Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
Although his smile
didn't waver, a distinctly moody haze shrouded his ice-blue orbs.
"As did I.
Stop
arguing with me."
She pursed her lips
in irritation and he attempted to kiss her again, laughing deeply when she
slugged his shoulder in her quest to be free of him. Releasing her, his gaze
lingered warmly on her frustrated expression as he turned for the supplies
nestled against the wall of the crumbling shelter.
His thoughts were
warm as he unbound the satchels holding their eating supplied, continuing to
ponder the eagerness of her passionate response. It had been so natural to take
her in his arms and kiss the breath from her than he vowed at that moment he
would do it with every opportunity. Mayhap with time and enough kissing, she
would begin to respond to his notions of marriage as well. Mayhap when she
realized the pleasure and contentment that await them both, she would
relent
her stubborn stance. Certainly he could prove to her
that being married to the Demon was not such a horrible fate.
Christian was so deeply
pondering the impending future that he hardly noticed when leather-booted feet
came to stand beside him. Glancing up from his task when he realized their
presence, he found himself staring into her beautiful face.
"Why did you
truly kiss me, Christian?" her voice was a whisper. Demanding answers that
might possibly help her understand her own befuddled questions.
He gazed at her a
moment, his thoughts of their future fading for the moment. After a temperate
pause, he shook his head.
"Because you
showed uncanny wisdom and understanding with Malcolm," he said softly.
"And because I wanted to."
She digested his
honest reply, gazing at him steadily until he turned away and resumed digging
about in his packs. As he drew forth bags of lentils and dried pork, Gaithlin
reached down and pulled the sacks gently from his grip. When his eyes came up
to her, wide with curiosity, she merely smiled.
"You will
permit me to cook your meal," she said softly.
He cocked a slow
eyebrow. "And what does a finely-bred young lady know of cooking?"
Her smile faded.
"The same as you
. '
Tis a necessity to be able to
feed oneself, is it not?"
Based on his
earlier observations of her eating habits and knowing that she had known her share
of hardship and starvation, he refrained from mentioning another word regarding
her cooking abilities. God only knew how little there had been to cook at
Winding cross. As he watched her gather the parcels of supplies and disappear
into the shack, he swore at that very moment that she would never again know
such brutal tribulation. He would make sure of it.
"Are you going
to check on the condition of the chimney?" she called from the shelter,
breaking him from his thoughts.
"Aye," he
called back to her, rising to stand and brushing off his hands as he eyed the
mud-based stack rising from the edge of the lean-to. "Do not light a fire
until I have seen to it."
"Hurry,
then," she called back, sounding suspiciously like a seasoned, imperious
wife. "I am hungry and I doubt Laird Malcolm will be able to wait very
long."
He grunted, nodding
in a patronizing fashion and realizing with increasing resignation that he was
already acquiring the obedient mannerisms of a bullied husband and liking it.
"Aye, honey love, I am moving."
Not strangely, he
couldn't recall ever in his life when he had been so eager to please.
***
Alicia couldn't
recall ever seeing a finer dressed lady. In a magnificent cloak of burgundy
brocade with a brown mink lining, the Lady Margaret du Bois sat stiffly against
the back of the worn chair that was hardly suitable for a lady of her wealth
and station. But she remained perched on the seat nonetheless, her lovely face
intently focused on her hostess. In fact, from the moment she had been escorted
into the room by Eldon, she had seemed exceptionally eager to commence the
purpose of her visit.
Alicia would not
keep her waiting. Motioning for what meager refreshments they had to be brought
forth, she knew she must present an extremely sorry picture before such a
terribly refined woman. Brushing at the dust on her woolen skirt, she made a
valiant attempt to promote a composed figure; once, before marrying Alex, she
had been privy to the wealth and beauty that society had to offer. But that had
been long ago and she realized with horror that she had missed such
extravagances.
But she did not
regret the choice she had made; leaving a life of wealth and beauty behind for
the love of a man dedicated to a fifty-year-old war. If she had to relive the
moment in her life when she decided love was more valuable than luxury, she
would have made the same decision again.
"You have
declared your need to speak with my husband, my lady," Alicia began
softly. "I regret to inform you that Sir Alex has taken ill and
is
unable to attend you. As his wife, I would hope that you
will relay your business to me."
Maggie's hands were
folded primly in her lap as she eyed the small, stocky woman. After a moment,
she nodded faintly. "Certainly my business involves you as well,
considering it is regarding your daughter."
Alicia couldn't
help the twinge of panic that swept her, that was just as quickly quelled.
Uncertain as to the message the woman bore, she restrained the instincts of her
natural terrors as she took a chair directly across from her visitor. But she
couldn't help but wonder if the lovely perfumed woman was a ploy sent from Jean
St. John, somehow, to unbalance her.
"Speak, then.
What business do you bear concerning my daughter?"
Maggie drew in a
deep, delicate breath. "Although I am not from Cumbria, I am well aware of
the long-standing feud between Winding Cross and Eden Castle. It is for that
fact that you should know that I witnessed your daughter in the company of
Christian St. John."
Alicia went to
great lengths to control her rapid breathing, slammed with the confirmation of
Jean St. John's missive. Yet more than the crushing blow of reality was the
mere mention of the Demon of Eden; the infamous Christian St. John suddenly
came to the forefront and Alicia struggled against the horror that threatened
to consume her composure.
"Tell me, my
lady,” she said with strained patience. “Do you know for certain it was my
daughter?"
"She gave her
name."
"I see. Please
describe her to me, if you would be so kind."
Maggie thought a
moment. "Tall, very tall, with long blond hair and large blue eyes,"
she suddenly peered at Alicia, a close scrutiny. "In fact, her eyes are
shaped as yours are. Slanted, like a cat."
The rapid breathing
was gaining ground on Alicia; the woman had described Gaithlin to the
definitive detail. After an eternity of tussle against her mounting dread, she
took a deep breath and folded her hands tightly. Certainly, they were quivering
with shock.
"If what you say is true, then why would
you seek to relay this information to me? What could you possibly have to gain?
Clearly, I have no money to offer you or a reward to bestow for your good
conscience. What is your motivation?"
Motivation.
Maggie's motives
were always true to her heart.
The fact that Christian had
shamed her, discarded her, certainly held the largest motivation.
And
the fact that his lanky lover, a de Gare no less, had brutally attacked Kelvin
was an added factor into her arsenal of fervently-sought revenge.
As Maggie had
nursed her paramour, tenderly massaging his privates and packing them with cold
mud, they had discussed their mutual encounters with the Demon and his lover
and had come to discover two very interesting facts; the towering woman had
announced herself to be a de Gare, while Christian had distinctly informed
Maggie that he was taking his 'cousin' north into Scotland. Knowing the Feud as
they did, the decades of hatred shared by two prominent families, Maggie and
Kelvin were led to a profusion of engrossing conclusions.
The most prevalent
opinion was that Christian had abducted the de Gare woman with the intention of
killing her, yet both Maggie and Kelvin reasoned that the atmosphere between
Christian and his captive was hardly indicative of murder and terror. In fact,
the de Gare wench seemed particularly calm within the presence of her St. John
adversary, leading the two spurned lovers to surmise that mayhap she had
willingly accompanied the Demon on his travels.
A
whore, a captive, a trained dog.
Who could say what the relationship entailed between
two members of violently opposed houses. Yet one thing was for certain; Maggie
was intent to seek revenge on Christian for his humiliation.
And she would do it however she could.
Which was why she
was presently seated before Lady de Gare, surrounded by the trappings of the
hideously impoverish fortress. Since Christian was obviously stronger and more
reputable than his female counterpart and possessed the ready power to abduct
his weaker foe, both Maggie and Kelvin assumed that Alex de Gare had little, if
any, knowledge of the Demon's latest acquisition. And by supplying the man with
information regarding his daughter's activities, mayhap, he would make haste to
retrieve the woman from the Demon's clutches.
Moreover, when she
was finished with the House of de Gare, Maggie fully intended to approach Jean
St. John with the similar tale. With two outraged fathers directing their wrath
at Christian St. John, the likelihood that the de Gare woman would remain at
his side was limited. And Maggie would return to his welcoming, remorseful
arms.
"My motivation
is simple, my lady," Maggie tore herself from her tumultuous train of
thought, focusing on the plump woman. "Christian St. John used to be my
betrothed, an evil man with a voracious sensual appetite that I found myself
fighting off at every turn. My father annulled the marriage contract because he
had no desire to see me wed to the Demon of Eden, and for the protection of
your innocent daughter I am compelled to inform you of what I have witnessed.
You must retrieve her from his clutches before it is too late."
The color faded
from Alicia's cheeks as she listened to the sincere plea. Dear God, her worst
fears were magnified as the infamous Demon of Eden was mentioned yet again,
pounding the reality of his possession into her fragmented mind. Her throat
constricted with a powerfully restrained scream as she wrestled fiercely
against her shattering, crumbling control.
"How... how do
I know this is truth?" she rasped, losing the battle against her fear.
"How do I know that Jean St. John did not send you to disrupt his most
hated enemy?"
Maggie's brown eyes
were intense. "On my word as a member of the house of Plantagenet, I swear
to you that my story is truth. Christian told me that he was taking your
daughter to Scotland, although I was uninformed as to his purpose. Your husband
must act immediately if your daughter is to be spared his malevolent
attentions."
Alicia stared at
the woman for an eternal moment before closing her eyes tightly, fighting off
the suggested visions of pain and humiliation.
"Jean St. John
has sent me a missive this day announcing my daughter's abduction," she
whispered, unable to rein her emotions any longer. "He swore that he would
use her against the House of de Gare. And, I suppose, by placing her in the
Demon's custody, he is already commencing with his plans."
Maggie attempted
not to appear too off-guard at the mention of Jean St. John's missive.
So
Jean was behind the de Gare woman's abduction!
Her calculating mind rapidly
took in the situation for what it was; using Gaithlin de Gare as leverage, the
House of St. John intended to bring Winding Cross to her knees.
Thoughts swirling
with possibilities and plans, she adapted to the new influx of information
rapidly. Gazing at the obviously distraught woman before her, she struggled to
maintain her calm, collected appearance in the face of the stunning revelation.
"My
lady," she began softly, urgently. "If... if I could find out
precisely where Christian has taken your daughter, surely you can retrieve her.
He was alone, without his legions of men. Certainly a few dozen de Gare
soldiers could overcome him."
Wiping a shaking
hand over her clammy brow, Alicia struggled valiantly against the terrible thoughts
that threatened to overwhelm her. And somewhere in the midst of her turmoil,
Lady Margaret's words gained a truer sense and she found herself focusing
intently on the woman.
"Certainly we
could," she agreed in a hoarse voice. "But why would you help us in
such a manner? We are not allied with you."
Maggie met the
woman's gaze a moment before looking away. "As I said, I cannot allow the
Demon to ravage another woman. His roguish reputation lingers from Southampton
to Carlisle and his evil knows no limits. I must... prevent this tragedy if I
am able."