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.