Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  But she did not regret the choice she had made; leaving a life of wealth and beauty behind for the love of a man dedicated to a fifty-year-old war. If she had to relive the moment in her life when she decided love was more valuable than luxury, she would have made the same decision again.

  “You have declared your need to speak with my husband, my lady,” Alicia began softly. “I regret to inform you that Sir Alex has taken ill and is unable to attend you. As his wife, I would hope that you will relay your business to me.”

  Maggie’s hands were folded primly in her lap as she eyed the small, stocky woman. After a moment, she nodded faintly. “Certainly my business involves you as well, considering it is regarding your daughter.”

  Alicia couldn’t help the twinge of panic that swept her, that was just as quickly quelled. Uncertain as to the message the woman bore, she restrained the instincts of her natural terrors as she took a chair directly across from her visitor. But she couldn’t help but wonder if the lovely perfumed woman was a ploy sent from Jean St. John, somehow, to unbalance her.

  “Speak, then. What business do you bear concerning my daughter?”

  Maggie drew in a deep, delicate breath. “Although I am not from Cumbria, I am well aware of the long-standing Feud between Winding Cross and Eden Castle. It is for that fact that you should know that I witnessed your daughter in the company of Christian St. John.”

  Alicia went to great lengths to control her rapid breathing, slammed with the confirmation of Jean St. John’s missive. Yet more than the crushing blow of reality was the mere mention of the Demon of Eden; the infamous Christian St. John suddenly came to the forefront and Alicia struggled against the horror that threatened to consume her composure.

  “Tell me, my lady,” she said with strained patience. “Do you know for certain it was my daughter?”

  “She gave her name.”

  “I see. Please describe her to me, if you would be so kind.”

  Maggie thought a moment. “Tall, very tall, with long blond hair and large blue eyes,” she suddenly peered at Alicia, a close scrutiny. “In fact, her eyes are shaped as yours are. Slanted, like a cat.”

  The rapid breathing was gaining ground on Alicia; the woman had described Gaithlin in definite detail. After an eternity of tussle against her mounting dread, she took a deep breath and folded her hands tightly. Certainly, they were quivering with shock.

  “If what you say is true, then why would you seek to relay this information to me? What could you possibly have to gain? Clearly, I have no money to offer you or a reward to bestow for your good conscience. What is your motivation?”

  Motivation. Maggie’s motives were always true to her heart. The fact that Christian had shamed her, discarded her, certainly held the largest motivation. And the fact that his lanky lover, a de Gare no less, had brutally attacked Kelvin was an added factor into her arsenal of fervently-sought revenge.

  As Maggie had nursed her paramour, tenderly massaging his privates and packing them with cold mud, they had discussed their mutual encounters with the Demon and his lover and had come to discover two very interesting facts; the towering woman had announced herself to be a de Gare, while Christian had distinctly informed Maggie that he was taking his “cousin” north into Scotland. Knowing the Feud as they did, the decades of hatred shared by two prominent families, Maggie and Kelvin were led to a profusion of engrossing conclusions.

  The most prevalent opinion was that Christian had abducted the de Gare woman with the intention of killing her, yet both Maggie and Kelvin reasoned that the atmosphere between Christian and his captive was hardly indicative of murder and terror. In fact, the de Gare wench seemed particularly calm within the presence of her St. John adversary, leading the two spurned lovers to surmise that mayhap she had willingly accompanied the Demon on his travels.

  A whore, a captive, a trained dog. Who could say what the relationship entailed between two members of violently opposed houses. Yet one thing was for certain; Maggie was intent on seeking revenge on Christian for his humiliation. And she would do it however she could.

  Which was why she was presently seated before Lady de Gare, surrounded by the trappings of the hideously impoverish fortress. Since Christian was obviously stronger and more reputable than his female counterpart and possessed the ready power to abduct his weaker foe, both Maggie and Kelvin assumed that Alex de Gare had little, if any, knowledge of the Demon’s latest acquisition. And by supplying the man with information regarding his daughter’s activities, mayhap, he would make haste to retrieve the woman from the Demon’s clutches.

  Moreover, when she was finished with the House of de Gare, Maggie fully intended to approach Jean St. John with the similar tale. With two outraged fathers directing their wrath at Christian St. John, the likelihood that the de Gare woman would remain at his side was limited. And Maggie would return to his welcoming, remorseful arms.

  “My motivation is simple, my lady,” Maggie tore herself from her tumultuous train of thought, focusing on the plump woman. “Christian St. John used to be my betrothed, an evil man with a voracious sensual appetite that I found myself fighting off at every turn. My father annulled the marriage contract because he had no desire to see me wed to the Demon of Eden, and for the protection of your innocent daughter I am compelled to inform you of what I have witnessed. You must retrieve her from his clutches before it is too late.”

  The color faded from Alicia’s cheeks as she listened to the sincere plea. Dear God, her worst fears were magnified as the infamous Demon of Eden was mentioned yet again, pounding the reality of his possession into her fragmented mind. Her throat constricted with a powerfully restrained scream as she wrestled fiercely against her shattering, crumbling control.

  “How… how do I know this is truth?” she rasped, losing the battle against her fear. “How do I know that Jean St. John did not send you to disrupt his most hated enemy?”

  Maggie’s brown eyes were intense. “On my word as a member of the house of Plantagenet, I swear to you that my story is true. Christian told me that he was taking your daughter to Scotland, although I was uninformed as to his purpose. Your husband must act immediately if your daughter is to be spared his malevolent attentions.”

  Alicia stared at the woman for an eternal moment before closing her eyes tightly, fighting off the suggested visions of pain and humiliation.

  “Jean St. John has sent me a missive this day announcing my daughter’s abduction,” she whispered, unable to rein her emotions any longer. “He swore that he would use her against the House of de Gare. And, I suppose, by placing her in the Demon’s custody, he is already commencing with his plans.”

  Maggie attempted not to appear too off-guard at the mention of Jean St. John’s missive. So Jean was behind the de Gare woman’s abduction! Her calculating mind rapidly took in the situation for what it was; using Gaithlin de Gare as leverage, the House of St. John intended to bring Winding Cross to her knees.

  Thoughts swirling with possibilities and plans, she adapted to the new influx of information rapidly. Gazing at the obviously distraught woman before her, she struggled to maintain her calm, collected appearance in the face of the stunning revelation.

  “My lady,” she began softly, urgently. “If… if I could find out precisely where Christian has taken your daughter, surely you can retrieve her. He was alone, without his legions of men. Certainly a few dozen de Gare soldiers could overcome him.”

  Wiping a shaking hand over her clammy brow, Alicia struggled valiantly against the terrible thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her. And somewhere in the midst of her turmoil, Lady Margaret’s words gained a truer sense and she found herself focusing intently on the woman.

  “Certainly we could,” she agreed in a hoarse voice. “But why would you help us in such a manner? We are not allied with you.”

  Maggie met the woman’s gaze a moment before looking away. “As I said, I cannot allow the Demon to ravage another woman. His roguish reputation linger
s from Southampton to Carlisle and his evil knows no limits. I must… prevent this tragedy if I am able.”

  “What of Jean?”

  Maggie shrugged, still averting her eyes. “I consider it my duty to the righteousness of England to ascertain where he has ordered Christian to take your daughter,” taking a deep breath to summon the courage to maintain her lie, she faced her hostess. “If I am careful and discreet, Jean will tell me what you need to know in order to save your daughter. He’s always been rather fond of me and I believe I have his trust.”

  Alicia stared at the woman, too frightened and too overwhelmed to maintain her doubt in the lady’s sincerity. If the Demon’s former betrothed was willing to help the de Gare cause, then Alicia would not be so discourteous as to refuse her aid. God help her, she was becoming more terrified by the moment, enough to willingly accept whatever assistance was offered.

  The foolish reasoning behind an ages-old Feud lost a good deal of its meaning as she came to grips with her daughter’s situation. She had maintained the hatred, the charade of honor, fighting against Jean St. John and wasting her life in the process. For Alex, she would continue the battle. But for Gaithlin, her only living flesh and blood, she was willing to consider the end, whatever the price.

  “I can never repay you for your kindness,” she whispered, feeling terribly despondent and utterly drained.

  Maggie rose from the ancient chair, straightening her cloak. “And I will not ask for payment. My reward is in knowing that I have accomplished a bit of good with my life by preventing the Demon of Eden from gaining another victim.”

  “My husband and I shall await word, then,” Alicia said softly, too exhausted to show her visitor to the door. Instead, Eldon emerged from the shadows to accomplish the duty.

  Maggie eyed the tall knight as he approached, fumbling with her fur-lined gloves. “I shall contact you as soon as I am able, although it may take some time.”

  Alicia merely nodded, too consumed with guilt and fury and nausea to acknowledge the woman in a more polite manner. All that was of concern was the fact that Gaithlin was a prisoner of the Demon of Eden and the mysterious visitor to Winding Cross seemed to be the only hopeful link.

  She was still seated with her forehead resting in her palm when Eldon reentered the solar a short time later, his brown eyes intense. Without a word, he knelt beside his mistress and took her in his arms.

  “Alicia, my love, do not despair,” he crooned tenderly. “All will be well. I promise I shall rescue Gaithlin myself.”

  Buried in the crook of his neck, Alicia’s breathing came in heart-felt sobs of grief. “The Demon has her, Eldon. Surely he has…!”

  He shushed her sternly, gently. “You will not dwell on such thoughts, for they will only drive you mad.”

  “But I cannot help myself!” she gasped, removing her face from his shielding shoulder. “To think of her within the clutches of the Demon of Eden is surely the worst fate a de Gare can face!”

  Eldon grasped her face tenderly, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Gaithlin is strong, my lady. You must have faith in her ability to preserve her life until we can assist her. Certainly she will not surrender to the Demon without a fight.”

  Alicia stared into his rugged features, feeling most vulnerable when she was in his arms. As if her brave knight could right all of the wrongs her husband and his family had managed to create.

  “What if the woman is lying?” she whispered pleadingly. “What if she has been sent by Jean to gain our trust and lead us to ruin?”

  Eldon sighed slowly. “We can begin the discovery process by contacting St. Esk. In fact, we are succumbing to panic before we have even verified the fact that Gaithlin has indeed been abducted.”

  As if by magic, a flicker of hope appeared in Alicia’s blue eyes. “You’re correct, of course. When I received the missive from Eden, I naturally believed the message for the simple reason that Jean St. John has never before attempted written communication.” Suddenly, a bit of color appeared in her cheeks and her tears abruptly vanished as a seed of hope blossomed. “Ride to St. Esk, Eldon. If Gaithlin is still there, you will return her home. And if she is gone….”

  “If she is gone, I will return with Godspeed to bring you the confirmation,” he finished for her, smiling encouragingly into her weary face. “But for the moment, I intend to see to your needs. You are exhausted, my lady, and must be made to rest.”

  Her eyes, like deep blue diamonds, glimmered at him with all of the unrest and emotion she was experiencing. Volatile sensations within the soul of a habitually reserved woman; however, once the dam was breached, the torrents of feeling were stronger than even God himself could control. She could not manage them alone.

  She needed help. She needed to be touched and comforted, assured that all would be well. Her arms wound about Eldon’s thick neck, her breathing coming in ragged drags. “I have no desire to rest at the moment. I have a need for you, darling. Immediately.”

  Eldon was an obedient knight in every sense of the word. He took Alicia down to the floor, his hands snaking up her gown as his calloused palms sought her ample breasts. His lips, as gentle and nurturing as the rest of him, sought her delicate mouth with infinite tenderness. Even as his hard shaft drove into her moist folds, she met his fervent desire with a fervent need of her own. Feeling his force feed her, steady her, calm her as only he could.

  It was rare for Alicia’s emotions to surface, and they were verging on a complete explosion as she met Eldon’s passion, hating Alex with every stroke of her lover’s manhood, missing her husband with every touch from his sensitive hands.

  Passion, loathing, turmoil, fear; she experienced all of them as her gentle knight brought her to a roaring climax on the cold stone of Alex’s solar. When she gasped Eldon’s name, it was Alex she was seeing, Alex she was feeling. And when her knight’s tender kisses brought her back to the world at hand, she wondered if she would ever be free of the chaos Alex managed to create in her soul. Wondering if she would ever be anything other than a warring widow, venting her confusion and passion on a lonely knight who was madly in love with her.

  Cradled protectively in her lover’s arms, she didn’t know what she was feeling any longer; she had to force herself away from the agitation that threatened to consume her. The guilt, the hatred, the passion… she could no longer rationally ponder the self-induced strife. The only subject worth her mental energies was the fact that her Gaithlin was in the hands of the enemy.

  For the sake of her husband, she had taken up his fight. But her daughter’s life was not worth the legend of the de Gare honor. She hoped Alex would not hate her overly for being weak enough to love her child more than the family’s honor.

  ‘The ascension of true adoration

  comes from the maturing of the Soul.’

  ~ Chronicles of Christian St. John

  Vl. VI, p. XXVI

  CHAPTER NINE

  Christian had never seen a child eat so much. He gave up attempting to caution the boy early on and spent the remainder of the meal in fear that the lad would explode before his very eyes. As the three of them consumed a lentil soup with bits of dried pork and carrot, he’d never before witnessed such abject hunger.

  Starving or no, however, the delightful flavor of the stew proved to magnify the appetite. Masterfully prepared by Gaithlin, Christian was immensely pleased with her culinary talents. With little more than salt and a handful of rosemary and thyme to season the soup, it was a thick hearty meal that he literally gulped.

  Considering he had repeatedly chided Laird Malcolm for the very same table manners he himself was displaying, neither he nor the lad gave thought to his hypocrisy in light of their satisfying meal. Seated with Gaithlin several feet away from Christian, the lad consumed three bowls of the stuff as Gaithlin matched him spoonful for spoonful.

  Even after Christian had eaten his fill, he continued to watch Gaithlin and the starving orphan at a distance, pondering the pathetic state o
f their meager pasts and experiencing a good deal of compassion. An odd emotion, he mused, considering he had never had any use for it. But it was a sensation he had readily come to associate with Gaithlin, and now the boy.

  Laird Malcolm lay on the grass in a miserable heap, his bowl discarded beside him. Christian rose from his seat on an upended stump, making his way toward the two figures beneath the cluster of trees and wondering if he shouldn’t poke holes in the boy to relieve the pressure on his bloated stomach. Instead, he put his hands on his hips in a stern gesture as he eyed the two gluttons.

  “You are dangerously close to bursting, Malcolm,” he growled, although it was done lightly. When the boy nodded weakly, he looked to Gaithlin. “How could you allow him to do this? He will become ill.”

  Seated on the lush grass, Gaithlin rose on her long legs and collected Malcolm’s bowl within her own. “He hasn’t eaten in two days,” she murmured as she moved past him. “I could hardly demand he control himself.”

  Christian cast her a long glance as she walked towards the splintering shack, returning his attention to the dozing lad with a good deal less harshness. “Which is more reason not to allow him to stuff himself,” he muttered. “His body is unused to such amounts of food.”

  Gaithlin heard him but she did not reply, instead, remembering her own frequent bouts with hunger and knowing well the desperation and discomfort. Christian’s words were correct, but they were spoken from his head and not his heart; obviously, the man had never known a day of hardship in his life and she resented his prosperity. Resenting the fact that every misfortune she had ever faced had been a direct result of his family’s influence.

  But she refused to dwell on the familiar bitterness, instead, focusing on the work that await her inside the shelter. The shack was warm and fragrant from the bubbling stew, a meal she estimated from experience would be able to last them for two or three days. Earlier, after preparing the ingredients and watching the soup bubble to a hearty finish, she had taken the time to clean out the interior of their shelter as best she could.