“They’ve built a nest,” she said softly, straining to catch a better look amongst the leaves. “I never thought they would, at least not this close to our shelter.”
Christian cocked an eyebrow. “Then I was correct in deducing that your dog-people have decided to move into our area.”
Gaithlin nodded, pulling back from the bushes. “I told you they would come to trust us.”
“I don’t care if they trust us or not. I am not comfortable with them living in such close proximity to our possessions.”
“Why is that? Haven’t they proven themselves trustworthy by leaving our camp untouched while we were away?”
He let out an irritated sigh, puffing out his cheeks. Turning away, he simply shook his head. “Why would they suddenly decide to move closer to us? If they have lived alone all of these years, then why..?”
“Because I lured them,” Gaithlin said without a hint of guilt. When Christian fixed his disbelieving gaze on her, she nodded firmly. “Before we left for Sweetheart Abbey, I set out a hearty portion of food. Partially to distract them from our other goods and partially to reaffirm the trust I attempted to establish the day you caught the dog-man. I was trying to show our good intentions.”
He stared at her a long moment before scratching his head in an almost bewildered gesture. The more he thought on her inherently naive actions, the more frustrated he became. “Why would you do this? First Malcolm, and now the dog-people. When will this stop, Gae? When you have given our food and possessions away to every needy person in the territory? What about us, then? Will you continue to give away everything until there is nothing left, even for us?”
Her cheeks mottled red with anger and resentment. Averting her gaze, she attempted to march past him but he reached out, grasping her arm in a vise-like grip. Furious, she broke his grasp, slugging her big fist at him when he attempting to regain his hold.
“Leave me alone,” she spat. “You simply don’t understand. You have always had everything you have ever needed, Christian. You have no idea what it’s like to be hungry and cold and terrified.”
His irritation was dashed by rush of genuine remorse, knowing the circumstances that had bred her natural giving instincts. Poverty, desolation… they had been her constant companion for twenty-two years and he knew as he lived and breathed that the House of St. John was responsible for all of her heartache.
She was right; he had always been provided with all he had ever needed. He could only imagine her experiences with impoverishment and by taking care of those around her in need, she was simply doing what she had been forced by necessity to accomplish her entire life.
“I am sorry, honey,” he whispered, grasping her arms as she struggled. “I am sorry I was harsh. Do not be angry… you’re entirely correct, of course. I do not know what it is like to be hungry or fearful or cold and I apologize for my ignorant statement.”
Her wrestling lessened with his calm words, his gentle expression. But she was still angry. “I lured the dog-people here because I want to provide them with food, and mayhap someday even teach them to communicate. They’re human, Christian, like us. No one should be forced to live an as animal.”
He sighed, feeling like a fool for having been so insensitive to her caring beliefs. Pulling her into a crushing embrace, he was relieved when she collapsed against him.
“Of course, honey love. Whatever you say. I shall never again question your generosity or kindness.”
Enclosed within Christian’s massive embrace, Gaithlin drew strength and comfort and solace from his powerful presence. In faith, she shouldn’t have become angry with him for being more fortunate than she; but given the circumstances and his callous words, she simply couldn’t help herself. If they were going to create a workable marriage, then he would have to understand everything about her. Even the less-than-pleasing things instinctive to a woman who had known little of the pleasantries of life.
“See that you don’t,” she removed her face from his tunic, glaring weakly at him. “Even if you are more learned, I know best.”
He nodded solemnly. “Aye, you do.”
Managing a weak smile as Malcolm, tired of the interplay between the knight and his lady, suddenly demanded to be fed, Gaithlin wound her arms about her husband’s narrow waist and led him towards the sod shelter lodged deep into the Galloway Forest.
Sup that night was a wonderful meal of roast rabbit, courtesy of Christian and Malcolm, and a fine stew of some of the vegetables they had purchased in town the day before. Seated before the campfire as it blazed deep into the Scots night, Gaithlin leaned contentedly against her husband as he finished the last of his greasy rabbit. On the opposite side of the fire, Malcolm had nearly eaten a whole rabbit himself and continued to chip away at the vegetable stew.
Comfortable and weary, Gaithlin observed the contest between Christian and Malcolm as they set out to determine who could consume the most food. Although Christian had a substantial lead on the boy, Malcolm was nonetheless holding his own. Giggling between bites as Christian snorted like a pig, the young lad continued to eat as if he had two hollow legs in which to store his fare.
Out in the darkness beyond the range of the campfire, the dog-man and his wife crouched several feet from the booming fire, eating the bits of bread and meat Malcolm had brought them. Gaithlin eyed them occasionally, wondering if they were so primitive that they feared the roaring fire and were therefore committed to remain in the cold darkness. Christian sensed her concern for her newest charity acquisitions, patting her leg when she appeared particularly pensive.
“They’ll warm up to you, honey,” he told her as she lingered on the two humanoid forms longer than usual. “Don’t worry so. As long as you continue to feed them, they’ll gradually come to trust you more and more. Actually, I doubt at this point we shall ever be rid of them.”
She shrugged, snuggling against him under the remarkably brilliant sky. “I hope so. It would be nice to be able to teach them to cultivate their own food. Mayhap they could even work for us someday and help us to grow crops.”
He didn’t voice his doubts or reservations in the matter, instead, returning his focus to Malcolm as the lad struggled to swallow a particularly large bite. “You’re slowing down, Malcolm. I have already eaten ten times as much as you.”
Malcolm’s eyes widened at the challenge. “Ye have not! Besides, I am still eatin’!”
Gaithlin smiled faintly, shaking her head. “Christian, he cannot eat any more. He’s going to vomit.”
Christian grinned broadly, pulling Gaithlin into his powerful, playful embrace. “Ha! Then I am the victor, and to the victor goes the spoils!” With that, he growled like a bear and nibbled Gaithlin’s ticklish neck until she squealed.
Malcolm choked down the bite, frowning at the interaction between Christian and Gaithlin. “Tha’s not fair! I canna have her, anyway. Even if I win!”
“Of course you cannot have her,” Christian said, ignoring Gaithlin’s weak giggles and pleas for release. “She’s mine. But should you ever win a contest between us, then you are free to choose your own spoils. Whatever it may be.”
Malcolm’s eyes widened. “Anythin’?”
“Anything.”
The lad thought heavy on the possibilities, a gleeful smile coming to his lips. “Then I shall win th’ next contest. An’ I can pick me prize.”
Christian returned the boy’s smile as Gaithlin pulled herself from his embrace, rising to stand on weary legs. “I must fetch the water for cleaning the dishes,” she said softly, scooping up the smaller iron pot they used for their water needs. “I shall be a moment.”
“Malcolm can do that,” Christian said, gesturing to the boy. “Give him the pot, Gae. Let him get the water.”
She shook her head, moving away from the heat and warmth of the bonfire. “I need to walk, Christian. I am absolutely exhausted and I need to finish my supper chores before I can retire. Truthfully, I shall just be a minute to the stream.”
>
Christian sighed reluctantly but allowed her to continue, winking boldly when she blew him a tender kiss. Watching her light-blue figure as it faded into the darkness, his warrior instincts were suddenly highly attuned to the noise and atmosphere of the area. Protecting his wife even as she wandered towards the nearby brook to gather her water.
The night was calm and still as Christian’s piqued ears deciphered every sound and snap; in fact, he felt himself growing rather complacent in his sentry duties until the dog-people suddenly let out a startling series of whoops. Rising from the pile of bones that had constituted their meal, they abruptly made mad haste towards the hovel of their nest.
With rising concern, Christian watched the two dark figures dance across the clearing, sniffing the air like a pair of crazed animals. Although the dog-man had exhibited such antics once before for apparently no reason, Christian was nonetheless uneased by their skittish behavior. More skittish than normal.
Rising to his feet, Christian could no longer see his wife; she had disappeared into the trees that shielded the bubbling brook from view. The moon above was bright, casting a faint silver glow about the landscape as he peered into the darkness in an ineffectual attempt to catch a reassuring glance of her rapid return. Seeing no such movement, he couldn’t help but call out to her as the dog-people continued to whine and bay.
“Gae?”
After an eternal moment, her faint reply came wafting back on the chill night air. “I am coming!”
Mildly satisfied, he maintained his watchful position as Malcolm succumbed to an exhausted sleep in front of the crackling blaze. Attempting to disregard the continued yelps of his newest neighbors, he waited impatiently for his wife to return from the brook.
The water was noisy, barely lit through the cover of dense canopy above. Gaithlin had recently answered her husband’s call, guessing his apprehensive cry had something to do with the dog-people’s sudden barking fit. Mayhap Christian had upset them and required her calming influence, she mused dryly. Or mayhap they had attacked him while his back was turned and tied him to a tree, just as he had done to the male.
Giggling at the thought of Christian tied to a Scot pine at the mercy of two canine-like humans, she dipped the iron pot deep into the brook. Taking care not to stir up any silt, she waited patiently as the pristine water filled her little pot to the very brim. Around her, the night was still and calm and her thoughts began to wander to the ensuing eve within the enclosure of Christian’s wonderful embrace.
Absolutely, she would insist he recite more prose. He was magnificent with his literate talents and she could hardly describe the arousal it brought upon her. Only knowing that his rich, deep voice enveloping each word of passion and delight brought waves of desire she had never before experienced. A world she wanted deeply to know, more and more with each passing moment. A world where she and Christian would come to discover more about each other than any man had ever known a woman. A world where she was happier than she had ever been.
Pot filled, she rose from the creek, still lingering on her warm, delicious thoughts as she turned for the camp. Still pondering her own giddy fortune and the myriad of foolish thoughts that accompanied it, she was surprised to come face to face with a broad, armored chest directly in her path.
The pot fell to the ground as Gaithlin let out a gasp of shock and terror. Staring back at her were a pair of unfamiliar brown eyes; they, too, were wide with obvious surprise.
“Christ,” the knight rasped. “It is you!”
Mouth hanging agape in surprise, Gaithlin was incapable of responding to his peculiar utterance. But as quickly as the knight’s astonishment appeared, it was vanished, and a great mailed glove reached out to grasp her cruelly by the arm. All around her, the trees suddenly came alive with soldiers and men in armor.
Gaithlin rapidly moved beyond shock to complete, utter panic. Opening her mouth to scream, she was cut short by a sharp, forceful pain to the back of her head and before another coherent thought could form, the entire world about her went to black.
‘I would have defied God himself to marry her…
my father’s wrath was of little regard.
Woe! Had I been wise enough to heed her admonition!’
~ Chronicles of Christian St. John
Vl. X, p. CXVI
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Christian?”
Christian recognized his brother’s voice before the man finished speaking. Emerging from the dark trees that encircled the small Galloway encampment, Quinton St. John was in full battle armor as he approached his brother.
Christian could only stare at his brother, apprehension and terror running hand in hand as the fully armored man materialized from the trees in the precise location where Gaithlin had vanished. As the dog-people continued to cry and howl, it suddenly occurred to him that he should have listened to their unintelligible screams; obviously, they had sensed something the Demon had not. Quite clearly, something was terribly wrong, and now he was cornered. Off-guard and off-balance.
“Good Christ, Quinton,” he said with genuine emotion. “Where did you come from?”
Quinton gazed steadily at his brother as he came upon him, feeling more hatred and sorrow and confusion than he ever imagined possible. Gazing into the face of a man he thought he knew quite well until now.
“The trees,” he said evenly. “Actually, I have been here a while. We have been here a while. Watching you.”
“We?” Christian cocked an eyebrow, glancing into the shadowed greenery beyond and wondering with rising panic what had become of his wife. “Who is ‘we’?”
Quinton shrugged. “Jasper and I and a company of St. John soldiers. Father sent us.”
Christian’s gaze held even as his brother came to a halt directly in front of him, his stomach twisting with the force of his anxiety. As ice-blue orbs met with those of soft brown, there was no doubt in Christian’s mind that his brother knew the whole of the story without the benefit of words. If his brother had been lurking in the bramble for some time, then he had seen a great deal that defied the necessity of an explanation.
Aye, he could see by the expression on Quinton’s face that his brother knew something was amiss; the Feud was not as strong within the Galloway encampment as it should have been. Christian’s heart sank at being caught at a distinct disadvantage; he had sincerely hoped to break the terms of his relationship to Gaithlin within his own time frame. Obviously, his plans had been altered.
“Where is she?” Christian forewent any further conversation, the empty banter of meaningless talk. If Quinton suspected the worst, then Christian was eager to clarify the situation before the foolish man reacted adversely. In fact, he was fearful that his brother had already acted in a brutal manner towards Gaithlin and Christian was increasingly desperate to know of her condition.
Quinton drew in a deep, entirely laborious breath as he met his brother’s gaze. The longer he stared into the man’s crystal-clear eyes, the deeper the pain of treachery carved. His resentment and confusion bubbled forth and he found himself struggling against the urge to pound a measure of sense into his brother’s thick skull; he simply couldn’t believe the man had betrayed the St. John name for the sake of a mere woman. Not just any woman, but a de Gare.
It was difficult to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Was she worth it, Christian? Was she worth the judgment you will now have to face?”
Christian forced himself to remain cool, his customary steely demeanor taking hold as the gist of his brother’s accusations and knowledge abruptly came into focus. Since there was obviously no use in denying the truth, he was prepared to confront Quinton’s scathing allegations and hope that within the reason of his careful rationalization, his brother would come to comprehend the delicacy of the situation.
“Aye, she was. Now you will tell me where my wife is or I shall kill you with my bare hands.”
Fury and shock flushed Quinton’s veins as his disbelieving ears took ho
ld of his brother’s statement. God help them all, the town merchant had been correct. Quinton’s thinly-held control suddenly broke free and exploded in a blast of harsh, nasty words.
“You… your wife?” he exclaimed. “Christ, Christian, what are you saying? You actually married the de Gare bitch?”
Quinton’s eyes and nose were the only portion of his body exposed beneath his formidable armor. In a blinding flash, Christian’s fist was suddenly blocking his vision and the searing pain that immediately followed sent him to the ground. Gasping with shock and agony, Quinton was not surprised when Christian lurched over his prostrate form, ripping off his helm in an attempt to do further damage to his offensive mouth.
Quinton struggled with diming vision as the certainty of Christian’s anger settled, knowing that he would surely be subject to harsher blows until he was able to regain his footing and defend himself. However, the more powerful impacts were not forthcoming; instead, he found himself gazing up into his brother’s grim expression as the cold gray moonlight caressed the familiar family features.
“You will never again use that term to describe my wife, and now your sister. Do you comprehend me?”
Breathing heavily as blood from his damaged nose coursed over his lips, Quinton nonetheless maintained the courage to glare at his attacker. “How could you do this, Christian? How could you be so foolish?”
Christian’s jaw ticked dangerously. “Where is she, Quinton. I shall not ask again.”
Hissing a curse and spraying blood over his brother’s tunic, Quinton jabbed a finger at the trees. “With Jasper. Now answer my question; what in the hell happened to you?”
Christian ignored his brother’s demand, instead, focusing in the darkened canopy of forest. “Jasper!” he bellowed. “Bring her to me!”
His remarkably loud voice echoed off the Wood, jolting Malcolm awake from his position by the fire. Even the dog-people screeched louder in response to his cry, but Christian ignored his vassals, old and new alike. All that mattered at the moment was regaining custody of his wife.
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