Quicksilver's Knight

CHAPTER 5

"So you are still a virgin?" Geoffrey asked. "I am," Quicksilver replied.

"Then most definitely I shall not touch you, though I shall tell you truly, the urge to do so burns and' rages within me. Lessen my strain, I beseech you—distract me with your tale again. Tell me how you came to rule a county."

Quicksilver gave him a long, gauging look, as though measuring just how much turmoil he was hiding, and whether or not it was enough to satisfy her thirst for vengeance. Apparently what she saw pleased her, for she gave him a slanting smile and turned half away, to take up her history again.

"I had bought some time, for none would intrude in the Count's chamber until morning, and the sentry in the garderobe was not likely to be discovered unless someone should wake in the night. His fellow guard would think him fled after a wench, like as not, and would surely wait long before searching for him. I had at the least some hours, at most till mid-morning."

"Then, though," said Geoffrey, "they would be after you in earnest, with dogs and horses."

"Oh, they were," Quicksilver said softly, "as I knew they would be. But it was my county too, look you, and I knew its fields and woodlots better than any lord. Nay, I was into the trees within the hour, and buried in the depths of the greenwood before the air turned chill to wait for dawn. There I sat me down in the hollow of a huge old oak, to wait and plan—for I had thought no further than flight."

"Small wonder there," Geoffrey said, with a taut smile. "It was amazing you thought so clearly as you did, and so far ahead. Few men would have had the courage to plan so, let alone to carry out those plans."

"I ... thank you," she said, surprised. "Yet what choice had I?" She must have thought it was a rhetorical question, for she went right on. "I knew there were dangers awaiting me that, though not as bad as the Count's men, would be bad enough. I hid to catch what sleep I could, then woke to find the sun up and the forest filled with its light, straying through the leaves in scattered beams. There I laid my plans."

"Did not the dogs find your trail?"

For answer, Quicksilver only flashed him a hard smile. "Of course," Geoffrey said slowly. "You knew the ways of the wood, and how to hide all evidence of your passage."

"Far better than any dog, I assure you, whether he had four legs or two. Nay, I came out for my morning's ablutions, then was amazed to find that I was a-hungered. I ate of the food my mother had packed, then went back to my hollow to plan. I knew that I had become an outlaw by my night's work, for a dead lord is far more proof than is needed to hang a squire's daughter—and hang I would, if they caught me. I knew some anxiety for my brothers and my mother and sister, that the Count's son—the new Count, now—might seek to revenge his father on them; but I could not deal with it all, and had to take what fights came first."

"A sound plan," Geoffrey agreed.

"It was no plan at all," Quicksilver said tartly. "I began with what I knew—that I was dead if caught, probably torture first and hanging later; that I would have to live outside the law, where my life was any man's who wished to take it."

"The more fool he," Geoffrey grunted.

"Oh, I had no doubt he would come," Quicksilver said softly. "The world is filled with men who are fools. I bethought me how I should deal with them when they came, and was glad I had taken the Count's sword."

"How long did it take the gentlemen of the greenwood to find you?" Geoffrey asked.

"Call them not gentlemen, but men of the midden, for they were the refuse of manhood if ever I saw it. They came at noon, for they were more clever at following a trail than the Count's men—or, at least, the trail I had laid just for them, which began not at the edge of the wood, but only some few hundred feet from where I waited in hiding."

Geoffrey nodded judiciously. "So you chose the time and the place for the battle. Wisely done. Where was it?"

"A clearing," Quicksilver answered, "only a clearing in the woods, perhaps fifty feet across. I stood at the southern edge, screened by brush..."

"So the sun would be behind you, and in their eyes."

"Even so. They were a ragtag bunch, unwashed and unkempt... "

The bandits halted in the middle of the clearing, looking about them, puzzled. "She came this far," said one. "You see well enough, Much," the biggest bandit said impatiently. "Who cannot see those prints of tiny shoes? Aye, she came this far—but how did she disappear?"

"Perhaps an eagle lifted her up and took her away, Bulin," one of his cronies suggested.

Bulin backhanded him across the mouth, but with a weary negligence that allowed the man to duck the blow easily; he seemed quite adept at it. "Be still, Tolb," Bulin growled. "She may be small, as women are, but far too big for any bird to carry."

"She may have hidden her tracks," another bandit said. "The village folk do say she is keen for woodcraft."

"Aye, Lambert, and that she had oft gone a-poaching by herself, in the little Home Wood."

"She will be well poached surely," Bulin grunted, "as the game, not the hunter. She is in the forest now, not some little Home Wood."

"Still, let us go warily about this poaching," Lambert counseled. "The village lad told us that she slew the Count!"

"A mishap," Bulin grunted, "and like as not he died in the throes of ecstasy, for he was very old. How else could so slight a girl slay a lord?"

"With a dagger." Quicksilver stepped forward from her screen of brush.

The outlaws' heads snapped up; they gawked. They had been prepared for a grimy urchin in clothing torn by brambles; they had expected anything but a lady in a good broadcloth traveling dress, though it was hiked up to her knees to give her more freedom of movement. Still, she was clean and, frankly, more beautiful than any woman any of them had ever seen.

Bulin recovered from his surprise and smiled, a curve of the lips that widened into a wolfish grin as he said, "Well, then! You have seen that you cannot live in the greenwood without a man to protect you, eh?"

"Oh," said Jane, "I think I can manage."

"Then why did she draw us?" Lambert grumbled.

"Be still, fool!" Bulin snapped. "You do not think she would admit to her need, to you? Nay, need of a man in more ways than one, by the look of her."

Jane's lips tightened. Why, she wondered, did men seem to think that the prettier a woman was, the more she needed a man's caresses?

"Even one man alone will not protect you well enough, lass," Bulin informed her, "for there are many bands of outlaws in this wood, and no one fighter can stand against them. Nay, you are wise to seek out a band to join with and ours is the strongest band in the forest!"

Jane hoped that it was true—it would make her task simpler—but she doubted it. "To have a band about me seems wise. But what is the price of your protection?"

Some of the men snickered, some chuckled, and some guffawed. "Why, what do you think the price would be?" asked one.

"Cooking and nursing, like as not," Jane said airily. "There is that," Bulin conceded, "and making beds."

"And sleeping in them," one of the men said with a chuckle.

"What, all?" Jane widened her eyes in mock innocence. "Well, not all in one night," Bulin conceded. "Nay, each night you would have a new bed."

"Why would I need so many beds?"

"Come, do not play the fool!" Bulin snapped. "You would share each man's bed, and couple with him!" Now Jane could let her brows draw down in the anger she really felt. "Nay, I like not the sound of that."

"More's the pity, then," Bulin grunted, "for if you will not come willingly, you will come by force but you will come to bed, pretty one, be sure of that."

"Have I no choice, then?"

"To come willingly, or by force." Bulin grinned, and several of his men chuckled, gloating, as though they would prefer the second. "Those are your choices."

Jane fought to keep her voice from shaking with the anger she felt. "Well enough, then—you have named your price. Now I shall name mine."

"I had thought you might," Bulin said smugly. "Women are quick enough, for silver."

"Nay, I am quick to fight," Jane said, "and my silver is here." She brought Count Laeg's sword out from behind her skirts.

The bandits lost their grins and exclaimed to one another in a roar of confusion. Bulin, though, only kept his grim gaze fixed on Jane and held up a hand to quiet them. They did, and Bulin said, "You had best give us that toy, lass, ere you hurt yourself with it."

"Not myself," she assured him. "Have the villagers not told you why the soldiers seek me?"

"For killing the Count," Lambert said, frowning. "I doubt not 'twas because you were too frisky in bed..."

"Nay." Jane's tone was ice. "I slew him with this." She flourished the dagger in her left hand. "This sword was Count Laeg's—but by right of conquest, it is now mine." She moved her feet slightly, bending her knees just a little, and stood guard in a stance that any practiced swordsman would have recognized—but these men were peasants, and had never been taught proper swordplay. Bulin only frowned. "Then what is your price?"

"Your head," she answered, and leaped at him, sword slashing through a triple arc.

Bulin stepped back with a shout of anger, brought his own blade up to block hers—and left his midriff wide open. Jane pivoted, thrusting her dagger into his belly. Bulin stared at her in horror as he folded over in sudden agony, his lips moving but unable to form words. Jane called up a vision of what he had meant to do to her and thrust the sword through his chest, giving him a mercifully quick death that she thought was probably much more than he deserved.

Then she leaped back, yanking her sword clear. Bulin's lifeless body rolled on the ground.

The outlaws stared down, dumb with horror.

"Who else would seek to bed me, then?" Jane demanded, her voice still cold as ice.

That brought them out of it. Every head snapped up; every pair of eyes stared at her, suddenly afraid.

She stepped forward with swift precision, and the outlaws fell back with shouts of alarm—all except Lambert, who stood stiff as a rail, not daring to move, because the sword's tip was under his chin, at his throat. Jane nudged a little, and his head lifted; he dared not move his jaw, but a whine of fear came out his nose.

"Shall I slay your friend, then?" Jane demanded.

They glanced at each other, and she could see it written in their faces that they were on the verge of fleeing, and leaving Lambert to his fate—but one bowman plucked up the courage to draw an arrow from his quiver.

Another outlaw knocked it out of his hand. "Nay, fool! Draw that bow, and she'll slay Lambert!"

"Why, Stowton?" the man demanded.

"Because it would be one less fool that I would have to slay," Jane snapped. "Be sure that I can cut his throat even as I leap aside—and do you truly think that the ten of you together could stand against me?"

They stared at her, but they could tell by her tone that she meant every word. A few at the back began to edge away.

"Hold!" Stowton cried. "The fewer of us there are, the more we're apt to fall before another band! We must be all together—and we're already less by one!"

"Aye, and the one with the brains, I dare say," Jane told him.

They muttered, not liking the sound of that, but none denied it. "Spare our mate, mistress," Stowton pleaded. "We have done you no harm."

"Nay, but you would have! Perhaps I shall spare him after all—if he swears to obey me." She twitched the point, and a trickle of blood ran down Lambert's throat. He stiffened even more, whining in terror. "How say you, Lambert? Will you obey my commands?" She drew the sword back an inch. "There! Room for you to move your jaw, enough to say yes or no."

"Yes," Lambert muttered through his teeth, not daring to open his mouth. "Yes, mistress—spare my life! For I see that we have misjudged you, and you are a lady of quality!"

"I am the daughter of a squire, and reared to fight," Jane told him grimly. She lowered the sword...

Then she heard the footfall behind her.

She leaped aside, dropping into a crouch, and the quarterstaff whizzed by above her head. She stepped in for a quick thrust, but the tall outlaw parried her blow with one end of his staff, then struck sideways at her skull. She dodged again, leaping upright, and the blow missed her head, but cracked into her waist. Pain flared through her hip, but she ignored it and stabbed down at the hand on the staff with her dagger.

The tall outlaw howled and dropped his staff, clutching his hand and staring at the blood in disbelief.

Jane lunged, and ran him through.

She knew there was no room for pity here—that was why she had killed Bulin, not even trying to spare his life. If she gave these thugs the slightest sign of softness, they would fall on her in a mass, and bear her down by sheer weight. Her only chance was to intimidate them thoroughly and quickly, and that meant death—theirs, or hers.

She yanked the sword out and leaped back, glaring at the outlaws, bloody sword and bloody dagger upraised. "Is there another coward who would come at my back? And I a weak woman! Look upon him, and see the price of treachery!"

They stared down in shock. "How did you know he was there?" Lambert mumbled.

"I told you I had been reared to the ways of war,", Jane snapped, "and it is clear that none of you have! Nay, you shall be cat's meat for any band that chooses to chew you up! But I think I shall take pity on you, and be your captain."

They all stared up in indignation and, finally, some anger.

"Ah, they have remembered they are men!" Jane crooned. "But I have not given you a choice in this—I have told you!"

"A woman for our chief?" the tallest outlaw said, aghast. "Even so! Henceforth I shall command, and you shall obey!"

"And if we do not?" The tallest narrowed his eyes.

"Why, then, I shall slay you!"

The tallest kept his glare, though she could see he was unnerved. Jane wondered if she would have to kill him, too.

Inwardly, she was amazed at herself—amazed, and horrified. Something shrank within her, in loathing—but she held her stance grimly. Before she slew Bulin, she'd had the choice to strike or to be raped; now, she could kill or be killed.

She did not intend to die.

"And if we obey," Stowton said carefully, "what will be our reward?"

"Your lives," Jane said, "and gold and silver, for there shall be rich takings indeed, if you but do as I tell you." The bandits glanced at one another. "She must sleep some time," one of them said.

"Not where you would ever find me," Jane snapped. "Come, will you be my liegemen? Or corpses?"

The tallest licked his lips, but nervously. "She cannot stand against all of us together," he said. "Indeed, she must lie down."

"No, you shall!" Rage seized her, and Jane leaped forward, feinting three times to draw his guard down, then lunging to stab him through the vitals. She leaped back, watching the blood spread and the dead man topple, and still inside her something watched in horror—but it was deep inside, for most of her felt only a grim satisfaction. She did not doubt that the man would have done as much to her, if he could have—after he had done worse.

She looked up at his fellows, who were staring in shock. "You are no use to me alive," she said, and stepped toward them.

"No, no mistress, withold!" Stowton held up his hands, backing away. "We shall be your men, we shall ward your sleep!"

"Wisely chosen." Jane let her sword's point lower a little. "And you shall not regret it, for if you do as I bid you, there shall be more loot than ever you have seen. You shall have silver from fat merchants—or the silver of my blade." She lowered the sword's point almost to the ground, and waited. But the bandits did not try to jump past her guard, as she would have done in their placesthey nodded, and Stowton doffed his cap. "You are quick with that silver, so I shall wait for the other. Quick silver is not for the taking."

"Why, then, Quicksilver I am, and never forget that I am not for any man's taking," Jane said with a grim smile. "I see that you have some trace of wit, fellow, which is more than your friends have."

"Thank you, Mistress Quicksilver."

" 'Quicksilver' will do, for I am no man's mistress." Jane was rather pleased with that. "And since you have sense enough to know it, you shall be my lieutenant over this ragtag batch. Now, all of you, lead me to your camp!"

The bandits turned away, but Jane heard someone mutter again, "Sooner or later, she must sleep!" She was about to demand who had spoken, but Stowton said sharply, "None of that! There has been little enough loot for us; let us see what she may bring. Aye, she must sleep, but 'tis myself shall guard her slumber!"

"And so shall we," said a familiar voice.

Jane spun about, scarcely believing her ears. But it was him, it was really Leander! With Martin and Jory coming up behind him. "Brothers!" she cried, dropping her sword and throwing herself into Leander's embrace. His great brawny arm closed about her, and for a moment, she let herself go weak, let herself be vulnerable again, for she knew she was safe—for a little while.

"If any man should dare harm our sister," Martin informed the bandits, "we shall set out his giblets as bait for the crows. From this time forth, two of us shall stand guard while the other two sleep."

"But how ... how!" Jane looked up at him. "How is it you are come?"

"A friend brought us word of what had passed at the castle, and we thought it best to leave Count Laeg's army before his son took it into his head to arrest us and hold us hostage for your own surrender."

"Hostage!" Jane stepped back, hand coming to her mouth, eyes wide. "Oh, Mother, and little Nan!"

"We are here, daughter." Her mother stepped out of the thicket, behind the watchful eyes of her sons, their hands on their swords as they smiled brightly at the bandits.

"And little Nan!" Jane leaped forward to hug her little sister.

"Not so little any more," Nan said, with all the authority of thirteen.

"Nay, surely not!" Jane laughed, then sobered suddenly, looking up at her mother, wide-eyed. "But our house! And your featherbed, and all your... "

"All that truly matters is here." Mother patted a large sack she was holding. "Mementoes of your father, and of your childhoods—and my rings are on my fingers. All else?" She shrugged. "The life is far more important than the furnishings."

"Oh, you speak bravely!" Jane hugged her. "How can you ever forgive me for bringing you to this, Mother?"

"It is no fault of yours, but of the men who sought to use you," her mother said with asperity. "You have done only as I wish I had been brave enough to do if I had been in your place, daughter, and my pride in you outshines all I have lost. In truth, I would not have you do otherwise for the world."

But Jane knew that the loss of all her household goods, all her treasured possessions, must truly grieve her sorely. "I shall have it all back for you, Mother, and more!"

But Mother shook her head. "It is only furniture, my dear, and can be bought anew. Your virtue could not, nor certainly your life!"

"Then that shall be our first prize!" Jane turned back to her new band with sudden resolution. "Quickly now, before the sun rises and Sir Hempen comes to confiscate! Bury these dead dogs and march quickly!"

Apparently the bandits had never had much love for their dead leader, for not one of them showed the slightest sign of rancor. Indeed, they were delighted to scoop out a shallow grave and plant the bad seeds, then to follow Jane—or Quicksilver, as they called her—on her first foray. After all, it was night—and it was only a house.

But Sir Hempen had been there already.

Quicksilver surveyed the vandalized remains of what had been her childhood home, and a sick horror filled her. She felt something die within her, and knew it was the girl Jane. But over that grief flooded a tide of cold anger, and she knew that something else had been born—the outlaw Quicksilver.

"It is well that Mother and Nan waited in the greenwood with Jory," Leander said softly.

"Well indeed," she replied.

"Where is the loot you spoke of, Quicksilver?" Stowton said softly at her elbow.

"In Sir Hempen's manor, I doubt not," she returned. "Ay de mi!" Stowton sighed. "How shall we bring it out from such a stronghold?"

"Why, by seizing it!" Quicksilver snapped. "He has taken my house, so I shall take his!"

"Tonight?" Stowton stared, appalled.

"What better time? He will never expect us! Nay, like as not he and his men have taken the field, seeking for me in the Count's name!" She did not bother telling the outlaws that Sir Hempen had a score to settle with her. "If we go hotfoot to his manor house, we can strike and be gone ere he can return. Then on the way home, we shall steal his cattle."

"Steal a knight's cows?" Stowton looked up, wide-eyed. "Just like that? On the instant?"

"Why, would you have me send him notice? 'Tis summer, and the kine are loose in the pasture; I doubt that he will have set a guard over them. Have you no taste for beef?"

"Well, I do like the taste," Stowton admitted. "Come, my hearties! We shall breakfast on sirloin!"

And they did.

"That was only a raid, of course," Quicksilver told Geoffrey. "We did not seek to hold the manor, but took all my mother's household goods, and drove off all Sir Hempen's cattle and horses."

"You let them keep their own household goods?"

"Aye, for those belonged to Sir Dunmore's widow, and my quarrel was with Sir Hempen, not with his mother. Nay, my mother would have rebuked me sorely for stealing from her old mistress."

"Loyalty like hers is to be prized," Geoffrey agreed. "Why did you not seek to hold the manor?"

Quicksilver glanced up at him in irritation. "Do not mock me! You know well enough."

"I know why it would have been foolish to have held it," Geoffrey replied, "but I do not know if you had the true reasons, or only sentiment."

"So you wish to see if I knew as much of warfare as I thought?"

"Frankly, yes." Geoffrey leaned back on his elbows—an exposed position, but he was ready enough to use his feet, if Quicksilver tried to take advantage of it. She knew that, too, and glared daggers at him for tempting her. "Am I to amuse you by my foolishness, then?"

"I take great delight in hearing how your mind works," Geoffrey countered, "though amusement is too light a term."

She frowned at him, uncertain as to whether or not she had been complimented—so Geoffrey pushed a little harder. "The fruit of your tactics is battles won where no mere outlaw should be able to win, and strategy that has succeeded admirably till I hove into view. I cannot but admire such generalship—so give me reason to admire it more. Tell me why you did not seek to hold the manor, once you had taken it."

"Why, because we did not have enough men, nor enough arrows nor arms of any sort! In brief, because we had not prepared ourselves for such an undertaking—and because I was most unsure of the loyalty of my command."

"And of their quality." Geoffrey nodded with delight. "Exactly as I would have thought! Still, with all that against the undertaking, why did you do it?"

Quicksilver frowned. "I have told you that."

"No, you have told me the woman's reason. Surely the commander must have given it a thought, also."

"If you mean, before I said that we would go take back my mother's belongings, had I thought of the issue as a commander? Had I paused to ask myself if we could do it and come away alive? Or most of us..."

"Aye, all of that—and if regaining your mother's property was your only reason for the raid."

"I saw that, if we won, it would secure the band behind me—if that is what you mean."

"The very thing! Did you think of that before the raid, or after?"

"Before, of course," she said, exasperated. "How could I fail to see it, when I dealt with outlaws? They are men who live by theft, after all, and nothing will earn you a bandit's obedience like good loot. There was also the matter of their seeing that I could plan an enterprise so that we could win, and that my brothers would not let them do other than I had commanded—for they were my captains, you see, one for each of the manor's walls. Nay, the men saw that I could plan a battle and win it, with only two of them dead and three wounded—and they durst not move against me after that."

Geoffrey frowned. "But you had been so careful to see that your brothers would not draw revenge for your deeds!"

"Aye." Quicksilver turned away, her face thunderous. "I failed in that. I know I should have let old Count Laeg have his way with me, so that my mother and brothers would not be hurt—but I saw instantly and clearly that my sister would be, when she came of age. Still, I make no excuse—it was only my own horror and loathing of the act that made me place myself above their welfare. It was selfish, I know—but it is done."

Geoffrey could only stare for a moment, shaken to his core by the idea of this beautiful, spirited warrior subjected to the clutches of an old goat—but shocked more by the thought that she should actually think she was in any way to blame for having defended herself. How could she believe there was any wrong in doing what was right?

He would have to make her see that.