A Medieval Romance
By Kathryn Le Veque
FOREWORD
By Bud Dietrich, Ph.D.
From the earliest authenticated date of his writings until his death in 1306 A.D., Sir Christian St. John accumulated over fourteen volumes of text chronicling his life, teachings and speculations that, even now, continue to set precedence for the world of modern English Literature. The British Museum of Arts and Sciences has an entire exhibit dedicated to a collection of St. John works that continues to be scrutinized and revered by layman and scholars alike.
It has been rumored for centuries within the inner sanctums of the civilized world’s most powerful laureates that William Shakespeare received his literary motivation based on the scripts of Christian St. John. Later writers such as Shelley or Bronte or even Poe were also known to have idolized his work. It was even speculated that Shakespeare himself plagiarized several St. John passages within the guise of his own marvelous pieces.
Although Sir Christian’s modern ideals and exemplary text are that by which he has achieved his fame, few details of his notable life have ever been discovered. Even if the world views his writings as his most monumental achievement, oddly enough, Sir Christian did not. He actually stopped writing for some time after the death of his father, as it seemed to be a particularly difficult period in his life, but he resumed at the birth of his first child shortly thereafter.
Furthermore, it is clear upon reviewing his journals that he considered his wife to be his most important accomplishment, a woman whom he referred to by name only once. All other references to his wife were indicated simply by “she” or “her”. Unfortunately, her name has been lost to the ravages of time but St. John scholars seem to think it was either Caitleen or Catherine. Lady St. John bore Sir Christian eleven children, several of whom went on to be important men in their own right including the eldest, Alexander St. John, who was an important warrior for Edward the Second and Edward the Third. Lady St. John’s death preceded Sir Christian’s in 1300 A.D., and it was at that moment he ceased writing altogether. When his muse died, so did he in a sense, but when he finally passed away in 1306 A.D., he was buried with his wife in the same crypt as he had requested. Lord and Lady St. John’s love story is truly one for the ages.
If only we knew more about her, perhaps that knowledge would reveal more insights into the relationship she once shared with the man once known as the Demon of Eden. Perhaps, then, we would know the true inspiration behind Sir Christian’s well-regarded chronicles.
Perhaps, then, we would understand what it is to truly know a devotion beyond the boundaries of space and time. A devotion Sir Christian considered a far greater fulfillment than any literary success he managed to attain, no matter how distinguished the modern world considers them to be.
Perhaps, then, there is more to the life and intellectual talents of Sir Christian St. John than the world of contemporary scholars are able to decipher. If we were only able to discover the name and history of the woman he refers to as his greatest passion, then, perhaps, we would be able to better understand the forces behind the knight once known as The Demon of Eden….
‘Beauty discerns no boundaries
Hatred unbeknownst in the splendid
State of Grace.
The sting of the scorpion
would be preferable
to the agony of love beyond the loathing.’
~ Chronicles of Christian St. John
Vl. IV, p. CIV
PROLOGUE
Year of our Lord 1266 A.D.
Month of August
Skiddaw Forest, Cumbria, England
“God’s Bones, Quinton, what is so important that you would pull me from a training session and drag me all over the blessed countryside?”
Quinton St. John didn’t look to his brother, nor did he respond but to smile. His brother, astride a magnificent white destrier, scowled and shook his head with frustration. As the two horses plunged down a particularly steep slope, dragging their hind legs and digging deep ruts in the damp earth in order to keep from pitching their riders forward, the annoyed brother again shook his head.
“If my horse ruptures a tendon because of your foolish folly, I shall have your head,” he growled, grunting as his huge charger leapt over the small stream at the base of the embankment. Tightening up on the reins and throwing his weight forward as the animal charged up the grassy incline on the opposite side in an attempt to keep pace with the lead rider, he again yelled to his brother. “Quinton, do you hear me? Tell me where we are going or I shall turn about this instant!”
“Don’t turn about!” Quinton knew his brother’s threat to be serious. “I promise you, it will be worth the effort!”
Christian St. John rolled his eyes with irritation as his brother led him across a brief clearing and through a cluster of rich green oaks. A heavy branch of prickly oak leaves snapped back as his brother passed by, nearly whipping him across the face had he not been alert enough to dodge it. Abruptly, he reined his destrier to a halt. Several yards in front of him, Quinton realized his brother had stopped and brought his own steed to an unsteady halt.
Christian’s piercing ice-blue eyes were hard. “Not another step until I find out why you have set a hell-pace across the boundaries of our lands.”
Quinton leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle, his blue eyes twinkling. “Do you trust me?”
“Without question. But you are taking us into disputed territory and I shall not proceed unless I know your reasoning.”
Quinton pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I would tell you, but then it would not be a surprise. Trust me, Demon. I shall not bring you to harm or idiocy.”
Christian cocked an eyebrow. “Our very presence on the border of the disputed lands is a distinct show of idiocy. We are bearing towards de Gare lands.”
Quinton glanced over his shoulder as if to note his brother’s observations. “It’s not much further,” he returned his focus to Christian’s irritated expression. “Please? Just a little further and I promise you will not be disappointed.”
Christian let out a hissing sigh. “Disappointed by what? Damnation, Quinton, brother or no I shall take my sword to you and….”
Quinton cut him off, spurring his horse onward. “If we don’t hurry, we shall miss it. Come along!”
Christian’s first reaction was to turn his steed for the safety of their father’s fortress. But an ounce of curiosity had settled, making it far more difficult to complete the action that would set him for home. Watching his younger brother bolt through the trees, he realized with disgust that Quinton had succeeded in piquing his interest. He furthermore realized he was about to follow the man into the disputed territory – the lands separating the St. John’s from the de Gare’s.
The disputed lands were rich, filled with dense foliage and hidden streams. The heady smell of blooms cloaked the air as Christian caught up to his brother, both men slowing their pace as they passed through heavy brush. Clad in leather breeches, thick boots, and a sleeveless leather vest that did little to protect his massive arms against the stinging scratch of the bramble, Christian followed his brother’s lead down a narrow path that descended into a thick canopy of trees.
At the bottom of the trail, the foliage was far too heavy to penetrate with the horses and Quinton leapt off his animal, motioning for his brother to follow. Pursing his lips with the greatest irritation and reluctance, Christian did as he was asked.
The bushes were nearly as tall as he was and Quinton vigorously motioned for his brother to crouch low to the earth. Folding his tall frame, Christian crept up behind his brother and grabbed the man by the ear. Quinton bit off a yelp as he came face to face with Christian’s searing gaze.
“What are we doing here?” he demanded, a hissing whisper. “We’re on de Gare lands!”
Quinton yanked himself free of his brother’s brutal grip, rubbing his ear. “Nay, we are not. This is still disputed lands,” he pointed in the
direction he had been moving. “Come on; it’s not far.”
Christian had had enough of his brother’s mysteries. Following the brown-haired man into a particularly thick cluster of bushes, he opened his mouth to tell him precisely what he thought of his foolery when Quinton suddenly hissed with delight.
“Thank God,” he whispered. “We have arrived in time!”
Christian’s irritation turned to genuine curiosity as he attempted to locate his brother’s source of glee. “In time for what?”
Quinton’s delight turned most seductive and he pointed through the cover of leaves. “In time for her,” he said with satisfaction. “As I promised, dear brother. You shan’t be disappointed.”
Christian followed his brother’s lead, peering through the sheltering branches. Across the body of a small pond, shimmering weakly in the dim light, his ice-blue gaze fell on a lovely dappled palfrey partially concealed by a cluster of bushes. Clearly, he could see a blond head on the opposite side of the horse, bobbing to and fro as it went about its business. It was a woman, he could tell. His interest took a deeper foothold and he shifted in the bramble to gain another, more revealing look.
As the blond-headed figure stepped out from behind the palfrey, Christian’s irritation vanished as he found himself gazing upon the most beautiful woman he had ever had the fortune to witness. It had taken him a mere second to deduce that she was by far the most magnificent female he had ever beheld; it was not an uneducated conclusion considering he had seen more than his share of women in his young life.
Enough experience to know that the beauty before him was unequaled by anything he had ever encountered. An odd warmth settled in his limbs as he observed her fluid movements as she ran her fingers through her hair, speaking softly to the palfrey when the animal drank from the body of water. Her voice, sultry and faint, bolted through him like a turbulent fire.
Christian knew he had to meet her. Lacking any hesitation, he moved to stand; he was consumed with the idea of announcing himself to the woman with the silky blond hair, as glistening and lovely as the gossamer wings. But a sharp grasp upon his arm halted his intentions as Quinton yanked him hard enough to cause him to lose his balance. Crashing to his knees, Christian turned his furious attention to his brother.
“What are you doing?” Quinton hissed sharply.
Icy-blue eyes blazed. “I am going to introduce myself.”
Quinton shook his head sharply. “You will not. I forbid you to spoil my surprise.”
Christian jerked his arm free of his brother’s biting grip, moving to regain his footing. “What are you talking about? You have presented your surprise, as is evident by the angelic woman at the water’s edge. And I intend to….”
Quinton cut him off. “If you introduce yourself, you will spoil everything. She will never come here again.”
Christian’s eyebrows drew together. “You’re not making sense, Quinton. Is she not the surprise you intended for me? Why do you not allow me to make my presence known?”
Quinton opened his mouth to contest his brother’s statement but something from the opposite side of the pond caught his attention. His expression softened. “Because you will miss the performance if you do,” he said softly.
Puzzled and mildly annoyed, Christian turned to the source of his brother’s preoccupation, and all of his irritation vanished in one awestruck moment.
The woman with the incredibly beautiful hair had removed her simple gown, leaving her clad in a fine linen shift. As she moved to the water’s edge, the faint light that had managed to penetrate the canopy filtered through her thin garment, giving her admirers an ample view of her shapely legs.
The men watched, impressed with wonder, as she daintily dipped her toe into the water to test the temperature. Deeming the climate mild enough for her needs, she proceeded to strip off the shift in a single effortless movement. Tossing the garment aside, she dove into the crystal-clear waters without reserve.
Christian could scarcely breathe. His entire attention was riveted to the mysterious woman as she frolicked about in the water like an exotic fish. Even as he watched her graceful movements, her long arms as they carved easily into the surface of the pond, his attention repeatedly returned to the brief moment by the water’s edge when she had been completely nude, void of all hindrance and shame and protection. She was magnificent. If Christian hadn’t known himself any better, he would have sworn he fell in love with her at that very moment.
But to love someone based purely on appearance was foolish. Love was foolish. He had been the recipient of enough “love” over the years to know that for fact; silly, giddy, irrational of all emotions, it was acid to a man’s ears and a syphon to his strength. He couldn’t count the number of women who had declared themselves in “love” with the powerful knight known as the Demon of Eden, heir to the rich barony of the same name, nestled between the shires of Cumbria and Durham. It was a barony that had been at war with its closest neighbor for over seventy years.
Certainly there was little difference between love and war; the most volatile of all states, a fine line separating the two as if to commonly divide and commonly unite them. Although he had no use for one state, he’d never known reprieve from the other.
In fact, even now he was considered upon enemy land as he gazed upon the delightful nymph settled in the water before him. Her blond hair was slicked back on her head as she paddled about, and Christian and Quinton found themselves ducking low when she unknowingly turned in their direction.
Through the shielding foliage, Christian found himself staring at a face that matched the perfection of the body. Large, almond-shaped eyes reflected the deep blue of the pool with mesmerizing beauty, and his gaze raked over dramatically arched brows set within a pleasing oval face. Lips as full and ripe as summer cherries hovered over the water as she swam gracefully, completely ignorant of her appreciative audience.
The entire picture was enrapturing. Christian sank to his buttocks, settling in for what he hoped to be a lengthy exhibition of flesh and beauty. Tempting glimpses of slender legs or delicate shoulders would assault his senses, causing him to lick lips that had been sucked dry by his heavy breathing. Never in his life had he harbored such a reaction to any female, clothed or unclothed.
Watching the woman as she splashed in the center of the pond, it was as if nothing else in the world existed.
“Tell me, Demon; what do you think?” he was vaguely aware of Quinton’s voice, low and suggestive.
Christian’s ice-blue eyes never left the bathing enchantress. “I think I am in love.” When he heard his brother’s soft snickers, he tore his gaze away from the woman long enough to slant the man a wondrous gaze. “How did you come by her?”
“On patrol,” Quinton whispered. “A few weeks ago, before you returned from London, I happened across her while securing the disputed lands. She comes here every week, every Thursday, about this time. She has never missed a date.”
“Nor shall I from now on,” Christian murmured fervently. “Who is she?”
Quinton shook his head. “I have no idea. But she comes from de Gare lands.”
A dark expression rippled across his brother’s chiseled features. “A servant, mayhap. Or even one of the family?”
Quinton shrugged. “I have never seen the family. I have been unfortunate enough to glimpse Alex de Gare during the course of small skirmishes or sieges, but I have never seen his eldest daughter or the two younger boys.”
Christian continued to stare at the woman as a hawk watches its prey. “Do you think she could be Alex’s daughter?”
Quinton shook his head. “Hardly,” he snorted. “Alex de Gare is a short, rotund little brute. She’s far too exquisite to be his offspring.”
Christian didn’t say anything for the moment as the lady disappeared beneath the glassy waters, only to reappear moments later as she burst through the surface as if intending to launch herself to the sky above. Water cascaded from her magnificent torso
as she hung suspended for a brief moment, exposed to the heat and elements and probing eyes of the astonished brothers when gravity gracefully forced her into the shielding confines of the pond.
But the fleeting display had been enough; Christian was left speechless by the vision of the sun as it reflected off her wet skin, erotically caressing her glorious breasts, probing gently along her slender ribcage, embracing her narrowed waist.
“Do you still believe my trek into disputed lands to be foolish?” He was barely aware of Quinton’s taunting whisper.
After a lengthy, dazed moment, he simply shook his head. “Not at all,” his voice quiet. “In fact, I shall never doubt you again. Forgive me for ever questioning your wisdom.”
Quinton snorted. “Well that you have come to realize my brilliance.” Glancing at the canopy overhead, he tugged at Christian’s arm. “We’d better be leaving. Father will wonder where we have gone to.”
Christian never took his eyes from the fairy-like vision in the pond. He couldn’t imagine leaving her alone, performing her sensual ballet for the fish and the birds as if they could appreciate her display. Her entire presentation was meant for him and him alone, and he would not be so rude as to leave before she was concluded. He was determined to stay until the end.
“I shall come in a moment.” He waved his brother on; in fact, he was hoping Quinton would leave. He wanted to savor her exquisite beauty alone. “Tell father I shall be along shortly. Tell him… tell him I am securing the disputed territory.”
Quinton cocked an eyebrow, his gaze trailing to the distant female figure as she floated on her back in the water, exposing her delightfully ripe breasts to the trees above. He groaned softly. “Christ, I would forgive her even if she was Alex de Gare’s daughter.”
Christian had powerfully erotic visions of himself atop the supine form, already semi-aroused as he pondered the feel of her silken skin beneath his calloused hands, the taste of her female musk upon his tongue. He imagined the long, shapely legs as they wrapped about his narrow hips in passion to draw him deeper and deeper still. He was unaware that his breathing had quickened into shallow gasps as his pulse raced in rhythm with his fantasies. He glanced at his brother.
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