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 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 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 dam
n 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.
But he also knew that the promise of peace was attractive to his brother’s inherently sensitive nature; Quinton could be indecisive and, at times, weak-willed, but he was a good man with a pure heart. And Christian was desperate to reach that portion of his brother’s spirit.
“Do you understand what I am saying, Quinnie?” he asked, his voice considerably softer. Pleading for the man’s understanding. “I am weary of battle. I have never known a life without war, be it at home or on the Welsh front defending Henry’s and Edward’s holdings. I don’t want to fight any more, little brother. I am tired of fighting.”
Quinton’s features continued to soften and Christian realized it was because his brother and Gaithlin had made eye-contact. After a moment, Quinton swiped at the remaining blood on his upper lip in an almost pensive gesture.
“Do you remember when you first saw her?” he asked quietly, tearing his eyes away from Gaithlin and focusing on his brother. “In the Disputed Lands, swimming in a lake. Do you recall?”
With the shock and pain of betrayal fading, Christian smiled faintly at his exhausted, confused younger brother. “You know I do. And do you remember what I said?”
Quinton nodded vaguely. “That you would forgive her if she was the daughter of Lucifer himself.”
“What else?”
“That you believed yourself to be instantly in love,” he licked his lip one last time, removing all traces of blood. “Apparently, you were being truthful.”
“Apparently,” Christian glanced down at his wife, who was regaining some color to her cheeks. Smiling gently, he carefully set her on weak legs. “Gae, this is my brother, Quinton. Hardly an appropriate circumstance for you two to meet.”
Gaithlin could hardly look at the man much less greet him. The fear and hatred of the St. John rabble returned full-force and she stared at the ground, averting her gaze from Quinton’s probing stare. Christian sensed her natural apprehension and loathing, squeezing her reassuringly when she refused to look at her new brother-in-law.
Even if she was being deliberately evasive, Quinton continued to scrutinize her closely, seeing under the clear moonlight that she was far more beautiful that he had remembered. “We have been watching your camp for the better part of the day,” he said quietly. “We arrived just after you apparently returned home from a small sojourn. I must say, I wasn’t overly surprised when I discovered who your blond captive was. We speculated her lineage the day you first saw her.”
Christian nodded, his arm protectively about Gaithlin’s shoulders as she practically climbed inside his clothing in an attempt to hide from the cluster of St. John soldiers. “Even so, I was quite shocked to discover who she was when I abducted her from St. Esk. By the way, has there been any repercussions regarding my action?”
Quinton shook his head. “Not a word. And no word from Alex de Gare, either. Either he doesn’t
care that we have captured his daughter or he’s too stupid to read the missives delivered.” When Gaithlin’s head came up sharply, her eyes blazing with fury, Quinton cleared his throat with regret at his bold, unthinking statement. In fact, it was completely natural to belittle a de Gare with any given chance. “As I said, we have received no reply to our… accomplishment.”
Christian patted his wife’s shoulder calmly, feeling her lanky body tensing against him at Quinton’s insult. “Alex is a proud man, Quinton. He may be waiting for the appropriate moment to respond.” Casting a glance into Gaithlin’s astonished eyes, astonished that he was obviously willing to continue the de Gare charade, he released her shoulders and took her hand tenderly within his own. Facing his brother with a measure of bolstered courage, he attempted to gain the upper-hand on the situation. “Now, then. I intend to return my wife to Winding Cross before announcing my marriage to father. I believe it would be….”
For the first time during the entire conversation, Jasper delved into the sibling dialogue. “We have orders from Uncle Jean, Christian. And we must adhere to them, no matter what other plans you may have made.”
Christian’s apprehension made a swift return as he faced his massive, simple-minded cousin; the man was a war-machine. His actions were based on the directives of his commander and by those mandates alone; there was little compassion to his manner and even less thought. He did as he was told, no matter what the given circumstances. No matter if his orders were merciful or not, and Christian was positive they was not.
“And what are those?”
Quinton abruptly turned an odd shade of white, his breathing gaining momentum as Jasper and Christian focused on one another.
“That we return you to Eden to face your father’s judgment. And that we kill your captive.”
Brides of the North Page 104
