Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Stop squirming,” she mumbled.

  He grunted in reply, tightening his grip. With a heavy, weary sigh, Gaithlin’s eyes fluttered open to the dazzlingly illuminated shelter.

  “The sun has been up for hours,” she murmured, jostling his hands to rouse him. “We have work to do.”

  After a lengthy silence, he grunted again and raised his head, blinking rapidly in the radiance. Honey-blond hair hung wildly in his face. “Good Christ,” he muttered. “It must be mid-morning.”

  Head on the crook of her arm, Gaithlin nodded. “We went to bed very late last night.”

  Scratching his scalp with his free hand, he glanced down at his captive. In spite of the fact that she had just awoken, she looked rested and peaceful. And completely, utterly beautiful. He couldn’t help but drink in her exquisite profile, feeling the familiar heat and confusion take flight.

  “Did you sleep well?” his voice was an erotic purr in her ear.

  Gaithlin could feel his breath on her cheek, a surge of liquid fire filling her veins. If the man wasn’t sending the Fear of God through her, he was filling her with a scorching fever she had never known to exist. Only with him did this inferno seem to ignite, burning her mindless and giddy at the same time.

  Terrified to look at him, knowing how intimately close they were lodged, her body began to quiver with the emotions he seemed to stir within her. Merciful Heavens, how he thrilled her and frightened her at the same time.

  “Well enough,” she managed to reply. “But you snore.”

  He snorted. “How dare you accuse me of such wretched manners. I do nothing of the kind.”

  She grinned, turning her face away from him and attempting to bury it in the material cloaking her arm. “You snore and you talk.”

  His eyebrows rose in feigned outrage. “You will apologize for your slanderous lies at once. I will not tolerate these accusations one moment longer.”

  She giggled into the fabric of her long-sleeved gown, yelping when he swatted her behind. The next he realized, a pointy elbow dug deep into his ribs and he grunted loudly, grunting yet again when she shoved against his chest in an attempt to rise. Quick as a flash, he grasped her by the arm and pulled her down against him, grinning as she struggled and growled in protest.

  “Apologize, wench.”

  “I will not. And don’t call me wench.”

  Christian gazed at the rosy-cheeked hostage clutched against his chest. “Apologize for your defamation and I shall not call you wench.”

  “But it is true. I shall not apologize for speaking the truth.”

  He scowled. “You are a disagreeable female. I should punish you severely for your insults.”

  She raised a saucy eyebrow at him, unable to disregard her giddy tingling any longer. From the moment she had awoken in his arms, the sensation had been pervasive, gaining in strength. Odd that her captivity with the Demon of Eden was becoming more and more attractive, isolated with a man who was both her enemy and her protector. A man who was able to evoke primitive, wicked emotions within her.

  “You would punish me for the truth?” she sounded breathless.

  Christian caught the tone, desire and lust such as he had never known coursing through his big body. Good Christ, this woman affected him like none other, her exquisite face and unexpected personality drilling deep into his soul. If there were any doubts that he had fallen in love with her lingering in the recesses of his mind, they had been dashed to reckless cinder. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he hadn’t been focused on Lady Gaithlin in every sense of the word. She was his captive, but he wanted much, much more.

  And he was unafraid to take what he wanted. Gazing into her eyes, he realized she wanted him to take what he so obviously desired. Even if she was unable to voice her silent commands, he was quite adept at reading her mind. He knew, without a doubt, that they reflected his own thoughts precisely.

  There was no longer a Feud between them. St. John or de Gare didn’t seem to matter any longer; all that mattered was the fact that Christian was in love with his fair captive, and she too was coming to feel something for him. The Demon was no longer an object of fear and loathing, but a subject of curiosity and discovery.

  Gaithlin felt his lips, soft and gentle and seeking, and she gave into him without a struggle. One moment she was crushed against his chest, half of her long body on the dirt of the floor; in the next, she was completely atop his magnificent torso, straddling him as she matched his fevered kisses blow for blow. Her inquisitive desire coupled with her natural fearlessness caused her not to passively succumb to his attentions, but rather to parallel his actions. Touch for exquisite touch, and kiss for magnificent kiss.

  Christian’s fingers were in her hair, feeling the tresses covering them like a silken web of glory. Her mouth, delicious and curious and eager, met his passion with head-on force and there was nothing on earth strong enough to rein his lust as she mimicked his suckling actions. Biting softly into her lower lip, he plunged his tongue into her mouth when she gasped softly in surprise.

  Gaithlin was hardly aware when he rolled her onto her back, his massive body crushing her against the rushes that had constituted their bed. Her legs still straddling his hips, she could feel a hard lump pressing against her thigh. Having never experienced a male arousal before, she did not understand the significance; the only matter of consequence at the moment was the sensation of his bold tongue stroking the pink interior of her mouth.

  She groaned in disappointment and ecstasy as he left her lips, moving down her neck to the swell of her beautiful breasts. Clad in one of the woolen garments confiscated from Kelvin Howard, a clinging garment with a plunging neckline that was far too short for her height, the soft fabric gave way to Christian’s probing lips as he branded her with the proof of his desire. This time, when the neck of the gown fell away to his eager fingers, she did not resist.

  In fact, he seemed to incite a boldness in her that she was unaware of. Naïve or no, a pure virgin in every sense of the word, she instinctively knew what she wanted from a man. The pleasure, the ecstasy, and the maddening desire that threatened to devour her very soul… she needed it.

  “More, Christian,” she clutched his head, bucking and heaving beneath him as he moved to pull the remainder of her gown away from her glorious breasts. “Give me more. I must have… ohhhhh!”

  Excited beyond his wildest imaginings, both hands encircled her creamy globes as his heated lips came to bear on a tender nipple. Where Gaithlin had screamed in fright with the last such attempt, this time she moaned with rapture. The harder Christian suckled her, the more desperately she clutched him against her breast.

  Still straddling him, her supple thighs held him tightly to her as her back arched up from the floor. Her arms completely encircled his head as her face buried itself in the top of his hair, gripping him so tightly that she swore to be suffocating him within the mounds of her delightfully tender breasts.

  A most pleasurable form of death. Fully engulfed in the heated folds of Gaithlin’s incredibly responsive body, Christian had never experienced such delight. With all of the women he had experienced, the seasoned to the foolishly naive, never before had he known such complete fulfillment.

  Even though he had yet to physically penetrate her, it didn’t seem to matter; if he never bedded her in the literal sense, she would still be the most satisfying woman he had ever embraced within his arms.

  But he fully intended to bed her, to demonstrate his emotions. Her skirts were up in no time, revealing the legs he remembered so lustfully well. Long and slender with the texture of pure satin, he ran his calloused hands from her knees to her buttocks, groaning with the pleasure of the sensuous touch. Beneath him, however, Gaithlin suddenly stiffened and he raised his head from her delightful breasts, breathless.

  “What is wrong, Gae?” he slurred her name, too caught up in his desire to pronounce more than one syllable.

  Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed with passi
on and uncertainty. She opened her mouth to speak but no words would come forth, only a good deal of gasping. Licking her lips, she made a second attempt.

  “You… you said you were not… are you going to..?”

  The question hung between them and he stared at her a moment, his breathing calming but his hands never leaving her rounded buttocks. “You do not want this?”

  Her eyes were riveted to him, opened and virginal and honest to a fault. He could read her desire, matching his own and then some. But he could also read a very distinct, very tangible fear.

  Slowly, very slowly, he removed his hand from her delightfully supple bottom and discreetly pulled her skirts down. For a man who had lost his virginity at eleven years of age, bedding more women than most men could ever hope for within their entire lifetime, he could hardly understand why he was so unwilling to take what he wanted from a woman who had incited more lust and madness in him than anything he had ever encountered.

  Muddled and frustrated to the point of unnatural calm, he stared at Gaithlin’s lovely knees for a moment before lowering the skirt of her gown completely. When his eyes met her wide blue orbs, he simply shook his head like a weakling idiot.

  “If I forced myself upon you, then I… apologize,” he could scarcely choke out the words, knowing she had wanted his attentions as badly as he wanted to give them.

  But he was also seasoned enough to realize that she was unaware of her natural urges, only cognizant of the fact that they frightened her to the point where she was unwilling to give in to their power. Be patient, he told himself with reined calm. Be patient and teach her what it is to succumb to one’s desires.

  Without another word of remorse or repentance, he moved to push himself off her and was startled when a soft white hand suddenly grasped his arm. Pure ice met with deep, serious blue.

  “Why do you do this to me?” her voice was a whisper.

  Frozen in a half-crouched position, Christian’s brow furrowed faintly. “Do what? Touch you?” With a hint of embarrassment, he shrugged. “Because I cannot seem to keep my hands from you.”

  Gaithlin sat up, slowly, as Christian sank to his haunches. Straightening the neckline of her gown, she seemed particularly pensive as her lovely brow furrowed deeply. “Why?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Why else?”

  Their faces were inches from one another as the soft early morn brightened through the slats of the dilapidated shed. Illuminated by the tender golden glow, they continued to stare at one another as if nothing else on earth existed.

  After an eternal pause of silence and wonder, Gaithlin finally shook her head with confusion. “Merciful Heavens, Christian, you’re a St. John. Kelvin was correct when he said you had to kill me; you should be driving your sword into my heart rather than trying to steal it.”

  He swallowed the gasp of surprise that came to his throat, settling back on his buttocks on the rushes of their bed. Was he indeed close to stealing her heart? Was it possible that she was beginning to experience the same emotions that were plaguing him? Her knees brushed against his shin as he seated himself before her, their expressions curious, puzzled, and completely open.

  “I told you before that I am weary of this war,” his voice was husky with emotion, filling the silent pause between them. “What I do, I do because I am a loyal St. John and nothing more. My personal feelings have nothing to do with my allegiance to my family’s honor. De Gare or no, I would drive my sword into my own heart before I would take your life.”

  She met his gaze a moment, puzzled and embraced by the emotions radiating forth from the Demon of Eden. “Why?”

  A faint smile tickled his lips, laughing at her naked honesty and curiosity. The first time I saw you, swimming naked in the lake. “I don’t know. I should, in fact, be asking you that question,” his eyes raked her hair, her delicious features, with confusion. “Why do you affect me as you do, Lady Gaithlin de Gare? Have you cast a spell over my soul that would cause me to forget all that I am, everything that I stand for? I have spent five days with you and the only reality I am aware of any more is the fact that I cannot ever remember being more enchanted by a woman.”

  Gaithlin’s cheeks mottled a pretty shade of pink and she lowered her gaze uncertainly. “I have done nothing but fight you and harass you at every turn. If you are charmed by a shrew of a woman, then you are a peculiar man.”

  His grin broke through. “You are a prisoner, Gae. I should hardly have expected you to remain completely compliant.”

  Her eyes came up again, rapidly, to meet with his twinkling orbs and he could read her puzzlement. “Why do you call me Gae?”

  Carelessly, Christian shrugged. “Because I am too lazy to enunciate your entire name. Does this offend you?”

  Did a delightful nickname offend her? Of course not. Coming from a family caught up within the boundaries of poverty and war left little time for affection or compassion, and hearing a selective term come from Christian’s mouth meant for her alone somehow filled her with silly, magical warmth. Almost as if he… cared.

  “Nay,” her sultry voice was soft. “It does not.”

  “Good. Even if it did, I would continue to call you by that name until the day of my death.”

  She smiled faintly, brushing away a stray lock of silken blond hair. “You intend to know me until you die?”

  His smile faded. Reaching out, he suddenly grasped her behind the neck and pulled her to him with a surge of unmistakable possession. Gaithlin gasped with the swiftness of his action, bringing her hands up to prevent being slammed against his broad, broad chest. Fingers that had been raised protectively not a moment before suddenly turned soft, lingering, heated the very moment they met with his thin tunic.

  Gazing into Gaithlin’s eyes, Christian’s expression screamed with intensity. An intensity that permeated her flesh, seeping deep into her soul and branding her with the unspoken emotions she too had been experiencing. Being a mature adult with a lifetime of seasoning had helped Christian rein the sensations perplexing him into madness, yet Gaithlin had no such practice. Fear and delight, confusion and hatred, they all combined into a wild vortex that seemed to control every facet of her existence.

  “I intend to have you with me until I die,” he muttered.

  Gaithlin could only stare at him. He wasn’t making any sense; or mayhap it was her own confused mind misinterpreting his words, hearing what he had spoken but understanding very little of what he had implied.

  “What does that mean?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, his eyes lingering on her ripe lips. “What does it sound like? I intend to have you forever. I intend to marry you.”

  Gaithlin felt as if she had been slapped. Gasping, she jerked herself free from Christian’s arms, shoving at him and swinging her big fists until he had no choice but to release her or risk a physical conflict. Only when she stumbled to several feet away did she dare face him.

  “You what?” she hissed.

  He remained quite calm, still seated on the rushes. “You are my second cousin and I intend to marry you to end the hostilities between Eden and Winding Cross once and for all.”

  Mouth agape with astonishment, she could only stare at him. “Are you mad? My mother will never allow such a thing!”

  He rose to his full height, tall and proud and strong. “I am unconcerned with your mother’s reaction. ’Tis your father who controls Winding Cross and the de Gare armies. If I marry his daughter, he can no longer in good conscience continue the Feud. Nor can my father, for that matter.”

  Gaithlin’s head was wagging back and forth as she listened to his rational reasoning. “Never, Christian. This can never happen.”

  “It can and it will,” he said, moving for his boots leaning against the pile of armor near the wall. “ ’Tis a most logical solution to an illogical situation.”

  She took a deep breath to clear her reeling thoughts, watching him as he donned his shoes.
“ ’Tis a death sentence for us both,” her voice was shaking. “Your father will kill me, and my mo… father will have your head. As it is, you have earned his wrath by abducting me and to marry me will surely provoke him into madness.”

  He pulled on his second boot and his foot hit the floor with a resounding thud. Hands on hips, he faced his captive. “Don’t you realize what we have happened upon? You and I are related, Gaithlin. And to my father, blood ties are more important than anything. Even hatred. Our marriage will merely strengthen that bond.”

  She was unnaturally pale. Marriage had been her only hope of possibly escaping the Feud, however she could, and to imagine herself married to the very source of the conflict was unthinkable. Married to the Demon who sparked such passion, a man who would probably treat her like a captive and a whore for the remainder of their lives.

  “What about Lady Maggie?” her voice was faint yet firm.

  He looked away. “I do not intend to honor the marriage contract. After I have told my father what happened, he will undoubtedly agree.”

  She watched him move for the crumbling door. “I do not want to marry you.”

  He paused, a flicker of emotion rippling in the ice-blue depths of his expressive eyes. Gaithlin swore she saw a flash of pain that was just as quickly vanished. “The subject is not open for discussion. You will do as I say.”

  A surge of self-protectiveness and fury surged through her at his hard reply. “I refuse to be belittled and humiliated for the remainder of my life, Demon. Even if a disorderly peace is settled, your family will never accept me as your wife as you will never be accepted by the de Gares as my husband. Where will we live? At Eden where I will be in fear for my life every moment of the day? Or at Winding Cross where you can live in hatred and loathing for the remainder of your existence?”