The Warrior Poet (37 page)

He sighed
contentedly, pulling her even more tightly against him. "What has happened
today will take volumes of books to describe. I do not even know where to
begin."

"I shall help
you," she said eagerly. "I shall tell you what to write."

He smiled, kissing
her forehead as she snuggled against him. "I would be grateful, madam.
For I haven't a clue as to how to narrate that which I am feeling
within my soul."

Gaithlin was still
a moment. "Nor do
I
."

"Then how are
you to help me?"

"Make love to
me again. Mayhap our feelings will become clearer the second time."

He was shocked and
amazed that a woman who had just surrendered her virginity was demanding so soon
afterward to feel the tides of passion again. Yet, as he had come to discover
over the past several days, there was not one characteristic regarding Gaithlin
de Gare that was either predictable or feeble. She was an icon of strength and
beauty and intelligence, and he considered himself incredibly fortunate to be
witness to her nature.

Their feelings,
however, did not become clearer the second time.
 
If anything, they addled further. Still, they
vowed to continue trying.

'Thy dreams of Life
are fleeting;

 
easily
envisioned, easily dissolved.

 
To hold the
essence of Life everlasting

 
is
to know the achievement of Mortal Union.'

 
~Chronicles of
Christian St. John

 
Vl. VIII, p. CIX

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

"Cree,"
Jean enunciated the name as if it held the key to the Secret of Life.
"He's near Cree."

Quinton and Jasper
lingered in differing positions by the Lord of Eden's massive oaken desk,
varied expression creasing their similar features. Since Maggie's
wickedly-intended utterances a few days prior, Jean's fanatical hatred of the
de Gares seemed to have gained intensity.
 

Maggie's murder was
a striking example of a man dancing a fine jig over the craggy edge of madness.
Jean knew she had been involved in some manner of covert de Gare dealings,
although he had no desire to fully delve into the workings of her deceptive
thoughts. All that mattered was that, somehow, she had been linked to Alex de
Gare, and for that reason alone she had been summarily executed.

No trial, no jury,
no consideration of mercy or pardon. Jean would never know the extent or
details of Maggie's apparent scheme and he frankly wasn't overly interested;
whatever it was, the vile blossom of malicious deception had been quelled the
instant Jasper had driven his broadsword deep into her chest.

Jasper and several
dozen men-at-arms were the only parties harboring knowledge of the method
behind Maggie's demise and Jean was quite certain that they would take said
information to their graves with due loyalty. Acutely aware of the fact that
the House of du Bois would quite literally become hysterical and vengeful in
their quest to discover who had murdered their beloved daughter, Jean was
positive that no finger would point to the slain woman's future relatives.

In fact, Jean was
quite able to perform a powerful act of grievance when the time became
necessary. Pretending to be sorrowed when, in faith, he was wondering what had
taken him so long to accomplish the task. With Marble-head Maggie dealt with in
an entirely proper and justifiable manner, Jean was forced to disregard his
heir's future wife in lieu of focusing upon the man himself; Christian had sent
word of his whereabouts and Jean was nearly crazed with the need to discover
the true extent of Maggie's vicious ramblings.

Even if the woman
had been a liar and a fraud, Jean had not been able to ignore the seed of doubt
she had so skillfully sewn. In fact, the more he nurtured and fed the seed, the
more powerful it had grown until the entire vine of uncertainty infiltrated his
mind.

A vine that was
slowly, steadily, turning him against his heir, his most beloved son, solely
based on the testimony of a known prevaricator. And the message contained
within the yellowed parchment written in Christian's own hand did nothing to
ease his doubt. More than ever, he couldn't shake the feeling.

"Quinton,"
Jean broke from his train of tumultuous thought, his voice soft.
 
"You and Jasper will ride north into the
Galloway territory. The village of Cree, as I recall, is lodged near the
southwestern portion of the boundaries. You will proceed to locate your brother
and determine the state of the situation."

Quinton cast his
massive cousin a long glance before replying. His father wasn't drunk this day,
as he had been the night he had ordered Christian bound and returned to Eden
should the rumors of his disloyalty prove truth. Still, there was an unsettling
gleam to Jean's eyes that was unrecognizable; a developing madness that seemed
to have taken
hold
the very moment Maggie had spouted
her vile rumors. It was a madness that went beyond normal de Gare hatred.

But Quinton was
unable to determine to what extent the hatred ran. In truth, he was fearful for
Christian should the rumors prove to be true. But he could not dwell on the
approaching horrors, the prospect of Jean’s lunacy that threatened to rip apart
the very fibers of St. John existence. Instead, he chose to linger on the very
real possibility that Christian had maintained the steadfastness of his St.
John loyalty in spite of his cunning female captive.

Quinton refused to
acknowledge a change for the worse.
 
Until
then, he vowed to defend his brother's loyalties, even in the face of his
deranged father.

"I am sure all
will be well, Da," he said with more conviction than he felt.
"Knowing Christian, he's probably kept her tied to a tree the entire time.
God have mercy on the de Gare woman, for the Demon most certainly will
not."

Jean didn't reply
for a moment, the tension in the room thickening as Quinton's assessment of his
brother's qualities lingered in the still air. Quinton looked to the floor as
Jasper looked away, both men knowing that Jean did not share the opinion of his
youngest son's statement. But neither one of them were willing to succumb to
the Lord of Eden's suspicions; to them, Christian was as infallible as God and
admired by the two of them mayhap more than any other living man. Maggie's
words could
not
be truth.

Please...
don't
let them be truth.

"Jasper, if
all is well, you will remain behind with the captive while Christian returns to
Eden," Jean reached for a pewter flask of wine and both men cringed
inwardly; as volatile as Jean was without the influence of alcohol, he
certainly didn't need the added fuel for his already-raging fire.
"Quinton, you will escort your brother home posthaste. I have several
questions for him."

"Like
what?" although intimidated by his father as he downed several large
swallows of wine, Quinton still felt compelled to defend his brother. "He
has done nothing. We have discussed this before; Maggie was obviously lying out
of jealously. You are simply supporting her misplaced sense of vengeance by
believing her slander."

Jean cast his
youngest son a long, heady look. "I did not ask for your advice or counsel
on this matter. Certainly I can make my own judgments and I choose to suspect
that Maggie is more correct than you are willing to give credence." Bringing
the wine to his lips, he sighed as the fortifying liquid coursed over his
tongue. "Now, you will do me the courtesy of obeying my orders. Ride north
and access the situation. Either way, I want Christian home to answer to these
charges cast upon him. If he is indeed innocent, then I shall duly apologize.
If not, then he shall meet my wrath."

Jasper drew in a
deep breath, puffing his cheeks out with the disbelief of the entire situation.
Quinton, too, emitted a long sigh, entirely despondent with his father's
attitude. "And what does that mean? That you're going to kill him for
succumbing to his lusty nature?"

"I am going to
kill him for succumbing to a de Gare," Jean replied evenly, without
hesitation. As Quinton opened his mouth to fervently argue, he held up a sharp
hand to effectively cut off his son's contention. With Quinton properly
silenced, he focused on his plainly dismayed nephew. "Jasper, if it is
determined that Christian's loyalties have been compromised, then it will be
your duty to do away with the de Gare captive. Do you comprehend me?"

"Christ, Da,"
Quinton moaned quietly, with repulsion. "What good will a dead captive do
for our cause? She will be of more value to us alive."

"Dead or
alive, it is of no consequence. As long as Alex believes she is alive, our goal
will be accomplished." Taking another long swallow of wine, he eyed his
nephew and his youngest son. Their expressions of distress and consternation
did not overly affect his hardened, maddening heart. "There is nothing
further to discuss, gentle knights. Ride north immediately and return Christian
to me."

Jasper knew better
than to argue. He quit the room
immediately,
his sharp
boot falls echoing off the stone walls of the corridor, fading into
nothingness. Only Quinton remained, his jaw ticking with the force of his
emotions as he gazed headily at his father.

"You are
wrong," he finally muttered, a hissing rasp in a last attempt to defend
his brother's honor. "Christian is far more loyal than any of us."

"Mayhap,
Quinnie," Jean took another long, forceful drink of wine. "But
somehow I suspect that Maggie's tales were not entirely false."

Quinton rolled his
eyes in exasperation, his gloved hand slapping helplessly against the oaken
desk. "With all Christian has meant to Eden and to the throne of England,
you would believe the ramblings of a whore before you'd have faith in your own
son's established character?"

Jean held up a quelling
finger, his Nordic-blue eyes glittering. As Quinton watched, his father seemed
to come alive with torment, bleeding from his soul into the very air they
breathed. Suddenly, the flicker of madness smoldering within the icy orbs had
never been more pronounced and Quinton involuntarily stepped back, as if afraid
he too would be touched by the madness.

"I did not
divulge the entire contents of the missive, Quinton," Jean's voice seemed
to echo strangely. "Before you defend your brother's character, you will
know that he has mentioned his discovery of a blood-link to the House of de
Gare. Apparently, he has succeeded in acquiring knowledge to the effect that
the de Gares and the St. Johns are distantly linked through the Clan Douglas
and he asks that I consider this information before proceeding with my plans."
Watching Quinton's face take on an odd gray cast, he nodded faintly in support
of his theory. "Tell me; would the Christian you have come to know suggest
any such mercy towards our most inherent enemy?"

Quinton swallowed
hard, obviously struggling with his shock and confusion. "But... but if we
are indeed related by blood to the House of de Gare, then mayhap he has a
point. Mayhap we should...?"

"You will not
support his treacherous suggestion!" Jean bolted to his feet, the alcohol
already beginning to affect his manner. "Can you not see what has
happened? The de Gare bitch has somehow discovered our Douglas ties,
conveniently mapping her own heritage in order to save her life. And he
believes
her, Quinton.
He believes her!"

Shaken and groping
for some semblance of control, Quinton averted his gaze from his father's
maddening expression. Refusing to acknowledge that, somehow, Jean might
possibly be correct. Mayhap Maggie had been right all along.
Closing
his eyes tightly as if to ward off the impending verity of the situation, he
turned away from his agitated father.

"Simply
because he mentioned the newly-discovered knowledge of mutual Douglas ties
doesn't mean he believes her," he said hoarsely, fighting off the rising
nausea.
Dear God, what if Christian has indeed been swayed by the wench?
 
"He merely believes he is doing his duty
by relaying the information to you. Mayhap there
is
some truth to
it."

Jean suddenly
slapped Quinton across the side of the face, bringing a stream of blood from
the man's lip as his signet ring grazed deep into the tender flesh. His
ice-blue eyes, wild and unnatural, bore into Quinton's astonished brown orbs.

"There is no
truth," he hissed, grabbing Quinton by the hair and shaking him brutally
as if to punctuate his unquestionable statement. "We are not related to
the de Gares by man or nature or God. They are our inherent enemies and as with
all our natural foes, should be eradicated from the face of the earth. Do you comprehend?"

Lip bloodied and
eyes glazed with shock, Quinton could barely nod. There was no arguing with the
madness. "Aye, Da," his voice was a whisper.

Jean gazed at his
youngest son a moment longer before kissing his bloodied mouth, releasing his
hair. Disoriented and trembling, he turned towards his desk and the flash of
fine wine. "Ride north, Quinnie. Ride north and bring Christian
home."

Pale and quaking,
Quinton struggled desperately against the overload of revelations that had
constituted the past several minutes. Wanting to support his brother, yet
distinctly baffled by the apparent contents of Christian's missive. Knowing
definitively that nothing would be settled until he rode north and accessed the
situation himself and seeing the proof with his own eyes.

Watching his father
drain the flask of wine, he was suddenly very eager to verify the entire
circumstance. The sooner the truths were revealed, the sooner Christian could
be vindicated or condemned.

Sighing heavily,
Quinton raked his gloved fingers through his hair and turned for the door.
"If we ride all night, we should reach Galloway by late tomorrow,"
his voice was barely audible; he almost didn't care if his father heard him or
not. "Christian and I will return within four days at the most."

Jean didn't reply
and Quinton did not wait for an answer. The sooner he rode north into the wilds
of Scotland, the better for all.