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.