"Why, as you will," Geoffrey groaned. Then a thought struck him. He dropped his gaze, letting himself drink in fully the sight of her naked breasts, letting the feelings inspired thrill through him, like the sweetest of wines in his blood, and breathed, "Though truth to tell, it gives me great delight, too."
Quicksilver stared, taken aback, then blushed furiously and caught up her halter to tie it behind her neck again in quick, angry movements.
"I thank you," Geoffrey sighed in relief, "I think..."
"Treasure the memory, sir, for you'll not see them again!" Quicksilver snapped.
"You shall haunt my dreams, I assure you," Geoffrey groaned. "Take pity, cruel wanton .. . "
"I am no wanton, but a swordswoman!"
"Then you are one who does not mind behaving at least a little like a wanton," Geoffrey clarified. "Nay, take pity—distract me from thoughts of desire. Tell me what score this is that you hold against men—though I gather 'tis noble men, not common, whom you hate."
"For the common I have contempt," Quicksilver said, frowning, "or at least, for their weakness and crudeness. For the noble, I have hatred for the ways in which they sought to exploit me—but for their weakness, too; there's not a man I have met who can stand against me."
Geoffrey looked up sharply, then held his gaze steady on hers. She did not waver a trace, but after a minute admitted, "Till now."
"I thank you for the courtesy." Geoffrey inclined his head, then sat down beside the brook—though warily, since she might take the chance to flee or attack. "Come, sit down beside me, and tell me the manner of it—for I am sworn to uphold the Queen's Law, and if any have broken that law in wronging you, I shall bring them to justice, too."
"Oh, I am sure they did not," she said sourly, but sat beside him anyway—sat gingerly and lightly, as though ready to flee in an instant, and well beyond his reach; but she sat nonetheless. "I am sure they did not, for it is truly the King's Law you uphold, not the Queen's."
"Only Catharine is monarch by right of birth," Geoffrey told her. "Tuan's claim is by marriage to her. It is she who makes the laws; he does only as she asks, which is to enforce her precepts, and keep her barons in order."
Quicksilver frowned. "I have heard no word of this."
"It is not noised abroad," Geoffrey told her, "but those who do know the Court have thought through that much for themselves."
"Nevertheless," Quicksilver said, "the Queen's Law was made by kings—her father and her grandfather and ancestors. Has she transformed all its provisions that allow women to be used and tossed aside?"
"All she has encountered," Geoffrey qualified.
"Which means there is one law for noble women, and another for their commoner sisters!" Quicksilver held up a hand to forestall his answer. "Nay, sir, hear what I have learned from living—then tell me if you can deny it."
"If I can, I will prove it on their bodies," Geoffrey said, frowning, "they who have hurt you. If I cannot, I will petition the Queen."
"But if you believe me, yet find that what they did to me was legal, you will nevertheless not seek revenge for me."
Geoffrey gazed at her a long moment, then said, "I have not that right—for you are not my sister, nor my wife, nor my fiancee."
"And you have no wish for me to be," she said with a sardonic smile.
Geoffrey just sat there gazing at her while the tumult of emotions swirled within him, and she gradually lost her smile.
Then, finally, he said, "Not upon such short acquaintance—and you must admit, our first interchange has scarcely been friendly. Nay, tell me your tale, that I may ponder the case."
She looked at him as though it were on the tip of her tongue to demand which case he meant, but she thought, better of it, and composed herself to tell him the story. "I am called 'Quicksilver' now, but I was born plain Jane, of the village of Dungreigh. My father was a squire."
"A squire?" Geoffrey looked up. "But never a knight?"
"No," she said sharply, "but there was no shame for him thereby, for he was not nobly born, nor even the son of a knight, but only a serf who followed the plow."
Geoffrey nodded. "He was a serf pressed into service by his lord."
"Aye, service for a knight bachelor, the son of Sir Grayling, who held the village of Dungreigh and the farms about it as his fief. Sir Dunmore, his son, was newly knighted, and had need of a squire."
"But was himself too young, too poor, and too green to sponsor a young knight's son as his squire," Geoffrey interpreted.
"I see you know the ways of chivalry well. Thus it was, and therefore Sir Grayling bade my father Perkin to follow after Sir Dunmore—though he was not my father then, of course..."
"Of course," Geoffrey agreed. "If he'd had a wife and bairns, his lord would never have thought to send him travelling so. Tell me, was he wed?"
"Nay, though he and my mother already regarded one another with fond and admiring eyes, or so they told me. Being young and without bonds, Perkin was glad to ride with Sir Dunmore, to buckle him into his armor, then polish it after the fight, and to bear his sword and shield." Geoffrey smiled. "He went willingly, then?"
"Aye, even eagerly, for what young man does not dream of seeing something of the world beyond his own village? Or what young woman either, for that matter, though we are not like to have the chance," Quicksilver said bitterly.
"Be fair," Geoffrey urged. "Few young men have the chance, either."
"There's some truth in that, at least for a serf," Quicksilver admitted, "and my father Perkin was very glad of it. He followed Sir Dunmore from one tournament to another for five years, while Sir Dunmore accumulated honor, glory, and some wealth."
"He was an able fighter, then," Geoffrey noted. Tournament knights made money by ransoming the arms and armor of the knights they defeated.
"Aye, though he had need for my father to pull him out from the press of bodies in the melee more than once," Quicksilver said, with a touch of pride, "so Father gained some little wealth too, in reward. Still, both longed for a real war."
"With real glory," Geoffrey murmured, "and real loot."
"Even so. It was the Barons' War against Queen Catharine, which your father won for her..."
"Well, not he alone," Geoffrey hedged, though he had to admit his father had been surprisingly adroit in welding together an alliance of the oddest sorts of soldiers to stand up to the barons. Really, he was quite surprised at the old fellow. He had made a careful study of that battle, from the reports of those who had been there, and knew just how well his father had done—but was also sure that though he might know, his father didn't. "But Sir Dunmore was the son of a southern lord, and the vassal of Count Laeg, who was himself vassal to Lord Loguire—or to the son who usurped his rank, I should say: Anselm, who did raise the rebellion against the Crown. How did Sir Dunmore come to fight for the Queen?"
"Because Sir Grayling his father was prudent," Quicksilver explained, "and sent his son to fight for the Crown, so that no matter who should win, the family would not lose."
Geoffrey nodded—it was a common enough stratagem, though it cost father and son dearly in anxiety and, frequently, grief and guilt. "Your father went with Sir Dunmore, of course."
"Aye, and from that came five years in the Queen's service. Then Sir Grayling died, and Sir Dunmore and Father came back to Dungreigh, to marry and become landholders—for Sir Dunmore inherited his father's estate, and thereby had means enough to bring another knight's son to his court as his squire. My father thereby retired from the field and found he was no longer a serf, but a man of means—for he had prudently saved what Sir Dunmore paid him, and some prize money of his own, from enemies he had captured in the field. He bought several farms from Sir Dunmore..."