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. Am 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.”
Malcolm couldn’t decide whether to be horrified or supportive of his deeds. He continued to gaze at Gaithlin as Christian retraced his steps along the bank, moving towards his exquisite, willowy captive as a preying animal stalks its quarry.
“I… I need wealth,” he said, looking hesitant and eager at the same time. “Can I learn tae steal like Sir Christian?”
Incensed, Gaithlin opened her mouth to fully recant Christian’s outrageous lie. But the moment she moved to do so, warm arms wound about her slender body, enveloping her with fierce tenderness. Before she could protest, Christian’s probing lips and hot breath danced over the delicate flesh of her neck, sending ripples of excitement coursing down her spine.
Instead of vigorously contesting his bold action, she found herself giggling as his teeth nibbled her tender shoulder. Struggling to maintain her focus and her outrage in the face of his seductive onslaught, she weakly attempted to pull away from him. Very weakly.
“Not in front of Malcolm, Christian,” she murmured feebly, her gaze still resting on the wide-eyed young lad. “Did you hear what he said? He wants to be a thief, like you.”
“I heard him,” he mumbled, his face pressed against her delectable neck. “If he is fortunate enough to obtain such booty as I have in my arms, I would applaud his intent.”
Gasping weakly, her struggle to pull away from him increased. “You will not encourage this. Tell him the truth immediately. Tell him what you really are.”
Sighing heavily, Christian forced himself away from her delicious skin. Chin resting on Gaithlin’s shoulder, his seduction-hazed expression focused on Malcolm.
“I am not a thief. I am a warlord.” Returning to Gaithlin’s flesh, he growled. “There. Satisfied?”
Before Gaithlin could reply, Malcolm leapt to the forefront of the conversation. “Ye’re a warlord?” he gasped. Obviously, being a warlord was far better than being a lowly thief and his little cheeks were ripe with the color of excitement. “Do ye fight for th’ king?”
Gaithlin was slowly collapsing against him and Christian was having difficulty focusing on anything other than her responsive body. Good Christ, she was so unbelievable sensitive to his passion, as if she knew exactly how to obey his silently lustful commands with her voracious reaction. As if she knew exactly what the Demon needed without the benefit of words.
In fact, he completely forgot about the small boy as his mouth attached to her tender earlobe. Gaithlin gasped with pleasure and he was about to bring his hands up to grasp her breasts when an insistent tugging distracted him. Reeling back to the world at hand, his flushed, panting face met with an eager, youthful expression.
“Did ye fight wi’ the king?” Malcolm wasn’t the least bit concerned that he was interrupting a powerfully erotic moment.
Christian blinked at the child as if he were still in a daze, his lusty intentions still raging full force. “Aye,” he said slowly, feeling Gaithlin stiffening in his arms as she regained her senses. “I did.”
His mouth moved to reclaim Gaithlin’s tender flesh, but Malcolm would not be so easily disregarded. “Did ye kill a lot o’ men? Did ye cut off their heads and watch th’ blood run deep?”
Fighting for lucidity, Gaithlin put her hand to Christian’s mouth as he threatened to attach himself to her again. Swallowing away the hypnotic effect he seemed to have over her, she resumed her struggles to pull free from his grasp. “Let me go,” she whispered, avoiding his seeking lips even though her hand was covering his mouth. “Answer his question.”
He suckled the fingers that covered his lips, wrestling to keep her within his embrace even as she sought to remove his arms. “It wasn’t a question, it was a foolish demand.”
Working herself free, she removed her finger from his heated mouth, watching a glimmering smile dance over his lips. Caught up in his aggressive passions, she couldn’t help but return his seductive grin.
Raising the finger that had so recently been enveloped by the searing recesses of his mouth, her instincts took hold and she plunged the finger deep into her own mouth, meeting his awestruck gaze as she suckled the finger hard enough to remove the skin. She could taste him on her skin.
Christian came apart. It didn’t matter that he had just released her from a powerful embrace, or that a small boy even now wait eagerly at his side for the answers to his youthful query; the moment she lay her delicious finger upon her pink tongue, he was completely lost. Moving toward her with blinding speed, he ignored her shrieks of protest as he brutally whipped her into his arms.
“Be gone, boy!” he roared to Malcolm, bringing his mouth to bear on Gaithlin’s tender neck. “Be gone before I take my hand to you!”
His lust-induced command echoed off the trees. Terror-stricken, Malcolm dashed into the bramble like a frightened rabbit as Gaithlin found herself swallowed in the most potent embrace yet. His mouth, searing and desperate, suckled her until she was gasping for every breath.
“You frightened him,” she whispered heavily, his mouth attached to her jawline. “You mustn’t shout….”
“How do you know what will drive me mad?” he rasped in between heated kisses, cutting off her words of protest on Malcolm’s behalf. “How is it you have the power to rob me of my senses until nothing on this earth matters but you?”
Gaithlin stopped struggling against him, her entire body eager and reciprocate to his desire. Malcolm was forgotten as her inherent instincts ran wild with need. “I don’t know,” she breathed, moaning softly when his mouth moved to her scorching lips. “My reaction to you is as natural as breathing. I just know.”
He growled harshly, whisking her into his arms and carrying her across the bank into a thick cluster of trees. On the heavily grassed earth, he lay her against the moist greenery even as his hands moved to disrobe her.
Familiar with the objects of his quest, Gaithlin removed her arms from the sleeves, crying out softly when he cruelly yanked the gown to her waist. From navel to neck, she was bared for Christian’s lust-maddened eyes and could only stare back helplessly as his gaze utterly raped her.
“Good Christ, Gae,” he whispered, his rich voice quaking with need. “I have never wanted anything so badly in my life. If I continue what I have started, there will be no turning back. Stop me now or I swear I shall only be able to end it when my seed is spilled deep inside you.”
Her gaze held steady, inquisitive and confused and entirely glazed with a passion to match his own. Suddenly, there was no longer any doubt in her mind that she wanted to experience all of the desire and pleasure Christian had to offer. Knowing very well that surrendering her virginity to the Demon would be to forever relinquish her chances for a respectable marriage, but somehow no longer concerned with the fact. There was only the Demon.
“You… you said you wanted to marry me,” she rasped, her beautiful breasts heaving in the filtered light of the canopy. “Do you still?”
He gazed at her a moment, licking lips parched with desire. “Without a doubt. Do you finally agree?”
She was silent a moment, studying him in the shadowed illumination. “What will our marriage be like?”
He sighed, his violent lust curbing somewhat as he forced himself to focus on her question. “It will not be easy,” he said haltingly. Honestly. “We will know more than our share of bitterness and adversity. But we will unite two families who have known nothing but war for the past seventy years, and our children will cement a fierce alliance, one that I am eager to know.”
Gazing into his ice-blue eyes, she believed him implicitly. His sincerity, his true desire to know peace was apparent. After a moment, she reached out a long finger, dragging it down his arm pensively as she pondered her reply. “Will you treat me as a wife, or merely as an object of peace?”
“Both,” he said truthfully. “You will be all to me.”
She stared at him, unwilling and unable to comprehend the full meaning of his words. The underlying intent was both frightening and thrilling at the same time, an implied promise beyond her most vivid dreams. You will be all to me. Merciful Heavens, how she wanted to believe him.
Christian watched her expression, confused and meditative. Forcing his lust to cool somewhat as Gaithlin pondered his words, he lowered himself to the grass beside her and was not surprised when she wound both arms about his neck and shoulders. Cheek against her breast, he found himself staring into the foliage surrounding them.
“What of your family, Christian?” her seductive voice was soft. “They will hate me. And they will hate you for marrying me. They might even condemn you as a traitor. Have you truthfully considered their reaction?”
His hand caressed her arm, moving to the satin skin of her torso. “ ’Tis true they will hate you for a time, an entirely natural reaction to a de Gare. But I know without a doubt that they will not attempt to harm you in any way purely for the fact that you have married the Demon of Eden.” His hand wandered across her abdomen, his gaze moving from the greenery to the large nipple within his line of sight. He closed his eyes as passion and madness surged as a result of the tempting vision, fighting against their consuming power. “Yet I suspect their hatred will be short-lived once they come to know you.”
She contemplated his statement a moment. “And if the hatred never fades?”
“It will,” he said firmly. “And my family will trust my judgment. I would not marry you if I did not deem you appropriate or worthy.”
She thought on the terrifying concept of actually coming face to face with Jean St. John, of becoming a member of his house and hold. For a woman with a good deal of bravery and unrestrained courage, the thought of living amongst her most hated enemies was enough to send her cowering. Yet one thing was for certain; Christian would be by her side. And she would have to trust him.
“Promise me… promise me that you will protect me from your family,” she whispered, hating herself for sounding so frightened. “I fear that their hatred will overcome their devotion to you.”
He raised his head, his beautiful face looming over her. A massive hand tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear as he studied her intently, his expression a potent mixture of desire and tenderness.
“I will never leave you, not even for a moment,” his deep voice was a husky whisper. “Moreover, even if one of my family members were foolish enough to tangle with you, certainly they would end up worse than Kelvin Howard.”
The corner of her mouth twitched with a smile. “Aye, I would defend myself.”
“I know,” he leaned down, kissing her forehead, her temple, with infinite gentleness. “You are a remarkable woman, Gae. I do believe this marriage will be a positive merger.”
She closed her eyes against his kiss, thinking of the matrimony that was quickly becoming her chosen destiny. Thinking of her mother’s reaction, of the response of the men-at-arms who had spent their lives battling for Winding Cross’ freedom. Thinking of the generations of family and vassals alike that had devoted their very existence to a desperate Feud that had robbed them of all else but the ability to despise. Knowing that not only would she have to bear St. John hatred, but de Gare loathing as well.
In faith, incurring their wrath frightened her almost as much as the concept of marrying Christian. But in the same breath, she believed the Demon’s words when he insisted that their marriage would bring about peace. Surely, with the heiress of Winding Cross married to the Demon of Eden, the ties of marriage would prevent any further bloodshed. In fact, the very families who would hate both her and Christian for betraying their respective loyalties would come to admire them for preventing more loss of life to a seventy-year-old Feud.
Her eyes opened as Christian’s kisses faded and she found herself gazing into his ice-blue eyes. Merciful Heavens, he was certainly the most beautiful man she had ever seen; there wasn’t one portion of the man imperfect or flawed. His wisdom, his intelligence, his physical appearance… everything about him was wonderful. He was wonderful. He was also undeniably wealthy.
She blinked as her mind began to move from thoughts of ending the Feud to thoughts of the supposed benefits she would bring to this marriage. Other than ending the long-standing war, she had nothing more to offer her prosperous prospective husband, and she realized that he had no idea of the economic state of Winding Cross. Certainly, he expected that she would have a dowry. Of course, she did not.
As with her other endearing and responsible qualities, forthrightness had always been one of Gaithlin’s strong points. She wasn’t afraid to voice her thoughts, her opinions, or relay the truth when necessary. But gazing into Christian’s amazing eyes, she realized she was very apprehensive informing Christian that she would enter into their marriage with only the clothes on her back.
Moreover, there were other de Gare secrets she was reluctant to inform him of as well, foremost the fact that her mother had spearheaded the de Gare defenses for the past ten years. She didn’t want the Demon of Eden learning all that remained of the de Gare legacy was a splintered bastion, a dead lord, and starving people. If he was to marry her, however, he would inevitably discover the truth. It was a truth she would rather keep buried.
Torn between her instinct to disclose the reality of her situation and the verity of the need to protect the illusion of de Gare strength, Gaithlin struggled to reach a satisfactory medium. Would it be possible to keep the worst of it from him? Did she dare try?
“Your thoughts are lost to me,” Christian’s rich voice wafted upon the damp forested air. “What are you thinking?”
She met his eyes, wrestling with her dilemma, struggling with her anxieties. As Christian expected an answer, she labored to supply him with one.
“I… I do not have a substantial dowry to bring to this union, Christian,” she finally said.
His brow furrowed. “What do I care about a dowry? I am not marrying you for the money; I am marrying you to end mutual hostilities. It matters not if you do not have any dowry at all.”
His answer surprised her and she cleared her throat daintily, hastening to recover her astonishment. “But… what do you mean it does not matter? It should matter a great deal. Every man marries for what his wife can bring him.”
“As am I. You can bring a peace our families have not known in seventy years. That is the only item of wealth I am concerned with.”
Truly perplexed, Gaithlin stared at him with wide-eyes, wondering if he was being completely sincere. “You have no interest in my money?”
Christian’s warm expression faded, knowing she was delicately attempting to broach the fact that she had virtually no monetary support to offer. His heart ached for her plight, the proud heiress without a pence to subsidize her claim. He fully intended that she should never have to voice her shame, especially to her future husband. In faith, he didn’t care in the least.
“My only interest is that my wife come to me pure and without hesitation,” he said softly, stroking her hair again. “That is the greatest dowry I could hope for.”
She swallowed contemplatively, pondering his words. “You consider my purity to be a greater dowry?”
“Indeed.”
She thought a moment, her brow rippling with the course of her tumultuous concerns. “But… but isn’t it proper to deliver the dowry when the marriage takes place?”
“Aye.”
“Then it would be reasonable to assume that if you take my innocence now, you will be accepting my dowry before the actual wedding.”
Immediately, he could see where she was leading and he nearly groaned with the displeasure and rightness of it. He sighed faintly, studying her face in the dim light. “Technically.”
“But you would not take the monetary dowry before such time. Correct?”
He sighed again. “Correct.”
She cocked her head and he swore he saw a twinkle of a smile flicker of her ripe lips. “Then why would you take my innocence before that proper time if you consider it most important?”
He raked his fingers through his honey-blond hair, scowling at her accurate statement. “You wicked enchantress. You unknowingly lure me mindless and then have the audacity to point out the fact that I am a lustful beast and completely incapable of controlling my actions without your level wisdom.”
She giggled softly, winding her long arms about his neck and pulling him down to her. “My virginity is all the dowry I have to offer you at the moment,” she whispered hotly against his ear. “It would make me happy to deliver it at the appropriate time, not in the middle of the Scots wilderness.”
His massive arms went about her, moaning softly with the torture of what he was about to endure. Their gazes locked, faces intimately close, and Gaithlin could feel his heated breath on her lips.
“Your reasoning is sound. And if you wish to delay the deliverance of the dowry, as you so delicately phrased it, until our wedding, then so be it. But I will forewarn you that it will not be a comfortable delay for me,” his eyes raked her with such searing tenderness that her heart fluttered wildly against her ribs. “How can I hold you in my arms and not possess every facet of your sweetness?”
She smiled gently, touching the sharp angles of his Nordic features. “By demonstrating your superior control,” she teased softly.
He grunted ironically, casting a long glance over her exposed breasts before again closing his eyes tightly, turning his head from their delectable vision. “Even my control has its limitations,” he kissed her swiftly one last time before pushing himself off of her, turning his attention elsewhere as she replaced her half-undone gown.
Gaithlin rose, fumbling with the last few stays of her dress. Christian caught movement out of the corner of his eye, feeling comfortable enough to aid her with the task now that her beautiful breasts were covered from his lusty gaze. Without another word on the subject of dowries and weddings and a lack of self-control, he took her hand, kissed it loudly, and led her from the thicket. There was work to do.
*
Malcolm was nowhere to be found. Gaithlin searched a wide perimeter around their shelter as Christian produced an axe and went about securing more wood for their heat and repair needs. Although he pretended to be indifferent to the boy he chased away in the heat of desire, it distressed him to hear Gaithlin’s sensual voice calling out the young lad’s name every few seconds.
She sounded saddened as she crept among the bramble looking for the orphan and Christian paused in his wood chopping, leaning on his axe as she prowled the undergrowth across the small, weed-choked clearing. Feeling his guilt increase by the moment, he took a deep breath and resigned himself to assist Gaithlin in her search. After all, it was his fault that Malcolm was missing in the first place and it was only right that he lend aid to find him.
Laying the axe down, he began to move toward the sound of her voice. He hadn’t taken two steps when Gaithlin suddenly let out a screeching yelp and the overgrowth began to shake violently. Fear surged through Christian; he was racing towards Gaithlin’s screams before he could draw another breath, hurling his big body across the cluttered clearing before he even thought to return to the shelter for his sword.
Adding puzzlement to his terror was the fact that he swore he heard barking as he approached. Loud, fearful barking that was rapidly fading. Just as he reached the cluster of overgrowth, Gaithlin came shooting from the bushes and slammed against him with all of her might.
Grunting harshly, he stumbled back, gripping her tightly even as he struggled to regain his balance. It was only a moment later when he became aware that she was superficially unharmed did he realize that she had bashed her forehead against his jaw.
“Good Christ,” he gasped, ignoring the throbbing pain in his cheek as he embraced Gaithlin with fierce protectiveness. “What in the hell…?”
“People,” she breathed before he could finish. “Two people in the thicket… they startled me!”
He swallowed hard, catching his breath. “And me,” he said wryly. “Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head, only just realizing that her forehead ached painfully. “Nay, but they… they barked at me.”
Both hands on her face, he tilted her head back to gain a better look at the lump already forming on her head. “I heard the barking,” he muttered, still breathless. “Was that them?”
She nodded, wincing when he touched the knot. “Oh, Christian, they were horrible-looking. I have never seen such dirty, scrawny people.”
He didn’t reply for a moment, scrutinizing her swelling nodule. “Like Malcolm?” he cocked an eyebrow, tearing his gaze away from her forehead in lieu of scanning their surroundings. “Mayhap he isn’t an orphan, after all. Mayhap he’s a scout for a group of filthy, scrawny, barking people.”
She frowned, wincing yet again when she touched her bump. “I cannot believe that Malcolm would betray us in such a manner. Moreover, these people barked like animals. Malcolm can speak fairly well.”
Christian was staring back towards their shack and his eyes abruptly narrowed. Gaithlin turned to follow the object of his focus, concerned and surprised when she beheld the source of his attention. Before she could speak, however, Christian was moving for Malcolm as the lad emerged from the trees.
“He’d better do a good deal of speaking if he is going to convince me he is not a traitor,” Christian growled.
Hand still to her head, Gaithlin dashed after Christian, grabbing hold of his arm. “Do not yell at him,” she admonished quietly. “You know how he reacts to you. Let me ask him.”
“I have no intention of yelling,” Christian sounded calm enough. “But I vow to get to the bottom of his presence.”
Gaithlin yanked on his arm, forcing him to look at her. When blazing pure-blue met with shards of ice, he came to a halt.
“Let me speak with him,” Gaithlin reiterated sternly. “You will only upset him.”
Christian sighed with exasperation, opening his mouth to refute her unfair statement when Malcolm suddenly marched up, his green eyes wide with apprehension.
“I heard ye yellin’!” he said to Gaithlin. “Did the English hound hurt ye?”
Both Gaithlin and Christian looked to him, their faces writ with surprise. After a moment, Christian’s brow furrowed with disgust at Malcolm’s suggestion as Gaithlin sank to one knee, gently grasping the boy by the arm.
“Where did you go?” she asked with concern. “I was looking for you.”
Malcolm, his eyebrows lowered in distrust, eyed Christian. “I din’ want tae be hit,” he said truthfully, refocusing on Gaithlin. “Why did ye yell?”
“Because I was startled by two people I found to be hiding in the bushes,” she said, casting him a long, intense glance. “You wouldn’t know anything about them, would you? People who barked like dogs?”
Malcolm nodded without hesitation. “I know ’em. They live not far from ’ere.”
Christian knelt down beside Gaithlin, knowing the semblance of innocence when he observed it. The lad was obviously guiltless of treachery and he was wise enough to interpret the undeniable fact. “Who are they?” he asked.
Malcolm scratched his lousy head. “I dunno know their names, but they are a man and his wife. They bark like dogs instead of speakin’.”
Christian digested his words. “Are they trustworthy?”
Malcolm moved from scratching his head to picking at his nose, an action Gaithlin quickly quelled. “They’ll steal anythin’. They were chased from the village because they try to steal from the merchants.”
Christian rose to his feet, sighing heavily. “Just what we need,” he said as he scratched his head. “Thieves for neighbors.”
“They wouldn’t hurt anyone, would they?” Gaithlin asked softly.
Malcolm shook his head. “They keep tae themselves, mostly. But I have seen ’em eat a rabbit without killin’ it!”
Gaithlin made a horrified face, glancing to Christian to note his own grim reaction. As long as Malcolm stated that the barking couple were incapable of harm, he would keep his apprehension at bay. Still, he was unnerved by the entire situation of dog-speaking, rabbit-eating, thievery-prone neighbors.
Since he had no interest or intention of confronting the dog-people at the moment, he fully intended to make use of the time and manpower at his disposal. Returning his attention to Gaithlin and Malcolm, who were now standing hand-in-hand, he put his hands on his hips and sized them up determinedly.
“Now,” he said firmly. “There is much to do before the day sets. Gae, can you transfer the contents of the iron pot into something else? Since I have no buckets, I have a need for the pot.”
She nodded. “You brought several bowls and a smaller pot of your own. What do you need the pot for?”
“To put mud in,” he looked to Malcolm. “I require your strength. Assist me in collecting my mud and I promise you an evening meal fit for King Henry himself. Then, on the morrow after we go to town, you can help me hunt. Is this satisfactory?”
Malcolm’s eyes were wide with excitement and wonder. “Can I shoot the bow?”
Christian pursed his lips. “That depends. Are you skilled?”
Malcolm didn’t hesitate, smiling from ear to ear. “I have never shot an arrow in me life.”
Gaithlin smiled broadly, turning her head so that Malcolm would not see her humor at his bold, innocent statement. Christian, too, fought off a grin and grunted harshly to cover his amusement. Reaching out, he tore the boy from Gaithlin’s grip.
“No matter,” he said. “I shall teach you myself and you shall shoot finer than all the knights in England.”
Giddy with delight, Malcolm was already dashing off for the shelter in order to gain the pot they would use to collect the mud. Gaithlin and Christian watched him skip across the grass, darting about with childish glee. After a moment, Christian turned to his captive, watching as the gentle breeze stirred her silken hair and feeling the familiar tug to his heart. A sensation he was coming to identify with Gaithlin.
With a faint smile, he reached out and gently took her hand, and in silence they began to walk toward the hut.