“She is dead now,” Jean seethed, jabbing a finger at his son. “She is dead and I will hear no more talk of peace between Winding Cross and Eden. You will purge this woman from your mind and reclaim your family loyalties, Christian, or I will kill you. So help me, I will do it.”
Christian could see, at that moment, that his father was truly mad. His stance had nothing to do with family honor and everything to do with his irrational hatred of the House of de Gare. He wanted to kill it for killing’s sake, destroy it for destroying’s sake. There was no reasoning with a mad man.
But it also underscored something else; if Jean was truly going to kill him, then he more than likely would have done it already. Jean didn’t want to kill his son, his Demon, and the man he respected most in the world… he simply wanted control of him again. As he probably saw it, Gaithlin had control of Christian now that they were married. Jean wanted that control back. With that knowledge, Christian began to calm somewhat and regain his confidence.
“Do as you must,” he said, reclaiming his seat and collecting his bone-and-steel quill. It was a big instrument he had purchased in London, with a spectacular sharp end that beautifully dispensed the ink. “If you feel you must kill me then I suppose there is nothing more I can say. But know this; we are related to the House of de Gare not only by my marriage to Gaithlin, but also through the Douglas Clan. My mother is descended from Nolan Douglas who was the brother of Alan Douglas, Gaithlin’s great-great grandfather. We all share the same blood, Father, and I am sorry if that is a shock to you. If you really want to be angry with someone, mayhap it should be Mother for linking us to the de Gare’s in the first place.”
Jean lost his composure. “You will not speak of your mother in such a way!” he screeched. “She is beyond reproach. It is you who have shamed us, Christian, not your mother!”
Christian was going back to his writing. He couldn’t deal with his father’s irrational behavior because he knew at some point, the fists were going to fly and he would be on the receiving end of a mad man’s flailing fists. If that was to occur, he would defend himself, which would only enrage his father more. At the moment, he was wishing Quinton would return very quickly, not only so he could find out about Gaithlin, but also because Quinton must have surely known Jean had somehow, someway, gone mad in the past several days.
This was not the Jean St. John they all knew. This was a fiend, and Christian was more than concerned about it. On top of all of his other horrific worries, now he was concerned with a father who had a finite grasp on reality.
“I have done nothing of the sort,” he said as he dipped his quill in the inkwell. “I married Gaithlin de Gare to secure peace between our families and you will accept it. I realize you ordered Quinton to kill her, but I am equally sure that he has not. Even now, I am sure he is riding to Eden with my wife at his side. You will meet her, you will be polite to her, and you will be thankful that she will bring peace to us all. Do you understand? And another thing… there is something else you should know, something very important.”
Jean was twitching and seething. “I cannot imagine what is more important than you marrying the enemy.”
Christian lifted his eyebrows. “Ah, but there is. You should know that Alex de Gare died ten years ago.”
If he thought it possible for his father to become any more shocked or outraged, he was wrong. Jean went positively crimson. “What’s this you say?” he nearly screamed. “Alex de Gare is… is dead?”
“Indeed he is,” Christian said, almost casually. “He was killed ten years ago courtesy of a St. John arrow. Do you know who you have been fighting all along? Alex’s wife. She took up arms in her husband’s stead. When I told you the de Gare’s were a strong bunch, I meant it. The women are the strongest of all. How does it feel knowing you have spent the past ten years fighting a woman who has quite ably held you at bay? I wonder who’s feeling the most shame now, Father? It certainly isn’t me.”
Jean went mad. He hurled himself across Christian’s desk, his clawed hands reaching for his son’s neck. As the inkwell splashed everywhere, Christian was fast enough to dodge his father’s hands but he ended up falling back over his chair in the process. As he fell backwards, Jean threw himself onto his son, his fingers straining for Christian’s throat.
Christian, however, still had the big quill in his hand and as his father came down on him, the quill was between them. Jean ended up impaling himself on the big steel and bone quill, the razor-sharp tip of the instrument driving deep into Jean’s chest. It pierced the skin, passed through the ribs, and plowed straight into the man’s heart. Jean’s heart was torn, blood gushed into his chest cavity, and he was dead in an instant.
Christian felt the quill pierce his father and felt the man go limp. The quill was still in his hand even though it was embedded in his father’s chest. Horrified, he yanked the quill from his father’s body and bright red blood poured out all over him. With a gasp, he rolled his father off of him and onto the floor.
“Da?” he whispered, grief filling him even as he could see that his father was very, very dead. “Good Christ… Da? Can you hear me?”
He was met with utter silence. Rising to his knees, Christian gazed down at his father, his hand flying to his mouth as the gravity of the situation settled in. All he could do was stare at the man, tears filling his eyes. The shock was overwhelming.
“Oh… God,” he gasped. “What have I done? What have I done?”
He lurched to his feet, his horrified gaze still on his father. A sob escaped his lips and then another, but he fought them off, struggling to clear his mind as he realized, with certainty, that he had just killed his father. It had been an accident; a horrible misfortune that had been completely unforeseen. Jean, in his madness, had ended up killing himself. Christian could hardly believe it. Given his relationship with his father over the past few days, he fleetingly wondered if anyone else would, either.
But he had to get control of himself. He was a man of supreme calm, even when all else around him was unsettled and wild. Everything could be crumbling to dust but Christian St. John would remain like a rock. He drew on that strength, struggling to pull himself together. He tore his gaze away from his father; he couldn’t even look at the man, knowing what he had done. He had baited him, he knew, with talk of Alex de Gare’s death. Jean was already brittle and that information had thrown him over the edge. Wiping away his tears, he marched to the chamber door and threw it open only to find two soldiers standing guard in the corridor outside.
“You,” Christian jabbed a finger at one of the soldiers. “Find Jasper. Now.”
The soldier didn’t hesitate; when the Demon gave a command, it was meant to be obeyed. As the man ran off, Christian struggled to compose himself, leaving the door open as he wandered back into the room and stood over his father’s body. He was still standing there when Jasper entered.
The big knight went to Christian’s side, wondering what the man was looking at and shocked when he realized that Jean was on the floor with blood covering his chest. He went to kneel beside the man, to help him, but Christian stopped him.
“Nay,” Christian said quietly. “He is quite dead.”
Jasper’s brow furrowed as he gazed down at his uncle’s corpse. “What…?” he stammered, looking at Christian, realizing the man was also covered in blood. “How did this happen?”
Christian gazed steadily at his father. “He attacked me,” he said after a moment. “He caught me off guard and when he threw himself on top of me, he impaled himself upon my quill. The quill is over on the table if you want to look at it.”
Jasper was stunned. His gaze moved between Christian and Jean and back again as if trying to determine what, in fact, had truly happened. His simple mind could not think of anything other than the facts before him and knowing what he did of Jean and Christian’s relationship as of late, he could only come to one conclusion.
“You killed him!” he accused.
C
hristian shook his head patiently. “I did not kill him,” he said steadily. “He attacked me and accidentally impaled himself on my quill. Even if that was not the case, I am the Lord of Eden now and my word is law. If you do not agree, you can get out of here and never come back. I mean it, Jasper; I will have your loyalty or I will banish you from Eden. Make your choice.”
Jasper was aghast. He looked at his cousin, turmoil in his expression, but he realized that Christian was correct; he was Lord of Eden now. Jasper felt as much confusion and angst about that as he was capable, but one thing was clear – Christian was now in command of Eden. The Demon now ruled Eden.
“Your father wanted to kill you for what you had done,” he rumbled. “He said you were a traitor. Is that why you killed him? Because he thought you had betrayed the House of St. John by fornicating with the de Gare wench?”
Christian sighed heavily. “I told you I did not kill him,” he said. “If you say that again, I will run you through. I married Gaithlin de Gare to secure peace between our two families and end the Feud once and for all. I love my family enough to want peace. I am tired of death and fighting, Jasper. Aren’t you?”
Jasper was set off-balance by Christian’s words. “Since when do you distain fighting?” he wanted to know. “You, who have carved out a great reputation as a great warrior. How can you say you are tired of fighting?”
“Because I am,” Christian said frankly. “I want to grow old and watch my children grow up without the fear of battle hanging over their heads. Doesn’t that make sense to you, Jasper? Do you want to spend the rest of your life risking your hide for an old Feud that no one cares about any longer? Don’t you want something more for your life?”
Jasper thought about that as Jean’s bloodied corpse kept drawing his attention. Since his father had died at a young age, Jean was essentially the only father he had ever known. He knew Christian had killed him and it ate at him; whether or not it was an accident, Christian was still responsible. Someone had to avenge Jean and Jasper would gladly seek it. Christian, the traitor, had to pay.
“There is nothing more for my life,” he growled, reaching for his sword. “Eden and Uncle Jean are my masters and this Feud you no longer have the stomach to fight is something I will never surrender. It is in my blood and in yours.”
Christian could see that Jasper was moving for his weapon and he quickly moved away from him. “The Feud is over.”
“The Feud is your obligation!”
“Jasper, think a moment.” Christian didn’t want to have to kill the man but he would do it if he were attacked. “Do you even know why we fight against the House of de Gare? Or are you really so simple that you only do as you are told without wondering why you have been told to do it?”
Jasper’s broadsword glittered wickedly in the weak light. “Anyone who consorts with the House of de Gare is a traitor,” he grumbled. “Marble-head Maggie found out the hard way. Now you shall find out as well.”
Christian’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean Maggie found out the hard way?”
Jasper had been told not to divulge the circumstances surrounding Maggie’s death but at the moment, he didn’t care. He wanted to see Christian’s face when he told him. “Just what I said,” he replied. “She had been visiting Alex de Gare, betraying us at every turn. It was she who told Alex where you had taken his daughter. Uncle Jean ordered me to kill her for her betrayal and I did.”
Christian couldn’t hide his shock. “You killed Maggie?”
Jasper nodded with smug intent. “I did indeed,” he muttered. “And now, I shall kill you as I should have done the moment we found you in Scotland with the de Gare bitch. Uncle Jean was correct; you have betrayed us all. Meet your maker, Demon!”
Jasper ran at him with his sword lifted and Christian was at a distinct disadvantage; his sword, along with the rest of his weapons, had been left behind in Scotland. As Jasper came near, Christian grabbed the chair next to his writing desk and swung it at Jasper’s head. The broadsword wasn’t enough to block the heavy chair, which Christian swung with all of his might. It caught Jasper right in the forehead and sent him to the ground.
But the man was still semi-lucid and Christian knew he would rise up and attack him again, so he grabbed the heavy iron sconce upon his desk and brained Jasper with it, spraying hot candle wax all over everything. It was a violent action as the dull thump of iron against bone echoed in the chamber. Jasper stilled immediately, knocked cold.
Breathing heavily with exertion, Christian stood over his cousin’s unconscious form, wondering if he should simply kill him and be done with it. He knew Jasper and knew the man was a killing machine; if he sought vengeance against Christian, then he had the scent of blood in his nostrils. He would never stop until he killed Christian or Christian killed him.
But Christian didn’t want to outright murder his cousin; perhaps with time the man would forget about his anger and hatred. The death of Jean had unbalanced both of them. Perhaps with time, Jasper would return to normal. Until that occurrence, however, Christian intended to take no chances.
He chained Jasper up in the vault of Eden personally, and the quill that had killed his father ended up in the fire, never to be used again.
‘I had loved her in eons past, in many forms, and would continue to do so through eternity;
This heart, this soul, and this body that belonged to me
In her eyes, I saw starlight and in her face, I saw God
That I could not breathe without her in my arms,
Nor could I think without her subtle whisper upon my ear.
That which belonged to me had always belonged to me,
A shining angel that is my wife.
She is all.’
~ Chronicles of Christian St. John
Vl. XI, p. CXXVI
CHAPTER TWENTY
Christian knew that if he rode swiftly, he could make it to Scotland in a couple of days. There would hardly be opportunity for rest or reprieve, but he didn’t care. Quinton had still not returned to Eden and Christian was nearly crazed with worry, wanting to know what had happened. Was Gaithlin safe? Was Quinton safe? Were they both dead? The lack of information had driven Christian to the brink of insanity.
The events with his father and Jasper hadn’t helped his mental state. Jean’s death was still weighing very heavily on him but he couldn’t dwell on it. Still, he felt as if emotions and guilt were weighing him down, threatening to suck him into an abyss of pain. He kept reliving the conversation with his father over and over, wondering if there wasn’t something more he could have said or done to prevent what had happened. Maybe he should not have told him of Alex’s death as he had. Maybe he should have waited until his father was in a more stable frame of mind but, given his father’s behavior towards him, he wasn’t entirely sure his father would ever be stable.
He had very much wanted to convince his father that peace was the correct course, but perhaps it was never meant to be. Maybe the news about Alex’s death hadn’t really mattered one way or the other. Jean St. John had been fighting the Feud since birth, as had Christian, but the man had known the hatred longer than Christian ever had. It was ingrained in him, a part of him. Perhaps life without the Feud was something he could have never understood. Christian would never know, and that hurt him deeply.
But he shook it off; he couldn’t dwell on it if he was going to focus on finding his wife and brother. An hour after the incident with his father and Jasper, Christian was preparing to ride from Eden. With Jasper locked safely away in the vault under the guard of men personally sworn to Christian, and Jean’s body being prepared for burial, Christian exited the stables with a horse he had personally selected when cries from the sentries went up.
“Who is it?” he bellowed up to the walls.
Men were straining to see into the soft light of the mid-afternoon. Finally, one of them waved down to him. “Scots, my lord!” he shouted. “Hundreds of them!”
Christian’s bro
w furrowed in confusion. He handed the horse over to a groom as he made his way out of the stable yard and into the main part of the bailey. Clouds were starting to form overhead as he headed to the gatehouse, drops of rain gently pelting him. They spotted the heavy leather vest he was wearing and the breeches he had borrowed from his brother. As he leapt onto the ladder that would take him up to the wall, one of the sentries yelled down to him.
“Sir Quinton is returned!” he said excitedly. “I can see his horse!”
Startled, Christian jumped off the ladder. “Lift the portcullis!” he commanded. “Open the gates!”
He ran towards the passage of the gatehouse as the old portcullis shuddered as the men began to lift it. Chains rattled and groaned as Christian strained to see down the road that stretched from Eden out into the landscape beyond. There were trees and rolling hills, but mostly a massive clearing around the castle for a better field of fire. Christian could see the army approaching and the sea of brown tartan intermingled with men in mail. But very clearly, he saw Quinton at the head of it along with other knights on horseback. And then, he saw something else.
A woman with exquisite blond hair blowing in the breeze astride his big white charger. It took him a split second to realize that Gaithlin was riding with his brother and he bolted beneath the lifting portcullis, racing out onto the road. He was filled with joy beyond measure, running towards his wife even as she caught sight of him and spurred the charger forward. But the big white charger wouldn’t cooperate so she gave up trying to ride the horse; leaping off the animal, she stumbled and ended up on her arse. Christian could hear her laughing from where he was.
But she did scramble to her feet about the time Christian reached her. Together, they came together in a massive clash of flesh, blood, and heart, their delighted laughter filling the air. The army around them came to a halt, watching as the Demon of Eden swallowed up his wife, a de Gare, in a manner of passion that no one had ever been witness to. It was something that radiated its own warmth, shining like the sun, until all who witnessed the event knew that never in the history of the world had a man ever loved a woman more than the Demon loved his enemy wife.
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