Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

  Removing his face from her hair, he shifted so that she was lying beside him, crushed against his mighty chest. “What’s that, honey?”

  “That you consider it a pleasure to love me,” she repeated softly, running gentle fingers over the bleached matting of fuzz covering his chest.

  “Good Christ, yes.”

  She gazed up at his half-lidded expression, her deep blue eyes wide with wonder and warmth. “Did you mean in the physical sense or the emotional sense?”

  “Both.”

  She continued to gaze at him, her slender fingers moving from his chest to his face. Touching the man who had shown her the true meaning of life. “Are you saying that you love me, Christian? As a man loves a woman?”

  He met her gaze, knowing that he had already admitted as much in the last tender moments before he claimed her as his own. “As a man loves a woman,” he murmured. “As a husband loves a wife.”

  She smiled faintly, running her fingertips over his lips, watching as he tenderly kissed them. “I love you, too.”

  The corner of his lips twitched, the only outward indication of the soaring joy threatening the very fibers of his composure. I love you, too. Good Christ, was it possibly the truth? Was it possible that she was experiencing the same unrestrained adoration he had been wallowing in for the better part of a week?

  He wanted to believe her. He was afraid to believe her. Christian’s hands began to shake as he stroked the length of her delicate shoulder. “You say that because I have declared my love for you?”

  “Nay. I say it because it is the truth. I cannot remember when I have not loved you.”

  His gaze was steady, the flicker of unfathomed emotion burning deeply within the ice-blue eyes. “I remember,” his voice was raspy with the power of his sentiment, weak with the growing realization that his most overwhelming feelings were freely returned. Of course he believed her; he could see the undeniable sincerity in her eyes. “The day I whisked you from St. Esk. You tried to kill me.”

  She laughed softly, bringing her lips close for a gentle kiss. “You scared me to death, you and your horde of St. John soldiers. Had I possessed the strength and the means, I truly would have killed all of you.”

  He kissed her again. “There, you see? You have not always loved me.”

  She lifted her eyebrows as if to admit his correct assessment, a long finger toying with his shoulder-length hair. “Are you going to write of this day in your chronicles?”

  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 expressions 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 post haste. 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 assess 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 bootfalls 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 flask 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 assessed 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.

  Marching down the sm
oke-laced corridor, Quinton couldn’t decide if his love for his brother went beyond the hatred he sometimes felt for his father. Christ, if he could only determine which was greater, mayhap he could make a rational decision regarding Christian’s situation. Certainly, if the accusations were true, he didn’t want to return his errant brother to Eden to face certain death. But his loyalties to his family and ancestral beliefs held inherently strong against the incursion of the de Gare woman’s persuasion.

  He was weak, he knew. Too weak to truly help his brother, too weak to truly defy his father’s convictions. The only matter of certainty he was able to perform at the moment was conforming to superior orders, as all good knights were required to do. Obeying his father’s directive to ride northward.

  Northward into the gaping jaws of Christian’s future.

  *

  “They’ve launched themselves to Scotland,” Eldon’s voice was grim. “Our troops are ready and awaiting your command.”

  Clad in chain mail and snug portions of plate armor that fit her voluptuous body poorly, Alicia managed a faint nod. “How long since they’ve left?”

  “At least an hour and a half,” Eldon replied. “It’s taken that long for our spies to return from Eden. Apparently, Quinton and Jasper St. John are leading the company personally.”

  Alicia’s steady gaze met with Eldon’s brown orbs for a lengthy moment before focusing on the broadsword clutched within her hand. “If Quinton and Jasper are heading the party, then it will make our task that much more formidable.”

  Sighing delicately, she sheathed Alex’s heavy sword against her thigh and squared her shoulders in a futile attempt to bolster her sagging courage. God, how she wished there was another way to go about Gaithlin’s rescue; facing Christian, Jasper and Quinton St. John in battle was certainly not the most attractive prospect. But there was no other alternative; she’d known that from the first. The only chance for the successful reclamation of the de Gare heiress was to meet her abductors with full force and pray that Gaithlin would be easily extracted while her captors were occupied in battle.