Quicksilver's Knight

CHAPTER 15

There was no real courtyard in so subterranean a place, of course—but Quicksilver was amazed to discover that they came out of the entrance tunnel into a wide open area, large enough to assemble a whole army (as it no doubt had, many times). It was filled with light from the lower two rows of arrow-slits, even though archers stood near every tenth one.

Quicksilver dismounted and let a groom take her horse as she looked about, awed by the cathedral-like grandeur of the place. It was the largest building she had ever seen, and in spite of the bustle and clamor of a working castle, gave an air of great serenity. So this was the ancestral home of the current King of Gramarye! It explained the good repute of his reign.

She shook herself. No, that was ridiculous! It was Queen Catharine who had inherited the throne, not her husband. If there was any truth to the tales of their good government, surely it was her doing, not his!

"My lady."

Quicksilver spun about, words of denial on her tongue—but they froze there, for Geoffrey took her hand and bent over it, then looked up into her eyes with admiration (yes, but admiration was not love—was it?). "I must leave you now, for a short while," he said. "I have sent word to the new Duke, and he will receive us in two hours' time—in full court. You may wish to take the chance to wash off the dust of the road, perhaps to rest a little—and if you wish fresh garb, it shall be provided."

Full court! Quicksilver most definitely did want fresh garb, and something a bit more elegant than her daily battle-dress.

But had Geoffrey been hinting that she was too crude for the eyes of a royal prince?

Quicksilver remembered his sudden fascination with Moraga, who was behind him, gaily chatting up his little brother. Quicksilver drew her chill chieftain's mask over her features. "I thank you, Sir Knight." Then anxiety broke through, lending her words a sharper edge than she intended. "And what of you? Will you desert me, now that you have delivered me up to justice?"

"I shall be at the court," Geoffrey promised. "Aye, to see me condemned!"

"I can give no assurance how the Duke will decide," Geoffrey admitted. "However, I may hazard a guess that Queen Catharine's son will favor a bandit who has shown concern for the common folk, and has magic to boot."

"Not magic enough to captivate you!"

"Oh, that you have," Geoffrey said softly, "but chivalry is stronger than love, for love is self-indulgence. Never fear—you shall be treated as befits a royal guest."

"Aye, though I am still a prisoner!" And she stalked away, feeling very thoroughly betrayed.

A serving-maid led her to a chamber with two of the arrow-slits that had looked so small from outside, but here were five feet high and eighteen inches wide, flooding the room with sunlight. A copper tub filled with steaming water stood in a corner on bare flagstones; the rest of the floor was covered by two carpets. Quicksilver stared at them in wonder—she had only seen a carpet in Sir Hempen's manor house, and in the Count's bedchamber; she had never thought to dwell in a room that had even one. A tapestry adorned the wall, with a splendid picture of a gorgeous bird rising up out of flames, and a great four-poster bed.

That sight chilled Quicksilver. Who was planning to share that bed with her?

No one, for if any tried, he would die, or she would! "Thank you!" she said to the maid. "Leave me, now!"

"Why, as you wish, my lady... "

"I am no lady, but only the daughter of a squire!" The girl recoiled, and Quicksilver instantly regretted her temper—but the maid said stoutly, "The Duke has bade me address you as 'my lady,' so I shall! There is a gown laid out for you on the bed, my lady, and others in the wardrobe, if that one does not strike your fancy." Quicksilver darted a quick look at the bed, then looked again. Her eyes widened. "Oh, that will do, and most wondrously! I thank you, lass!"

"'Tis but my duty," the girl said, somewhat reassured. "Shall I return in the half of an hour to dress your hair, my lady?"

Quicksilver turned to glance at the sheet of polished steel that hung on the wall. (A mirror! An actual mirror!) She fluffed her hair thoughtfully, arranging it around her shoulders, and delivered her verdict. "No. I shall wear it as I always have, and he who has not the sense to see its beauty, so much the worse for him!"

"Why, as you say, my lady," the maid said, round-eyed. "But I shall come back in an hour with some food to break your fast, then to lead you to the Great Hall."

"I shall be glad of it," Quicksilver said unwillingly, and knew she would be very glad indeed of some company, any company, when that time came. "Now leave me."

"As you wish." The maid curtsied and went out the door.

Quicksilver sprang to bolt it, then turned slowly back to dabble her fingers in the heated water, marvelling. Delicious perfume filled her nostrils—the bath was scented! Never had she bathed in heated water before—and with perfume! With sudden decision, she banished apprehension and slipped out of her clothes. Let condemnation and execution be hanged—she would revel in life while she had it! She stepped into the water, shivering with delight, then lowered herself slowly in, closing her eyes to treasure the caress of the warm, oiled foam all about her, leaned her head back against the copper, and breathed in the heavenly scent.

Bathed, her hair clean and dried, she sighed with regret and took up the weary burden of clothing again. Her gaze fell on the beautiful dress laid out on the bed, and she smiled with sardonic amusement, reflecting that she might as well take the chance to wear so beautiful a gown, for she might never have the opportunity again.

If she lived long enough for the question to arise ... "What did you expect?" she asked herself angrily, "He is a lord's son, after all, and you merely the daughter of a dead squire!" But the obvious sense of it didn't make her bitterness any less, and the thought of his betrayal was still an icicle. through her heart. She had seen mere lust so often! How could she have mistaken it for love? How could she have been willing to risk her life on the hope that he might love her, might save her from both outlawry and the noose, might want to marry her?

There, the word was said, she had taken it out and looked at it—and didn't it look ridiculous! For a moment, anger flamed up in her, anger at the cruel God who could withold the right man from her, then show him to her only to yank him away, leaving her with a rope about her neck. He, only he, had been a man she could truly admire, could truly feel a soul's bond with, could...

Love...

And he might as well never have been born, for all the good he did her!

There is another, somewhere, something within her said, one who will love you, who will be of your own station, who will marry you. But she squashed the thought instantly and with every ounce of the huge weight of misery, anger, and bitterness that was in her, for when she tried to look at the whole affair with a clear head and the veil of romance ripped from her eyes, she doubted heavily that there could ever be another man like Geoffrey Gallowglass.

She turned back to the garments with resolute defiance. While she lived, she would. live to the fullest, and let him beware who sought to hinder her! She thrust the thought of Geoffrey's treachery from her with a grim determination to enjoy every second that was left to her, and pulled on the shift, revelling in the touch of silk, then took up the gown. The velvet stroked her arms. and legs as she pulled it on, and she found herself delighting in the gorgeous dress as much as she had in the bath. She turned to look into the mirror and froze, staring in astonishment. A lady looked back at her, a lady born and bred, tall and elegant, with a cloud of glorious auburn hair restrained by a simple brazen band, in a gown of green and gold that enhanced her figure amazingly. She smiled, caressing the fabric and feeling much more confident. Let Moraga grow as beautiful as she might—Quicksilver knew that she herself was more than a match for her rival!

But she knew that it was not Geoffrey alone for whom she must be a match. She turned to the wardrobe and searched. Luck was with her; she found a pair of hose left from some previous male tenant—a child, at a guess, for they fit her snugly enough. Then she tested the seam about the waist of her dress, making sure that the skirt would rip away easily. If the Duke's decision was to hang her (as it probably would be), she intended to die fighting instead. Her sword had been taken from her, true, but she was quite sure she would be able to snatch a weapon from a guard.

A sudden, faint tug at her mind alerted her; Geoffrey was near. She told herself that she did not care, then cursed herself for a liar. Oh, if only she truly did not care! Then she would...

She stiffened, sensing another mind's touch, one with the caress of allure, calling, inviting—to Geoffrey! Moraga! The hussy was trying to steal her man! Never mind that she already had, well enough to wake Quicksilver from her folly—she was bound and determined that the shrew would not have him! All her hurt boiled up into anger, and she burst out of her room.

The guards at either side of the doorway looked up, startled, then gave a shout and leaped to stop her. She whirled about, lashing a vicious kick into the shin of the first man, then snatching his pike from his hand as he opened his mouth to shout. She swung the butt up at his partner's face as the man came running. He jerked to a halt and swung his halberd up to block—and she swivelled her weapon down to jab him in the stomach. As he doubled over, she spun back just a little too late, for the first guard had limped close enough to catch her arm, blood in his eye, and his fingers dug deep, sending a shoot of pain up her arm. She clenched her teeth, stamped on his foot, and, as his mouth opened in agony, clipped him in the chin with the butt of the pike. As he fell away, she pivoted back to his partner, but the man was rolling on the ground, struggling for breath. Quicksilver curled her lip and stalked away, reflecting that no matter what they had been told, the fools had never expected a woman to fight back. It had made them easy meat—but they were not to her taste...

She went after the hunk of beef that was.

They stood on a stairway landing in a pool of light colored by stained glass, one of the very few real windows, chatting with animation and every sign of pleasure, which cut Quicksilver to the quick.

"But I shall be tried!" Moraga insisted. "You cannot deny that!"

"Well, you have broken the law," Geoffrey admitted, "so at the least, the Duke shall have to give you a hearing."

"Hearing? You mean he will listen?" Moraga had tears in her eyes.

"To be sure, he will listen!" Geoffrey moved closer, hand reaching up for Moraga, to give comfort. Moraga turned into the curve of his arm, and Quicksilver saw, with shock, that the woman had somehow become quite lovely. Perhaps it was the visitor's gown that had been supplied by the Duke, even as her own had—but this one clung to a figure suddenly revealed as voluptuous, and the pudgy face had somehow thinned, becoming firm-cheeked, small chinned, heart-shaped, and with large eyes framed by a rich black mane. Her lashes were long and full, her lips even fuller, and very red. Quicksilver halted for a moment, stunned by the metamorphosis. Surely pretty clothes and a decent hairstyle could not achieve that much of a transformation!

Then anger surged as she realized just how deep Moraga's deception must have reached, and she lanced a quick, feather-light probe into the witch's mind. She read a brief flash of thought—the determination of a beautiful woman to gain Geoffrey's trust by appearing plain, then once she was close to him, making herself more and more attractive, stimulating his interest as much by touches of thought as by beauty—a telepathic temptress!

Then the thought closed off abruptly as Moraga spun about with a gasp of surprise that quickly transmuted to outrage.

There was more there, but Quicksilver had not had time to read it—nor did she truly care. All she really needed to know was that a scheming female had deliberately stolen her man from her, probably the only male ever born who would have been man enough for Quicksilver, and she swooped like a hawk on a snake.

What Moraga saw was an avenging Fury in a fine gown of velvet and brocade, with a tall pike in hand. She may be excused if she shrank in fright. She may be, but she did not. She fixed Quicksilver with an acid glare, and the bandit chieftain felt a sudden stab of pain in her head. "You would, would you, witch?" she cried, and stabbed back with a mental lance of her own, hafted with hurt of treachery and barbed with all the rage of that injury. Moraga cried out and shrank away, hands pressed to her head, then suddenly lunged at Quicksilver, hand cracking across her cheek. The pain startled her just enough for her mental guard to drop, and suddenly she saw not Moraga, but a fiery demon, and instead of Geoffrey, a venomous snake. The little girl within her cried out in fear and burrowed deeper—but the grown woman erupted in a fury she had never known. "You would cast illusions, would you, witch? Then let us see your true nature, that we all may know!" And with the strength of all her anger and frustration and bitterness, she ripped aside the mental veil of illusion and showed the woman as she truly was.

She was even more beautiful than Moraga, and just as voluptuous. Golden hair cascaded down around her shoulders; a face of elfin beauty stared in outrage from two huge blue eyes. The waist was tiny, the bones delicate, the figure superb...

Then it was gone, and in sheer self-defense, Quicksilver cried, "Why, how is this? I tear away one illusion only to reveal another! Is there no truth in you?"

"Yes, and it is this!" Moraga stabbed a finger at her, and pain exploded behind Quicksilver's eyes. She sank to her knees, dropping the pike and clutching her head with a cry of agony...

"Enough!" said Geoffrey's voice, and the pain was gone.

Quicksilver looked up incredulously and saw Moraga red-faced and straining, fists clenched, standing apart from Geoffrey, eyes squeezed shut as she fought to lash out at Quicksilver again.

The bandit chieftain scrambled to her feet. "Loose her! I shall deal with her myself!"

"No," said Geoffrey, "for I wish no blood spilled on your way to trial—either of you!" He turned to glare at Moraga. "Do you wish to be hanged for a new crime, when you might be found guiltless of the old?"

Moraga stilled, stood frozen a moment, then gave Geoffrey a stunning smile. "Why, you are right, as always. I thank you for saving me again! But if you will excuse me now, I shall go, for I must repair the ravages this wanton has wrought!"

"Wanton!" Quicksilver cried in indignation, but Moraga only brushed past her with a quick, venomous smile and went on up the stairs. Quicksilver turned to follow, but Geoffrey's hand restrained her, ever so lightly on her forearm. "Nay, sweet lady. Stay, and do not pursue a fight not worthy of you."

Quicksilver turned on him, anger at Moraga transmuting instantly to anger at Geoffrey's perfidy. "And you, sir! Will you gaze longingly at me, then turn to cozen any other pretty maid who happens by? Is there no faith in you?"

"There is." His eyes were glowing into hers again. "Pardon me if I took pity on a stray, or if I did let myself enjoy her conversation and her presence. I assure you, 'twas nothing of any depth, for I knew her for what she was."

"Oh, did you indeed!" Quicksilver spat. "Then you may know it alone, for you surely know not truth when you see it!" Even that did not assuage her outrage, though, so she went on. "You need not look so smug, sir! That witch meant to entrap you if she could and, if she could not, to geld you, in your mind if not your body!"

"I do not doubt it for a second;" Geoffrey assured her. "Indeed, I saw it in her mind as you fought. I must thank you, lady, for my life." And he stepped forward to take her hand and kiss it.

Quicksilver stood frozen in shock; then, before her emotions could betray her, she snapped, "Aye, you will thank me for your escape—but you will not lift a hand to ensure mine!" And she spun on her heel and stalked away, back to her chamber where the two guards were just now reviving. She tossed the halberd back down between them with contempt. "Here—not that it will do you any good!" And she swept on into her chamber, leaving them to gawk at her, stupified.

One look in the mirror was nearly enough to reduce her to tears. Her hair was dishevelled, her face red with exertion and alarm. Fortunately, her gown did not seem to have suffered at all—and there was a box of rice powder close at hand. She washed her face, dried it, and powdered, then rearranged her hair, scolding herself all the while for having bothered to go to Geoffrey's defense, when he had only been about to get what he richly deserved.

Still, she found herself wondering why that kiss on the hand had so nearly enfeebled her.

Fool! she told herself, put down the powder puff, and surveyed her reflection critically, then turned and looked back over her shoulder to check the rear view. Satisfied, she allowed herself a single, gloating smile—he might sell her out to her enemies, but one look at her, and he would regret it sorely.

She threw the door open and announced to the guards, "I am ready!"

"Most timely, milady!" the maid said, wide-eyed. "I was just now coming to lead you. A body would think you had heard my thoughts!"

"Who knows but that I did?" Quicksilver said airily. "Lead on!"

The maid turned away, and Quicksilver swept after her, with a single haughty look over her shoulder at the guards.

To the stairway they marched—but as they came to it, a middle-aged man and woman joined them. "Hold," Quicksilver said to the maid. "Age goes first."

"Scarcely aged," the lady said, amused, "but I thank thee, damsel." She was round-faced, with a gentle smile and lively eyes. Her red hair was bound up with pins, as much silver as flame, and her husband was even more gray, but still had a full head of hair. He was hawk-faced and craggy, but seemed to look kindly upon the bandit girl—for a girl she suddenly felt to be again; he was so like her father! Not in his looks, no, but in that clear aspect of the warrior, mellowed and blended with the spouse and parent. "You are a knight," she heard herself saying, "and a father."

He gave her a little bow. "I am honored by both titles, my lady, but more by the second. Thank you."

"Do you come to the Court?" asked the motherly woman.

"Aye, whether I will or no!" Quicksilver gave them a hard smile. "Know that I am a prisoner of Sir Geoffrey Gallowglass, and that he is about to see me hanged for my crimes."

"Surely a knight would not so abuse a sweet damsel!"

"I have known more knights who gave abuse than succor," she said—but the lady reached out to touch her arm with a look of such sympathy that suddenly, Quicksilver could no longer hold back the tears. They burst forth, and the lady wasted only one quick look of surprise before gathering the girl into her arms. "There, now, love, let the tears fall, for thou'lt be much better able to face the Duke, if their weight is spent from thee ... there, now, there." She murmured more inanities until Quicksilver's tears slackened, and she managed to push herself away from the comforting bosom. "No! No, I thank you, milady, but I must not ... I have ruined your dress..."

"'Tis only linen, and the tears will dry." The old dear smiled with amusement again, and touched Quicksilver's cheeks with a handkerchief. "There, now, dry your eyes, and tell us the manner of it as we walk."

She did—she had absolutely no reason to trust these people, except that they seemed so kind, so understanding. Besides, what matter if they betrayed her? She was done already.

"So Sir Geoffrey has betrayed thee, then?" the woman asked, beginning to look a bit severe.

"Oh, he has given me no promise," Quicksilver said, "nor asked even as many favors as I would wish, curse him! Yet I thought I saw a promise in his eyes, felt a pledge from his lips ... No! It was my own foolishness, nothing more!"

"Perhaps not," the woman said gently. "It may be that he meant more than he said; there are men who do."

"I doubt that he is one of them," Quicksilver said, with irony. "Strong he may be, but silent he is not."

"Trust him a little longer," the woman coaxed. "He may not have forsaken thee quite." She looked up at her man. "Husband, what sayest thou?"

"Only that if he lets such a gem as you slip away from him, he's a fool," the man said.

"You know not what I have done!"

"I don't think it would make much difference," he said firmly. "I know a good heart when I see one. But tell me this, maiden—would you want him so much, if he did ask for your hand?"

"Oh, yes!" she breathed, and felt the fluttering within her. "It is unkind of you to make me reveal so much of my heart, sir." She could feel the tears again.

"Yes, I'm afraid I've always been unkind in my blindness," he agreed. "But do think carefully before you answer, maiden—you might not want to be bound to so restless a wanderer as he."

It conjured up a sudden vision that made her tremble, and she said softly, "Be sure, sir, that if I were his and he mine, he would never be restless again."

"So thought I, once," the lady said with a sigh. "Well," her husband said, "it was mostly true."

"Aye," she agreed, "mostly."

He had a very strange way of speaking, Quicksilver thought.

"We are here," the maid said.

Looking up, Quicksilver was astonished to see the huge oaken doors of the hall before her. Somehow, though, she found that she was no longer anywhere nearly so frightened as she had been. This nice old lady and gentleman had calmed her. She straightened her shoulders and actually found that a smile came unbidden to her lips, felt the fire of battle joy light her eye. "Let us go to the fray!"

The doors swung wide, and in they went among a babble of noise, for the Great Hall was thronged with courtiers, and the tapestries muted little of their noise, for the walls were too far away. The ceiling was lost in the gloom, for the light of a hundred torches and candles did not reach so high.

Above them on a dais stood the Duke's great chair—or should have; even higher than that stood two thrones, and on them sat a man and a woman, both with silver hair mingled with golden, both with regal bearing. The Duke's chair stood beneath them with a slight young man sitting in it, leaning forward with his elbow on his fist.

With a shock, Quicksilver realized that the King and the Queen had come to visit their younger son.

In a panic, she spun about, looking for Geoffrey. There he was—talking to the nice middle-aged couple she had been chatting with on the way down! As she watched them, the older man stepped a little to the side, a torch lit his features—and she caught her breath. Side by side with Geoffrey, the resemblance was unmistakable. She had been talking with the High Warlock and his wife—worse, with Geoffrey's parents! Oh, what must they think of her for speaking so shrewishly about their son!

Hot on the anguish came anger. They could have told her, they could have identified themselves! Never mind that they had probably feared to embarrass her—what did they think she felt now, seeing them with him?

But they had seen she needed comfort...

They moved on, stopping to have a word with Gregory—and again, the resemblance was clear. Lady Gwendylon cast a jaundiced glance at Moraga, but the witch did not notice—she was too busy giving Quicksilver a gloating look. Quicksilver glared back.

Then Geoffrey turned and saw her. His eyes went round and his breath hissed in between his teeth and, for a moment, he looked positively haggard with longing. Only a moment—it faded into a sort of numbness before he finally wrenched his gaze away from her, and Quicksilver smiled, relishing her revenge.

He came up to her, still a little dazed—and still hungry. She trembled at his nearness, cursed herself, and found a barb for her tongue. "Well, sir! Have I met all of your family now?"

He looked up at his parents in surprise, then turned back to her, smiling. "Not quite. My eldest brother Magnus is far away from here, too far to come back to meet you, I fear. Other than that, though, you have met us all, yes even my brother-in-law-to-be." He nodded, and Quicksilver, looking where he indicated, saw Alain standing behind Cordelia—who was chatting with the nice middleaged couple. Once again, the resemblance struck her—but this time, between mother and daughter.

And ...

Between Alain and the man on the throne!

She cursed herself for a fool. The whole kingdom knew that Lady Cordelia was betrothed to Prince Alain. Why had she not remembered it?

Because it was one thing to hear of them so far away, and another to see them right before you, with no luxury, no teams of retainers, no courtiers just a sister and her fiance. Again, Quicksilver cursed herself for a fool.

Trumpets blew, and the whole Court stilled. A herald stepped up to the foot of the dais on which the thrones stood and called out, "Duke Diarmid now holds his court! Let any who have grievances step forth to speak of them!"

"I!" Count Nadyr stepped forward. "I bring charges against this witch Moraga, my liege! Charges of banditry, charges of brigandage!"

The herald glanced up at the people on the thrones; they nodded, and he turned back to Count Nadyr. "State the charge!"

Count Nadyr gave a brief, lurid, and highly biased account of Moraga's few days of activity. He painted her as a villainous upstart who had cropped up from nowhere, tyrannized his peasantry, and pounced upon his law-abiding, peaceful knights with absolutely no cause other than pure greed and lust for power. When he finished, he stepped back, and the King finally stirred. He turned to the Queen and said, "Most singular."

"Aye," said Queen Catharine, "if he is to be believed."

"Majesty!" the Count cried, affronted. "Would a nobleman lie?"

"Not if he knows what is good for him." Her glance was steel; then she turned back to her husband. "Nonetheless, husband, we are guests in this demesne. I am minded to leave this judgement to its rightful lord."

"Then so we shall." King Tuan turned to his younger son. "What say you, Duke Diarmid?"

The slender lad stirred himself, and Quicksilver felt nothing but contempt. Could this man hold the whole Duchy of Loguire in order, this stripling, this boy? Why, he seemed scarcely old enough to shave!

Then his gaze fell upon her, and she stared, shaken. There was wisdom in that gaze, and determination—but even more, a tinge of that alien, remorseless quality that was so strong in Gregory. Yes, she found herself saying, he can hold his demesne—and Heaven help anyone who defies him!