"Indeed." Allouette turned to glare at him, angered by the feeling of truth the statement raised in her. "What else did she say?"
"That since you accompanied me in finding my Site of Power, it is only right that I accompany you on your quest to discover your true nature."
"True nature? I know my true nature! I am a slut and murderess!"
"That is what people have made you, not the essence of yourself. Already you begin to seek ways to make reparations for your past conduct so that you may forgive yourself."
"Reparations?" Allouette gave him a thin and bitter smile. "So you are to help me find a punishment drastic enough to satisfy even myself, is that it?"
"Perhaps," Gregory allowed. "I do not think we shall know your nature until we have found it."
"Yet you claim to know it already!"
"Of course." Gregory beamed upon her. "You are sweetness and tenderness, intelligence and quickness of wit, tenacity and diligence."
Allouette felt her face growing hot again and turned away quickly. "You are mistaken, sir."
"Let us see." Gregory glanced at the horses; their reins untied themselves from the tree limbs to which they'd been bound. The two beasts looked up, then came plodding over to them. "Mount," Gregory invited, "and seek. Find your true nature and prove me wrong."
"A dare?" Allouette's eyes kindled; she was much more at home with competition. She stepped up to her palfrey, but Gregory caught her around the waist and lifted her up. She lost her smile and settled in the saddle rather indignantly, though she was surprised all over again by his strength. "I shall mount by myself in future, sir, if you do not mind!"
"If it pleases you, I shall refrain," Gregory said in mock penitence. He mounted and turned his horse's head toward the forest trail. "Where shall we travel?"
"Must you not still take me to Runnymede?"
"Aye, but there are many roads that lead there, and some are longer than others. Which would you choose?"
Allouette eyed him narrowly and said, "That depends on our goal. What do you think we seek?"
Gregory shrugged. "Perhaps you will discover that you wish to spend the rest of your life trying to aid the poor and the relatives of your victims." She bridled, and he added hastily, "Other than my family. Perhaps you will find some greater work that will benefit everyone indirectly, such as a cure for poverty or war."
"You develop fantasies, sir!"
"Of such dreams are better worlds made." Gregory shrugged. "Or perhaps your penance will take some form that I cannot imagine, but that you can and will."
"Then we go we know not where, to seek we know not what," Allouette interpreted.
"Why, just so." Gregory flashed her a grin. "This much I know, however—that once you have set yourself upon this quest, you shall not stop until you have found what you seek."
"If it exists."
"Even if it does not."
"You have more faith in me than I have, sir," she said darkly.
"I have indeed," Gregory agreed. "Shall we ride?" Not waiting for an answer, he thumped his heels against his horse's sides and guided it down the forest trail.
Allouette watched him go, resenting his confidence, resenting his belief in her. But when all was said and done, where else had she to go? Searching her heart, she found she had purged it completely of any desire to follow the path set for her by her foster parents and their organization. With a sigh, she shook the reins and told her horse to follow Gregory's.
As they rode away from the pale wall he had been building, Gregory glanced at Allouette with concern; she was very subdued, and he wondered at her brooding, hoping that she would be able to absorb and cope with all the new information she had gained. For a moment, he wished that the old seductive Finister would reappear. He realized, though, that the image was only that, an image, deliberately fashioned and the result of methodical exploitation, so he retreated into his old reserve, becoming again the soul of politeness.
They pitched camp at sunset. Gregory brewed a stew of salt beef and roots; Allouette asked how he knew which to choose, and he showed her. He was tempted to caution her about the ones that were poisonous but had second thoughts. Then he had third thoughts—if she still could not be trusted, he preferred to know it at once. Besides, he honestly believed she had really put all that behind her. He told her which plants were unhealthy or inedible as he seasoned the stew with wild herbs and parsley.
"This is women's knowledge," Allouette said as they ate, "or monks' knowledge. How came you to learn it?"
"I have a hunger to learn everything I can." Gregory smiled. "You are scarcely the first to tell me that I think like a monk."
"Why do you seek it?" Allouette demanded. "Riches? Power?"
"Simply for the joy of learning," Gregory answered. "If there is a use for the knowledge, I will discover that someday, too. All I really care about, though, is the learning."
Allouette studied him for a few minutes, chewing, then swallowed and delivered her verdict. "If that is so, you are a fool."
"It is not the first time I have been told that, either," Gregory said wryly.
Allouette made no apologies but was silent for the rest of the meal, and very thoughtful.
When she was done, she joined him in scouring their bowls and spoons, then said, "I am most amazingly wearied."
"Scarcely amazing," Gregory said. "You may have slept a night and a day, but that sleep was filled with a year's effort."
Allouette blinked in surprise. "That long?" Then, quickly, "Also, my head throbs with an ache. I shall lay me down to sleep, an it please you."
"Do so, of course," Gregory said. "I shall keep watch."
As usual, Allouette thought, but did not say it. He was perfectly understanding, which irritated her, but she knew that resentment was irrational and lay down on her bed of bracken. She had been lying about the headache, but she had been quite truthful about exhaustion and felt her eyes closing almost of their own accord. At the last second, though, she saw Gregory settling into his trance, sitting cross-legged, hands on his knees, gazing off into the forest, seeing more of his inner landscape than the outer. Resentment sparked again and she determined to learn how he did it.
But not now. Now all she cared was that the warm darkness beckoned, and for a few hours at least, she did not have to worry about the cares and struggles of life.
He still sat unmoving when the birds woke her. Somehow that bothered her. She stretched, stretched her whole body as sensuously as possible, but he reacted no more than any wood. She considered trying to wake him from his trance by tickles and husky words, then realized why the thought had come—she was still convinced that only sexuality could gain a man's attention. She scolded herself—she did not really need attention, and certainly not the kind that her well-practiced allure would bring. Still, she found Gregory's meditation insulting, for he seemed to ignore her.
A dilemma, and a pretty one. She wished his attention, but not as the result of her erotic projection. How could she achieve it?
Fight fire with fire, of course. If he would ignore her, she would ignore him—but for just as good a reason. She decided that she should study his form of meditation. Besides, sharing his trance might win his attention when nothing else did.
Ridiculous! she told herself. How can he pay attention to you when that trance ignores the whole world?
Still, it was an idea worth developing. She set about fanning the coals and setting the kettle over the fire to boil.
These signs of morning and waking cued Gregory to rouse from his trance when her self-display had not; he began to stir, a turn of the wrist here, a deeper breath there, then rose slowly, stretching and inhaling the aroma of the morning. Then he looked down at Allouette with a smile. "Good morrow."
"Good day," she returned. "You must teach me how to do that."