“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 lingers 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 po
nder 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 of 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.
The massive cast-iron pot left in the crumbling hearth had been cleaned and put to use, and the old table and chair had been placed outside for Christian’s attention. Clearing out the remains of the rodent’s nest in the second smaller room, she had collected other debris from the dirt floors until they were less cluttered.
With belly full and determination fed, Gaithlin fully intended to spend the rest of the day on making her new home livable. In faith, she felt a distinct sense of excitement knowing that she and Christian would be spending an unknown span of time sequestered in the deep woods. Thoughts of escape, of captivity, were miles away as she focused on the facts of the situation.
The most prominent point was the fact that she could not escape from the Demon of Eden. She had tried and, being a relatively reasonable woman, was resigned to the knowledge that there was no eluding the man. And the second point of the matter was that she no longer had any desire to escape him. She was coming to like the situation in ways she could not begin to describe, only knowing that she was actually happy for the very first time in her life. Happy with the Demon.
She believed herself wicked for never wanting to leave him. Aye, she had no interest in his marriage proposal, but she was rapidly coming to realize that life with Eden’s Demon was not such a horrible thing. Certainly nothing like the miserable bondage that she had envisioned; he was kind and gentle, and during those times when he had kissed her, surely there was nothing more pleasurable on earth.
Lost to her thoughts, she was startled when Christian entered the hut, his gaze riveted to her. “Malcolm and I are going to the stream to see if we can locate suitable mud to patch these walls,” he said.
She wiped her hands on Carolyn Howard’s fine gown. “Malcolm was sleeping last I saw him,” she frowned accusingly. “Did you wake him?”
“Nay, I did not wake him,” his tone bordered on mocking. “He cannot sleep with his stomach so full and I require his knowledge of this area to assist me in locating a clay-based mud. I am going to plaster the walls with the stuff.”
She glanced about, noting the profusion of sunlight streaming in through the aged wood and crumbling mud. Nodding, she turned away from him. “Allow me to change into my worn gown and I shall assist you.”
He almost protested but thought better; she was exceedingly strong for a woman and obviously not afraid of hard work. Although his chivalrous personality staunchly refused to allow a woman to do manual labor, the more reasonable portion of his mind realized that he might very well require her help.
“Very well,” his voice was quiet. “But do hurry. I have forced Malcolm to his feet and I tend to believe he will not stand idle much longer.”
She nodded again, listening to the ancient door close awkwardly behind her. Stripping off the fine gown of yellow satin, she donned the gray woolen gown she had been abducted in.
The stream Malcolm had indicated earlier was a large, shallow river that bubbled and sang as it coursed over boulders of cloudy granite. Gaithlin stood on the bank, absorbing the peaceful scene as Malcolm led Christian up the shore, pointing to various depressions of pooling water.
Since discovering Christian had access to unlimited food, Malcolm seemed to be a good deal less hostile towards the massive Englishman. Still, he remained distinctly wary. Christian seemed to do most of the talking as the young boy pointed and grunted, sparing one-word answers and little else. Gaithlin watched and listened, smelling the moldering dampness that the stream had to offer and thinking Scotland to be a lovely, serene place.
“Laird Malcolm, are there any lakes about?” she asked over the roar of the simmering stream.
On the opposite side of the brook, several yards upstream, Christian was the first to answer. “If I recall correctly, this small river ends in a fairly large pond.”
Gaithlin cocked an eyebrow, as Malcolm looked surprised as well. “You have a detailed knowledge of this area?” she asked.
He shrugged, thinking that he would be able to steal a glimpse of her nude body frolicking about in the water if he pointed her in the direction of a lake.
“Enough to remember there was a shack in the middle of Galloway Forest, lodged deep into Laird Malcolm’s territory,” he said, casting the boy a glance. “Enough to recall that there is a small village not far from here. A
m I correct?”
The lad nodded, his brow furrowed. “When were ye here, Englishman?”
“When I was a boy, younger than you,” he leapt across the brook in one long stride, continuing his examination of the soil. “Tell me about the village Cree. Has it grown from more than one small avenue and a few businesses?”
Malcolm rubbed his bloated belly, thinking. “There are more than a few merchants. ’Tis a busy place.”
Christian digested the information, still studying the dirt. “Excellent. Considering I need to purchase a few supplies, it should suit my needs admirably.”
“Supplies?” Malcolm cocked his head as if he had never heard of such a thing. “What supplies would tha’ be?”
“Food stuffs mostly,” he eyed Gaithlin. “And if there is a cobbler, my wife could use a new pair of shoes.”
As Gaithlin stared at him in surprise, Malcolm was awed. “Ye have money fer this?” he asked.
Christian tore his eyes away from Gaithlin’s astonished gaze, cracking a smile at the lad’s incredulity. “I do.”
Malcolm continued to stare at him, his young mind wracked with the wonder of wealth. Considering he had none, the concept was as elusive as the theory of regular meals. “How did ye come by th’ wealth?”
Christian shrugged. “Looting, pillaging, stealing from the poor.”
Malcolm believed him even as Gaithlin fought off a reproachful grin. “Ye’re a thief?”
“Indeed,” Christian looked serious, casting another long glance at Gaithlin. “My wife will confirm my tale. I simply steal what I want.”
Malcolm’s wide green eyes focused on the beautiful woman. But Gaithlin’s attention was entirely on Christian, recollecting her abduction from St. Esk as his jesting words rang true. When he smiled enticingly, a beautiful gesture, she realized his train of thought matched her own.
I simply steal what I want.
After a moment, she nodded quite sincerely and looked away. “He does indeed steal. I know this for fact.”
England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 179
