The Warrior Poet (31 page)

Aye, she wanted to protest the luxury of a mirror and
comb. But gazing into Christian's smiling face, she could not seem to form the
words.
Selfish!
she
scolded herself harshly, a
mental scolding and nothing more. She wasn’t about to refuse his gift.
Certainly she was selfish and petty, allowing him to spend his money on her
vanity.

But a measure of her self-control gained strength, a
bitingly sensible portion of her personality and she looked away from the
mirror, setting it down on the table beside her. The sensible portion of her
personality that realized the excessive cost of the small mirror and comb would
be able to feed them for two months.

Certainly, if she starved to death there would be
nothing to look at in the glistening pewter depths of the exquisite mirror.

"We cannot purchase these things," she said
softly, turning away. "We must find the cobbler, Christian. Lutey says
that...."

Smile faded, Christian grasped her wrist with one hand
and collected the mirror and comb with the other. "We
can
purchase these things and we will." Gripping her tightly,
he handed the pewter set to the balding merchant before returning his attention
his mildly-struggling captive. "What else would you like? I demand you
select something."

She attempted to yank her wrist free of his iron-grip,
but the effort was futile. Sighing heavily, she averted her eyes from his
intense gaze. "The mirror and comb are enough," she said softly,
though she was unable to avoid the vision of perfume vials from the corner of
her eye. "Please do not…."

"Do not
what
?"
he demanded, more gently. Pulling her against him, he captured her tenderly in
his iron embrace. "Do not spend my money on you? Do not purchase finery
for the woman I am to marry? I want to do this and you cannot stop me."

Gazing into his ice-blue eyes, she felt her cheeks flush
with the familiar heat and realized she wasn't entirely intent on escaping the
shop any longer. Her slender hands were warm against his cold armor as she
relaxed in his enclosure. "But why?” she whispered. “For what it cost for
the mirror and comb, we could purchase nearly two barrels of wheat. You are
spending your money foolishly and refuse to allow you to..."

He tapped her gently but sternly under the chin, his icy
orbs soft. "It is my money and I'll spend it how I please." Studying
her delicious features, a mailed gauntlet gently stroked her cheek. "You
do not have to worry about wealth or starvation or commodities any longer. I
promise you will never again want for anything, Gae. I swear it."

Staring into the depths of his marvelously pale eyes,
she believed every word spoken. The Demon had vowed to protect and support her,
and she had no qualms in the acceptance of his words. Still, the concept of
wealth was difficult to digest and she found herself looking away from her, her
reluctant gaze raking over the frivolously taunting displays of ware.

"Select several things," he encouraged her
again, noting that he had succeeded in casting a measure of doubt against her
stubborn refusal. "I've a bit of business to attend to and upon my return
I wish to see your arms full of silly, feminine, impractical items. Do you
comprehend me?"

She tore her gaze away from a pewter broach inlaid with
a large semi-precious piece of quartz.
"Business?
Where are you going?"

He kissed her on the forehead, intent on distracting her
from his true objective. "Nowhere that would interest you." Releasing
her, he moved his mass between the tables and toward the door. "Select
whatever you wish, Gae.
As much as you wish."

She watched him maneuver sideways to exit the door; he
was far too large to move through it conventionally. Successfully diverted from
his 'business', she pondered his instructions with restrained excitement. As if
she was still having difficultly believing his command.
"Anything?"

"Anything," he repeated firmly. "In fact,
I shall send Malcolm in to assist you."

Her slightly-stunned expression returned to the tables
of goods. "Can I select something for Malcolm?"

Christian cocked an eyebrow, motioning to the lad
impatiently lingering outside by the ox. "Like what?
Perfumes
or cosmetics?"
As Malcolm dashed into the shop, bumping into
Christian's bulk in the process, he jabbed a finger at Gaithlin. "I forbid
you to shower the lad with feminine goods. If he is to return home with us,
then it will be as a proper young man and not a glorified dandy."

Looking up from a vial of pink-colored perfume, she
smiled radiantly. "He will return as a proper young lad, I promise.
As befitting your adoptive son."

 
A smile tugging
at his lips, Christian quit the shop. Entirely pleased that his dirt-poor
captive appeared willing to succumb to the frivolous, useless items women
seemed to cherish, he was better able to focus on a portion of important
business he was eager to conduct. With Gaithlin properly diverted, he sought
out the fat, dwarf-like man who had appointed himself the English knight's
shadow.

"Lutey," he said, marching up on the man.
"I am in need of advisement and services. Can you help me?"

The far merchant, his jowls quivering anxiously, bobbed
his head in agreement. "If I
can,
m'laird. What
d'ye
wish
?"

"I need a messenger to carry a missive to Castle
Douglas," Christian's voice was low. "I need a well-spoken man who
can relay my instructions to Laird Roger Douglas. Do you know of such a
man?"

Lutey nodded eagerly. "M'son is capable. Ye met him
earlier, at
th
' stalls."

"I met two young men. To which do you refer?"

"Peter, m'eldest lad.
He's a smart one."

Glancing casually over his shoulder, Christian peered
into the open shelter window to make sure that Gaithlin and Malcolm were still
grossly involved in their quest. Returning his attention to the rotund
merchant, he nodded shortly. "Send the lad to me. I shall pay him well for
his troubles." When the merchant turned away obediently, Christian
suddenly halted his departure. "And there is one more matter. Is there a
church nearby?"

Lutey thought a moment. "There's an abbey in New
Galloway, though it's inhabited by reclusive nuns. Do ye need tae beg forgiveness,
m'laird?"

Christian's expression was impassive, though he did not
appreciate the probing question. "No priest?"

The rounded merchant shook his head.
"Nay.
Th' priests are at Sweetheart Abbey, near Glencaple on the Firth o'
Solway."

Christian thought a moment, clearly recollecting his
Scot geography.
"To the south of Castle Douglas?"

"Aye, m'laird," Lutey nodded.

Satisfied with the information, Christian waved the man
on his way. Lutey quickly shuffled off, nearly slipping on a soft section of urine-soaked
mud as he made haste to complete the Englishman's bidding.

Christian leaned against his newly-purchased rig,
watching the man lumber away and feeling deeply satisfied with the information
and arrangements attainted. Tomorrow, Gaithlin would become his wife at the
appropriately named Sweetheart Abbey, and his message would reach Castle
Douglas without delay. Once the missive fell into the hands of Roger Douglas,
it was a virtual guarantee that Jean St. John would be reading his son's
revelations by the following day.

The missive containing the true extent
of St. John-de Gare blood relations.
But Christian would wait to relay the entire truth of the deeply intertwined
relationship until the moment he met with his father personally. Some factors,
imperative as they might be, were better left told in person.

As the day approached noon and he wait for the
merchant's eldest son to heed the call of duty, he found himself pondering his
father's reaction to his missive. Clearly, the factor of mutual Douglas
relations and the subsequent marriage of the Demon to Winding Cross' heiress
would cast a distinctly fresh light on the Feud that had been plaguing the two
families for decades.

As Christian had determined over the course of the past
few days, the de Gares were far stronger in character than the shallow St.
Johns. But, truly, he wondered just how deep the vein of shallow traits ran.
Having never confronted his father on a matter of such predominant importance,
he had no way of knowing the verity of St. John pettiness. But he was loathe in
realizing that he would not be at all surprised should his father choose to
disregard the blood ties altogether in lieu of his own agenda - victory at any
price.

Hearing Gaithlin's faint laughter, he turned to peer
over his shoulder at the merchant's shop; Malcolm had placed some sort of
filigree diadem on her brow and she was having an amusing time prancing about
in parody of a royal relation. Still leaning casually against the rig, he
smiled at her gaiety and returned his attention to the distant avenue,
continuing to wait for the produce merchant's son.

He liked to hear her laugh. God only knew
,
she had been dealt very little in this life to find
amusement with. And given the approaching circumstances, there could be very
little in the future to rejoice over, either.

His smile faded, thinking on the chaos and battles that
lay ahead, abhorring the fact that he would be pulling Gaithlin into the depths
of the vortex like a weighty anchor. But he knew that there was no other course
if they were to achieve what they both so obviously desired -each other.

He didn't even know if Gaithlin realized she needed him;
certainly, she had thanked him for showing her a measure of freedom that she
had never known to exist and she had furthermore proclaimed her contentment
within his company. And he had been positive that he had read a mirror of his
own emotions within the depths of her deep blue eyes on more than one occasion;
occasions that were coming more and more frequently until they seemed to run
headlong into each other. No more division of sentiment. No more division of
blood and hatred and legacy.

A large Scot with a crown of wild red hair rounded the
corner of a distant structure and headed directly toward him. Struggling to pull
himself from his train of thought, Christian recognized the elder son of the
produce merchant. As the man advanced in anticipation of the message he would
carry, Christian was unsuccessful in completely clearing his thoughts and found
himself wondering if he would be forced to choose between Gaithlin and his St.
John inheritance at some point in the future. He wondered if his enraged father
would force him to give up the only woman he had ever remotely cared for in
lieu of being granted his substantial endowment.

Whether or not Gaithlin would be his wife, it was not
out of the realm of possibility that his father would force him to make a
choice. But it was not a difficult one.

Listening to Gaithlin's throaty laughter once again,
Christian realized there was nothing on this earth worth relinquishing the
woman he had seen on that distant summer day, swimming in the shimmering lake
with all of the grace and beauty of a mythical mermaid.
A
woman who had unknowingly endeared herself to his soul and had branded herself
upon his heart.

As of that warm August day, his choice had been made for
him.

There was no turning back.

'I set the Wheels
of Fate in motion myself,

suspecting
of the chaos I had unleashed.

 
Like the ungrateful child that I was,

there
was no swaying my
convictions.

There is no truer
loyalty that Love.'

 
~Chronicles of Christian St. John

Vl. VII, p. CIX

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"I told you that your daughter was in the company
of Christian St. John. Did you not believe me, my lady?"

Alicia knew Lady Maggie to be irritated with the
apparent lack of faith in her information; furthermore, she could hardly blame
the woman. Short of calling her a liar, she had not been discreet with her
assessment of the lady's covertly-delivered details and had even gone so far as
to command Eldon to relay the painstaking factors of his trip to St. Esk.
Seated in fuming silence, Maggie had listened impatiently to the knight's
deliberate accounting.

"'Twas not a matter of disbelief of acceptance, my
lady," Alicia answered calmly. "My husband merely thought it wise to
confirm your information before we acted accordingly. And, as we discovered,
you were entirely correct."

Maggie's gaze was cool on the ruddy, compact woman
seated across from her. "I see," she said calmly, realizing that to
become angry with the de Gare lack of faith would only serve to hinder the achievement
of her true motive. And her true motive, of course, was to convince Winding
Cross' army to ride northward to save their heiress.

Shifting on the splintering chair, she tried to hide her
irritation, focusing instead on the message she was prepared to deliver. With
twenty of Kelvin's men waiting to escort her back to Forrestoak, she was
concerned that lurking St. John spies would identify her borrowed escort and
return the information to their liege. And a suspicious Jean St. John would not
be a healthy ingredient to her vengeful stew. Daintily, she cleared her throat
and focused on the older woman.

"Certainly I do not fault you for confirming my
information, for it would be a natural path of progression," she said
quietly. "However, as I promised, I have located the whereabouts of your
daughter through great hazard on my part. Jean St. John was unwilling to
divulge the information and I fear I had to compromise both my integrity and my
life in order to obtain your daughter's location."

Alicia's gaze held steady, although she didn't believe
her slickly embellished story for a minute. She could hardly imagine that a
woman as shrewd as Margaret du Bois would be placed unwilling in a position
that would compromise both her integrity and livelihood; somehow, she suspected
the woman's reputation and integrity to be jeopardized already.

"Then I would thank you for your determination and
personal sacrifice," she managed to say, still disturbed by the woman's
motives in the overall scheme of Gaithlin's abduction.
How could she benefit
from all of this?
"We are indebted to you."

Maggie offered a thin, entirely feigned smile.
"Not at all, my lady.
As I stated before, my reward is
in knowing that I have prevented yet another atrocity committed by the Demon of
Eden," she removed her heavily-scented kerchief from her silk purse,
bringing it to her nose and inhaling deeply as if the scent would fortify her
spirit and courage.

Alicia could smell the expensive perfume from where she
sat, feeding her irritation considerably. Had the woman not truly possessed
valuable information regarding Gaithlin's captivity, she would have taken great
pleasure in personally removing her from Alex's solar. "I understand
completely. Would you tell me, then, where my daughter is?"

In her crumbling chair, Maggie's smile turned genuine. "She
is in Galloway," she announced quietly, watching Alicia's face turn a
peculiar shade of yellow. "On Douglas lands, I believe. Jean is expecting
a missive from Christian within the next few days that will definitively name
the precise location with the intention of sending support into Scotland to
fortify Christian's holding. If I may suggest, my lady, your spies would do
well to wait for the St. John posse to ride northward after receiving the
Demon's missive. They can lead you directly to your daughter."

Alicia continued to stare at the woman. Incapable of
answering for the moment, the softly-uttered words of her informant rolled with
thunderous propulsion through the weary depths of her astonished mind.
Douglas
lands.
Why on earth had the Demon taken her to Douglas lands? Alicia had no
knowledge that the St. Johns
were
allied with the
Douglas; if anything, they seemed to spurn Scot alliances in favor of more
powerful English ties. As most of the north disregarded the wild Scots, so did
the St. Johns.
And so had the de Gares.

An arrogant ignorance, truly.
Alex had possessed little love for Alicia's Scot
bloodlines, as had his father. Alicia`s grandmother had been a Douglas, the
lovely and tall Calandra Douglas. In fact, Alicia believed that Gaithlin
inherited her height and clumsiness from her statuesque, beautiful grandmother.
But a resemblance to the Scot was the only acknowledged link between the Clan
Douglas and the House of de Gare.

Alicia well knew that all Scot ties had been severed
nearly the moment her grandmother had married into the wealthy Percys. Then,
bearing a daughter who married into another household further had diluted the
link, a union that had resulted in Alicia's birth. By the time Calandra's
granddaughter married into the House of de Gare, the Scot blood ties were all
but dissolved, forgotten in the distant past.

A link she suddenly wished to be a steady, sustaining
bond. Surely then, she would be able to regain her Gaithlin with the Clan
Douglas on her side.

However... if the Demon of Eden was knowingly nestled
within the Galloway territories, certainly it was not coincidence. The Douglas
were
a protective clan and an intruder to their territories
would not be disregarded. If Christian St. John had been offered haven within
the shielding confines of the Galloway expanse, then there was far more to the
situation than met the eye. Mayhap the St. Johns
were
indeed allied with the Douglas.

Baffled and apprehensive, Alicia forced herself from her
train of thought to focus on Maggie's expectant face. The woman was
anticipating a reply to her military suggestion and Alicia struggled to form
the correct response.

"Clearly, that would be a wise course of
action," she said hoarsely, eager to dismiss the woman. "My...
husband will take your advisement into counsel. If there is nothing else, my
lady…."

Sensing the conversation was concluded and eager to be
free of Winding Cross' mossy and forbidden presence, Maggie rose from the
ancient chair and scarcely hid her distain as she brushed the splinters and
dust from her expensive gown.

"Nay, my lady, there is nothing else," she
said, eyeing the round woman with the cat-like eyes. After a moment's
hesitation, the tone forthcoming from the red-painted mouth was considerably
softer. "I hope you are successful in retrieving your daughter. I pray my
assistance has not been in vain."

As Eldon emerged like a phantom protector from the dank
depths of the solar to escort the pampered woman to the door, Alicia fixed her
with as heady a stare as she could manage. "As do I," she replied
quietly. "You have our undying gratitude, Lady Margaret
.
'
Tis my fervent hope that we are able to repay your kindness,
someday."

By releasing Christian from his captive, your repayment
will be complete.
Maggie's mind
churned with the obvious reply as she bowed her head graciously to her hostess.
She had completed her mission; now it was time for inherent hatred and natural
malice to take its course.

Her eagerness to be gone from Winding Cross gained
intensity as she crossed the room with the large knight on her heels. By the
time she hit the Norman-style archway that led in to the shabby foyer, she was
nearly running.

Alicia heard the footfalls as they faded against the
cold stone. Rooted to the spot, she continued to stare at the dim archway as if
pondering the course the circumstance had unwittingly taken.
The
morbid realization that Gaithlin was in much deeper trouble that she had
originally believed.

"She is a lying bitch," Uriah's voice was a
low rumble from the shadowed alcove next to the hearth. "She is a spy sent
from Jean. The entire story smells of a trap."

Alicia broke from her train of thought, too caught up in
her turmoil to caution the old knight to take care with his language. After a
lengthy moment, she turned in the ancient warrior's direction.

"She was correct in her information the first
time," she sighed with defeat, her eyes dull and distant. "I have no
choice, Uriah. If I am to retrieve my daughter, then I must have faith in her
information."

Uriah snorted, raking dirty fingers through his equally
dirty hair. "I still believe it to be a trap," he suddenly paused,
glancing to his weary, emotionally distraught lady. "Wasn't your
grandmother a Douglas?"

Alicia`s jaw visibly ticked as she once again struggled
against the verity of the shocking revelation. "That was a long time
ago," she said hoarsely, squaring her shoulders as if determined to
disregard her turmoil in favor of a decisive course of action. "You will
assemble the men, Uriah. I intend to take the woman's advice and set spies to
monitor Jean's movements. When his men move northward to support the Demon's position,
we shall follow. The element of surprise will be on our side, of course, and I
anticipate victory even now."

Uriah rose from his chair, a hairy eyebrow cocked at his
mistress.
"Victory against the Demon?"

"Indeed," Alicia refused to be discouraged by
his pessimism. "We shall leave ten men here to protect the fortress and
ride out with a full company of men and knights."

"Jean has more men that we do. What if he sends one
hundred troops to fortify the Demon?"

"As I said, the element of surprise will be ours.
And, truthfully, our only objective will be to rescue Gaithlin and not to destroy
troops that obviously out-number us."

Uriah ground his teeth, seeing that there
was
no swaying Alicia's intentions. "I still say it is
a trap."

"And I say we have no choice. We will take the
lady's advice."

Uriah sighed heavily, scratching his scalp as he came to
terms with the future course of Winding Cross' potential welfare. "Very
well, my lady," he muttered. "Will you be riding with us?"

"Of course," Alicia said briskly. "Where
my men fight, so do I."

"Fight where?" Eldon re-entered the solar, his
brown eyes inquisitive.

Alicia turned to the knight, the lover she emotionally
abused with her indecisiveness and paltry concerns. Gently, she smiled.
"Come in, Eldon. We have laid a course of action."

Eldon glanced at Uriah, noting from the man's dour
expression that he was not pleased with 'their' course of action. Bracing
inwardly, he managed to return Alicia's encouraging smile.

"Very well, my lady.
I am at your disposal."

Less than five minutes later, Uriah wasn't the only
knight with a dour expression.

***

The road to Forrestoak was alive with birds and the
brightness of approaching fall. As Maggie drank in the scenery, she felt a
sense of satisfaction; she had completed her objective admirably and her heart
was as light as a feather. Christian was as good as in her arms and the de Gare
bitch would be returned to her proper cage, away from the Demon who had been
forced to endure her company.

Of course, it occurred to her that Christian could
suffer terribly in the battle that was sure to come as two opposing factions
sought to separate the Demon from his captive. But she convinced herself that
Jean St. John would do nothing to harm his errant son in anger and that the de
Gares were merely concerned with retrieving their heiress, not exacting mortal
revenge against the more-powerful Demon of Eden. Surely retrieving the woman
would be enough without the sacrifice of St. John blood.

She had to believe that no trauma would come to her
intended. In faith, she refused to believe that she had ignited a furious blaze
from which there was no knowing the full extent of devastation. A blaze that
was already spreading, devouring all it touched, consuming that which it met
only to leave the victim emotionally destroyed as a brittle cinder is achieved.
All that mattered was that Christian would return to his senses and to her bed,
where he belonged.

Two hours out of Winding Cross, her sergeant estimated
they would be approaching Howard lands within the hour. Maggie relaxed aboard
her delicate white palfrey, thinking ahead to Kelvin's reaction when she told
him of her most brilliant, accomplished scheme to exact revenge upon both
Christian and the de Gare bitch. Now that she had set the plan in motion,
enmity would carry it through to the end. There was nothing left to do but
observe the happenings from the safety of Forrestoak.