The Warrior Poet (46 page)

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 in-bred 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 half-way 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.