The Warrior Poet (11 page)

Even as he was
filled with thoughts of suggestive intent and puzzlement, Maggie was positively
pale. The tall woman with the cat-shaped eyes unnerved her somehow and she was
suddenly unwilling to provoke her further.

Taking a breath to
steady her nerves, she returned her focus to Christian. "Your cousin is...
charming, Christian. Now, will you sit and enjoy the wild boar Kelvin killed
this morn?"

Jaw grinding,
Christian was torn away from the titillating visions Gaithlin had provoked with
her seductive voice and bizarre, evocative expression to find himself focused
on Maggie once again.
 
His first reaction
was to refuse, but catching sight of Gaithlin from the corner of his eye, he
was fully aware that the only reason he had sought shelter for the night was to
spare her from the terrible elements outside.

She was already
dirty and disheveled and damp, and a night in the pouring weather might serve
to damage more than her mood and appearance; he could very well find himself
with a sickly captive and had no desire to shoulder the burden of her death.
But even as he attempted to convince himself that he was purely concerned for
her health, he realized that his regard ran deeper than he was willing to
admit.

For the first time
in his life, Christian was inclined to swallow his pride for the sake of
another. He was acutely cognizant of the fact that he would be sitting at a
table full of diners who had been witnessing his betrothed's infidelities for
the better part of two days, but suddenly, his humiliation didn't seem overly
important. The past was set and there was nothing he could do about the good
and the bad of it; remaining at Forrestoak to demonstrate his unconcern for
Maggie's actions would be of far worse insult to her than to him. In faith, his
emotions had never been particularly affected by her infidelity. Tonight, he
would prove the fact. He would convey her worthlessness to him.

"Aye,"
his voice was low, a roll of distant thunder. "My cousin and I will stay
the night to enjoy Forrestoak's fare."

A seductive smile
creased Maggie's lips, instantly vanished by the quelling expression on
Christian's face. He knew what she was thinking and he wanted no part of her;
instead, as an added deliberate insult, he extended his hand to Gaithlin.

There was a certain
amount of satisfaction in accepting his outstretched hand, and Gaithlin did so
with relish. She was coming to understand the circumstances around her, the
game being played out before Christian's unfaithful betrothed. Although she
shouldn't have cared in the least whether or not the woman was faithful to the
Demon of Eden, the desire to protect him against the conniving wench was still
an undeniably powerful force. And by accepting Christian's outstretched palm,
she was helping him gain revenge against the treacherous woman. It was the
first time a de Gare had supported a St. John in over seventy years.

Clutching
Gaithlin's warm hand as he made his way to the lengthy head table, Christian
was well aware of the fact. He was also well aware of another thing at that
moment; h
e liked her on his arm.

 
***

Sup had been a
relatively bloodless, if not silent, experience of fine food and an abundance
of wine. Lady Carolyn Howard was nowhere to be found, as Christian had
suspected, and Kelvin had mumbled a rambling excuse regarding his sister's ill
health and early fatigue.

The true reason, of
course, was that Carolyn was back at Castle Howard while her friend romped with
Kelvin in the wilds of Cumbria. Knowing Maggie would not have paid her any
attention had she been foolish enough to accompany her, Carolyn was content to
remain at home and tease her father's knights into insanity. While Maggie had
her fun, using her friend as a convenient and proper disguise, Carolyn would
follow her usual pursuits until Maggie grew tired of Kelvin and returned to
Castle Howard. At that time, they would continue with their visit as usual
without Christian being the wiser. Little did Carolyn realize the events that
had transpired that
day.

But Christian was
unconcerned with the Howard tramp, or Maggie's lame excuses, or anything else
that involved the Howard situation this night. As he stood in his borrowed
bower, contemplating the rain outside his window, he simply could not escape
the more powerful thoughts intent on robbing him of his sleep. Too many alien
emotions he was unused to experiencing, too many tumultuous sensations to sort.
Too much confusion over the de Gare captive.

After gorging
themselves on roast boar and other sumptuous offerings, Kelvin had personally
escorted them to their respective chambers, not far from one another. Christian
had ignored Kelvin for the most part, a man he considered a former friend; he
was a trusting soul until betrayed or crossed. After that, there was no
forgiveness and there were no second chances. And Kelvin, having knowingly
cavorted with
the another
man's betrothed, was no
longer subject to the Demon's good graces.

Kelvin was well
aware of Christian's cold demeanor and greatly troubled by the fact. He had
hoped that plying the man with expensive food and drink would be enough to
offset his offense, but it was obvious from the beginning that Christian was
beyond the deliverance of mercy. Even if they hadn't seen one another in ten
years, Kelvin could scarcely believe that Christian was fully intent on
disregarding a long-standing relationship.

As Christian had
acquired a rather roguish reputation over the course of the years, Kelvin found
it hard to accept that the man would be so unforgiving over actions he himself
had committed. Distressed with the entire situation and lack of forgiveness, he
had bid his former friend and the man's beautiful cousin a good eve.

That had been hours
ago. Staring off into the misty night cloaking Cumbria's rule, Christian could
hardly track the course of his thoughts. Wondering how a single day could have
left him so completely detached from everything in life he had ever known to be
right or wrong.

Even if his
swirling ideals were muddled and vague, one thought reigned as clear as
crystal; the Lady Gaithlin de Gare. She had been a most surprising sight to
behold during the meal, eating as much as Christian easily and suckling the juices
off her long, slender fingers, unknowingly sending every man in the room into
seizures of erotic fantasies.

She'd hardly
uttered a word, speaking only when spoken to, and above the entire disjointed,
bedraggled picture she presented, Christian found himself quite convinced that
the Lady Gaithlin had been subject to a life of meager sustenance.

Strange
how he had suddenly come aware of the fact.
He, too, had been
gripped with lust at the sight of her long fingers wiping themselves across her
tongue until he realized that she was licking her flesh to gain every last
morsel rather than to wipe the remnants away. And she ate with such ferocity
and speed that one would have thought she was expected her food to be whisked
away from her at any moment.

Certainly,
not the table manners of a well-bred young lady.
They were the
table manners of a woman who had known more than her share of hardships.
A woman who had known the meaning of hunger.

Hardships created
by the St. Johns. Christian knew that all too well. Winding Cross had been
under constant siege for years, subject to innumerable blockades, and it was
obvious that the harassment and badgering had been effective. Eden was a good
deal larger, able to keep her supply lines open due to her sheer manpower, whereas
Winding Cross was basically isolated from the rest of the English realm by her
remote location and smaller forces.

Behind the
thirty-foot stone walls that Eden's forces had been unable to breach, a world
of hell and despair had undoubtedly manifested itself and Christian found
himself admiring the fact that the de Gares had been able to exist through such
horrendous conditions without succumbing.
 
The St. Johns had wanted the de Gares to
suffer, wanting to break their spirits and their souls, but the de Gares had
yet to break.

Gazing out over the
muddy, damp night, Christian wondered what other horrors the St. Johns had
forced Gaithlin to endure. Horrors
he
had caused.

His thoughts were
abruptly broken as a soft knock vibrated his bower door. Moving away from the
rain-spattered window, Christian unhooked the latch.

Maggie was standing
in the archway, her sharp face pretty and flushed. Clad in a beautiful gown of
gold, she curtsied gracefully at Christian's feet.

"Good eve, my
lord," she purred.

His expression was
impassive.
 
"What do you want?"

Her smile faded
somewhat, though she made a valiant attempt to appear undeterred. "I
thought you might enjoy a bit of company this night."

"Nay," he
said flatly. "Go back to Kelvin's bed, Maggie. I have no use for you any
longer."

She lost the
struggle against her vanishing smile. "What do you mean, Christian? I am
your betrothed, your intended. Surely you cannot...!"

"I can and I
do," he rumbled. His jaw ticked as he allowed the door to swing open wide,
crossing his arms as if to physically prevent her entry. "You have been
mildly amusing for sixteen years, my dear, but I must say that I have had my
fill of you. I have thought the matter through this night and I have decided to
solicit my father with the intention of breaking our betrothal."

Maggie's face was
ashen with shock. "You cannot be serious, Christian. I have done nothing...."

He put up a sharp
hand. "Spare me more of your lies. I have been aware of your infidelities
for years, though I must say I am guilty for the fact that I allowed them to
continue," he shrugged carelessly. "I suppose you did not matter to
me terribly, therefore, I was unconcerned with your adulterous actions. After
all, I had no interest in remaining faithful to a mere betrothal contract,
either."

Maggie simply
stared at him, sickened and disbelieving. After a moment, her brown eyes began
to smolder. "How can you condemn me for the very same actions you admit to
committing yourself? I thought we understood one another, Christian. As long as
we were discreet, we were quite content to live our separate lives until the
day our wedding vows enslaved us."

His jaw ticked as
he gazed at her. Once, her words had been true. They had been unfaithful to one
another for the duration of their entire relationship and Christian found
himself wondering when, and how, he had suddenly managed to acquire an
over-active conscience.

But as he lingered
on his newly acquired sense of righteousness, surprising as it was, it abruptly
occurred to him that his perception of commitment had seeped deep into his soul
the very moment he had taken Gaithlin in his arms. To imagine her enclosed
within another man's heated embrace nearly drove him to instantaneous madness.
She was made for him, a
nd to think of
betraying her by bestowing his affections on another made him wild with guilt.

Were she his, he
would never as much as look at another woman again. The fact was that he hadn't
looked at another woman since the day he had witnessed Gaithlin's erotic water
ballet. He'd fallen in love with her that very moment. Suddenly, commitment and
emotion took on an entirely different meaning when applied to Gaithlin. De Gare
or no, she was the only woman in the world worth pledging his faith and loyalty
to. He'd known it from the first; finally, he found a woman he was willing to
commit his heart, his soul, his body to forever.

Forsaking
all others.

He couldn't marry
Maggie. Not when he loved Gaithlin.

Good Christ, he
loved her! He could scarcely believe the powerful revelation. It was a violent
realization, a marvelous awareness, a bevy of powerful emotions that caused his
head to spin in blinding, endless circles.

He closed his eyes
to ward of the baffling thoughts ranting through his mind, turning away from
Maggie in a vain attempt to collect his composure. In fact, Maggie ceased to
exist as he paced the woolen carpet of his bower, meandering aimlessly as he
came to grips with the shocking turn his emotions had taken.

"Christian?"
Maggie had followed him into the room, wondering why his face was suddenly so
pale. "Are you well? I forgive you your words, of course, since you are
obviously ill. Come and rest, darling. Maggie will heal you."

He didn't realize
his hands were to his face, an unconscious gesture of disbelief and shock. But
the clammy palms came away from his pallid cheeks as he forced himself to focus
on the situation at hand. The sooner he rid himself of Maggie's unwanted
presence, the better able he would be to collect himself.

"I am not
ill," his voice was hoarse. "Go away, Maggie. I do not want you
here."

Her expression
dampened. "But you're not looking at all well, darling. Is something the
matter?"

"Nay!" he
suddenly roared, watching Maggie leap with fear. Fighting down the surging
tides of confusion and irritation, he struggled to maintain his calm as he
pointed at his open bower door. "Get out, Maggie. I shall not ask you
again."