Certainly, he was not looking forward to isolating himself with the woman while his father forced Alex de Gare to come to terms of surrender. Sequestered in the woods of Galloway Forest, he wasn’t warm with the thought of spending an indeterminate amount of time guarding a woman he could just as easily do away with.
His jaw ticked at the latter thought, realizing he was coming to think like his father more and more every day. Normally, he strenuously adhered to the moral and chivalrous codes of an honor-bound knight; women were creatures of grace and beauty and completely removed from the realm of violent thought or action. But when it came to a de Gare female, he found himself willing to make an exception and the idea greatly distressed him.
He wondered if close-quartered isolation with his mortal enemy would bring about the woman’s death regardless of his personal convictions; hatred had a strange way of clouding one’s moral beliefs.
He was jolted from his darker ponderings as a shout pierced the night air, indicating the main door to the abbey had been breached. Spurring his charger forward, he trampled across the wide garden of precious summer vegetables and ripped through a small wooden fence in his resolve to reach his destination. Dismounting with a purpose, he shoved past his excitable men and made his way into the depths of the convent.
There were dozens of St. John soldiers on his heel, armed to the hilt with weapons and mail and fully prepared to tear the structure apart in their quest to reach the intended target. But Christian’s broadsword remained sheathed as he surfaced into a wide common room; shadows of frightened nuns ducking for cover flitted across the dim walls and Christian’s advance came to a halt as he sized up the non-resistant situation.
“I would speak with the abbess!” he roared.
Certainly, there was no man in the realm louder or more terrifying that Christian St. John. King Henry remarked once that the man’s voice could bring a response from God himself and, without a doubt, he was used to complete obedience in all matters. But his sharp command was met with silence and his ice-blue gaze scanned the room with rising irritation.
“Bring me the abbess and no harm will come to this place. Deny my request and I shall burn it to the ground.”
He could hear faint splinters of hissed whispers, accompanied by the shuffle of feet. Jaw ticking as his annoyance grew, he opened his mouth to once again issue his demand when a slight, huddled woman emerged into the weak light. Christian focused his attention on the quaking gray form.
“Are you the abbess?”
The woman didn’t reply for a moment. “Wouldst thou violate our haven, my lord?”
“Gaithlin de Gare. I want her.”
Christian could see the woman’s average features in the soft illumination as they twisted with puzzlement. “The Lady Gaithlin… who art thou, my lord?”
He moved toward her, shoving aside a small table and setting it on end with a startling crash. “It does not matter,” he said. “Give her to me and I shall leave you in peace.”
The woman visibly swallowed and Christian could hear more hissed whispers, presumably directed at her. She was obviously terrified, confused with uncertainty, and he took another step in her direction to hasten her compliance.
“My patience grows thin,” he growled. “You will deliver the woman to me or face my wrath.”
The nun took a step back, nearly tripping over her woolen robes. “I… thou hast violated God’s house, my lord. Punishment will be severe.”
Christian’s jaw ticked again, hearing his own thoughts in the woman’s shakily-uttered threat and he found himself again wishing he had refused to do his father’s bidding. Nonetheless he had been foolish enough to come and refused to leave without his objective. Irritated with himself as well as the resistant nun, his manner hardened.
“Where is she!” It was a demand, not a question.
The woman’s courage was rapidly failing. “She has sought sanctuary, my lord. Thou art forbidden her company.”
“I have not ravaged your door only to be denied the object of my endeavor. I will not ask you again.”
More urgent whispers came from the shadows and the slight nun was growing increasingly agitated. Although she was rightly terrified of the massive knight before her, Christian lacked the patience to extend the understanding he was capable of demonstrating; instead, he moved toward her with deadly assurance and the woman stumbled away from him, falling to her knees and raising her hands as if to ward off his evil. Her fear, her abject panic, was a palpable entity as she cowered at his feet.
“Up the stairs!” she cried, her voice quivering with terror. “In the communal infirmary!”
“Nay!” Another nun came screaming from the shadows, her palms extended to Christian as if to physically stop him. “You have no right! The woman is under God’s protection!”
He raised a dark-blond eyebrow at the woman, his expression impassive. “She is mine and you will not interfere.”
The nun was older, wiser, and far less terrified of his mighty presence. Instead, she seemed deeply angered at the intrusion and after a lengthy pause, she forcibly calmed as if to realize that paralleling the knight’s fury and power was an improbable feat.
“Are you from Eden?” she asked.
Christian was momentarily caught off-guard as he faced off against the seasoned woman; his icy stare glittered in the weak light. “What do you know of Eden, other than the Biblical reference?”
The nun met his gaze evenly, perhaps knowingly. Calming further, she cocked a worn eyebrow. “I am told that a demon resides there. At least, according to Gaithlin de Gare. Are you perchance that demon, my lord?”
His irritation with the situation faded somewhat as he gazed into intelligent, shrewd eyes. “To some.”
The woman’s attention lingered on him a moment and he heard her sigh heavily; with a touch of resignation, mayhap. “I have granted the lady sanctuary and I will repeat my subordinate’s denial of your request,” she said evenly. “You may not have that which you seek and I beg you to leave us in peace.”
Christian realized that he might be forced to carry out his violent threat and he was loathed to do so. Issuing his own heavy sigh, his massive gauntlet rested on the hilt of his sword. “I will leave you in peace if you turn the woman over to me.” Almost as an afterthought, he added: “I will not harm her, I swear it.”
Clearly, the nun was unconvinced. “But you are her enemy, Devil. You are our enemy as well, which you have proven by raiding our sanctuary.”
“I am not your enemy nor am I a raider. Were I either, your abbey would presently be on fire and your nuns would be fodder for my men. As you have witnessed, I am attempting to gain my ends with the least violent means possible. Whether or not I commence with my threats is your choice alone.”
“There is no choice to be had. If you leave now under peaceful conditions, I shall not mention your violation to my superiors. I vow the entire event will be forgotten.”
Christian sighed again, feeling his fatigue and disgust all over again. After a moment, he turned to one of his men and rumbled a series of orders. The man promptly disappeared, retreating to the waiting horses outside while the standoff in the common room remained brittle. When the soldier eventually reappeared, he thrust a small parcel at his liege before falling back into the ranks of heavily armed warriors.
Christian slowly unbound the top of the silken pouch. Eyeing the elder nun, he motioned for her to step closer. With a good deal of reluctance, she did as she was bade and gasped with fear and surprise when he grasped her arm.
“For your troubles,” he said, his deep voice considerably softer. Opening the woman’s palm, he proceeded to dump the contents of the purse into her hand.
Several gold coins glistened in the soft illumination, flickering their wicked intentions as loudly as if Christian had shouted the bribe. It was more money than the poverty-bound abbey had seen in a great while and the ancient nun licked her lips with unconscious glee as she examined the monetary
persuasion before her.
Torn between the desperate need for the coinage and the sanctuary she had granted a despairing woman, she could scarcely isolate her thoughts; she could purchase enough supplies for years to come with the shimmering trinkets in her hand and the thought of sustaining her abbey through harsh winters and bleak years alike worked a powerful magic in her heart. But in the same breath, she was undermining the very purpose of God’s law of sanctuary by considering the bribery that was soiling her palm.
It was a cruel dilemma. The nun licked her lips again, praying God would forgive her for weighing the needs of her abbey over the preservation of a single woman. After all, the towering knight had promised no harm would come to her; but could she trust the word of a knight who would violate the haven of the church simply to gain his objective? A knight who was willing to bribe her for her own sinful considerations in the matter?
“I await your answer, sister,” Christian’s deep, melodious voice drifted upon the stale air like a symphony. “Certainly my donation will make compensation for your troubles.”
Distracted from her desperate thoughts, the woman struggled to swallow away her guilt. Aged eyes met with those of ice-blue. “Are you aware of what you are asking?”
“I am.”
“You are being most unfair with your solicitation. Wealth such as this will feed my people for years.”
“I realize that.”
The woman swallowed again, her indecision ripping her apart. Her gaze moved to the gold coins once again, feeling strangely like Judas Iscariot as her beliefs were strongly swayed by the scent of money.
“How, may I ask, am I to explain my weakness to her family?”
Christian took her softly uttered plea for a positive response to his resourceful inducement. “You will not,” his voice was soft, incredibly soothing. “You will tell them that she mysteriously vanished and you have no knowledge of her whereabouts.”
Turning on his heel, he silently ordered half of his men to mount the stairs to the second floor. With a subsequent gesture, he sent the rest of his soldiers to the foyer to restore the battered door as best they could while their liege went about acquiring his goal. Leaving the nuns shaken and pondering what sins had managed to infiltrate their isolated abbey in the form of forty gold crowns, Christian found his way to the deserted corridor on the upper level of the structure.
It was dim and still as the soldiers sent on ahead examined chambers in sequence, searching for the common infirmary. Opening and slamming heavy oak panels, their exploration was not a quiet endeavor and Christian harshly admonished his men not to destroy the abbey in their haste. But the scent of a de Gare was a strong intoxicant, feeding their bloodlust and hatred, and they were determined to find the woman no matter who, or what, suffered in the process.
At the end of the corridor was a large door, heavy and worn with use. Logically, Christian assumed that a larger door would threshold a larger room, mayhap the common infirmary they were seeking. Without hesitation, he enclosed the latch in his gloved hand and threw his shoulder into the panel to force it open. As the door flew wide and slammed against the old stone wall it was anchored against, Christian stomped into the room with the full expectation of coming face to face with his intended victim.
But his triumphant expression was cut short as the wind was slammed from his chest by a blow of such force that he swore his ribs had been caved in. The powerful explosion sent him reeling in spite of his heavy armor, stars dancing before his stunned eyes. In his shock and agony, he realized it would be easy to relent to unconsciousness as he stumbled to the floor.
On his knees as the room spun recklessly, Christian struggled to regain his footing. Dimly aware of the shouts of his men, he managed to halfway unsheathe his sword when another blow caught him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling. Smacking his helmed head against the wooden floor, the comforting darkness beckoned stronger than before but Christian staunchly resisted. He could not relent to the black realm of nothingness if he was going to survive.
Struggling with every ounce of his fading consciousness, he rolled to his back in time to see a woman descending upon him with a long iron candle sconce wielded high above her head. Unsheathing his sword with amazing speed considering his compromised senses, he brought the weapon up to counter the blow that was undoubtedly aimed at his face.
Meeting with his heavy broadsword, the woman shrieked with frustration as a horde of stunned St. John soldiers managed to halt her attack. Kicking and struggling like a lion in a snare, the avenging female was removed from Christian as he attempted to regain his balance. Struggling against one hundred pounds of armor that was usually weightless on his powerful frame, he rose on knees that had developed the consistency of jelly.
Even if the woman had been prevented from attacking him again, she was not subdued in the least. Striking out with a booted foot, she caught one of her captors in the groin and sent the soldier to the floor. Grunting like a man, she twisted and threw her body weight about in a wild attempt to dislodge the hands that held her.
Although in the grip of substantially stronger men, she succeeded in pulling one of her arms free. Swinging a balled fist at the nearest soldier, she caught the unfortunate simpleton in the nose and blood sprayed in all directions as she turned her frenzied attentions to another soldier. Fortunately, the man possessed enough sense to step out of her frantic range.
As Christian stood on unsteady feet, the soldier who had moved away from the crazed woman suddenly lashed out a mailed fist and caught her on the side of the skull. Instantly, she collapsed in a heap, ending several long seconds of a most brutal situation. As quickly as it started, the assault was sharply concluded.
The room that had been filled with harsh grating gasps and shuffles of violence was instantly hushed. The shocked St. John soldiers looked to each other in uncertainty, unbelieving that a single woman had managed to catch them off-guard with her ferocious assault and brutal tactics.
“Good Christ,” Christian hissed, raising his visor and taking a deep, steadying breath. “What banshee is this?”
Ignoring the men with the bloodied nose and violated groin, the remaining St. John soldiers shook off their surprise, and embarrassment, as they joined their liege in observing the prostrate woman. Masses of long, glittering blond hair covered the floor and a good portion of her body, obscuring her face.
“It has got to be the de Gare bitch,” one of the soldiers rumbled. “There is no one in this room but her.”
Christian passed a rapid glance about the long room; except for a few crumbling cots, it was vacant and hardly furnished. Returning his attention to the unconscious woman, he found himself taking a hard, long look at the deeply-hated enemy. He’d never seen a de Gare at close range and could scarcely believe she was actually within his midst; finally, he was beholding the object of seventy years of powerful loathing. He had her.
“She’s a big one,” another soldier commented. “Tall and strong.”
“And stupid,” came yet another voice. “She will be severely punished for her transgression against Sir Christian.”
Ears ringing but his balance somewhat restored, Christian ignored the comments of his men and motioned to the two soldiers standing closest to her. “Pick her up,” he commanded softly. He was already moving for the door, anxious to be gone from the abbey he had technically desecrated with his harsh presence and bribery. Now that he had obtained his objective, he was eager to put the entire distasteful episode of acquisition behind him.
Christian made his way down the corridor and took the stairs with his customary grace. Several of his soldiers had finished rehanging the nearly splintered door and he passed a lingering glance at the handiwork, concerned that the repair had been completed correctly. Behind him, the soldier bearing the unconscious woman reached the bottom of the stairs and Christian wasn’t surprised when the ancient nun who had accepted his monetary graft emerged from the musty shadows.
Her aged fa
ce was wide with concern as she observed the young woman slung over the warrior’s shoulder like a sack of grain. Her long blond hair dragged along the floor and her lanky arms drifted bonelessly as the nun tore her horrified gaze away from the sight and focused on the mighty knight.
“You promised you would not hurt her!”
Christian’s expression was impassive. “I assure you that she contributed to her own injury. My men were merely defending themselves against her onslaught.”
The woman reached out and touched the silken blond hair with a wrinkled hand, silently begging forgiveness for the results her sinful actions had caused. Christian watched the old nun closely.
“I would gather this is the Lady Gaithlin de Gare? I did not confiscate the wrong woman?”
The nun shook her head slowly, turning away from the limp woman with a painfully remorseful expression. She could scarcely fight down the guilt that threatened to consume her.
“It is her.”
Christian felt a great deal of satisfaction at the confirmation. Without delay, he swept from the devastated abbey in a great form of mail and power, strength and might. The mission had been a success and he was eager to send word to his father in that regard. With Gaithlin de Gare captive, Jean would be able to coerce her father to attractive surrender terms. He could smell victory already.
The great white destrier was grazing on the myriad of uprooted vegetables that populated the nearly-razed garden. Christian whistled sharply to the beast and the animal immediately broke from his feeding frenzy, his mouth full of greens as he tried to eat around the massive bit.
“I sincerely hope those leaves are not poisonous,” he admonished the steed as if the horse could understand him, pulling bits of stem from the huge lips. “ ’Twould serve you right, you gluttonous beast.”
England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 165
