Until the first, vaguest tendril of his mind touched hers. Frightened at the surge of desire that surpassed even that of her body, she leaped back, crying, "Nay, sir! Never! Whiles I am your prisoner, no!"
"Never seek to tell me you do not desire me as hotly as I desire you," he said softly.
"Oh, do not torment me so!" she cried in anguish, clenching her fists. "My body betrays my mind and my heart, and never seek to tell me that it does not, for you have no right to know what you have seen!"
"Why, then, I am blind," Geoffrey murmured, "but even blinded, I would know you long for me as I long for you. It is there in the heat of your touch, in the flash of your eyes, in the sweetness of your lips..."
"They are none of them yours to know! None of them! Nay, stand off from me, sir! Stand off, and lie down if you must, but lie down far from me, and let the flames blaze high between!"
He stood looking at her, and for a moment, the forlorn aching was so clear in his face that she nearly cried out, nearly went to him, nearly relented—but then, thank Heaven, he composed his features, hiding his longing, and gave her a rueful smile that felt like a benison, and a fall of cool water in the heat of the desert. "Why, then I shall lie far from you," he said, "for I shall not lie to you though I need tell you no fuller a truth than you tell to me."
She stared at him a moment, not understanding.
Then she did, and indignation came to her rescue, a trace of anger threading through to break the shackles of desire and free her to defy him again. She lifted her chin and gave him her proudest, most disdainful look.
"Know only this," he said, his voice a caress, "that my mind and heart are completely in accord with my body."
"So," she said, with full hauteur, "are mine."
"I do not believe you," he whispered.
"What, has a woman no right to a lie?" she blazed. "Nay, sir, sleep you on your own side of the fire!"
"What, with only hot coals to withold me?" Geoffrey said, his gaze smouldering into her eyes. "You would do better to bid me lay my sword between us, milady, for I am sworn to honor that."
"I am not your lady!" she raged. "And I will have you sleep on the other side of a wall of flame, or I will have your head! Nay, if you sleep too deep, I will have your head anyway—for I may have yielded me by my vow, but if you seek to keep me so, you must never be sure of me!"
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."