Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
Gaithlin smiled
faintly, shaking her head. "Christian, he cannot eat any more. He's going
to vomit."
Christian grinned
broadly, pulling Gaithlin into his powerful, playful embrace. "Ha! Then I
am the victor, and to the victor
goes
the
spoils!" With that, he growled like a bear and nibbled Gaithlin's ticklish
neck until she squealed.
Malcolm choked down
the bite, frowning at the interaction between Christian and Gaithlin.
"Tha's not fair! I canna have her, anyway.
Even if I
win!"
"Of course you
cannot have her," Christian said, ignoring Gaithlin's weak giggles and
pleas for release. "She's mine. But should you ever win a contest between
us,
then
you are free to choose your own spoils.
Whatever it may be."
Malcolm's eyes
widened.
"Anythin'?"
"Anything."
The lad thought
heavy on the possibilities, a gleeful smile coming to his lips. "Then I
shall win
th
' next contest. An' I can pick me
prize."
Christian returned
the boy's smile as Gaithlin pulled herself from his embrace, rising to stand on
weary legs. "I must fetch the water for cleaning the dishes," she
said softly, scooping up the smaller iron pot they used for their water needs.
"I shall be a moment."
"Malcolm can
do that," Christian said, gesturing to the boy. "Give him the pot,
Gae. Let him get the water."
She shook her head,
moving away from the heat and warmth of the bonfire. "I need to walk,
Christian. I am absolutely exhausted and I need to finish my supper chores
before I can retire. Truthfully, I shall just be a minute to the stream."
Christian sighed
reluctantly but allowed her to continue, winking boldly when she blew him a
tender kiss. Watching her light-blue figure as it faded into the darkness, his
warrior instincts were suddenly highly attuned to the noise and atmosphere of
the area.
Protecting his wife even as she wandered towards
the nearby brook to gather her water.
The night was calm
and still as Christian piqued ears deciphered every sound and snap; in fact, he
felt himself growing rather complacent in his sentry duties until the
dog-people suddenly let out a startling series of whoops. Rising from the pile
of bones that had constituted their meal, they abruptly made mad haste towards
the hovel of their nest.
With rising
concern, Christian watched the two dark figures dance across the clearing,
sniffing the air like a pair of crazed animals.
Although the
dog-man had exhibited such antics once before for apparently no reason,
Christian was nonetheless uneased by their skittish behavior.
More skittish than normal.
Rising to his feet,
Christian could no longer see his wife; she had disappeared into the trees that
shielded the bubbling brook from view. The moon above was bright, casting a
faint silver glow about the landscape as he peered into the darkness in an
ineffectual attempt to catch a reassuring glance of her rapid return. Seeing no
such movement, he couldn't help but call out to her as the dog-people continued
to whine and bay.
"Gae?"
After an eternal
moment, her faint reply came wafting back on the chill night air. "I am
coming!"
Mildly satisfied,
he maintained his watchful position as Malcolm succumbed to an exhausted sleep
in front of the crackling blaze. Attempting to disregard the continued yelps of
his newest neighbors, he waited impatiently for his wife to return from the
brook.
The water was
noisy, barely lit through the cover of dense canopy above. Gaithlin had
recently answered her husband's call, guessing his apprehensive cry had
something to do with the dog-people's sudden barking fit. Mayhap Christian had
upset them and required her calming influence, she mused dryly. Or mayhap they
had attacked him while his back was turned and tied him to a tree, just as he
had done to the male.
Giggling at the
thought of Christian tied to a Scot Pine at the mercy of two canine-like
humans,
she dipped the iron pot deep into the brook. Taking
care not to stir up any silt, she
wait
patiently as
the pristine water filled her little pot to the very brim. Around her, the
night was still and calm and her thoughts began to wander to the ensuing eve
within the enclosure of Christian's wonderful embrace.
Absolutely, she
would insist he recite more prose. He was magnificent with his literate talents
and she could hardly describe the arousal it brought upon her. Only knowing
that his rich, deep voice enveloping each word of passion and delight brought
waves of desire she had never before experienced. A world she wanted deeply to
know, more and more with each passing moment. A world where she and Christian
would come to discover more about each other than any man had ever known a
woman.
A world where she was happier than she had ever been.
Pot filled, she
rose from the creek, still lingering on her warm, delicious thoughts as she
turned for the camp. Still pondering her own giddy fortune and the myriad of
foolish thoughts that accompanied it, she was surprised to come face to face
with a broad, armored chest directly in her path.
The pot fell to the
ground as Gaithlin let out a gasp of shock and terror. Staring back at her
were
a pair of unfamiliar brown eyes; they, too, were wide
with obvious surprise.
"Christ,"
the knight rasped. "It
is
you!"
Mouth hanging agape
in surprise, Gaithlin was incapable of responding to his peculiar utterance.
But as quickly as the knight's astonishment appeared, it was vanished, and a
great mailed glove reached out to grasp her cruelly by the arm. All around her,
the trees suddenly came alive with soldiers and men in armor.
Gaithlin rapidly
moved beyond shock to complete, utter panic. Opening her mouth to scream, she
was cut short by a sharp, forceful pain to the back of her head and before
another coherent thought could form, the entire world about her went to black.
'I would have defied God himself to marry her...
my
father's wrath was
of little regard.
Woe! Had I been
wise enough to heed her
admonition!
'
~Chronicles of
Christian St. John
Vl. X, p. CXVI
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
"Christian?"
Christian
recognized his brother's voice before the man finished speaking. Emerging from
the dark trees that encircled the small Galloway encampment, Quinton St. John
was in full battle armor as he approached his brother.
Christian could
only stare at his brother, apprehension and terror running hand in hand as the
fully armored man materialized from the trees in the precise location where
Gaithlin had vanished. As the dog-people continued to cry and howl, it suddenly
occurred to him that he should have listened to their unintelligible screams;
obviously, they had sensed something the Demon had not. Quite clearly,
something was terribly wrong, and now he was cornered.
Off-guard
and off-balance.
"Good Christ,
Quinton," he said with genuine emotion. "Where did you come
from?"
Quinton gazed
steadily at his brother as he came up upon him, feeling more hatred and sorrow
and confusion than he ever imagined possible. Gazing into the face of a man he
thought he knew quite well until now.
"The trees,”
he said evenly. “Actually, I have been here a while.
We have
been here a
while.
Watching you."
"We?"
Christian cocked
an eyebrow, glancing into the shadowed greenery beyond and wondering with
rising panic what had become of his wife. "Who is ‘we’?"
Quinton shrugged.
"Jasper and I and a company of St. John soldiers.
Father sent us."
Christian's gaze
held even as his brother came to a halt in directly in front of him, his
stomach twisting with the force of his anxiety. As ice-blue orbs met with those
of soft brown, there was no doubt in Christian's mind that his brother knew the
whole of the story without the benefit of words. If his brother had been
lurking in the bramble for some time, then he had seen a great deal that defied
the necessity of an explanation.
Aye, he could see
by the expression on Quinton's face that his brother knew something was amiss;
the Feud was not as strong within the Galloway encampment as it should have
been. Christian's heart sank at being caught at a distinct disadvantage; he had
sincerely hoped to break the terms of his relationship to Gaithlin within his
own time frame. Obviously, his plans had been altered.
"Where is
she?" Christian forewent any further conversation, the empty banter of
meaningless talk. If Quinton suspected the worst, then Christian was eager to
clarify the situation before the foolish man reacted adversely. In fact, he was
fearful that his brother had already acted in a brutal manner towards Gaithlin
and Christian was increasingly desperate to know of her condition.
Quinton drew in a
deep, entirely laborious breath as he met his brother's gaze. The longer he
stared into the man's crystal-clear eyes, the deeper the pain of treachery
carved. His resentment and confusion bubbled forth and he found himself
struggling against the urge to pound a measure of sense into his brother's
thick skull; he simply couldn't believe the man had betrayed the St. John name
for the sake of a mere woman. Not just any woman, but a de Gare.
It was difficult to
keep the bitterness from his voice. "Was she worth it, Christian? Was she
worth the judgment you will now have to face?"
Christian forced
himself to remain cool, his customary steely demeanor taking hold as the gist
of his brother's accusations and knowledge abruptly came into focus. Since
there was obviously no use in denying the truth, he was prepared to confront
Quinton's scathing allegations and hope that within the reason of his careful
rationalization, his brother would come to comprehend the delicacy of the
situation.
"Aye, she was.
Now you will tell me where my wife is or I shall kill you with my bare
hands."
Fury and shock
flushed Quinton's veins as his disbelieving ears took hold of his brother's
statement.
God help them all, the town merchant had been correct.
Quinton's thinly-held control suddenly broke free and exploded in a blast of
harsh, nasty words.
"You... your
wife?”
he exclaimed. “
Christ,
Christian, what are you saying? You actually married the de Gare bitch?"
Quinton's eyes and
nose
were
the only portion of his body exposed beneath
his formidable armor. In a blinding flash, Christian's fist was suddenly
blocking his vision and the searing pain that immediately followed sent him to
the ground. Gasping with shock and agony, Quinton was not surprised when
Christian lurched over his prostrate form, ripping off his helm in an attempt
to do further damage to his offensive mouth.
Quinton struggled
with diming vision as the certainty of Christian's anger settled, knowing that
he would surely be subject to harsher blows until he was able to regain his
footing and defend himself. However, the more powerful impacts were not
forthcoming; instead, he found himself gazing up into his brother's grim
expression as the cold gray moonlight caressed the familiar family features.
"You will
never again use that term to describe my wife, and now your sister. Do you
comprehend me?"
Breathing heavily
as blood from his damaged nose coursed over his lips, Quinton nonetheless
maintained the courage to glare at his attacker. "How could you do this,
Christian? How could you be so foolish?"
Christian's jaw
ticked dangerously. "Where is she,
Quinton.
I
shall not ask again."
Hissing a curse and
spraying blood over his brother's tunic, Quinton jabbed a finger at the trees.
"With Jasper.
Now answer my question; what in the hell
happened to you?"
Christian ignored
his brother's demand, instead, focusing in the darkened canopy of forest.
"Jasper!" he bellowed. "Bring her to me!"
His remarkably loud
voice echoed off the Wood, jolting Malcolm awake from his position by the fire.
Even the dog-people screeched louder in response to his cry, but Christian
ignored his vassals, old and new alike. All that mattered at the moment was
regaining custody of his wife.
The reaction from
his cousin was immediate; Christian watched with mounting horror as the massive
man emerged from the trees, carrying Gaithlin in his arms. Unconscious, her
long body lay across Jasper's armored arms, her delicious blond hair cascading
to the ground like a macabre banner. Christian rose from his dominant position
over his brother, panic in his throat as he eagerly extended his arms to accept
her from his cousin's custody. Without hesitation, Jasper delivered the Demon
his wife.
"Good
Christ," Christian moaned, his eyes raking Gaithlin's still form
desperately. "What did you do to her?"
"Knocked her
on the head before her screams could alert you," Jasper replied frankly,
eyeing Quinton as the man rose unsteadily to his feet. "She will
recover."
Christian's face
flushed an ugly shade of red as he tore his eyes away from his wife, focusing
on his brother and cousin. "She'd better or I shall kill you both where
you stand," he growled, shifting his grip on Gaithlin to pull her more
closely against him. "So you sought to catch me off guard, did you?
What in the hell for?"
Quinton sneezed and
snorted, spraying blood droplets. "We wanted to see for ourselves if the
rumors were true."
"What damn
rumors?" Christian cradled Gaithlin to him fiercely, as if she were a
babe.
The area beneath
Quinton's eyes was already darkening as he met his brother's gaze. "Maggie
came to Eden bearing news of your travels through Howard lands. She claimed
that you and your alleged captive were acting more like lovers and she
convinced father of the fact, hence my appearance in Galloway.
To substantiate your treachery."
Maggie.
Christian thought bleakly.
Damn her black, perfidious heart!
In faith, he
wasn't surprised in the least; Maggie had always been sly and devious and he
was well aware that she was seeking vengeance upon him for breaking their
betrothal.
But Maggie's
twisted sense of revenge was of little concern. The only matter of interest at
the moment was the woman in his arms as she struggled from the depths of
unconsciousness. Unwilling to clarify the basis of Marble-head Maggie's
spiteful tales, especially when Quinton was so fond of her, he focused instead
on the very factors supporting his brother's abrupt visit.
"Quinton, if
you would care to listen to my truthful version of events before any more blood
is spilled, I should be happy to explain the factual circumstances. Surely you
would trust my word over Maggie's."
Wiping at his
leaking nose, Quinton couldn't remember ever feeling more disgust or loathing;
loathing for his brother, for the wench, for the entire situation that was sure
to bring about a chaotic disorder to the House of St. John.
He had actually
defended his brother against the vicious allegations, only to be humiliated and
devastated to discover that he had been made a fool of by his own staunch sense
of loyalties. Loyalties
that were
apparently
misplaced, misdirected, and misguided. He couldn't decide whether he was more
disappointed in himself or in his brother; clearly, there was enough blame to
be shared.
"Speak,
then," he hissed. "I don't know what you could possibly say that
could justify what you have done."
Clutching Gaithlin
tenderly, Christian met his brother's hateful glower as evenly as he could
muster; he, too, was feeling the sting of his own betrayal as reflected in the
familiar brown eyes.
"A great deal,
little brother,” he said. “In the first place, I married Lady Gaithlin to end
the hostilities between the House of St. John and the House of de Gare once and
for all. I am weary of a seventy-year-old feud that began as a difference of opinion
and escalated into the very essence of our existence. Secondly, the lady is our
second cousin, related through the Clan Douglas, and the fact that I have
married her should strengthen the undeniable blood ties and further quell the
Feud."
Shifting Gaithlin again as she moaned softly
in mounting lucidity, he gazed down at her beautiful, pale face. "And
lastly, I married this woman because I love her with all my heart. To hell with
a foolish family legacy that requires our inherent hatred simply because our
ancestors demand it. If Gaithlin and I can be the tool though which two
families achieve peace, then it is my greatest accomplishment to do so. If not,
then my wife and I will vanish from your lives forever. Do you understand what
I am saying, Quinton? I do not want to battle any longer."
Subdued, shaken,
and completely bewildered, Quinton stared at his brother as if he could
scarcely understand what he had been told. Even if his brother was striving to
achieve a noble cause, whether or not he truly loved the woman stirring in his
arms, he obviously did not understand the dire consequences he was preparing to
face as a result of his weakness. But Quinton understood all too well.
"Have you gone
completely mad?" he breathed. "Father is going to execute you for
treason!"
Christian's jaw
ticked rhythmically with the force of his emotion. "He will come to see my
reasoning. And he will come to understand that I am preserving generations of
St. Johns from a life of warring and hatred; I do not want my children to be
raised within an atmosphere of loathing and bias. And I do not believe you do,
either."
Quinton wiped at
his tender nose, rolling his eyes in a desperate gesture. "How can you
possibly believe that one marriage will end decades of feuding? You are not
thinking clearly and the woman in your arms is the root of your
confusion."
Gaithlin chose that
moment to open her eyes, the world unfocused and shaky. Realizing she was in
Christian's arms, she let out a weak, quaking sigh and threw both arms about his
thick neck.
"Christian...,"
she mumbled faintly.
He squeezed her
quickly, a quieting gesture. "Shush, Gae," he whispered, still
focused on his brother. "Quinton, you must understand that I did not marry
Gaithlin for purely selfish reasons. I also married her to guarantee a peace
that our families haven't known in seventy years. And I am certainly not mad in
believing that one marriage will end hostilities; clearly, the path to truce
must begin somewhere. I am willing to allow it to begin with me."
Quinton's gaze
drifted from his brother to the woman pressed against Christian's chest. He
stared at her a moment as she blinked her eyes, fighting to clear her vision
from a brutal blow, and Christian noted a distinct softening of Quinton's grim
features. He fully realized how confused and upset his brother was; in faith,
he was quite expecting it.