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 hold 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.
The reaction from his cousin was immediate; Christian watched with mounting horror as the massive man emerged from the trees, carrying Gaithlin in his arms. Unconscious, her long body lay across Jasper’s armored arms, her delicious blond hair cascading to the ground like a macabre banner. Christian rose from his dominant position over his brother, panic in his throat as he eagerly extended his arms to accept her from his cousin’s custody. Without hesitation, Jasper delivered the Demon his wife.
“Good Christ,” Christian moaned, his eyes raking Gaithlin’s still form desperately. “What did you do to her?”
“Knocked her on the head before her screams could alert you,” Jasper replied frankly, eyeing Quinton as the man rose unsteadily to his feet. “She will recover.”
Christian’s face flushed an ugly shade of red as he tore his eyes away from his wife, focusing on his brother and cousin. “She’d better or I shall kill you both where you stand,” he growled, shifting his grip on Gaithlin to pull her more closely against him. “So you sought to catch me off guard, did you? What in the hell for?”
Quinton sneezed and snorted, spraying blood droplets. “We wanted to see for ourselves if the rumors were true.”
“What damn rumors?” Christian cradled Gaithlin to him fiercely, as if she were a babe.
The area beneath Quinton’s eyes was already darkening as he met his brother’s gaze. “Maggie came to Eden bearing news of your travels through Howard lands. She claimed that you and your alleged captive were acting more like lovers and she convinced father of the fact, hence my appearance in Galloway. To substantiate your treachery.”
Maggie. Christian thought bleakly. Damn her black, perfidious heart! In faith, he wasn’t surprised in the least; Maggie had always been sly and devious and he was well aware that she was seeking vengeance upon him for breaking their betrothal.
But Maggie’s twisted sense of revenge was of little concern. The only matter of interest at the moment was the woman in his arms as she struggled from the depths of unconsciousness. Unwilling to clarify the basis of Marble-head Maggie’s spiteful tales, especially when Quinton was so fond of her, he focused instead on the very factors supporting his brother’s abrupt visit.
“Quinton, if you would care to listen to my truthful version of events before any more blood is spilled, I should be happy to explain the factual circumstances. Surely you would trust my word over Maggie’s.”
Wiping at his leaking nose, Quinton couldn’t remember ever feeling more disgust or loathing; loathing for his brother, for the wench, for the entire situation that was sure to bring about a chaotic disorder to the House of St. John.
He had actually defended his brother against the vicious allegations, only to be humiliated and devastated to discover that he had been made a fool of by his own staunch sense of loyalties. Loyalties that were apparently misplaced, misdirected, and misguided. He couldn’t decide whether he was more disappointed in himself or in his brother; clearly, there was enough blame to be shared.
“Speak, then,” he hissed. “I don’t know what you could possibly say that could justify what you have done.”
Clutching Gaithlin tenderly, Christian met his brother’s hateful glower as evenly as he could muster; he, too, was feeling the sting of his own betrayal as reflected in the familiar brown eyes.
“A great deal, little brother,” he said. “In the first place, I married Lady Gaithlin to end the hostilities between the House of St. John and the House of de Gare once and for all. I am weary of a seventy-year-old Feud that began as a difference of opinion and escalated into the very essence of our existence. Secondly, the lady is our second cousin, related through the Clan Douglas, and the fact that I have married her should strengthen the undeniable blood ties and further quell the Feud.”
Shifting Gaithlin again as she moaned softly in mounting lucidity, he gazed down at her beautiful, pale face. “And lastly, I married this woman because I love her with all my heart. To hell with a foolish family legacy that requires our inherent hatred simply because our ancestors demand it. If Gaithlin and I can be the tool though which two families achieve peace, then it is my greatest accomplishment to do so. If not, then my wife and I will vanish from your lives forever. Do you understand what I am saying, Quinton? I do not want to battle any longer.”
Subdued, shaken, and completely bewildered, Quinton stared at his brother as if he could scarcely understand what he had been told. Even if his brother was striving to achieve a noble cause, whether or not he truly loved the woman stirring in his arms, he obviously did not understand the dire consequences he was preparing to face as a result of his weakness. But Quinton understood all too well.
“Have you gone completely mad?” he breathed. “Father is going to execute you for treason!”
Christian’s jaw ticked rhythmically with the force of his emotion. “He will come to see my reasoning. And he will come to understand that I am preserving generations of St. Johns from a life of warring and hatred; I do not want my children to be raised within an atmosphere of loathing and bias. And I do not believe you do, either.”
Quinton wiped at his tender nose, rolling his eyes in a desperate gesture. “How can you possibly believe that one marriage will end decades of feuding? You are not thinking clearly and the woman in your arms is the root of your confusion.”
Gaithlin chose that moment to open her eyes, the world unfocused and shaky. Realizing she was in Christian’s arms, she let out a weak, quaking sigh and threw both arms about his thick neck.
“Christian…,” she mumbled faintly.
He squeezed her quickly, a quieting gesture. “Shush, Gae,” he whispered, still focused on his brother. “Quinton, you must understand that I did not marry Gaithlin for purely selfish reasons. I also married her to guarantee a peace that our families haven’t known in seventy years. And I am certainly not mad in believing that one marriage will end hostilities; clearly, the path to truce must begin somewhere. I am willing to allow it to begin with me.”
Quinton’s gaze drifted from his brother to the woman pressed against Christian’s chest. He stared at her a moment as she blinked her eyes, fighting to clear her vision from a brutal blow, and Christian noted a distinct softening of Quinton’s grim features. He fully realized how confused and upset his brother was; in faith, he was quite expecting it.
But he also knew that the promise of peace was attractive to his brother’s inherently sensitive nature; Quinton could be indecisive and, at times, weak-willed, but he was a good man with a pure heart. And Christian was desperate to reach that portion of his brother’s spirit.
“Do you understand what I am saying, Quinnie?” he asked, his voice considerably softer. Pleading for the man’s understanding. “I am weary of battle. I have never known a life without war, be it at home or on the Welsh front defending Henry’s and Edward’s holdings. I don’t want to fight any more, little brother. I am tired of fighting.”
Quinton’s features continued to soften and Christian realized it was because his brother and Gaithlin had made eye-contact. After a moment, Quinton swiped at the remaining blood on his upper lip in an almost pensive gesture.
“Do you remember when you first saw her?” he asked quietly, tearing his eyes away from Gaithlin and focusing on his brother. “In the Disputed Lands, swimming in a lake. Do you recall?”
With the shock and pain of betrayal fading, Christian smiled faintly at his exhausted, confused younger brother. “You know I do. And do you remember what I said?”
Quinton nodded vaguely. “That you would forgive her if she was the daughter of Lucifer himself.”
“What else?”
“That you believed yourself to be instantly in love,” he licked his lip one last time, removing all traces of blood. “Apparently, you were being truthful.”
“Apparently,” Christian glanced down at his wife, who was regaining some color to her cheeks. Smiling gently, he carefully set her on weak legs. “Gae, this is my brother, Quinton. Hardly an appropriate circumstance for you two to meet.”
Gaithlin could hardly look at the man much less greet him. The fear and hatred of the St. John rabble returned full-force and she stared at the ground, averting her gaze from Quinton’s probing stare. Christian sensed her natural apprehension and loathing, squeezing her reassuringly when she refused to look at her new brother-in-law.
Even if she was being deliberately evasive, Quinton continued to scrutinize her closely, seeing under the clear moonlight that she was far more beautiful that he had remembered. “We have been watching your camp for the better part of the day,” he said quietly. “We arrived just after you apparently returned home from a small sojourn. I must say, I wasn’t overly surprised when I discovered who your blond captive was. We speculated her lineage the day you first saw her.”
Christian nodded, his arm protectively about Gaithlin’s shoulders as she practically climbed inside his clothing in an attempt to hide from the cluster of St. John soldiers. “Even so, I was quite shocked to discover who she was when I abducted her from St. Esk. By the way, has there been any repercussions regarding my action?”
Quinton shook his head. “Not a word. And no word from Alex de Gare, either. Either he doesn’t care that we have captured his daughter or he’s too stupid to read the missives delivered.” When Gaithlin’s head came up sharply, her eyes blazing with fury, Quinton cleared his throat with regret at his bold, unthinking statement. In fact, it was completely natural to belittle a de Gare with any given chance. “As I said, we have received no reply to our… accomplishment.”
Christian patted his wife’s shoulder calmly, feeling her lanky body tensing against him at Quinton’s insult. “Alex is a proud man, Quinton. He may be waiting for the appropriate moment to respond.” Casting a glance into Gaithlin’s astonished eyes, astonished that he was obviously willing to continue the de Gare charade, he released her shoulders and took her hand tenderly within his own. Facing his brother with a measure of bolstered courage, he attempted to gain the upper-hand on the situation. “Now, then. I intend to return my wife to Winding Cross before announcing my marriage to father. I believe it would be….”
For the first time during the entire conversation, Jasper delved into the sibling dialogue. “We have orders from Uncle Jean, Christian. And we must adhere to them, no matter what other plans you may have made.”
Christian’s apprehension made a swift return as he faced his massive, simple-minded cousin; the man was a war-machine. His actions were based on the directives of his commander and by those mandates alone; there was little compassion to his manner and even less thought. He did as he was told, no matter what the given circumstances. No matter if his orders were merciful or not, and Christian was positive they was not.
“And what are those?”
Quinton abruptly turned an odd shade of white, his breathing gaining momentum as Jasper and Christian focused on one another.
“That we return you to Eden to face your father’s judgment. And that we kill your captive.”
Immediately, Christian thrust Gaithlin behind him. There would be no reasoning with Jasper as there had been with Quinton; Jasper had his orders and he would carry them out or die in the attempt. Christian knew him well enough to know that the hope for a peaceful, bloodless conclusion had been dashed.
“Gae, retrieve my sword. Now.”’
Gaithlin gasped, clutching her husband about the waist. “Christian, what…?”
“Do it!” he roared.
Stumbling, Gaithlin moved away from her husband, fear and panic welling within her mind. Even though her head was throbbing and the world was still rocking, she clearly understood that she and Christian were in a great deal of danger.
It was as she had always feared; Christian’s treacherous, selfless devotion would indeed cause his own men to turn against him. Gasping with terror, she dashed across the clearing, listening to Christian’s roar of anger when his brother attempted to follow her. More terror, more anxiety… tripping through the front door of their shelter, she nearly knocked an equally frenzied Malcolm on his skinny little bottom.
Gaithlin wasn’t afforded the opportunity to speak as astonishment and panic overwhelmed her. Suddenly, Malcolm was thrusting a sword into her palm. “Give it tae Sir Christian!” he commanded, shoving another battle weapon into her other hand. “An’ this is fer ye!”
Struggling to keep her hysterics from raging out of control, Gaithlin accepted the weapons from the young boy as if she were a warrior serving in battle. Head spinning and chest heaving, she ran from the sod shelter as fast as her long legs would carry her.
The sword and war hammer were heavy as she raced across the clearing towards her husband and his antagonistic family members. She could hear their muffled voices but was unable to distinguish the words as she charged up, bearing two mighty weapons. A tangible fury had begun to take root, displacing her panic and feeding off it at the same time; how dare the St. John horde threatened her Christian when his motives and his desires were truly noble! How dare they question his wisdom when he is truly considering their future!
How dare they reject his overture of peace!
Gaithlin had never been afraid to use a weapon; clearly, Christian had discovered that from the first. Bearing down on the three uneasy men, she shoved Christian’s heavy broadsword into the ground blade-first and brandished the war hammer with a powerful, offensive grip.
“Get away from him, you St. John bastards,” she seethed, her focus almost entirely on Jasper. “Move away from him or I shall cut your damnable heads off.”
All three men looked to her, Christian moving away from his cousin and brother to retrieve his impaled sword. Although Jasper’s expression was still frozen in a menacing glare, Quinton seemed entirely indecisive as he gazed steadily on his new sister-in-law.
“My lady,” he began quietly. “You have to understand… we must do this. Christian knows that we must follow my father’s orders.”
“Your father is wrong,” Gaithlin hissed, tightening her grip on the hilt of the hammer. “Your father is as stupid as mine when it comes to the welfare and regard of his family. He cares not for peace or true contentment, but only the hereditary triumph the Feud can bring him. And he doesn’t care how he achieves victory, only that it be attained.”
Beside her, he heard Christian’s emotional sigh. “As I said, I shall… return with you to Eden if you leave my wife in peace. I don’t want her involved in any bloodshed, Jasper. I will come with you peaceably.”
Quinton nodded faintly, feeling disoriented and drained. But Jasper would have no part of Quinton’s weakening stance; Christian could not convince him that his treacherous actions had been correct as he had so easily swayed his foolish, adoring younger brother.
Unsheathing his sword, the entire company of men that had been hidden in the recesses of the Wood suddenly stepped into the clearing, forming a half-circle around Christian and Gaithlin. Malcolm, who had followed Gaithlin from the shelter with one dirk in each hand, stared at the collection of soldiers with huge eyes; he had come to help the lady defend her husband from the pair of evil warriors. He realized that mayhap his bravery had not been entirely wise.
But he would not back down from his protective stance; he was dedicated to the knight and his lady to the death, and he swallowed hard as the English soldiers drew closer. He wondered what it would feel like to have a sword driven deep into his fearless little heart.
Meanwhile, Christian had moved in front of Gaithlin, entirely focused on his mighty cousin. “Don’t do this, Jasper. I have no desire to kill you.”
Jasper lowered his visor. “I have my orders, Christian. Return you to Eden and kill your captive.”
“She’s my wife. I shall not allow you to kill her.”
“She’s a de Gare.”
Quinton put his hands up as his brother and cousin squared off against one another. “Christian’s not wearing any armor, Jasper. This is hardly a fair fight.”
“Hold your tongue, Quinton,” Jasper’s voice was low. “You have proven thus far to be entirely weak-willed and disobedient to your father’s directives. You will allow me to handle the situation.”
Quinton’s jaw ticked angrily as he faced his cousin. “I am in command, Jasper, not you. You will do as I say.”
Jasper’s helmed head turned in Quinton’s direction. “And you are showing distinct traitorous tendencies like your brother.”
“Bite your tongue, you bastard.”
“You’re listening to his lies.”
“They’re not lies. Only your stupid mind would be unable to make sense out of his sound reasoning.”
In spite of the razor-sharp tension filling the chill night air of the Galloway clearing, Christian found himself, as usual, intervening in a squabble between Jasper and Quinton. “Enough!” he roared, waving his brother away irritably. “Move away, Quinton, unless you want me to gore you too.”
Amazingly enough, Quinton kept silent. With the greatest of remorse and sorrow in his eyes, he moved out of Christian’s line of sight as Jasper properly distracted the man with his imminent hazard.
Aye, Quinton was weak-willed and foolish at times, mouthy and opinionated. But he was also clever. And he knew there was only one way to prevent Christian and Jasper from killing each other, no matter how covert or treacherous that method may be. As his brother and cousin focused on one another in battle-heightened determination, Quinton made his way towards an equally distracted Gaithlin. He had to take her; only then would his brother surrender.
Gaithlin was so preoccupied with her husband’s battle, in fact, that she never saw Quinton approach. The next she realized, massive hands were grasping her war hammer and she yelped with surprise and fear, struggling fiercely against Quinton’s iron grip. One moment, Christian was preparing to battle for her life; in the next, she was waging her own mighty skirmish.
Christian heard her grunts of panic and exertion. Puzzled, he tore his eyes off his powerful cousin long enough to witness his brother and wife struggling viciously over the war hammer. Suddenly terrified that Quinton planned to carry out her execution while Jasper held his attention captive, Christian broke away from his impending duel in a furious burst of speed and power.
Although caught up in his own struggle with his remarkably strong sister-in-law, Quinton was not so focused that he did not see his brother running at him with his sword held high. Instantly, he released the weapon of struggle and scrambled for his own sword, completely determined to defend himself from his brother’s infuriated wrath.
Unfortunately for Quinton, he wasn’t fast enough to reclaim his sheathed broadsword; Christian brought his blade down, flat side, and caught Quinton on the upper arm. The maneuver was indicative of Christian’s skill with a blade; he had purposely intended to shove his brother aside, not outright slice him to ribbons, and Quinton immediately crashed to the ground from the force of the blow. Before he could recover his footing, Christian had his wife by the arm and was pulling her in the direction of the ancient sod shelter.
“Get inside,” he commanded. “Take Malcolm with you and stay there. Don’t come out until I retrieve you myself.”
Eyes wide with terror, Gaithlin fell to her knees clumsily as Christian yanked her across the clearing. Pulling his wife to her feet, he was momentarily distracted from his impending battle when she threw her arms fearfully, painfully, about his neck.
“Let me help you,” she begged, her panting breath hot on his ear. “Let me fight with you!”
Allowing himself the brief luxury of experiencing the mutual apprehension, he kissed her fiercely. A gesture laced with the potency of his emotion. “Nay, honey. You must stay to the shelter and allow me to wage our war.”
They were nearly to the structure; he was practically carrying her across the trampled earth. Still clinging to his neck, Gaithlin refused to release her hold. Afraid if she did, she might never see him again.
“Please, my dearest, please,” she whispered desperately. “Please let me help you. There are too many of them for you to fight alone.”
“And you believe that you will make the difference between victory or defeat?” he set her to her feet, kissing her again and lingering over their contact as if he, too, was afraid it might be his last. Everything was happening so quickly that he had yet to build up a substantial panic, but he could feel his terror gaining momentum. Shoving open the door, he tried to push her inside. “Go, honey. Do as I say.”
“Sir Christian!” came a childish, completely terrified shout. “Behind ye!”
Christian gave Gaithlin a brutal shove, pushing her deep into the sod shack. Ducking simultaneously, the distinct hum of a broadsword sang inches above his head. Raising his own sword in an offensive gesture, he realized at that split second that he and Jasper had engaged in a fearsome battle. And it was something he never thought he would live to see; a St. John protecting a de Gare.
Matching Jasper blow for heavy blow, he was vaguely aware when a shrill whistle pierced the clear night air and he realized, once again, that his brother was moving against him. Whether or not Quinton saw his reasoning, it was apparently not enough to sway him against Jean’s directive. Quinton was, after all, the only loyal St. John son left; whether or not he understood Christian’s motives or sympathized with his plight, he was evidently determined to carry out his father’s orders for the sake of the St. John cause.
Christian’s heart sank as he caught shadows of movement beyond Jasper’s animated form. Quinton was mobilizing the company of men, moving them towards the sod house with the intent of overwhelming Christian with sheer man-power. Up until this moment, the men-at-arms were completely content to remain out of the vicious argument between family members; now, however, Quinton was pulling them into the skirmish. By using their strength and loyalties against the Demon.
“Quinton!” he roared. “Leave her alone! If you hold any love for your brother, you will leave my wife alone!”
Mingled within the advancing tide of men, Quinton heard the cry, tearing his heart into a thousand pieces. Christ, he understood his brother’s change of sympathies as much as he was able and the reasoning behind the hope for a lasting peace was logical and inviting. But in faith, it was not his judgment to make; the only man capable of truly waging a lasting peace was the very same man who controlled the House of St. John.
Christian must be returned to face what he had done, to explain his reasons and to prove that he was not a traitor; in faith, it was evident that he was the only truly loyal St. John among them. Only Christian was willing to jeopardize his very life for the sake of peace.
And only he could make Jean understand his motives, his desires, his very sanity.
Were it up to Quinton, he would have turned on his heel and left his brother and new wife in peace. But with Jasper as his overbearing conscience, he had no choice but to uphold his father’s orders. Whether or not he agreed with them.
The men-at-arms had effectively surrounded Christian and the sod house, waiting impatiently to capture the treacherous Demon. Quinton stood by a moment, watching his brother’s fluid, magnificent movements as he met Jasper’s onslaught with effortless grace. But he could also see the panic in his brother’s expression, something he had never seen before, and it only served to destroy his heart further. The sooner he controlled Christian and returned him home, the sooner the chaos would settle.
With a heavy heart and stinging tears, Quinton gave another piercing whistle and several dozen men threw themselves forward into the sword fight, swarming over both Jasper and Christian. There was a good deal of grunting and cursing as the soldiers struggled to control the man who had once been their greatest leader.
It was a violently boiling mass of men and limbs, straining and struggling against their unwilling target. Before it was over, four men had been mortally gored by the Demon’s sword and Quinton watched with a lump in his throat as his brother was brutally subdued by his own men.
Quinton lost sight of Christian as the angry, betrayed soldiers bound him hand and foot like a common thief. Jasper, having stood silently during the entire melee, calmly sheathed his sword as his mighty cousin was lifted from the ground, hog-tied by the ropes of dozens of furious men.
“Quinton,” above the chaos and disorder, Christian’s gaze sought out his brother. His beautiful face was bruised and battered, his expression beseeching. “Don’t kill her. I have never been known to beg in the past, but I will beg you now. If you have ever loved me, don’t kill her. Please.”
Quinton didn’t reply. As the soldiers carried Christian away, he swore he saw tears in the man’s eyes. Tears for his wife. Dear God, he’d never seen that expression on his brother’s face and he prayed he never would again. Swallowing hard, he opened his mouth to demand the men show their mighty Demon a measure of compassion when two barking, terribly filthy humans suddenly burst forth from the bramble and threw themselves at the retreating soldiers.
Startled, the soldiers that weren’t carrying Christian hastened to retrieve their swords, but not before they were savagely bitten and scratched by the screaming banshees. Kicking and fighting and snapping, the dog-man and his wife valiantly attempted to defend the only man who had ever shown them any kindness. Although terribly outnumbered, they didn’t seem to pay the negative odds the deserving heed; all that mattered was that their master was in trouble. And they would do what they could to assist him.
But their courageous efforts were not enough against the seasoned St. John soldiers. In a flash of moonlit metal, the dog-man and his wife met with a particularly violent death.
Christian witnessed the exchange, more sorrow settling over his already grief-saturated heart. From the beginning of their bizarre relationship, Christian had never paid any particular heed to the sub-human pair and was devastated to discover that, along with their trust for his caring wife, they had also placed their trust in him. Because he was a part of her.
Good Christ, he should have listened to their barks of fear earlier this eve. He should have given in to his instincts, realizing something was horribly wrong and thereby taken appropriate action when their unsettling howls unnerved him. If he had given the dog-people their due credence, mayhap he and Gaithlin would still be relatively safe. Fleeing from his brother and cousin, but still relatively safe.
But there was no time for hindsight, what-ifs and could-have-beens. What mattered now was that he was being taken away to face judgment for his most grievous actions and his wife, that which was most precious to him, was in grave jeopardy. If only he could make his brother understand. If only he could make him listen.
Twisting his head away from the crumpled forms littering the moon-bathed earth, he struggled to catch a final glimpse of his brother. “Quinton!” he shouted, his voice breaking with emotion. “If you kill her, I swear I shall hunt you down like an animal and make you suffer as you have never suffered before! Do you comprehend me?”
Quinton remained silent, biting off his equally-emotional reply. As Christian was carted through the trees, he staunchly endeavored to deliver one last, heart-wrenching plea.
“Don’t kill her, Quinton,” his voice was faint with distance and pain. “I love her. Please… don’t kill her.”
Abruptly, the man vanished, swallowed up by the surrounding woods as the soldiers carried him to their distant mounts. Next to Quinton, Jasper shifted his weight on his thick legs and moved to unsheathe his broadsword. Examining the weapon as Quinton stared dully into the darkened cluster of trees where his brother had so recently disappeared, he took a resigned step towards the shelter.
“I shall do what needs to be done,” he said quietly.
“Nay,” Quinton held out a sharp hand, halting his advance. Meeting Jasper’s dubious gaze, he struggled to regain his splintered composure. “I shall do it. He’s my brother and I shall take care of his… mistake.”
Jasper cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think….”
“I said I shall do it,” Quinton snapped more forcefully. Waving his cousin off, he moved towards the shelter. “You help the men with Christian. I shall catch up to you when I am finished.”
Jasper let out a long, blustery sigh. “Quinton, I don’t like this any better than you do. This entire situation is unnerving to say the least. But I believe it would be best if I…”
Quinton unsheathed his broadsword with a loud clang. “Catch up with the men and make sure they do not skewer Christian in their anger. If anyone is going to kill my brother’s… wife, it shall be me. I shall not have his hatred looming over your head any more than it already is.”
Jasper’s jaw ticked as he cast his younger cousin a long, skeptical gaze. After a lengthy pause, his broadsword was slowly re-encased in its heavy scabbard and he sighed again. A completely heart-felt gesture.
“Be swift, then,” he mumbled. “Only for the sake of Christian, I should not like his enemy wife to suffer.”
Quinton eyed him a moment. “For a man who was most intent on seeing my father’s orders carried out, your manner has softened.”
Jasper averted his gaze, his blue eyes lingering on the moonlit landscape of Galloway. “As I said, I don’t like this situation any more than you do. But we must do as we are told, no matter if we have personal feelings on the matter or not.”
“Even at Christian’s expense?”
“He’s a traitor.”
“And I disagree. He’s willing to sacrifice his entire reputation in order to achieve peace.”
Jasper looked to his cousin. “If you believe him, then why are you willing to kill his wife?”
This time, Quinton averted his gaze. “We must follow orders, mustn’t we? I don’t want to incur my father’s wrath any more than you do by giving in to my sympathies.”
“So you risk Christian’s hatred instead?”
“According to my father, Christian is a dead man. A dead man does not hate.”
Jasper’s gaze lingered speculatively on his young cousin a moment longer before turning in the direction of the shielded St. John army. In faith, there was nothing more to say.
Quinton watched the man disappear into the bramble, waiting a lengthy eternity to make sure he wasn’t being watched by his suspicious cousin. As the night owl sang high overhead, enhancing the eerie stillness that had suddenly encompassed the clearing, he turned for the sod shelter with slow, deliberate movements. Just as he neared the splintered door, a sharp stabbing pain to his thigh abruptly halted his advance.
Grunting with agony, he immediately put his hand to his leg and was surprised to find a dagger protruding from his thigh. And standing near the extended dagger was a small, nearly-bald and exceedingly angry little boy.
“Take tha’, ye bastard!” he crowed in triumph. “Ye’ll not take the lady wi’out a fight!”
Quinton grasped the dagger, wrenching it from the weak point in his leg protection that the child had managed to take advantage of. Grunting again with frustration and pain as he tossed the weapon away, he glared at the confrontational young lad.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
Malcolm frowned, wielding the other dagger he had collected from Christian’s belongings. When the fight ensued and Gaithlin had been shoved into the safety of the shelter, he had hidden in the bramble out of sheer terror. He had witnessed Christian’s battle and subsequent abduction, and he had furthermore witnessed the murder of the dog-people. Horrified and bewildered, he had nonetheless possessed the courage to emerge from the brush one last time to protect the lady in her husband’s stead.
He didn’t understand the motives behind Sir Christian’s kidnapping, nor could he comprehend the malevolent thrust of the entire situation. But he was positive of one factor; he loved the lady very much. She and her husband had been the only people who had ever shown him any kindness and he was determined to protect her as best he could. Even to the death.
But he maintained his fury in spite of the odds against him. Displaying his sassy, insolent tongue, he brandished the dirk threateningly. “I shall not tell ye, ye English hound! Go away from here!”
Quinton cocked an eyebrow at the child; he had no time for such foolishness. Reaching out, he easily disarmed the boy and received a kick to his armored leg in the process. Twisting Malcolm’s arm until the lad screamed, he swatted the youngster on his behind and sent him stumbling in the opposite direction.
“Go home, boy,” he growled. “I have no time for your antics.”
Turning for the ancient door once more, he was caught completely off-guard when it flew open, striking him in the face. Tripping over his feet from the shock and power of the slam, he stumbled back with his hand against his already-bruised face as Gaithlin emerged from the shelter, her deep blue eyes wide with apprehension.
“Malcolm!” she gasped, eyeing the fumbling Quinton as the young boy raced to her side. “Are you all right?”
Malcolm ignored her question. “Get th’ hammer! Kill ’im before he kills ye!”
Pushing Malcolm behind her, into the shack, Gaithlin stared at Quinton as he recovered from her unintentional blow. Her eyes darted about nervously as she surveyed the darkened clearing, but her gaze instinctively returned to the powerful knight undoubtedly intent on harming her. Killing her.
“Where is my husband?” she demanded, her sultry voice raspy with fear.
Quinton took a deep breath to collect himself, fighting off his pain and loathing and confusion as he gazed at his brother’s wife. “He is gone.”
Gaithlin’s eyes moved about in closer scrutiny of the clearing. “He would not have gone willingly. God damn you if you have harmed him.”
“They beat ’im to a pulp!” Malcolm announced from the ragged doorway. “Th’ English soldiers jumped on ’im and tied him up!”
Quinton could see the color drain from Gaithlin’s face, even in the moon glow. Her deep blue eyes ceased to search the area for her husband, instead, intently focusing on Quinton. “How… how could you allow this? Merciful Heavens, he’s your brother!”
Quinton felt the impact of her words as if she had physically struck him. Swallowing away his nausea, he drew in a deep, cleansing breath. “He must answer for what he has done,” he replied quietly, eyeing the woman in the weak light. “Did you not hear his struggle from your shelter?”
She shook her head faintly. “The sod blots out most sounds. I heard voices, swords blows, and little else,” panic rising, she stepped away from the ancient door, looking to the trampled area where her husband had been subdued. “Dear God… what will become of him now?”
Quinton continued to gaze at her, scrutinizing her from the top of her beautiful blond hair to the bottom of her booted feet. Tall, elegant and exceedingly beautiful, he truly couldn’t fault his brother for succumbing to the natural attraction she provoked. But Christian had declared his love for her, several times, and Quinton found himself deeply curious as to how she had managed to bewitch his brother into believing he was in love. The Demon, with a beautiful fiancée and more women than he could handle, had been incapable of an emotion as frivolous as love.
Her powers of persuasion, however, were inconsequential at the moment. The only matter of import was the immediate future, a future Quinton found difficult to follow.
If you have ever loved me, don’t kill her.
His brother’s plea echoed in his mind as he moved to un-sheath his broadsword. A violent lashing of desperate begging, the appeal of a man’s most fervent desire, and Quinton’s head began to swim with conflicting emotions. Duty, desire, duty, desire… they wrestled about in his mind as if they had attained a life of their own, robbing him of his ability to think, to feel, to reason.
Even as the broadsword came free of the leather scabbard, still, Quinton could scarcely form a rational thought. The only factor of awareness was that Christian had asked him not to kill his wife. Yet, as a good son, he should obey his father’s order. A father who was living on the reeking edge of madness… and a brother who had always been his hero.
Gaithlin saw the broadsword come free and she gasped with fear, pushing Malcolm deep into the shelter as Christian had done with her in a futile attempt to preserve her life. There was no use in seeking the war hammer; it would only delay the inevitable. Her only hope, as she decided, was to reason with her new brother-in-law. To seek mercy from a soul that loved her husband almost as much as she did.
She already knew that at least one St. John was capable of caring. Mayhap the same would hold true with another.
“Are you going to kill me, Quinton?”
He stared at her, gripping the sword. “I… I have been ordered to.”
She could sense his reluctance, his hesitation, and it served to bank her apprehension somewhat. Feeling oddly bolstered by his lack of courage, she moved toward him beneath the silver moonlight.
“I understand. In spite of everything Christian has told you, do you still intend to kill me?”
Quinton could hear his brother’s plea reverberating with deafening clarity in the recesses of his befuddled mind; staring at the magnificent woman before him, he honestly couldn’t muster the bravery needed to accomplish his most heinous task. In faith, he realized Christian’s heart-felt plea had affected him more deeply than he had a desire to acknowledge. Hearing his brother’s pain, seeing his most agonizing expression as he battled to protect his wife, Quinton knew that he was fully incapable of killing his brother’s beloved spouse, even if she was a de Gare.
Which is why he had volunteered for the task, sending Jasper to deal with his errant brother. Jasper would have plunged his sword deep into her beautiful chest without thought to his actions, only aware that he was carrying out his orders. But in the tender extremes of Quinton’s sensitive heart, he had known all along that he couldn’t kill his brother’s wife. He had to be the one who remained behind to accomplish the ‘task’.
If you have ever loved me, don’t kill her!
His sword clattered to the ground. “Nay,” his voice was raspy. “I am not going to kill you. God forgive me for disobeying my father’s wishes, but I find that I cannot do you harm.”
Gaithlin’s limbs washed with relief. Slowly, she closed the distance between them, reaching down to collect his fallen sword. With a gentle, thankful smile on her lips, she sheathed the weapon into his knee-length scabbard.
“Where have they taken Christian?” she whispered, gazing into Quinton’s pained brown eyes.
“Home,” his voice was equally faint. “My father is going to kill him for marrying you.”
Gaithlin’s smile vanished. “Then you must return immediately and prevent this. Our marriage will bring a lasting peace and your father must come to understand this.”
Quinton shook his head, his manner laced with sorrow and grief. “My father never listens to me. The only person he remotely considered was Christian, and with his betrayal of the St. John legacy, there will be no reasoning with the man.” Unlatching his visor, his helm swung open to reveal his handsome, sweaty face. “There is nothing I can do, especially since I have failed to kill you as my father demanded. I, too, am now subject to his wrath.”
Although Gaithlin was confident enough that Quinton no longer meant her any harm, the terror she was experiencing on Christian’s behalf was overwhelming. To think of her Demon, her most beloved knight, trapped by his vengeful father nearly drove her mad with unimagined horrors.
She had always suspected the extent of the man’s wrath and she had tried several times to voice her fears. But Christian, as always, had remained confident that he could force his father to see reason. However, witnessing the fear in Quinton’s eyes when he spoke of his father’s rage, she wasn’t at all sure that her husband could preserve his own life. In fact, she was sure of it.
“You… you do not have to tell your father that you did not carry out his orders,” she said halting, thinking furiously. “Tell him that I threw myself into the river when I discovered Christian had been returned to Eden. Tell him anything you desire, if it will only keep you in his good graces long enough to help your brother.”
As Quinton shook his head in defeat, Gaithlin grasped him by the arm, forcing him to meet her gaze. Now that they had moved beyond their inbred loathing and disgust of one another, now that the fear had dissipated, she had no tolerance for his cowardice. Not when Christian’s life was at stake.
“Listen to me, Quinton. You must save your brother. I shall return to Winding Cross and convince my mo… father to surrender his arms. That was your father’s goal with the initiation of my abduction, was it not? Go and tell your father that if he will spare Christian, Winding Cross shall surrender.”
Quinton stared at her, disbelief clouding his eyes. “How can you be so certain that your father will submit based purely on your pleadings? Moreover, what leads you to believe that he will not punish you for marrying my brother? Surely he will be livid with the knowledge that his heiress has foolishly wed the Demon of Eden.”
Gaithlin shook her head vigorously, the desperation to act immediately to save Christian’s life animating her mannerisms. “You must trust me, Quinton. My father will listen. He will do anything I ask. Now, you must go immediately and defend Christian. I shall find my way home and….”
“Nay, lady, I must take you home,” Quinton interrupted her desperate chatter, his fatigue and emotions depleting his energy. “ ’Twould be foolish of me to spare your life, only to have you fall victim to thieves or ruffians on the journey home. Certainly my brother would never forgive me in that case.”
Gaithlin’s smile made a weak return in spite of her simmering panic; their riotous beginnings notwithstanding, she was coming to like him. His mannerisms and wit were a good deal like Christian’s.
“As you say, sire,” she said quietly, a true sense of urgency grasping her as her mind moved to the journey homeward. “Allow me to collect a few possessions and my son and we shall be on our way.”
“Your son?” Quinton looked tremendously confused. “You… you have a son?”
Already halfway to the shelter, she paused to nod at his inquiry. “The lad who stabbed you,” she said remorsefully. “And I do apologize. You can blame Christian for his protective instincts; he’s quite intent on mimicking your brother in every way.”
Quinton’s gaze moved to the bold young boy, standing in the doorway to the shelter. “Christ,” he muttered. “You must have been a child yourself when he was born. Is he a bastard?”
Gaithlin managed to spare a small laugh, rubbing her hand across Malcolm’s scratchy scalp as she moved into the shack. “I don’t know. He’s an orphan.”
Scowling with confusion, Quinton opened his mouth to demand clarification when the woods around him suddenly came alive with soldiers and horses. For a split second, he was terrified that Jasper had returned to make sure Jean’s orders had been carried out until he caught a closer glimpse of the chargers invading the moon-lit Galloway clearing.
Worn, weary chargers.
Abruptly, he realized he was not gazing upon St. John troops; he’d seen these steeds before, many a time in the heat of battle. In fact, he could practically count the scars he had inflicted upon a particularly beaten brown destrier as the animal thundered within close range.
Quinton’s sword was drawn before he took another breath, realizing with sickening certainty that he would have almost preferred for the uninvited chargers to have been St. John mounts. In fact, he would have chosen to defend himself against his cousin’s accusations of betrayal rather than face the incoming tide of worn, battered men clearly intent on doing him great harm.
De Gare men.
Inside the shelter, Gaithlin emerged from the shack when she felt the ground beneath her shake with the thunder of hooves. The first sight that greeted her startled eyes was a knight in dingy armor bearing down on Quinton. Swords clashed, horses screamed, and Gaithlin was vaguely aware that she had yelped in terror, clutching Malcolm protectively. When it was all over, the mounted knight lay on the ground in a dying heap and Quinton loomed over him, preparing to deliver the merciful final blow.
Gaithlin bolted from the shelter, moving in Quinton’s direction just as another charger came tearing through the trees. Before Gaithlin was able to reach Quinton and the downed knight, she was startled by a piercing scream that sliced heavily through the still night air; a most familiar scream. She didn’t have to see the individual it came from.
Already, she knew.