"That. . .that is so."
Lilia stared up at him, her hold loosening. "You feel no shame in saying it? But all men jeer at those who have never known the delights of a woman's embrace! None will admit it!"
"I will." Gregory began to feel a little confidence returning. "I have far greater interest in books than in sport, damsel, and I doubt that I would be a lover of any skill. I know nothing of how to give pleasure to a woman."
"Then learn with me," she breathed, pressing close again. "Let us learn together. Do you not hunger for experience?"
"Not at all," Gregory said quickly. "My ... my hunger is only for knowledge!"
"Then this is a whole realm of human knowledge of which you are innocent." Lilia's smile broadened again. "What manner of scholar could you be if you do not truly know what so many books tell? You may have as fine a chance as this again, sir, but never a better—and I am quite willing to risk clumsiness if I can be certain of gentleness!"
"No ... no one can be certain if a man loses his senses."
"Nay, with me you shall find your senses, or their true purpose, at least." Her voice was husky again. "Do you think a virgin wishes to marry a man who has no idea how to make love?"
It was the wrong tack; the argument Gregory had learned from monks came to the fore. "I never mean to marry, damsel—but if I did, I doubt not that marriage would badly need the power of that first lovemaking, which can be a bond of great strength between new wife and husband—and surely every such binding is vitally necessary to make a marriage last. The wedded state has need of every bond it can have, for there are so many strains upon it."
Lilia actually drew away an inch in repugnance. "If so, then perhaps that marriage should not endure! What strains are these that you imagine?"
"Why, poverty and bondage, but most of all the pressures of two people living side by side every day—two people trying to live with the fear of losing themselves in the whirlpool of family life, fearing even more to lose freedom, pride, and their ability to govern themselves."
"You mean fear of being dominated or enslaved!" Lilia drew farther away, anger sparking in her eyes.
Gregory shuddered within, for she was at least as beautiful in the one passion as in the other, and caught between the two, as she was at the moment, she was absolutely spectacular.
Chapter 4
"Even so," Gregory confirmed. "Mind you, I have seen many pass that barrier and forge a solid home in which each of those fears proved illusory, for they gained as much as they lost and more—but the strains were mighty and needed every bond to surmount them."
"Where did you hear of such things?" Lilia demanded.
"From the monks."
"Then to the monks you may go, sir! In truth, their sterile cloister is certainly the dessert of any man who has dispelled a romantic mood as thoroughly as you have! Go to the monks and do penance for the rest of your life, for the chance you have lost this moment!" With that, Lilia turned on her heel and stalked away. In seconds, she was gone around the curve of the road.
Gregory stood rigid for ten minutes more; then, sure she was out of sight and not apt to return, let himself crumple, collapsing to sit on the ground with his back to the oak, head bowed, whole frame trembling with the aftershock of the emotions she had roused in him. He assured himself frantically that the pleasures she promised must be far greater than anything she could actually provide, for her sensuousness was an illusion no doubt far more vivid than the reality could ever be—but his self still doubted, still longed to believe in that glamour.
He was very much aware that the woman was succeeding in rousing desire he had always been able to suppress or sublimate. He tried to be amused by the irony that she had ignited the very interest in sex that she had intended to eradicate in him; left to his own devices, he would probably have become a confirmed and celibate old bachelor, content with the company of his books and always able to quell whatever minor hankering for feminine companionship arose.
Now, though, he wasn't sure. When he had finally managed to deliver Moraga to Runnymede and the judgement of the royal witchforce, when he had finally managed to purge his life of her, he was very much afraid that he would actually fall in love after all, and waste his energy and his intellect in lovemaking and caring for a family, like the tens of thousands of generations of men before him. He consoled himself with the thought that they must surely have been far happier woven into the fabric of their families than they would have been as lone and easily broken threads, but such joys were only rumors to him, the stuff of gossip and fiction, and with no experience of his own to corroborate them, he had difficulty believing.
Quicksilver rode into the courtyard with five warrior women behind her. As a concession to her fiance, they wore trousers and jerkins of stout brown broadcloth with cuirasses and greaves—Geoffrey had been so worried for her safety that he had threatened to escort her everywhere if she did not wear a little armor, and something to protect her fair skin from thorns and briars. Much though she loved the notion of having him with her wherever she went, Quicksilver loved even more being able to rise and go whenever she wished, so she wore tin clothes to please him. Besides, she would never have admitted it, but trousers did make for more comfortable riding than bare legs.
She dismounted, looking about her with a frown, but saw only Cordelia hurrying up to her. "Where is that gadabout brother of yours?'' she demanded, then remembered her manners. "Hail, lady."
"Hail to you, too, lady and captain." Cordelia stopped beside her and drew breath. "Your fiance has gone with mine— or mine with him, more accurately/' She laid a hand on Quicksilvers arm. "Rinse the dust from your face and come into the garden. We shall have a glass of wine while I tell you the manner of it."
Quicksilver frowned, but considered only a moment before she turned back to her squadron. "Take your ease while you may, ladies. We may ride again ere long."
Fifteen minutes later, with Quicksilver washed, perfumed, and luxuriating in a silken gown, they sat in the walled garden beneath the solar. It was fifty feet square, crowded with curving flower beds on the sides, a fountain surrounded by more flowers in the center, and fruit trees espaliered against the walls. Half a dozen gardeners were at work, still planting new seedlings and dividing bulbs.
The two young women sat sipping spring wine and discussing the perfidies of young knights-errant who go haring off to save the peasantry with no thought to the ladies they leave behind.
"They have both gone gallivanting, then?" Quicksilver asked.
"Aye, to save a damsel in distress."
"Oh, have they indeed?" Quicksilver's eye glittered with jealousy. "And did not wait for me? How rude of them! Was the damsel comely?"
"She was, underneath the dust of her journey and the ashes of her hamlet—but I think they took little notice of that. They were fired with zeal to protect a whole village."
"That, at least, is worthy," Quicksilver admitted. "Still, they were fools not to bid you fly above to watch over them."
"Indeed," Cordelia said, her lips tight.
"Well, I shall rest an hour, then don my armor again and ride after them." Quicksilver tossed off the rest of her glass and refilled it.
"I am not sure that would be the wisest course," Cordelia said slowly.
"Wisest?" Quicksilver frowned. "With a baron and all his men to set about them? Surely they will need every sword they can find!"
"True, but surely Geoffrey can disable or confuse many of them with his magic," Cordelia said, "and there is always the chance that this baron, no matter how unscrupulous he is, will have the wisdom to heed the words of the heir apparent."