“More, Christian,” she clutched his head, bucking and heaving beneath him as he moved to pull the remainder of her gown away from her glorious breasts. “Give me more. I must have… ohhhhh!”
Excited beyond his wildest imaginings, both hands encircled her creamy globes as his heated lips came to bear on a tender nipple. Where Gaithlin had screamed in fright with the last such attempt, this time she moaned with rapture. The harder Christian suckled her, the more desperately she clutched him against her breast.
Still straddling him, her supple thighs held him tightly to her as her back arched up from the floor. Her arms completely encircled his head as her face buried itself in the top of his hair, gripping him so tightly that she swore to be suffocating him within the mounds of her delightfully tender breasts.
A most pleasurable form of death. Fully engulfed in the heated folds of Gaithlin’s incredibly responsive body, Christian had never experienced such delight. With all of the women he had experienced, the seasoned to the foolishly naive, never before had he known such complete fulfillment.
Even though he had yet to physically penetrate her, it didn’t seem to matter; if he never bedded her in the literal sense, she would still be the most satisfying woman he had ever embraced within his arms.
But he fully intended to bed her, to demonstrate his emotions. Her skirts were up in no time, revealing the legs he remembered so lustfully well. Long and slender with the texture of pure satin, he ran his calloused hands from her knees to her buttocks, groaning with the pleasure of the sensuous touch. Beneath him, however, Gaithlin suddenly stiffened and he raised his head from her delightful breasts, breathless.
“What is wrong, Gae?” he slurred her name, too caught up in his desire to pronounce more than one syllable.
Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed with passion and uncertainty. She opened her mouth to speak but no words would come forth, only a good deal of gasping. Licking her lips, she made a second attempt.
“You… you said you were not… are you going to..?”
The question hung between them and he stared at her a moment, his breathing calming but his hands never leaving her rounded buttocks. “You do not want this?”
Her eyes were riveted to him, opened and virginal and honest to a fault. He could read her desire, matching his own and then some. But he could also read a very distinct, very tangible fear.
Slowly, very slowly, he removed his hand from her delightfully supple bottom and discreetly pulled her skirts down. For a man who had lost his virginity at eleven years of age, bedding more women than most men could ever hope for within their entire lifetime, he could hardly understand why he was so unwilling to take what he wanted from a woman who had incited more lust and madness in him than anything he had ever encountered.
Muddled and frustrated to the point of unnatural calm, he stared at Gaithlin’s lovely knees for a moment before lowering the skirt of her gown completely. When his eyes met her wide blue orbs, he simply shook his head like a weakling idiot.
“If I forced myself upon you, then I… apologize,” he could scarcely choke out the words, knowing she had wanted his attentions as badly as he wanted to give them.
But he was also seasoned enough to realize that she was unaware of her natural urges, only cognizant of the fact that they frightened her to the point where she was unwilling to give in to their power. Be patient, he told himself with reined calm. Be patient and teach her what it is to succumb to one’s desires.
Without another word of remorse or repentance, he moved to push himself off her and was startled when a soft white hand suddenly grasped his arm. Pure ice met with deep, serious blue.
“Why do you do this to me?” her voice was a whisper.
Frozen in a half-crouched position, Christian’s brow furrowed faintly. “Do what? Touch you?” With a hint of embarrassment, he shrugged. “Because I cannot seem to keep my hands from you.”
Gaithlin sat up, slowly, as Christian sank to his haunches. Straightening the neckline of her gown, she seemed particularly pensive as her lovely brow furrowed deeply. “Why?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Why else?”
Their faces were inches from one another as the soft early morn brightened through the slats of the dilapidated shed. Illuminated by the tender golden glow, they continued to stare at one another as if nothing else on earth existed.
After an eternal pause of silence and wonder, Gaithlin finally shook her head with confusion. “Merciful Heavens, Christian, you’re a St. John. Kelvin was correct when he said you had to kill me; you should be driving your sword into my heart rather than trying to steal it.”
He swallowed the gasp of surprise that came to his throat, settling back on his buttocks on the rushes of their bed. Was he indeed close to stealing her heart? Was it possible that she was beginning to experience the same emotions that were plaguing him? Her knees brushed against his shin as he seated himself before her, their expressions curious, puzzled, and completely open.
“I told you before that I am weary of this war,” his voice was husky with emotion, filling the silent pause between them. “What I do, I do because I am a loyal St. John and nothing more. My personal feelings have nothing to do with my allegiance to my family’s honor. De Gare or no, I would drive my sword into my own heart before I would take your life.”
She met his gaze a moment, puzzled and embraced by the emotions radiating forth from the Demon of Eden. “Why?”
A faint smile tickled his lips, laughing at her naked honesty and curiosity. The first time I saw you, swimming naked in the lake. “I don’t know. I should, in fact, be asking you that question,” his eyes raked her hair, her delicious features, with confusion. “Why do you affect me as you do, Lady Gaithlin de Gare? Have you cast a spell over my soul that would cause me to forget all that I am, everything that I stand for? I have spent five days with you and the only reality I am aware of any more is the fact that I cannot ever remember being more enchanted by a woman.”
Gaithlin’s cheeks mottled a pretty shade of pink and she lowered her gaze uncertainly. “I have done nothing but fight you and harass you at every turn. If you are charmed by a shrew of a woman, then you are a peculiar man.”
His grin broke through. “You are a prisoner, Gae. I should hardly have expected you to remain completely compliant.”
Her eyes came up again, rapidly, to meet with his twinkling orbs and he could read her puzzlement. “Why do you call me Gae?”
Carelessly, Christian shrugged. “Because I am too lazy to enunciate your entire name. Does this offend you?”
Did a delightful nickname offend her? Of course not. Coming from a family caught up within the boundaries of poverty and war left little time for affection or compassion, and hearing a selective term come from Christian’s mouth meant for her alone somehow filled her with silly, magical warmth. Almost as if he… cared.
“Nay,” her sultry voice was soft. “It does not.”
“Good. Even if it did, I would continue to call you by that name until the day of my death.”
She smiled faintly, brushing away a stray lock of silken blond hair. “You intend to know me until you die?”
His smile faded. Reaching out, he suddenly grasped her behind the neck and pulled her to him with a surge of unmistakable possession. Gaithlin gasped with the swiftness of his action, bringing her hands up to prevent being slammed against his broad, broad chest. Fingers that had been raised protectively not a moment before suddenly turned soft, lingering, heated the very moment they met with his thin tunic.
Gazing into Gaithlin’s eyes, Christian’s expression screamed with intensity. An intensity that permeated her flesh, seeping deep into her soul and branding her with the unspoken emotions she too had been experiencing. Being a mature adult with a lifetime of seasoning had helped Christian rein the sensations perplexing him into madness, yet Gaithlin had no such practice. Fear and delight, confusion and hatred, t
hey all combined into a wild vortex that seemed to control every facet of her existence.
“I intend to have you with me until I die,” he muttered.
Gaithlin could only stare at him. He wasn’t making any sense; or mayhap it was her own confused mind misinterpreting his words, hearing what he had spoken but understanding very little of what he had implied.
“What does that mean?”
He cocked an eyebrow, his eyes lingering on her ripe lips. “What does it sound like? I intend to have you forever. I intend to marry you.”
Gaithlin felt as if she had been slapped. Gasping, she jerked herself free from Christian’s arms, shoving at him and swinging her big fists until he had no choice but to release her or risk a physical conflict. Only when she stumbled to several feet away did she dare face him.
“You what?” she hissed.
He remained quite calm, still seated on the rushes. “You are my second cousin and I intend to marry you to end the hostilities between Eden and Winding Cross once and for all.”
Mouth agape with astonishment, she could only stare at him. “Are you mad? My mother will never allow such a thing!”
He rose to his full height, tall and proud and strong. “I am unconcerned with your mother’s reaction. ’Tis your father who controls Winding Cross and the de Gare armies. If I marry his daughter, he can no longer in good conscience continue the Feud. Nor can my father, for that matter.”
Gaithlin’s head was wagging back and forth as she listened to his rational reasoning. “Never, Christian. This can never happen.”
“It can and it will,” he said, moving for his boots leaning against the pile of armor near the wall. “ ’Tis a most logical solution to an illogical situation.”
She took a deep breath to clear her reeling thoughts, watching him as he donned his shoes. “ ’Tis a death sentence for us both,” her voice was shaking. “Your father will kill me, and my mo… father will have your head. As it is, you have earned his wrath by abducting me and to marry me will surely provoke him into madness.”
He pulled on his second boot and his foot hit the floor with a resounding thud. Hands on hips, he faced his captive. “Don’t you realize what we have happened upon? You and I are related, Gaithlin. And to my father, blood ties are more important than anything. Even hatred. Our marriage will merely strengthen that bond.”
She was unnaturally pale. Marriage had been her only hope of possibly escaping the Feud, however she could, and to imagine herself married to the very source of the conflict was unthinkable. Married to the Demon who sparked such passion, a man who would probably treat her like a captive and a whore for the remainder of their lives.
“What about Lady Maggie?” her voice was faint yet firm.
He looked away. “I do not intend to honor the marriage contract. After I have told my father what happened, he will undoubtedly agree.”
She watched him move for the crumbling door. “I do not want to marry you.”
He paused, a flicker of emotion rippling in the ice-blue depths of his expressive eyes. Gaithlin swore she saw a flash of pain that was just as quickly vanished. “The subject is not open for discussion. You will do as I say.”
A surge of self-protectiveness and fury surged through her at his hard reply. “I refuse to be belittled and humiliated for the remainder of my life, Demon. Even if a disorderly peace is settled, your family will never accept me as your wife as you will never be accepted by the de Gares as my husband. Where will we live? At Eden where I will be in fear for my life every moment of the day? Or at Winding Cross where you can live in hatred and loathing for the remainder of your existence?”
His irritation gained speed at her harsh words. “What would lead you to believe that I would belittle you or humiliate you? Since the moment I took you from St. Esk, have I not treated you with….”
His words were cut off by a loud rustling from outside the shack. Before Gaithlin could react to the noise, Christian was already acquiring his sword and charging through the splintering door with strength potent enough to rip the panel from the worn moldings. Without thought for her own safety or the fact that she should possibly allow Christian to take care of the prowler alone, Gaithlin dashed after him.
By the time she quit the shack, Christian was plowing into the heavy undergrowth that surrounded their shelter, hacking and ripping through the thick growth. Gaithlin observed his movements anxiously, watching his shadow as he ripped his way amongst the bramble and bushes in search of the elusive threat.
He sounded like a trapped animal as he moved through the brush, grunting and growling and creating an enormous racket. Gaithlin watched with growing apprehension, wondering if she should retrieve one of his weapons and assist the cause. He seemed to be focused on something, for he was moving in a relatively small space purposefully and Gaithlin inched closer to the heavy growth, straining to catch a glimpse of his target.
Christian’s blade glinted with evil malevolence in the weak light as he wielded it effortlessly amongst the bushes, chopping and ripping intently. Gaithlin moved to the edge of the bramble, bending low in an attempt to locate the subject of Christian’s attention.
The very moment she gazed into the greenery, a pair of startled green eyes were staring back at her and she let out a whoop of surprise.
The eyes whooped back.
‘Is Discovery the process by which
Life continues,
or the process by which it begins?’
~ Chronicles of Christian St. John
Vl. V, p. CCXIII
CHAPTER EIGHT
A small body suddenly plowed into Gaithlin and she teetered dangerously, instinctively grasping hold of the little torso sprouted with skinny arms and spindly legs. Amazingly, the tiny figure was strong and she toppled onto her bottom, still clinging to the struggling, shrieking form as it attempted to wrest itself from her powerful grip.
But her efforts were eased when Christian marched through the brush like a great preying beast, upending plants and tearing apart substantial shrubbery in his wake. In the blink of an eye, he grasped the wrestling body from Gaithlin’s startled clutches and had to immediately loosen his grip when he realized his entire hand had encompassed a very small, very slender neck.
“Lemme go!”
Gaithlin put her hands up to avoid being kicked in the head by a pair of flailing legs. Regaining her footing, she found herself gazing at the wildly thrashing body of a young boy.
“Lemme go!” the child swung his little fists at Christian, completely disregarding the fact that the man who held him was easily five times his size and weight. “I din’ do anything!”
Astonished, Gaithlin tore her eyes away from the lad long enough to gaze at Christian’s impassive face. He gazed steadily at the squirming child, his eyes like blue ice.
“Why were you spying on us?” he demanded sternly.
Held by the neck and shoulder by one massive hand, the pain from the grip was rapidly coming to outweigh the child’s outrage and he visibly winced, his hand moving from his attempts to slug Christian to trying to peel the man’s fingers off of him.
“Ye’re hurtin’ me!” he roared.
Baffled but not senseless, Gaithlin moved toward the child and his massive captor. “Christian, put him down,” she ordered softly, grabbing hold of the lad when Christian immediately complied. With a firm grip, she forced the child to face her. “Who are you, boy? Why were you spying on us?”
Filthy, frightened and furious, angry green eyes met with those of deep blue. His freckled face was pitifully pale as he eyed the tall, blond lady. “This is my place!”
Gaithlin’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? No one has lived here for years.”
Frowning verily, he attempted to twist free of her confining grasp. “It’s mine! I take care o’ it!”
Christian stood behind Gaithlin, hands on his hips in a grim gesture. “You will answer her questions or I shall spit you over an open fire and have you for sup. Wh
at is your name and what are you doing here?”
Struggles fading, the young lad gazed at Christian with little doubt that he would carry out his threat. But the massive Englishman’s warning only served to fuel his stubborn defiance, and he displayed a pink little tongue at the huge man in response.
“I shall not tell ye anything, ye English hound! Go away from here!”
Christian’s jaw ticked. “Very well, you little maggot. Have it your way.” Reaching over Gaithlin’s shoulder, he grabbed the boy by the arm. “Have a taste of English justice.”
“No, Christian,” Gaithlin found herself defending the saucy young intruder from Christian’s mighty wrath. “I forbid you to harm him.”
He allowed her to tear the boy free of his grasp, his ice-blue eyes riveted to her beautiful face. “I wasn’t going to harm him, my lady. I was going to punish him.”
“For what?” Still holding the boy tightly, she managed to pull him behind her as if to act as a shield between the lad and his antagonist. “You are being very cruel and he is reacting accordingly.”
He raised his eyebrows in a gesture of disbelief. “I am being cruel? He was the one spying, not I.”
She pursed her lips in a frustrated gesture, glancing to the wide-eyed boy in her grasp. After a moment, she returned her attention to Christian, tall and strong and massive before her.
“Please allow me to deal with him, sire,” she said softly, her sensual voice sending chills racing through his big body. “I am sure I can obtain the answers we seek.”
He eyed her a moment, still feeling the lingering caress of her delicious voice. After a brief pause, he let out a resigned snort and turned away. “Good Christ, Gae, you could probably wheedle the Secret of Life from God himself if you approached him with your seductive voice.”
She watched him pace a few feet away, smiling with an odd satisfaction. When he found the appropriate spot from which to watch the proceedings, he raised his eyes to find her still staring at him, grinning. He sheepishly returned the gesture.
England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 177
