Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He didn’t know why he suspected Alex de Gare’s intentions, but he did nonetheless; the man was a cunning tactician. He always had been. Somehow, he knew that Alex wanted the St. John army to swarm the bridge as they were doing now in assurance and fervor. Somehow, he knew they were about to meet their end.

  Christian’s heart stopped beating.

  “Get away from the bridge!” he suddenly roared, startling both his charger and his father’s. As the animals danced about excitedly, he continued to vent his panic. “Move away from the bridge now!”

  Quinton, by the edge of the moat, turned curiously to his brother as did several other St. John soldiers. But they did not do as ordered and Christian spurred his charger toward the writhing, wet mass of men in a desperate attempt to divert disaster. But even as his exhausted steed thundered across the moist dark earth, Christian knew already that he would be too late; Jasper was nearly finished hacking away at the charred bridge and the St. John army was poised and waiting to enter, intent upon devouring their mortal enemy. It was the perfect set-up.

  The Demon had been tricked. He cursed himself for not being alert enough to see it sooner. As Christian watched in horror, the drawbridge suddenly let loose with amazing speed. Completely vertical not a moment before, it was horizontal in a brief, terrifying second, slamming with bone-crushing force onto the dozens and dozens of St. John soldiers that had been waiting to violate Winding Cross’ bailey.

  Man and animal alike suddenly found themselves crushed into the moat, covered by a massive expanse of devastated bridge, unable to escape the confines of the mucky water. In one crushing blow, Alex de Gare had managed to kill more men than he could have possibly hoped for by trapping them in a watery, permanent grave.

  Christian reached the lowered bridge just as an entire horde of de Gare soldiers came rushing from the exposed fortress, relatively fresh and prepared to do battle. Unable to help his own men as they drowned in the murky depths of Winding Cross’ moat, he found himself in the heat of a vicious battle. Undermanned as a result of the soldiers that had been smashed into the muddy waters, the assured victory he had been anticipating after a day of fervent effort was rapidly slipping through his fingers.

  In faith, he wasn’t surprised nor angry. He should have expected as much from a seasoned adversary like Alex de Gare. All that mattered now, however, was doing as much damage as possible before retreating to Eden to regroup. Wielding his massive broadsword against the collection of zealous warriors, he caught a glimpse of his armored cousin as the massive knight emerged, wet and obviously shaken, through the hole in the drawbridge he had been expanding.

  Jean appeared by his son’s side, hacking furiously at the enthusiastic de Gare soldiers. Stunned and disappointed that his victory had been cruelly destroyed, his rage was boundless. With every chop, every parry, he vented his rage on his most bitter enemy.

  Surrounded by a multitude of fiercely-fighting men, Christian was caught up in the fervor of the battle. As the sun set into the dark-blue recesses of the western horizon, he was vaguely aware when his father lodged himself against his right flank, the aged face of a weary old man flushed and perspiring beneath the lowered visor.

  “The girl, Christian!” Jean roared above the noise of death. “Go get the girl!”

  Christian dispatched a particularly powerful warrior, immediately engaging another foot soldier as a de Gare knight maneuvered his way toward him. He eyed the approaching knight as he exchanged heavy sword blows with the common trooper, his father’s words sinking deep into his comprehension. Doing away with his opponent in short order, he dared to divert his attention for a brief, aggravated second.

  “What am I supposed to do with her?” he shouted.

  Jean was well beyond the realm of fury. He wanted to destroy Alex de Gare in the worst possible way, however he could. “Take her beyond the borders to the Galloway territories!” he roared. “Take her as deep as you can go and stay there until I send word!”

  The de Gare knight was closing in on Christian with malevolent intent and he turned away from his father in time to witness an extended broadsword aimed at his head. Fending off the sharp blow, his concentration moved to the fight at hand as his father persisted to deliver the final understanding of his directive.

  “Galloway Forest!” he hollered to his son, watching as the massive man engaged the de Gare knight. “Do you hear me, lad? I said Galloway..!”

  “Forest!” Christian bellowed to complete the nagging command, terribly irritated that his father seemed intent on aiding the de Gare knight in his quest to do away with him. He leveled another heavy chop against the powerful knight before issuing a concluding reply. “I heard you the first time! Now, shut up while I fight for my life!”

  Jean wasn’t the least bit concerned that the de Gare knight could best the Demon of Eden in battle, hence his demand to occupy a portion of the man’s attention. Whether Christian agreed or not, Jean was determined to see his orders carried through; the violation of St. Esk and the abduction of the Lady Gaithlin de Gare.

  ‘The intensity… the marvel

  I was in awe;

  Though I was loathe to confess

  my veneration of a de Gare’s forbearance.’

  ~ Chronicles of Christian St. John

  Vl. III, p. CCLIX

  CHAPTER TWO

  Not surprisingly, the tiny convent of St. Esk was built to withstand a siege. As Christian watched his men take a battering ram to the heavy oaken door of the dark-stoned abbey, the fact that he was reluctant to violate the sanctuary of God’s holy house only added to the aversion of procuring the de Gare wench.

  Still, he could scarcely believe the mindless folly his father had forced him into, using words of cunning and cruelty to coerce his reluctant son. No matter what Christian’s convictions, Jean bullied the much larger and much stronger man into compliance with the powerful weapon of family honor.

  You are my son and will do as I say.

  Certainly, he was the man’s son. But he was also a knight, and being a knight of the realm meant upholding the sanctity of the church. It was distressing to realize he was walking the fine line between sustaining his knightly vows and the loyalty of his family’s honor, not quite devoting his full allegiance to either. As he listened to his men grunt and curse in their efforts, he wished there was an easier way of going about his father’s objective. He wasn’t pleased with the compromise his dedications had taken.

  Shifting impatiently on his massive legs, he let out a weary sigh; given the heavy losses Eden had sustained during her most recent siege of Winding Cross, he would have been entirely happy to rest and regroup before attempting the siege of St. Esk. But there was no time for respite, as Jean had sternly suggested. Better to gain the de Gare wench immediately and Christian had been sent north with all due speed.

  Certainly, he was not looking forward to isolating himself with the woman while his father forced Alex de Gare to come to terms of surrender. Sequestered in the woods of Galloway Forest, he wasn’t warm with the thought of spending an indeterminate amount of time guarding a woman he could just as easily do away with.

  His jaw ticked at the latter thought, realizing he was coming to think like his father more and more every day. Normally, he strenuously adhered to the moral and chivalrous codes of an honor-bound knight; women were creatures of grace and beauty and completely removed from the realm of violent thought or action. But when it came to a de Gare female, he found himself willing to make an exception and the idea greatly distressed him.

  He wondered if close-quartered isolation with his mortal enemy would bring about the woman’s death regardless of his personal convictions; hatred had a strange way of clouding one’s moral beliefs.

  He was jolted from his darker ponderings as a shout pierced the night air, indicating the main door to the abbey had been breached. Spurring his charger forward, he trampled across the wide garden of precious summer vegetables and ripped through a small wooden fence in hi
s resolve to reach his destination. Dismounting with a purpose, he shoved past his excitable men and made his way into the depths of the convent.

  There were dozens of St. John soldiers on his heel, armed to the hilt with weapons and mail and fully prepared to tear the structure apart in their quest to reach the intended target. But Christian’s broadsword remained sheathed as he surfaced into a wide common room; shadows of frightened nuns ducking for cover flitted across the dim walls and Christian’s advance came to a halt as he sized up the non-resistant situation.

  “I would speak with the abbess!” he roared.

  Certainly, there was no man in the realm louder or more terrifying that Christian St. John. King Henry remarked once that the man’s voice could bring a response from God himself and, without a doubt, he was used to complete obedience in all matters. But his sharp command was met with silence and his ice-blue gaze scanned the room with rising irritation.

  “Bring me the abbess and no harm will come to this place. Deny my request and I shall burn it to the ground.”

  He could hear faint splinters of hissed whispers, accompanied by the shuffle of feet. Jaw ticking as his annoyance grew, he opened his mouth to once again issue his demand when a slight, huddled woman emerged into the weak light. Christian focused his attention on the quaking gray form.

  “Are you the abbess?”

  The woman didn’t reply for a moment. “Wouldst thou violate our haven, my lord?”

  “Gaithlin de Gare. I want her.”

  Christian could see the woman’s average features in the soft illumination as they twisted with puzzlement. “The Lady Gaithlin… who art thou, my lord?”

  He moved toward her, shoving aside a small table and setting it on end with a startling crash. “It does not matter,” he said. “Give her to me and I shall leave you in peace.”

  The woman visibly swallowed and Christian could hear more hissed whispers, presumably directed at her. She was obviously terrified, confused with uncertainty, and he took another step in her direction to hasten her compliance.

  “My patience grows thin,” he growled. “You will deliver the woman to me or face my wrath.”

  The nun took a step back, nearly tripping over her woolen robes. “I… thou hast violated God’s house, my lord. Punishment will be severe.”

  Christian’s jaw ticked again, hearing his own thoughts in the woman’s shakily-uttered threat and he found himself again wishing he had refused to do his father’s bidding. Nonetheless he had been foolish enough to come and refused to leave without his objective. Irritated with himself as well as the resistant nun, his manner hardened.

  “Where is she!” It was a demand, not a question.

  The woman’s courage was rapidly failing. “She has sought sanctuary, my lord. Thou art forbidden her company.”

  “I have not ravaged your door only to be denied the object of my endeavor. I will not ask you again.”

  More urgent whispers came from the shadows and the slight nun was growing increasingly agitated. Although she was rightly terrified of the massive knight before her, Christian lacked the patience to extend the understanding he was capable of demonstrating; instead, he moved toward her with deadly assurance and the woman stumbled away from him, falling to her knees and raising her hands as if to ward off his evil. Her fear, her abject panic, was a palpable entity as she cowered at his feet.

  “Up the stairs!” she cried, her voice quivering with terror. “In the communal infirmary!”

  “Nay!” Another nun came screaming from the shadows, her palms extended to Christian as if to physically stop him. “You have no right! The woman is under God’s protection!”

  He raised a dark-blond eyebrow at the woman, his expression impassive. “She is mine and you will not interfere.”

  The nun was older, wiser, and far less terrified of his mighty presence. Instead, she seemed deeply angered at the intrusion and after a lengthy pause, she forcibly calmed as if to realize that paralleling the knight’s fury and power was an improbable feat.

  “Are you from Eden?” she asked.

  Christian was momentarily caught off-guard as he faced off against the seasoned woman; his icy stare glittered in the weak light. “What do you know of Eden, other than the Biblical reference?”

  The nun met his gaze evenly, perhaps knowingly. Calming further, she cocked a worn eyebrow. “I am told that a demon resides there. At least, according to Gaithlin de Gare. Are you perchance that demon, my lord?”

  His irritation with the situation faded somewhat as he gazed into intelligent, shrewd eyes. “To some.”

  The woman’s attention lingered on him a moment and he heard her sigh heavily; with a touch of resignation, mayhap. “I have granted the lady sanctuary and I will repeat my subordinate’s denial of your request,” she said evenly. “You may not have that which you seek and I beg you to leave us in peace.”

  Christian realized that he might be forced to carry out his violent threat and he was loathed to do so. Issuing his own heavy sigh, his massive gauntlet rested on the hilt of his sword. “I will leave you in peace if you turn the woman over to me.” Almost as an afterthought, he added: “I will not harm her, I swear it.”

  Clearly, the nun was unconvinced. “But you are her enemy, Devil. You are our enemy as well, which you have proven by raiding our sanctuary.”

  “I am not your enemy nor am I a raider. Were I either, your abbey would presently be on fire and your nuns would be fodder for my men. As you have witnessed, I am attempting to gain my ends with the least violent means possible. Whether or not I commence with my threats is your choice alone.”

  “There is no choice to be had. If you leave now under peaceful conditions, I shall not mention your violation to my superiors. I vow the entire event will be forgotten.”

  Christian sighed again, feeling his fatigue and disgust all over again. After a moment, he turned to one of his men and rumbled a series of orders. The man promptly disappeared, retreating to the waiting horses outside while the standoff in the common room remained brittle. When the soldier eventually reappeared, he thrust a small parcel at his liege before falling back into the ranks of heavily armed warriors.

  Christian slowly unbound the top of the silken pouch. Eyeing the elder nun, he motioned for her to step closer. With a good deal of reluctance, she did as she was bade and gasped with fear and surprise when he grasped her arm.

  “For your troubles,” he said, his deep voice considerably softer. Opening the woman’s palm, he proceeded to dump the contents of the purse into her hand.

  Several gold coins glistened in the soft illumination, flickering their wicked intentions as loudly as if Christian had shouted the bribe. It was more money than the poverty-bound abbey had seen in a great while and the ancient nun licked her lips with unconscious glee as she examined the monetary persuasion before her.

  Torn between the desperate need for the coinage and the sanctuary she had granted a despairing woman, she could scarcely isolate her thoughts; she could purchase enough supplies for years to come with the shimmering trinkets in her hand and the thought of sustaining her abbey through harsh winters and bleak years alike worked a powerful magic in her heart. But in the same breath, she was undermining the very purpose of God’s law of sanctuary by considering the bribery that was soiling her palm.

  It was a cruel dilemma. The nun licked her lips again, praying God would forgive her for weighing the needs of her abbey over the preservation of a single woman. After all, the towering knight had promised no harm would come to her; but could she trust the word of a knight who would violate the haven of the church simply to gain his objective? A knight who was willing to bribe her for her own sinful considerations in the matter?

  “I await your answer, sister,” Christian’s deep, melodious voice drifted upon the stale air like a symphony. “Certainly my donation will make compensation for your troubles.”

  Distracted from her desperate thoughts, the woman struggled to swallow away her guilt
. Aged eyes met with those of ice-blue. “Are you aware of what you are asking?”

  “I am.”

  “You are being most unfair with your solicitation. Wealth such as this will feed my people for years.”

  “I realize that.”

  The woman swallowed again, her indecision ripping her apart. Her gaze moved to the gold coins once again, feeling strangely like Judas Iscariot as her beliefs were strongly swayed by the scent of money.

  “How, may I ask, am I to explain my weakness to her family?”

  Christian took her softly uttered plea for a positive response to his resourceful inducement. “You will not,” his voice was soft, incredibly soothing. “You will tell them that she mysteriously vanished and you have no knowledge of her whereabouts.”

  Turning on his heel, he silently ordered half of his men to mount the stairs to the second floor. With a subsequent gesture, he sent the rest of his soldiers to the foyer to restore the battered door as best they could while their liege went about acquiring his goal. Leaving the nuns shaken and pondering what sins had managed to infiltrate their isolated abbey in the form of forty gold crowns, Christian found his way to the deserted corridor on the upper level of the structure.

  It was dim and still as the soldiers sent on ahead examined chambers in sequence, searching for the common infirmary. Opening and slamming heavy oak panels, their exploration was not a quiet endeavor and Christian harshly admonished his men not to destroy the abbey in their haste. But the scent of a de Gare was a strong intoxicant, feeding their bloodlust and hatred, and they were determined to find the woman no matter who, or what, suffered in the process.

  At the end of the corridor was a large door, heavy and worn with use. Logically, Christian assumed that a larger door would threshold a larger room, mayhap the common infirmary they were seeking. Without hesitation, he enclosed the latch in his gloved hand and threw his shoulder into the panel to force it open. As the door flew wide and slammed against the old stone wall it was anchored against, Christian stomped into the room with the full expectation of coming face to face with his intended victim.