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."
CHAPTER 13
They hadn't been riding for more than half an hour before an elf popped up on a low-hanging branch in front of them. "Warlock's sons!"
Geoffrey reined in. "Hail, Wee One."
The elf dropped down onto Fess's head. He froze, round-eyed, then sprang back up onto the branch. "Faugh! Cold Iron!"
Quicksilver swung about to stare.
"I am not." Geoffrey held up an arm.
"Nor I," Quicksilver said quickly. She held up an arm, too. "Speak to me, Old Thing!"
The elf glanced at her, then smiled and sprang down onto her horse's head. The mare went rigid, but before she could bolt or rear, the elf started murmuring soothing words in some forgotten language—forgotten by humans, at least, but the horse seemed to understand it well enough. She swivelled an ear toward the elf, listening, then began to relax. He stroked her head with a diminutive hand, coaxing, soothing, and she settled placidly. Quicksilver stared. "You are magical."
The elf smiled. "We have ever had sway over dumb beasts."
Quicksilver smiled, too. "Is that why Sir Geoffrey hearkens to you?"
Geoffrey looked up in mock indignation. "Here, now! Who but lately feared the Wee Folk?"
"Only because I had rarely seen them," Quicksilver said complacently, "and never closely, nor to speak with."
"But seen them you had." Geoffrey turned, frowning. "How is it you did not tell me that the bandit chieftain was a woman, back in Runnymede, Wee One?"
"It did not signify." The elf shrugged. "Male or female, what matter? She was their chief."
"I assure you, it mattered to me," Geoffrey said drily. "How is it you now choose to ride with her, then?"
"Walk," the elf told the mare; then, as they began to move again, he told Geoffrey, "She is prettier than thou art."
Quicksilver smothered a giggle.
Geoffey tried to look injured. "If you have no kinder words than that, you had better state your business, and quickly."
"Mortal folk are so impatient," the elf sighed. "Well, then, brusque one, know that a witch hath lately begun to use her magic to gain power over the peasants of her parish. She hath affrighted the Count of the district, and doth even now raise forces to go up against the shire-reeve."
"Why, even as I did!" Quicksilver turned to frown at Geoffrey. "Do not expect me to aid you in this!"
"I think thou wilt," the elf countered, "for she doth not use her power for the people's good, but rather for their oppression. They mocked and spurned her for many years, seest thou, and she doth seek revenge."
Quicksilver sat up straight in surprise, then frowned. "Perhaps..."
"How now, brother?" Gregory asked. "Do you make a habit of setting such matters to rights?"
Quicksilver turned to stare. How was it that Geoffrey's own brother did not know? Could he really be that indifferent to what went on about him?
"I am a knight-errant out of idealism and boredom," Geoffrey told him. "Surely, Wee One. I shall undertake to show this witch the error of her ways. But you did say she gathers forces? A band of warriors?"
"Aye—first a bodyguard, but it has grown so numerous that it verges upon becoming an army."
Geoffrey frowned. "How is it you Elven Folk have not simply put this witch to sleep? Or..."
Gregory coughed discreetly into his fist.
Geoffrey glanced at Quicksilver and finished, "... or otherwise dealt with her according to your own taste and fashion?"