The Warrior Poet (22 page)

"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 awe-struck 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 adversary. 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 was 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
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 of 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. I 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 approach 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."