff to plump down by the campfire again—and looked up to see Geoffrey watching her with amusement. She could have torn his eyes out for that.

"If you can stir his interest from the airy realms of thought to the vital presence of womankind," Geoffrey said softly, "all my family will thank you."

She turned away, face burning.

When Geoffrey had buried the remains of the meal, she had calmed down enough to ask him, "Has he never shown any interest in women, then?"

"Neither in women, nor in any of the things of this world," Geoffrey told her. "Even the monks in the monastery are too much concerned with the toils of daily living to sustain his interest long."

She frowned. "Does he strive for sainthood, then?" Geoffrey shook his head, exasperated and, for the first time since she had known him, totally at a loss. "He pays no more heed to religion than any of us do. He says he solved its puzzle years ago, so it holds his devotion, but no great interest."

"Solved its puzzle?" Quicksilver stared. "God is infinite, and your brother says he has solved His puzzle?"

"Not the puzzle of God," Geoffrey corrected, "but the puzzle of religion. He is most emphatic in that distinction. He says that God is not a riddle, but a mystery, and Gregory refuses to seek to understand that mystery until he has all the facts."

"But one can never have all the facts about God!"

"So Gregory says," Geoffrey agreed. "To him, that is the highest praise that he knows."

Quicksilver turned to stare at the youngest Gallowglass, sitting with legs folded and back straight, gazing off into space. "He loves puzzles and mysteries, but has no interest in women?"

"I cannot comprehend that, either," Geoffrey said, sighing, "but for his part, he says he cannot comprehend my interest in battles."

"Or women," Quicksilver added.

"Oh, I think I may finally have grown past that," Geoffrey said, entirely too casually. "By your leave, Chieftain, I must sleep. I trust you shall, too."

Quicksilver would see him hanged rather than let him have a good night's sleep—perhaps hanged literally, for a groggy Geoffrey might be one it would be possible to beat. She sat up awhile, dressing her hair, carefully sitting right where neither Geoffrey nor Gregory could avoid seeing her. She leaned her head over to brush out her fall of rich auburn, twisting and contorting her body as she did. She didn't see Geoffrey's eyes open, but after a while, he turned over, as though in his sleep. She smiled and rose, going past him to take a ribbon from her pack, then sat down in full view of him again (and, beyond him, of Gregory) and arched her back, reaching up to part her hair, then began to braid it. She smiled with satisfaction when she heard a very faint moan coming from the mound that was the supposedly sleeping Geoffrey, and took pity on him, going back near the campfire to plait her other braid—but doing so fully in the light of the fire, still with her back arched, sitting in profile to Gregory.

She wished she hadn't.

It wasn't that he did anything to offend her, nor even gazed at her lasciviously. That was the trouble—that he did not. He sat there as though he had not even noticed her, gazing off into space.

Finally, exasperated, she rose with a stamp of her feet and marched away, around behind him, and stood with her arms folded and her back to the men. She would not violate her word of honor; she would not signal her bandits to come and bear her away; but she knew that, by her posture and attitude, they would infer that she no longer wished the company of Geoffrey Gallowglass.

Of course, that was anything but true. Still, he was obviously not interested enough. If he were, he would have followed where she led, not the other way around.

Minerva and Jory took the signal, sure enough. In minutes, dark forms bearing steel and staves had surrounded the campfire. Quicksilver looked up to find herself facing Minerva. "Do them no lasting hurt," she breathed.

Minerva turned to look at Gregory with contempt. "A fine sentry is he, to sleep while he wakes!" She looked up at Jory and nodded.

The outlaws moved silently toward the two brothers. Cudgels swung up and smashed down...

And jarred to a halt.

They didn't bounce, as though off an invisible shield; they slowed abruptly, then stuck fast, as though in a mire of tar. Minerva and Jory both pulled back on their weapons, but they would not come. They tugged harder, but both cudgels resisted. Finally, in exasperation and almost in unison, they dropped their sticks and whipped out their swords.

"No!" Quicksilver cried, but too late—the blades were already flashing down...

And sticking. Tight. Not as though in tar, but as though they had chopped into a very hard wood, and would not now come loose again. Minerva and Jory tugged as hard as they could, threw all their weight against their hilts, but they would not come loose.

The bandits muttered with superstitious fear, but they raised their weapons...

"You must not harm them!" Quicksilver hissed. Finally, Gregory looked up from his trance. "Do not fear, maiden. They cannot hurt us."

Total shocked silence fell on the band; even Minerva and Jory froze.

"You have known all along what they did?" In her shock and, yes, fright, Quicksilver almost forgot to whisper.

"I have—though it was not worth breaking my stream of thought. Your own anguish, though, is."

"My anguish? What know you of my anguish?" Then Quicksilver, glad to feel outrage, demanded, "And how can you be sure I am a maiden?"

"Why, it is evident," Gregory told her. "Evident! By what signs?"

Gregory shrugged, with a trace of irritation. "Too many to mention, too numerous to even register consciously. Like will to like. It takes one to know one. What more need you know?"

She stared at him, speechless. So did the rest of her band, men and women alike; they had never heard a male openly and willingly acknowledge the fact that he was a virgin—not unless he was a priest.

"Go back to your camp, now." Gregory turned slowly, taking in the entire band as h%4 spoke. "You shall not prevail, for I shall not sleep, and while I am awake, your weapons shall not strike. I would not have you lose your rest to no purpose."

He was so confoundedly gentle about it! So gentle, and so polite!

"We shall not go without our chief," Minerva said nervously.

Gregory turned to give Quicksilver a searching, and very thorough, look. It made her skin writhe, for there was no admiration in it, nor even interest just a one-second examination to determine her state of existence. "She is not chained, nor do I hold her caged," Gregory said, then to Quicksilver, "What holds you?"

"My word," she said.

Gregory just gazed into her eyes a minute, with that look that seemed to see far more and far less than it should. Then he nodded. "Then you are bound far more tightly than any shackle could hold you. I can do nothing thereby."

"Then we must steal her away!" Minerva insisted. Gregory considered the statement, then shook his head. "Geoffrey would not wish it."

"Oh, would he not!" Minerva said angrily, and aloud. She ignored Quicksilver's frantic shushing motions and stepped up to seize her chief around the waist, to lift up...

Quicksilver stuck fast.

Jory saw and came running to throw his arms about his sister, too, and help pull. A dozen more of the bandits crowded around, male and female both, tugging frantically. Quicksilver bit her lip against a cry of pain.

But Gregory heard her mind and said, not loudly, but with a voice everyone heard right next to his or her own ear, "Desist. You are hurting her."

They dropped Quicksilver as though she were a hot rock and leaped back. "Let her go!" Minerva said angrily. "No," Geoffrey said simply.

Enraged, Minerva spun away, seized a battle-axe from another bodyguard, and swung it down at Gregory's head. "No!" Quicksilver screamed.

"No indeed," Gregory agreed, looking up at the whetted edge that was stuck fast in mid-air eighteen inches from his face. Behind it, Minerva struggled to pull it free, cursing furiously, red in the face.

"We have come back to where we began," Gregory said. "It is fruitless. Go away."

"Fruitless indeed!" Quicksilver snapped at him. "How many men would it take to overcome you? A hundred? A thousand?"

"Too many," Geoffrey said. "They could not all come at him at once, and I would chop them down from behind." Quicksilver whirled. He was leaning up on one elbow, smiling, still under his blankets. He did not even think them enough challenge to get up and draw his sword!

"Oh, there is no fairness in you, in any of you!" Quicksilver raged. "There is no justice, no equity, in fighting a Gallowglass, is there? For even if I should manage to work out a way to settle with one of you, the others would pile in and vanquish me utterly! No, you are unfair, unjust, you with your magic and your thought-hearing and your skill at swords! There is no winning against a Gallowglass, because Fate has endowed you with gifts denied to the rest of us! No opponent has a chance against you, against any of you, for you will all come at us in a gang!"

"It is even so," Gregory said quietly. "There are six of us, and we have you outnumbered."

She spun about, staring in fury—but the look on his face was bland, even serious; if he had mocked her, he seemed unaware of it.

"I have never known him to use sarcasm," Geoffrey said, "nor to boast."

Quicksilver turned her back on Gregory with a shudder. "He is inhuman!"

"Now, that he is not!" Geoffrey was on his feet suddenly, fists clenched. "He is a good man, one of the best, and he has done you no wrong save to keep you from wronging me! Yet you have wronged him, who is the gentlest and best of boys!"

Quicksilver stared at him, amazed at his anger. Then she spun about to Gregory, and saw the signs of hurt in his face. Even as she watched, he smoothed them out, hid them—but now she knew they were there.

Minerva stared, shocked. So did Jory, and all of them. "It is you who have wronged him, Madam!" Geoffrey snapped.

She turned to look at him, and now she knew the tone, knew the look—it was the elder brother defending his little brother, as Leander and Martin had done for her, as she had done for Jory and Nan. Suddenly contrite, she turned back to Gregory—and saw him suddenly not as a heartless, imperturbable monster, but only as Geoffrey's little brother. Her heart broke open; compassion flowed. "Oh, I am so sorry! You have done nothing but aid your brother, nothing but defend yourself against me and mine! Nay, there is nothing inhuman in you, save your strength." That wasn't quite true—she also could have mentioned his apparent lack of a sex drive—but she was able to bite her tongue, for once. And she was repaid, in a sudden beam of gratitude from Gregory that seemed to light up his whole face. It held her transfixed for a moment of sheer surprise.

Then it was gone; he closed his eyes and bowed his head courteously, saying, "I thank you, Chieftain Quicksilver. I spoke aright before; you are all that a lady should be."

For some reason, she felt completely and very oddly flattered.

She turned to her band, waving them away. "Back to your campfires! Away! I cannot thank you enough, good friends, for seeking to free me from a road to the gallows—but I can see it is not to be done this way. No, away, and I thank you with all my heart!"

Unsure and looking askance, they nonetheless began to slip away into the woods, until finally only Minerva and Jory were left. Quicksilver gave Minerva a little nod of assurance, and she went.

"Sister..." Jory pleaded.

"Nay, you must leave me, too, brother," Quicksilver said, low. "Do me the courtesy to believe that I know what is best for me—and that I have enough sense of honor to keep my word, once it is given."

"Why, I shall trust in that fervently," Geoffrey said. Quicksilver felt her heart flutter, but Jory frowned at Geoffrey, puzzled, and Quicksilver wondered, impatiently, if her brother would ever lose his essential naivete. "I am well for now, brother," she said, "and I go to do what I must. I thank you deeply. Good night."

Jory turned to glare at Geoffrey. "If you harm my sister, I shall never rest till I have slain you!"

"You are a man of honor," Geoffrey returned, "and worthy to be a knight."

Jory only glared at him a second longer, then turned on his heel and strode away.

The woods were silent for a minute.

Then Gregory stirred and said, "You should sleep now, both of you. There will be a long ride tomorrow." Quicksilver looked up with a frown. "When will you rest?"

"I do even now," Gregory assured her, "for my vigil gives me as much rest as your slumber. Nay, fair ladygood night."

"He speaks truth." Geoffrey lay down again. "I have seen him stay awake in this fashion every night for a week, and at the end be as well rested as though he had slept the whole sennight." Then, more softly, "I thank you for your compassion, lady."

"I am not a lady!" she snapped.

"Do you still maintain that?" Geoffrey sighed. "Ah, well, then I must suffer it. Good night to you, fairest of the fair."

"And to you, unfair and inequitous," she returned—but she did lie down again. On her own side of the fire. "And I may be a gentlewoman, but I am not a lady!"

Geoffrey sighed again, and called out, "What did Emerson say to it, Gregory?"

" 'What you are, stands over you the while,' " Gregory quoted, " 'and thunders so that I cannot hear what you say to the contrary.' "

Geoffrey nodded, satisfied. "Haunt my dreams, fair one. Good night."

The next morning, Geoffrey took Gregory aside and asked, "What do you make of her, brother?"

Gregory frowned, musing. "To speak objectively..."

"Can you speak in any other way?"

Gregory smiled, almost affectionately. "Well, then, to speak objectively and judiciously, I would say that she is brave, capable, and worthy—but is also gentle and sensitive. Moreover, she is a very beautiful woman with a soul that is so dynamic as to shatter the hardest of hearts."

"Was mine so hard, then?"

"Nay, nor was hers. She can be rash and hot-tempered, aye, but she is also compassionate and tender."

"With all my hopes, perhaps," Geoffrey said softly. "All indeed." Gregory nerved himself up to speak plainly to his older brother, since that was the only sort of talk he really understood. "Clearly and to the point, then, brother—I would say she is the finest woman of our generation that I have ever met."

"Of our generation?" Geoffrey smiled. "And who is the best woman of any, pray?"

"Why, our mother, of course." Gregory smiled, eyes twinkling. "And I am sure that someone once told Father what I now tell you—you are already ensnared."

"That much, I know."

"Then if you do not bind her to you while you can, you will live to regret it, and curse the fact that you do." Geoffrey nodded, his gaze locked on Gregory's. "You advise me to hold fast to her, then."

"Aye, and let no one take her from you."

"Including the Crown's justice?" Geoffrey frowned. "What should I do, then? Turn bandit?"

"You are seriously considering that, are you not?" Gregory gave him a penetrating glance that made even Geoffrey brace himself—but it faded into musing, and Gregory said slowly, "It would be much better if you could shield her from the Queen's justice, and turn her to the King's service."

Geoffrey smiled. "One might say that you have it the wrong way around."

"One might," Gregory agreed, "if they did not know Queen Catharine and King Tuan."