But his fellows were wading out of the sudden slough and lumbering into action again, howling for blood and swinging their weapons.
Gregory needed maximum effect with minimum damage. He thought again of excited molecules, of flames sudden and huge, and a line of fire exploded all along the bandits' line. They skidded to a halt with screams of terror. Then the flames shot up into manlike forms, towering over them, reaching down with hands that shed sparks while thunder boomed overhead and lightning stabbed again and again, first in front of one bandit, then another and another.
One bandit gave a wail of terror and turned tail. The others saw him and followed. In seconds the whole band was running, fleeing back into the woods.
For good measure, Gregory made the firemen stalk after them, reaching out hands of flame with streams of small fireballs shooting from their fingertips.
Squalling and clapping a hand over a posterior burn, the last of the bandits disappeared among the trees. Gregory let the firemen snuff out and stood staring after the bandits, feeling a fierce elation, the first real thrill of victory in his life. It made him feel huge, swollen, superhuman. He stood still, letting the intoxication fill him, letting his lips spread into a huge grin, waiting until the feeling crested and began to ebb. Then, when he was sure he could control himself again, he turned back to Peregrine and was shocked to find her shrinking away from him, eyes wide with terror, hand to her mouth as though stifling a scream.
For a moment, Gregory was totally confused. She knew he had been protecting her. Why, then, should she fear him?
Because thunder, lightning, and fire are frightening whether they protect you or pursue you, of course. Gregory realized he had to reassure her, and quickly. He smiled gently, forcing the aura of triumph to drain away. "The danger is past, damsel. Fear not."
Peregrine was frightened indeed, for the Finister she really was knew that the "bandits" were her own agents and had been ordered to give Gregory just enough of a fight to make him feel manly and protective before they turned tail and ran. She had only expected to boost his testosterone level to the point at which he would be instantly vulnerable to her erotic projections; she had never suspected that this seeming milksop would really be capable of putting up a fight, let alone display the capacity for utter mayhem that his fireworks had shown.
Gregory spread his arms, hands open, as though to demonstrate his vulnerability. "They are gone, they are fled like the cowards such bullyboys are. They shall not trouble you again, for they will fear the shield I have shown them."
Of course—his shield. Gregory's form of "fighting" wasn't actually aggressive, just a show of strength meant to scare off the bandits—which it had done all too genuinely. Small wonder that it had terrified Finister, too. She had known the Gallowglasses were broadband psis, that in them the rules of sex-linked powers seemed to have been waived, but she had never dreamed that Gregory could be a pyrotic, a fire-maker, as well as a telekinetic.
"You are free," Gregory said. "You may go where you will."
Once again he looked as inoffensive as a doormouse, and if the battle had whipped up passion in him, he showed no sign of it. Finister felt the sharp bite of angry frustration again but fought it down, remembering the purpose of this whole charade—to come close to Gregory with his defenses lowered.
"Go?" she stammered. "Go where? I cannot go back to my village now, and if I wander away into the forest, I shall most surely be set upon—perhaps not by these bandits, but by ones every bit as bad! Would you condemn me to loneliness and abuse, sir?"
"Certainly not!" Gregory said, shocked. "Come, I shall escort you to a safe haven."
"Come I shall." Peregrine stepped forward, only inches from him. "The only haven I wish is here, in your arms. Oh, sir, how may I thank you for such gallant rescue?"
Still he stood with his arms outspread like a scarecrow, face foolish with surprise. "Why, by finding a village where you may live your life in peace!"
She needed to push harder. Peregrine began to tremble; tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, when I think what those men might have done—what other woods runners will surely do if they can! Alas, that I was born a woman and weak, prey to every whim of brutal men!" The trembling grew into shivering.
By reflex, Gregory's arms closed around her, gathering her head to his shoulder. "There now, you should not weep! There is no need, damsel, believe me, for though the world may seem harsh now and then, there are more good people than bad in it, and you shall find that your life grows wonderful again."
"How, if no man will have me?" Peregrine wailed, burrowing her head into his shoulder—and pressing her body against his. "None will wish to wed a damsel debauched! All will turn in disgust from the bandits' leavings!"
"It is you who have spurned them, not them you." Gregory stroked her back, voice a murmur. "Let them out, the fear and the horror—let them out, I say, let them be gone, and let the hardness they have given your body go with them. Let the tenseness be gone from your arms and back, for there is no longer a need to brace yourself against a cruel fate."
As he said this, Peregrine let herself relax even more, letting her body soften and meld to his—and felt all of him tense in response. She let sobs join her tears, and wept softly but audibly.
Dazed, Gregory stroked her and kept up the flow of soothing murmurs, amazed at the feel of a woman's body against his, mind swimming in a hormonal haze, astounded that a woman could cling to him seeking strength and that he should actually feel he had such strength to give. Confused but delighted, he revelled in sensation, and when her face turned up to his, when the lovely eyes fluttered closed as the moist rosebud lips parted, to brush them with his own was so natural that he did not even think of anything else—and as those lips trembled, then melted under his, they became all there was in the world, and as the kiss deepened, his whole existence became the sweetness of her mouth and the unbelievable thrill of the touch of lip and tongue and teeth. His telepath's nature took over and his mind opened even as his heart and his mouth had, sensing the wealth of emotion in her, the boiling confusion of fear and relief and desire, a tidal wave that swamped him.
Then the sun exploded in his mind and there was no sensation but its heat and its searing light. He clung to the woman in his arms, terrified for her, horrified that the explosion might hurt her.
The afterimage faded from his mind and he felt her in his arms again but not her mouth against his. Wind cooled his cheek, and finally sight returned. But fear paralyzed him, for the woman in his arms was limp, her eyes closed, her mind empty, and she was not Peregrine or Moraga but a stranger, a flaxen-haired beauty with an unbelievably voluptuous figure. Grief overwhelmed Gregory as he realized what had happened. It was Finister he held, as he had known in the back of his mind—Finister in her true form, for when he was lost in her kiss and his mind was wide open to her, she had gathered all her strength to hit him with a mind bolt, one with enough power to have burned out his brain. But the automatic defense system he had constructed had come into play, reflecting the bolt back into her own mind and serving her as she would have served him.