The massive cast-iron pot left in the crumbling hearth had been cleaned and put to use, and the old table and chair had been placed outside for Christian’s attention. Clearing out the remains of the rodent’s nest in the second smaller room, she had collected other debris from the dirt floors until they were less cluttered.
With belly full and determination fed, Gaithlin fully intended to spend the rest of the day on making her new home livable. In faith, she felt a distinct sense of excitement knowing that she and Christian would be spending an unknown span of time sequestered in the deep woods. Thoughts of escape, of captivity, were miles away as she focused on the facts of the situation.
The most prominent point was the fact that she could not escape from the Demon of Eden. She had tried and, being a relatively reasonable woman, was resigned to the knowledge that there was no eluding the man. And the second point of the matter was that she no longer had any desire to escape him. She was coming to like the situation in ways she could not begin to describe, only knowing that she was actually happy for the very first time in her life. Happy with the Demon.
She believed herself wicked for never wanting to leave him. Aye, she had no interest in his marriage proposal, but she was rapidly coming to realize that life with Eden’s Demon was not such a horrible thing. Certainly nothing like the miserable bondage that she had envisioned; he was kind and gentle, and during those times when he had kissed her, surely there was nothing more pleasurable on earth.
Lost to her thoughts, she was startled when Christian entered the hut, his gaze riveted to her. “Malcolm and I are going to the stream to see if we can locate suitable mud to patch these walls,” he said.
She wiped her hands on Carolyn Howard’s fine gown. “Malcolm was sleeping last I saw him,” she frowned accusingly. “Did you wake him?”
“Nay, I did not wake him,” his tone bordered on mocking. “He cannot sleep with his stomach so full and I require his knowledge of this area to assist me in locating a clay-based mud. I am going to plaster the walls with the stuff.”
She glanced about, noting the profusion of sunlight streaming in through the aged wood and crumbling mud. Nodding, she turned away from him. “Allow me to change into my worn gown and I shall assist you.”
He almost protested but thought better; she was exceedingly strong for a woman and obviously not afraid of hard work. Although his chivalrous personality staunchly refused to allow a woman to do manual labor, the more reasonable portion of his mind realized that he might very well require her help.
“Very well,” his voice was quiet. “But do hurry. I have forced Malcolm to his feet and I tend to believe he will not stand idle much longer.”
She nodded again, listening to the ancient door close awkwardly behind her. Stripping off the fine gown of yellow satin, she donned the gray woolen gown she had been abducted in.
The stream Malcolm had indicated earlier was a large, shallow river that bubbled and sang as it coursed over boulders of cloudy granite. Gaithlin stood on the bank, absorbing the peaceful scene as Malcolm led Christian up the shore, pointing to various depressions of pooling water.
Since discovering Christian had access to unlimited food, Malcolm seemed to be a good deal less hostile towards the massive Englishman. Still, he remained distinctly wary. Christian seemed to do most of the talking as the young boy pointed and grunted, sparing one-word answers and little else. Gaithlin watched and listened, smelling the moldering dampness that the stream had to offer and thinking Scotland to be a lovely, serene place.
“Laird Malcolm, are there any lakes about?” she asked over the roar of the simmering stream.
On the opposite side of the brook, several yards upstream, Christian was the first to answer. “If I recall correctly, this small river ends in a fairly large pond.”
Gaithlin cocked an eyebrow, as Malcolm looked surprised as well. “You have a detailed knowledge of this area?” she asked.
He shrugged, thinking that he would be able to steal a glimpse of her nude body frolicking about in the water if he pointed her in the direction of a lake.
“Enough to remember there was a shack in the middle of Galloway Forest, lodged deep into Laird Malcolm’s territory,” he said, casting the boy a glance. “Enough to recall that there is a small village not far from here. Am I correct?”
The lad nodded, his brow furrowed. “When were ye here, Englishman?”
“When I was a boy, younger than you,” he leapt across the brook in one long stride, continuing his examination of the soil. “Tell me about the village Cree. Has it grown from more than one small avenue and a few businesses?”
Malcolm rubbed his bloated belly, thinking. “There are more than a few merchants. ’Tis a busy place.”
Christian digested the information, still studying the dirt. “Excellent. Considering I need to purchase a few supplies, it should suit my needs admirably.”
“Supplies?” Malcolm cocked his head as if he had never heard of such a thing. “What supplies would tha’ be?”
“Food stuffs mostly,” he eyed Gaithlin. “And if there is a cobbler, my wife could use a new pair of shoes.”
As Gaithlin stared at him in surprise, Malcolm was awed. “Ye have money fer this?” he asked.
Christian tore his eyes away from Gaithlin’s astonished gaze, cracking a smile at the lad’s incredulity. “I do.”
Malcolm continued to stare at him, his young mind wracked with the wonder of wealth. Considering he had none, the concept was as elusive as the theory of regular meals. “How did ye come by th’ wealth?”
Christian shrugged. “Looting, pillaging, stealing from the poor.”
Malcolm believed him even as Gaithlin fought off a reproachful grin. “Ye’re a thief?”
“Indeed,” Christian looked serious, casting another long glance at Gaithlin. “My wife will confirm my tale. I simply steal what I want.”
Malcolm’s wide green eyes focused on the beautiful woman. But Gaithlin’s attention was entirely on Christian, recollecting her abduction from St. Esk as his jesting words rang true. When he smiled enticingly, a beautiful gesture, she realized his train of thought matched her own.
I simply steal what I want.
After a moment, she nodded quite sincerely and looked away. “He does indeed steal. I know this for fact.”
Malcolm couldn’t decide whether to be horrified or supportive of his deeds. He continued to gaze at Gaithlin as Christian retraced his steps along the bank, moving towards his exquisite, willowy captive as a preying animal stalks its quarry.
“I… I need wealth,” he said, looking hesitant and eager at the same time. “Can I learn tae steal like Sir Christian?”
Incensed, Gaithlin opened her mouth to fully recant Christian’s outrageous lie. But the moment she moved to do so, warm arms wound about her slender body, enveloping her with fierce tenderness. Before she could protest, Christian’s probing lips and hot breath danced over the delicate flesh of her neck, sending ripples of excitement coursing down her spine.
Instead of vigorously contesting his bold action, she found herself giggling as his teeth nibbled her tender shoulder. Struggling to maintain her focus and her outrage in the face of his seductive onslaught, she weakly attempted to pull away from him. Very weakly.
“Not in front of Malcolm, Christian,” she murmured feebly, her gaze still resting on the wide-eyed young lad. “Did you hear what he said? He wants to be a thief, like you.”
“I heard him,” he mumbled, his face pressed against her delectable neck. “If he is fortunate enough to obtain such booty as I have in my arms, I would applaud his intent.”
Gasping weakly, her struggle to pull away from him increased. “You will not encourage this. Tell him the truth immediately. Tell him what you really are.”
Sighing heavily, Christian forced himself away from her delicious skin. Chin resting on Gaithlin’s shoulder, his seduction-hazed expression focused on Malcolm.
“I am not a thief. I am a war
lord.” Returning to Gaithlin’s flesh, he growled. “There. Satisfied?”
Before Gaithlin could reply, Malcolm leapt to the forefront of the conversation. “Ye’re a warlord?” he gasped. Obviously, being a warlord was far better than being a lowly thief and his little cheeks were ripe with the color of excitement. “Do ye fight for th’ king?”
Gaithlin was slowly collapsing against him and Christian was having difficulty focusing on anything other than her responsive body. Good Christ, she was so unbelievable sensitive to his passion, as if she knew exactly how to obey his silently lustful commands with her voracious reaction. As if she knew exactly what the Demon needed without the benefit of words.
In fact, he completely forgot about the small boy as his mouth attached to her tender earlobe. Gaithlin gasped with pleasure and he was about to bring his hands up to grasp her breasts when an insistent tugging distracted him. Reeling back to the world at hand, his flushed, panting face met with an eager, youthful expression.
“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 awestruck 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 adversity. 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 ene
mies 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 were 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 a 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.
Border Brides Page 86