He grunted, a joyful grin tugging at his lips. “For you and I. But I doubt Malcolm shares our opinion.”
As if on cue, Malcolm came through the trees bearing the ox on a long rope. Speaking to the animal as if it was capable of understanding him, he led the beast to a sturdy tree and tied him tightly. Moving forth to his chores of watering and feeding the animal, Christian and Gaithlin watched him with a good deal of settling contentment.
“He’s a hard worker,” Christian observed with satisfaction. “He’ll be a great knight someday.”
Gaithlin smiled as she watched the young lad with the rapidly filling-in scalp. “My mother will love him. She’s always wanted a son.”
Christian sighed faintly as he watched the lad groom the ox for parasites, his thoughts turnings towards the deeply sinister implications that had plagued him since the day he had decided to marry Gaithlin de Gare. Now that he had finally wed his most hated enemy, the dissenting factors seemed to be gaining strength and weight with each passing moment. The more he held Gaithlin in his arms, the more intoxicating his adoring emotions became. And the more desperate his anxieties loomed.
The Feud. He had married her to end the hostilities, to forge a peaceful link. But the further time progressed, the more he wondered if his motives had been entirely reasonable. Good Christ, his father was so completely embroiled in his hatred for Alex de Gare that Christian was more apt to believe that he would be unwilling to accept such a peace overture than he would be agreeable to put all differences aside.
Christian knew, factually, that Jean’s inbred loathing of the de Gare name sustained him more than food or drink or inherent breathing ever could. Clearly, there was only one way to determine the course his future would take; he must return to Eden and inform his father of his actions and his intentions and stand his ground as Jean raged and cursed and ranted to the very heavens.
Yet even as he exposed himself to the wrath that he would surely endure, it was of the utmost importance to maintain Gaithlin’s safety until such a time as she could be carefully introduced to her new relatives. If such a time would ever come.
Aye, Christian knew he must return home as soon as possible, but he was terribly reluctant to give up the life of ease and peace that he had come to adore within the greenery of the Galloway territory. Life was safe here, a blissful utopia away from the true harshness the Feud had to offer. A protective hideaway from the realities he would be forced to endure eventually.
Good Christ, how he was reluctant to face those realities. How he would love to hide far away from the brutal truth for the rest of his life. But it was not in his nature to hide from the verity of the circumstance, no matter how easy it would be to slide into the depths of oblivion with his new wife and adopted son.
Truly content for the first time in his life, Christian began to realize with sickening certainty that there was no Paradise to be had on the face of the earth. There was never a true balance between contentment of the soul and contentment of physical realities. Everything in life that was desired or needed had to be struggled for.
“What are you thinking?” Gaithlin’s sultry voice was quiet, deliciously soft.
Breaking from his train of thought, he smiled into her beautiful face. “Nothing of import,” he lied. “Shall we grind the flour? We can use the old pestle and stone we found buried with the other debris on the day of our arrival.”
She nodded, allowing him to lead her across the compound towards their shelter while against the tree, Malcolm picked mites off the ox’s thick skin. “Surely the village has a mill,” she said as he entered their shack in search of the necessary equipment. “Why don’t we pay them to grind our grain into flour?”
He shrugged. “We could, of course,” he knelt before their collection of supplies and equipment. “I purchased whole grain instead of unsifted flour because the grain can be used a variety of ways. However, I suppose we could delegate a good portion of the grain to be ground into flour. Providing we can keep it free of pests and vermin.”
Gaithlin watched him in the dimness of their hut, observing the muscles of his back flex beneath his thin tunic as her uncharacteristically dreamy thoughts drifted to the events of the previous day.
Their wedding night had been a peculiar quagmire of stolen kisses and desperate lust displayed in the midst of a common abbey room, certainly not an ideal situation for a newlywed couple. As Malcolm slept peacefully a few feet away, Gaithlin and Christian had lain awake most of the night, touching discreetly and struggling against their powerful passion.
Christian had even tried to recite passages of his own composition to her to further distract them from the ardor, but his literary talents had the opposite effect and only served to excite his wife further. Although he abruptly realized he had a powerful erotic tool in Gaithlin’s regard for his scholarly skill, it was with painful irony that he shut his mouth in favor of easing her passionate fire. Even when she begged for more, he refused to utter a sound and cursed himself for his damnable sense of self-control. Exceedingly misplaced on his wedding night, he mused bitterly.
Somewhere during the darkened hours, however, Gaithlin had eventually given up on her heated discomfort and drifted off into a fitful sleep. In spite of the three other occupants of the common room and Malcolm’s resting form nearby, she had nonetheless awoken before dawn to Christian’s mouth on her breast, stoking her dormant fires into instant blaze beneath the mounds of fur and woolens.
So much for her husband’s superior sense of self-control. Biting off her groans of pleasure, she had struggled to keep silent as his wicked mouth lapped her tender nipples while his thick fingers tenderly explored between her legs. Gaithlin had stifled her screams on the musty wool as he probed her with two fingers, stroking in and out of her glistening flesh as his teeth nibbled her tender breasts.
His eager attentions had proved to be too much for the eager new groom. He was far too overcome with his own insidious passion and regardless of their potential audience, was determined to make love to his new wife. Removing his experienced fingers, he had mounted her silently under the mounds of material, praying he would be able to control his vocal passions as he drove into her quivering flesh as discreetly as he could manage.
In faith, there was a distinct measure of excitement in making love to his wife in front of a host of sleeping travelers. Almost as if he was taunting the odds of discovery, enough to add an explicit measure of erotic thrill to their actions. Turning onto his side, he had pulled Gaithlin’s leg over his hip so that they were lying side-by-side as he continued his measured thrusts. Between the giggles of their wicked endeavor and the pants of their inherently lusty natures, both Christian and his new wife found their release within a matter of a few short moments. And Malcolm, as with the rest of the room, had slept through it.
Gazing at her husband’s rich honey-blond head as he rummaged through their possessions, Gaithlin could not help but smile at the thought of their marriage and subsequent wedding night. Of everything she ever imagined her union to be, it had thus far proven to be beyond the scope of her wildest dreams.
“We were terribly wicked last night,” she knelt beside him, her cheek on his shoulder and her fingers in his hair. “What do you suppose Lady Dervorgilla would have said to our tryst in the common room of her abbey?”
Christian snorted humorously as he located the mortar. “As if she has never done such a thing before,” he said patronizingly. “Surely she did not expect that I would wait to claim my wife until I had quit the walls of her pristine abbey.”
Gaithlin laughed softly, watching his silken hair as it poured through her fingers. He was so incredibly handsome. With a gentle sigh, she continued to play with his beautiful locks in the weak light. “Are you happy, Christian?”
He nodded as he came across the pestle. “Happier than I have ever been. And you?”
She sighed again, dreamily, as she continued to rake her fingers through his hair. “I have never known true ha
ppiness in my entire life. Now that I have come to know the feeling, I don’t ever want to be without it.”
He put the large flat stone and pestle to the floor, turning to pull his wife into his arms. Seated on his bottom, she straddled his lap with the greatest of pleasure and contentment.
“You won’t ever be without it,” he promised softly, watching her exquisite features as she toyed with his hair. “And I promise that you will never be without me.”
Fingering his silken locks, she met his ice-blue gaze. “But what of the Feud? You said that you planned to return immediately after our wedding to inform your father of your actions,” sighing pensively, she wound her arms possessively around his thick neck. “I am frightened, Christian. Frightened of what he might do to you in his anger.”
Thoughts and suspicions Christian had been wrestling with for days. But he could not allow her to see the true extent of his concern; for her own sake, she had to believe that the situation was not as bad as Christian believed it to be.
“You mustn’t worry,” he forced a smile. “My father will see reason. As will your mother.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I have inherited my stubborn nature from my mother. Mayhap she won’t be reasonable after all.”
He made a face. “Good Christ, if she is anything like you, then I have no doubt that I shall have to beat her into submission.” When Gaithlin laughed softly in agreement, he kissed her beautiful teeth impulsively. “Not to worry, honey. I shall return you to Winding Cross before making my trek back to Eden to tell my father what I have done. You will be safe within the walls of your own keep while I force my father to come to reason.”
Her smile faded as she gazed wistfully into his magnificent face. “But what if he doesn’t come to reason, Christian. What then?”
His smile faded as well. “Then we shall flee to a safe haven. Some place where the St. Johns and the de Gares can never harm us again.”
As the uncertain future became a bit clearer, Gaithlin seemed to relax somewhat. It was obvious that she trusted him implicitly and for that, he was deeply grateful. He needed the support of her trust.
“As you say,” she said, pulling his face into the crook of her neck. Although her body conveyed nothing but calm, resigned trust, the expression illuminated by the weak light was distinctly apprehensive. Even if Christian was convinced that there was naught to worry over, she couldn’t seem to help her deep-rooted apprehension. “Mayhap we shall return to Scotland to live. I love it here.”
He squeezed her tightly, smelling her delicious skin and savoring the feel of her exquisite body against him. Straddled over his thighs and groin, it was inevitable that her position should wreak a measure of distracting eroticism into his preoccupied mind and he growled softly, running a huge hand down her torso as his concerns and anxieties faded for the moment. Grazing the side of her breast with his tender touch, he moved down her waist and began to fumble with her skirts.
She melted against his touch, succumbing to him instantly. He managed to maneuver his way amongst the yards of fabric and drag his palm up her long, silken thigh in search of his true goal. Focusing on the wet heat beckoning his eager fingers, Christian sank his teeth deep into his wife’s neck when she groaned softly in response to his probing touch.
“Merciful Heavens, Christian,” she moaned weakly as his fingers stroked her mindless. “Will it always be like this? Will each touch always be as magnificent as the first?”
Lips on her neck, he thrust two fingers deep into her honeyed sheath. “Always, my sweetest Gae. It will become better with time.”
Her hips moved against him with her usual aggression, unhindered and unimpeded within the embrace of her husband’s loving touch. Moaning deep with her sultry, seductive tonality, she threaded desperate fingers through his long hair. “Speak to me, Christian,” she breathed. “Let me hear more of your delicious words.”
He could scarcely breathe much less recite something he had written. Knowing how much his intellectual words inflamed her, however, he struggled to recall some of his more potent works to further enhance her lusty pleasure. God only knew, she was already enhancing his.
“ ‘The Fruits of Seduction are best savored raw.
As with the first savory bite of the ripened morsel,
the sensual juices of provocation
contain a plethora of ill-restraint.
The more tasted, the greater the Need.’ ”
Gaithlin groaned loudly as he finished, the last several words muffled against the tender flesh of her shoulder. Grinding her hips against his thrusting hand, she yanked brutally on his silken hair with the unending stress of her desire. “More, Christian. Tell me more.”
He grunted in response to her frenzied reaction, removing his fingers and pushing her onto her back. Raising her skirts, he drove into her quivering flesh with unbridled force. With every thrust, every beat of his heart, he drew her more deeply into his soul than ever before. Needing her more desperately than he ever thought possible. Good Christ, how she possessed him!
“Greater is the passion known…,” he rasped, thrusting so hard that her entire body shook violently with his strength, “by any standard of being.” Withdrawing slowly, he thrust again, hard enough to rattle her teeth. “To reap the rewards of the Passion sewn…,” Withdrawing again, he thrust himself to the hilt. “Is beyond the limits of Seeing.”
Gaithlin screamed again as a violent tide of euphoric convulsions washed over her body, rippling through her sheath and sending Christian over the edge of the erotic void. He shouted softly as he spilled himself deep, her delightful name wafting on his satisfied cry. Panting and spent and entirely content, he collapsed atop her incredible body to bask in the musky warmth of their powerful love.
“Good Christ, Gae,” he gasped. “Do my words truly affect you so?”
Weak and satisfied, Gaithlin clutched him tightly to her breast. “Aye, my dearest Demon, they do and I can hardly explain why. ’Twas an amazing discovery we happened upon last night in the midst of the abbey’s common room.”
He cocked an eyebrow, gazing into the dimness of their shack. “Had I known they would inspire you so, I would have plied you with a bevy of elegant prose the very day we met. Mayhap we could have avoided all of the battles and harsh occurrences.”
She pursed her lips dubiously. “I doubt we would have calmed if St. Peter himself had descended from Heaven to read us strains from the Psalms.”
He smiled faintly in agreement, listening to her heart thump loudly against her chest. After a moment, he raised his head to meet her beautiful gaze. “As I recall, several days ago I orated a poem I wrote specifically for you, yet you hardly reacted in such an erotic manner.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “And, if you recall, I was hardly in a position to react at all. Not only was I in pain, but I believe you were attempting to poison me.”
He chucked softly. “A tiny measure of opiate can hardly be considered poison, you silly woman. Besides, it helped, did it not?”
She shrugged in agreement and he kissed her sweetly, withdrawing his semi-aroused member from her snug sheath. Groaning with disappointment, Gaithlin wrapped her long legs about him in a valiant attempt to keep him from escaping.
“Where are you going?” she demanded, her voice sultry and pleading. “Stay here and recite some more of your works.”
He didn’t struggle overly against her embrace; in fact, a calloused palm was taking great delight in stroking her silken thigh as he spoke. “Honey, as much as I would love to bombard you with my writings day and night until you beg reprieve, we have work to do. There will be plenty of time for recitation this eve.”
Her lower lip jutted out. “But Malcolm will be here. We shall wake him.”
He cocked an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “What’s this you say? That you believe Malcolm will encumber your passion? My, my, how selfish. You think only of yourself.”
He laughed deeply when she swatted his arm, releasing him
from her leggy embrace. Incensed and embarrassed as she heard her own distinct words echoed within his rich baritone, she pulled her skirts down and bound clumsily to her feet in a fit of good-natured humiliation. Yet before she could move away entirely, he moved to stand and captured her within the vise of his iron embrace.
“You selfish wench,” he kissed her playfully, nibbling on her jaw as he continued to taunt her. “You naughty, naughty girl. You would have me abed day and night, reciting prose for your pleasure without thought to my own wants and needs. How terribly cruel. How…!”
A shout suddenly pierced the air outside the shelter, bringing an immediate response from Christian. Throwing open the ancient door, he was greatly concerned to find Malcolm bounding toward him.
“I found somethin’!” the lad shouted. “Come ’n see!”
“What did you find?” Christian demanded.
Malcolm didn’t reply; instead, he grasped Christian’s hand and tugged furiously. “Come on!”
Glancing over his shoulder at an equally puzzled Gaithlin, Christian’s initial anxiety faded as he allowed Malcolm to lead him across the clearing towards a particularly thick scrub of bramble. Releasing the massive knight, the lad pointing enthusiastically into the bush. With another long and perhaps reluctant glance at his wife, Christian peered into the branches.
Two wide pairs of eyes gazed back at him through the shrubbery. Christian would have been startled had the eyes not been a fair distance from him, one set particularly familiar. Upon closer scrutiny, he could see that a small area within the brush had been gouged out; a cluster of unrefined rushes covered the ground upon which the wide-eyed bodies crouched, and a host of scattered implements littered the area.
After several long moments of observation and thought, Christian turned to his wife with a furrowed brow. “Come and look at this, honey. Tell me what you think.”
Somewhat hesitantly, Gaithlin moved forward and peered into the bushes. After the initial shock of finding two sets of eyes gazing back at her, she gasped softly in understanding and, Christian thought, delight.
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