And none more merry nor more appreciative of the finery than Lady Margaret du Bois. Seated between Jean and Quinton, she was in the process of delightfully sucking the meat from a bone Quinton had offered her. Game fowl, her favorite, as her grunts of pleasure and giggles of contentment conveyed. Quinton was so aroused by her sucking noises that he had nearly soiled himself. Twice.
And Maggie knew of his excitement all too well; Quinton always had the same reaction to her, although he had refrained from forcing his attentions purely for the fact that she was pledged to his elder brother, whom he adored. Had she been anyone else’s betrothed, he would have bedded her repeatedly and taken great delight in it. As it was, watching her luscious red lips devour a tiny portion of fowl nearly drove him off the brink of lust-induced madness.
Jean pretended to ignore the sexual games going on between his younger son and his heir’s intended, weakly attempting to convince himself that Maggie was simply being true to her usual, over-affectionate character. Since the moment she had arrived this morn, unannounced and escorted by a company of Howard soldiers, Quinton had been completely blinded by her beauty and charm. He always had been. Jean wondered what the future held for two brothers both smitten with the same woman and tried not to dwell on the darker implications.
“Maggie darling,” he said finally, unwilling to allow the grunting and teasing to progress further lest Quinton be forced into irrational actions. “You have not yet mentioned the purpose of your visit. As I told you this morn, Christian is away on business for me and shan’t return for some time.”
Distracted from Quinton’s flushed face, Maggie’s expression was instantly serious. Wiping her fingers on a towel, she leaned close to Jean. Too close.
“And as I mentioned briefly, I am aware of Christian’s absence,” she said, her eyes suggestively roving the older man. “I believe I alluded to the fact that I was desperate to speak with you regarding your eldest son.”
Jean gazed down his nose at her, fighting the natural urge to put proper distance between them. She took great delight in her feminine skills, skills she used on her future father and brother-in-law with tremendous glee. Had she not come from such an unbelievably wealthy and prominent family, Jean would have thought her to be the precise essence of a soiled trollop. Certainly, he couldn’t think so poorly of Christian’s future wife. But, God, there were times….
“Would it be possible to retreat to your solar, my lord?” she asked prettily, batting her eyelashes. “What I say is most important and I do not wish to be interrupted.”
With every swish of the long-lashes, Jean felt as if he were being whipped by some unseen, force. Sometimes he didn’t know if he should laugh at her or run for his life; he wasn’t blinded by her as his sons were. To him, she was simply the means by which to link the St. Johns to greater power and wealth. But that didn’t omit the fact that he was human, and he didn’t want to be alone with her.
He drank from his pewter chalice, his eyes perusing the room even as Maggie gazed seductively at him. Down the table, Jasper St. John guffawed like a wild man as a host of young servant girls surrounded him, feeding his considerable ego and tactfully ignorant of his lacking smarts.
Jean watched his brother’s son a moment before swallowing his fine red wine, wondering if he would have been wiser to have wed the du Bois woman to his simpleton nephew. He would still have the fortune, but none of the direct linkage.
But whatever his regrets or lack of foresight where it pertained to Lady Maggie, he refused to ponder them now. Forcing himself to focus on the woman, he cast her a thin smile. “I believe we can speak quite adequately here,” he said. “No one will interrupt us, save Quinton, and I suspect he should like to hear what you have to say about his brother.”
Fully prepared to launch into her grand performance, Maggie graciously agreed to his reasoning and logic. Wresting to rekindle her courage, she drew in a deep, if not dainty, breath. She knew what she had to do. She had been waiting for this moment.
“As you say, my lord,” she said softly, glancing about the room filled with the stench of roasting meat and musty bodies as she collected her thoughts. “But I believe it only fair to warn you that you will not like what I have to say.”
“Is that so?” Jean was well into his third cup of wine. “Then I am amply fortified. Please continue.”
Making sure that Quinton was attentively hovering over her right shoulder, Maggie leaned inconspicuously towards Jean. “I saw Christian several days ago in the company of a woman,” she said softly. “A woman he claimed to be his captive.”
Jean’s tolerant expression vanished. No one save his sons and a few men-at-arms knew of Gaithlin de Gare’s capture, a delightful bit of blackmail he had been savoring for several days now. His greatest secret, lodged in the wilds of Scotland with his Demon Seed, never again to see the light of day as Jean played God with her family and future. A task he had taken particular sadistic glee in executing.
But his abduction of the de Gare wench had yet to become public knowledge; at least, he had been assured by his spies and officers that his secret was still intact. Until now; his eyes, blinding shards of Nordic blue, suddenly blazed at the woman beside him and for a brief moment, he could see the flicker of fear glimmering in her eyes. A glimmer that was far more satisfying than any sexual trick she could perform.
“How in the devil do you know this?” Jean’s voice was a growl. “Where did you see them?”
Maggie could feel Quinton’s body heat behind her; discreetly, she moved away from Jean and gently pressed herself into Quinton as if seeking protection from his father’s anger.
“Please, my lord, you must calm yourself,” she implored weakly. “There is far more to tell and you will send me into fits with your vicious temper.”
Temples throbbing, Jean saw though his haze of hatred clearly enough to know the verity of Maggie’s words. Forcing down his abhorrence when it came to the mere mention of the de Gare name, he took another swallow of wine with snappish patience.
“Speak, then.”
Maggie eyed the man, knowing well his enmity of the de Gares and not particularly surprised with his reaction. In fact, his instability when it came to his most hated foe would make her mission to exact revenge upon Christian that much easier. Already, she could taste the chaos she was about to create.
“Your son and his captive paused at Forrestoak Manor in the Howard Territories for a night of feasting and merriment,” she went on quietly, quickly. “Lady Carolyn and I happened to be at Forrestoak visiting Lady Carolyn’s brother, Kelvin, when Christian and the de Gare woman arrived. Truthfully, my lord, I will not mince words when I say that I was shocked to discover my intended with another woman, even if he did declare her to be his prisoner. And I was even more shocked with the manner in which they responded to one another. Certainly not how a captive should react to her captor.”
Stunned, Jean simply stared at her, unsure how to respond. Unsure if he wanted to know exactly what she meant. Confusion swept him, a momentary lapse that deadened his tongue. But when he waded through the befuddlement, he found he was better able to control his loathing towards the House of de Gare in lieu of discovering why Marble-Head Maggie found Christian’s behavior to be so reprehensible.
“And how did they respond to one another?” he asked.
Maggie made sure to meet his eye, delaying her answer as she settled more firmly against Quinton. A delicate white hand interlaced itself within the hearty folds of Quinton’s large palm, purely for effect. As if she were groping for the strength to confess.
“Like lovers.”
It wasn’t the answer Jean was expecting. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. After a moment’s deliberation, his brow furrowed and the color drained from his face. Maggie thought he, quite literally, might become ill.
“What… what do you mean?” he rasped.
Maggie felt the advantage swing heavily in her favor. Embellishing the part of the
jilted betrothed, she dabbed daintily at her eye. “Exactly that, my lord. Christian fed her like a child, held her hand, smiled gently at her and even kissed her,” she took a deep breath. “And… and they shared a chamber. Dare that is all I tell you, my lord.”
Jean’s jaw swung open in disbelief. He was scarcely aware when he rose from his chair, knocking over the chalice of wine that had rested near the edge of the table. His ice-blue eyes were riveted to Maggie as if they were somehow physically attached, digging into her tender flesh with claws of demanding anguish.
“You will tell me everything,” he nearly shouted, oblivious to the audience he was attracting.
“Father!” Quinton hissed, acutely aware of their listeners. “Lower your voice, please. You will simply frighten Maggie with your raging.”
Jean heard his youngest son’s plea, but it did little to quell his mounting outrage. Cold shock washed over him as he pondered the possibilities Maggie was suggesting. Certainly, Christian would not have treated an enemy as a lover. And especially not a de Gare. His eldest son was exceedingly clever, and if he had shown an ounce of mercy towards the wench, then he must have possessed good reason.
With that thought, Jean forced himself to calm. Taking a deep breath, he haltingly regained his seat and bellowed for more wine.
“You must be mistaken, Maggie,” he said as evenly as he could muster, struggling to maintain his composure.
Wide-eyed, Maggie watched Jean’s wooden movements as he consumed yet another chalice of wine. The man had always been quick of temper and not particularly rational at times, but she had been fortunate enough through the years to never have become personally acquainted with his wrath. To realize that she might not have been entirely wise in her scheme or methods was not a factor she would entertain at the moment; she had a task to complete. Knowing how desperately Jean St. John hated the House of de Gare would work to her advantage. And she would carry out the performance no matter how ugly the situation became.
“Christian brought the girl to Kelvin’s manse during a terrible storm,” she said quietly, eyeing the smoldering father. “Certainly, I do not know why the de Gare woman was with him and I have little interest other than protecting the strength of my marriage contract to your son. Kelvin will swear to the allegations that Christian and his prisoner were most affectionate with one another.”
“Christian would never show affection towards a de Gare,” Quinton scoffed, finding the entire idea ludicrous. “Your jealousy has blinded you, Maggie. The lady is Christian’s captive, certainly not what you are suggesting. It’s pure foolishness!”
“I know what I saw, Quinton,” Maggie said, incensed. “I know fondness when it is thrust into my face. In fact, Christian was more than willing to flaunt his whore….”
“Enough, Maggie,” Jean put up a sharp hand, his face pallid with the level of emotion he was experiencing. “I shall hear no more of this slander. The Demon of Eden is loyal to the death and to even consider that he would show a measure of tenderness towards a de Gare is purely imaginative. Clearly you were mistaken.”
Rebuked and mildly insulted, Maggie stared at her primly folded hands. “There is one way to find out,” she said, her soft voice unmistakably biting. “Seek him out and discover for yourself. I believe he told me he was taking the girl to Scotland; certainly, you would know his location if he were acting on your orders to abduct her, my lord.”
Jean’s ice-blue gaze found her lowered head, wondering why he had ever agreed to a marriage contract between Margaret du Bois and his eldest son at the first. Even those years back, she had been a liar and a whore. For the first time in his life he pondered the weight of her wealth against the hollowness of her soul. Until now, the coinage had always overwhelmed her shortcomings. He wasn’t entirely certain that was still the truth.
“How do you know he was acting on my orders?” he asked.
Maggie smiled faintly, preparing to prove her in-depth knowledge of the situation. By using Alicia de Gare’s mention of Jean’s threatening missive, she would easily prove her information and thereby add more support to her claims against Christian.
“You ordered Christian to capture Gaithlin de Gare in order that you might use her against Alex,” she purred. “Your son has told me as much.”
Jean met her gaze, feeling some confusion. It wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that Christian would have told her of his plans; in spite of her cheating nature, she was nonetheless devoted to him and he would have considered her trustworthy. But even as Christian’s disclosure seemed logical enough, he also found himself wondering if there wasn’t a shred of truth to Maggie’s hostile accusations. Had Christian shown more than mere humanity towards the de Gare wench? More importantly, if that was the case, then why?
As Jean gazed into her brown eyes, he was ashamed at his lack of complete faith in his eldest son. Maggie had always been sly and treacherous and she could very well be lying out of pure jealousy or a twisted sense of revenge. Considering Christian happened across her at Kelvin Howard’s manse where she professed to have been on a visitation, it was more than likely she was engaged in any number of covert activities with Kelvin himself and Christian had witnessed her treachery first-hand. Mayhap she was angry with her intended for having come across her in one of her many trysts.
Whatever the case, Jean simply couldn’t shake the unnerving doubts that seemed to plague his common sense. He knew for a fact that his son was as deeply devoted to the St. John legacy as he himself was; yet, Christian had also expressed a measure of scorn at the continuance of a seventy-year-old Feud. Was it possible that, somehow, the de Gare wench had managed to soften his reproving stance even further? Dear God… was it possible that somehow she had managed to quell the Demon’s drive?
He felt a distinct need to know. Mayhap he would send Quinton to resume Christian’s position as the wench’s captor, thereby recalling Christian to Eden and dousing his doubts. But with that same thought, he realized Quinton was even weaker-willed that Christian.
Observing the manner in which his youngest son gawked and fussed over Maggie, mayhap it wasn’t entirely wise to consider sending his feeble-willed second son if the de Gare wench was as persuasive as Maggie seemed to indicate. Good Lord, if the woman could wreak havoc over Christian’s loyalties, there was no telling what she could do to Quinton. Suddenly, nothing seemed wise or certain any longer.
Riddled with doubt and misgivings, Jean forced himself to refocus on Maggie. “Since so few know of my plans for surmounting the de Gares once and for all, I shall blame you if my scheme becomes popular rumor,” his voice was steady and hazardous. “And as for Christian and Alex’s daughter, I appreciate your concern, but I am sure it is a baseless anxiety. You know Christian well enough to know he would cut out his own heart before he would trust a de Gare.”
Maggie eyed him a moment before nodding submissively. “As you say, my lord,” she said softly, licking her lips daintily as she pretended to struggle for the courage to form her question. “But… as Christian’s intended, would you do me the courtesy of telling me where he has gone? In case I should like to contact him?”
“Any contact can be made through me,” Jean said shortly, demanding more wine. “I shall be happy to relay your messages of well-being during this most trying time.”
Slightly off-balance, Maggie again nodded graciously. The conversation had not progressed entirely as planned and she was not certain as to how to turn the situation to her advantage. She had not discovered Christian’s whereabouts as she had promised Lady de Gare and she had also seemingly been unsuccessful in rallying Jean’s wrath against his son. If Christian was to be successfully separated from his captive, then Jean and Alex would have to unite as a force of two outraged fathers with the common goal to be dividing their children.
It never occurred to her that she was attempting to unite the deadliest of enemies for a common cause. The only matter of import was that her efforts were for her cause.
“Then I would thank you for your attention, my lord,” she said finally, feeling fatigued and irritated and eager to be alone to rethink her scheme. “With your permission, I will retire for the eve. It has been a trying day.”
Jean nodded faintly, turning his attention away as she excused herself. Sinking further and further into the depths of anxiety, he seemed to lack the attention or the focus to ponder any matter other than that of his eldest son. Even as the party went on about him and the dancing continued into the night, he remained rooted to his seat as if incapable of functioning as gracious host.
He shouldn’t have believed Maggie. She’d never given him any reason in the past to regard her ramblings and he had no idea why he should decide the time was ripe to give her prevaricating blather a measure of credence. What she was suggesting was ludicrous at best. But, God help him, he simply couldn’t shake the feeling.
What if she were right?
‘She was the Beauty of my passion.’
~ Chronicles of Christian St. John
Vl. XI, p. CLVI
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“The moment we receive word from Christian, I want you and Jasper to ride north and assess the situation. Is that clear?”
Quinton St. John eyed his father. The man was drunker than he had ever been in his entire life, sweating and pale-lipped and irrational. But, because he was an obedient son, he nodded firmly.
“Aye, Da. As you say.”
Jean tried to set his chalice down on the table of his solar, but he missed. The cup clattered to the floor and Jean cursed softly, grasping the crystal decanter and drinking from the neck.
“And if your brother has been foolish enough to allow himself to become entangled within the de Gare bitch’s lies, you will truss him up and return him to me for judgment. Do you understand?”
Quinton stared at his father. The man’s intoxication only seemed to fuel his hatred towards the de Gares, a hatred that certainly did not require any additional support. But if, perchance, Christian acted foolishly towards his de Gare captive as Maggie had suggested, then Quinton had no doubt that their father’s hatred would be blind to the St. John bloodlines. A traitor knew no family ties. Even the Demon.
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