Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Her hips moved against him with her usual aggression, unhindered and unimpeded within the embrace of her husband’s loving touch. Moaning deep with her sultry, seductive tonality, she threaded desperate fingers through his long hair. “Speak to me, Christian,” she breathed. “Let me hear more of your delicious words.”

  He could scarcely breathe much less recite something he had written. Knowing how much his intellectual words inflamed her, however, he struggled to recall some of his more potent works to further enhance her lusty pleasure. God only knew, she was already enhancing his.

  “ ‘The Fruits of Seduction are best savored raw.

  As with the first savory bite of the ripened morsel,

  the sensual juices of provocation

  contain a plethora of ill-restraint.

  The more tasted, the greater the Need.’ ”

  Gaithlin groaned loudly as he finished, the last several words muffled against the tender flesh of her shoulder. Grinding her hips against his thrusting hand, she yanked brutally on his silken hair with the unending stress of her desire. “More, Christian. Tell me more.”

  He grunted in response to her frenzied reaction, removing his fingers and pushing her onto her back. Raising her skirts, he drove into her quivering flesh with unbridled force. With every thrust, every beat of his heart, he drew her more deeply into his soul than ever before. Needing her more desperately than he ever thought possible. Good Christ, how she possessed him!

  “Greater is the passion known…,” he rasped, thrusting so hard that her entire body shook violently with his strength, “by any standard of being.” Withdrawing slowly, he thrust again, hard enough to rattle her teeth. “To reap the rewards of the Passion sewn…,” Withdrawing again, he thrust himself to the hilt. “Is beyond the limits of Seeing.”

  Gaithlin screamed again as a violent tide of euphoric convulsions washed over her body, rippling through her sheath and sending Christian over the edge of the erotic void. He shouted softly as he spilled himself deep, her delightful name wafting on his satisfied cry. Panting and spent and entirely content, he collapsed atop her incredible body to bask in the musky warmth of their powerful love.

  “Good Christ, Gae,” he gasped. “Do my words truly affect you so?”

  Weak and satisfied, Gaithlin clutched him tightly to her breast. “Aye, my dearest Demon, they do and I can hardly explain why. ’Twas an amazing discovery we happened upon last night in the midst of the abbey’s common room.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, gazing into the dimness of their shack. “Had I known they would inspire you so, I would have plied you with a bevy of elegant prose the very day we met. Mayhap we could have avoided all of the battles and harsh occurrences.”

  She pursed her lips dubiously. “I doubt we would have calmed if St. Peter himself had descended from Heaven to read us strains from the Psalms.”

  He smiled faintly in agreement, listening to her heart thump loudly against her chest. After a moment, he raised his head to meet her beautiful gaze. “As I recall, several days ago I orated a poem I wrote specifically for you, yet you hardly reacted in such an erotic manner.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “And, if you recall, I was hardly in a position to react at all. Not only was I in pain, but I believe you were attempting to poison me.”

  He chucked softly. “A tiny measure of opiate can hardly be considered poison, you silly woman. Besides, it helped, did it not?”

  She shrugged in agreement and he kissed her sweetly, withdrawing his semi-aroused member from her snug sheath. Groaning with disappointment, Gaithlin wrapped her long legs about him in a valiant attempt to keep him from escaping.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded, her voice sultry and pleading. “Stay here and recite some more of your works.”

  He didn’t struggle overly against her embrace; in fact, a calloused palm was taking great delight in stroking her silken thigh as he spoke. “Honey, as much as I would love to bombard you with my writings day and night until you beg reprieve, we have work to do. There will be plenty of time for recitation this eve.”

  Her lower lip jutted out. “But Malcolm will be here. We shall wake him.”

  He cocked an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “What’s this you say? That you believe Malcolm will encumber your passion? My, my, how selfish. You think only of yourself.”

  He laughed deeply when she swatted his arm, releasing him from her leggy embrace. Incensed and embarrassed as she heard her own distinct words echoed within his rich baritone, she pulled her skirts down and bound clumsily to her feet in a fit of good-natured humiliation. Yet before she could move away entirely, he moved to stand and captured her within the vise of his iron embrace.

  “You selfish wench,” he kissed her playfully, nibbling on her jaw as he continued to taunt her. “You naughty, naughty girl. You would have me abed day and night, reciting prose for your pleasure without thought to my own wants and needs. How terribly cruel. How…!”

  A shout suddenly pierced the air outside the shelter, bringing an immediate response from Christian. Throwing open the ancient door, he was greatly concerned to find Malcolm bounding toward him.

  “I found somethin’!” the lad shouted. “Come ’n see!”

  “What did you find?” Christian demanded.

  Malcolm didn’t reply; instead, he grasped Christian’s hand and tugged furiously. “Come on!”

  Glancing over his shoulder at an equally puzzled Gaithlin, Christian’s initial anxiety faded as he allowed Malcolm to lead him across the clearing towards a particularly thick scrub of bramble. Releasing the massive knight, the lad pointing enthusiastically into the bush. With another long and perhaps reluctant glance at his wife, Christian peered into the branches.

  Two wide pairs of eyes gazed back at him through the shrubbery. Christian would have been startled had the eyes not been a fair distance from him, one set particularly familiar. Upon closer scrutiny, he could see that a small area within the brush had been gouged out; a cluster of unrefined rushes covered the ground upon which the wide-eyed bodies crouched, and a host of scattered implements littered the area.

  After several long moments of observation and thought, Christian turned to his wife with a furrowed brow. “Come and look at this, honey. Tell me what you think.”

  Somewhat hesitantly, Gaithlin moved forward and peered into the bushes. After the initial shock of finding two sets of eyes gazing back at her, she gasped softly in understanding and, Christian thought, delight.

  “They’ve built a nest,” she said softly, straining to catch a better look amongst the leaves. “I never thought they would, at least not this close to our shelter.”

  Christian cocked an eyebrow. “Then I was correct in deducing that your dog-people have decided to move into our area.”

  Gaithlin nodded, pulling back from the bushes. “I told you they would come to trust us.”

  “I don’t care if they trust us or not. I am not comfortable with them living in such close proximity to our possessions.”

  “Why is that? Haven’t they proven themselves trustworthy by leaving our camp untouched while we were away?”

  He let out an irritated sigh, puffing out his cheeks. Turning away, he simply shook his head. “Why would they suddenly decide to move closer to us? If they have lived alone all of these years, then why..?”

  “Because I lured them,” Gaithlin said without a hint of guilt. When Christian fixed his disbelieving gaze on her, she nodded firmly. “Before we left for Sweetheart Abbey, I set out a hearty portion of food. Partially to distract them from our other goods and partially to reaffirm the trust I attempted to establish the day you caught the dog-man. I was trying to show our good intentions.”

  He stared at her a long moment before scratching his head in an almost bewildered gesture. The more he thought on her inherently naive actions, the more frustrated he became. “Why would you do this? First Malcolm, and now the dog-people. When will this stop, Gae? When you have given our food and pos
sessions away to every needy person in the territory? What about us, then? Will you continue to give away everything until there is nothing left, even for us?”

  Her cheeks mottled red with anger and resentment. Averting her gaze, she attempted to march past him but he reached out, grasping her arm in a vise-like grip. Furious, she broke his grasp, slugging her big fist at him when he attempting to regain his hold.

  “Leave me alone,” she spat. “You simply don’t understand. You have always had everything you have ever needed, Christian. You have no idea what it’s like to be hungry and cold and terrified.”

  His irritation was dashed by rush of genuine remorse, knowing the circumstances that had bred her natural giving instincts. Poverty, desolation… they had been her constant companion for twenty-two years and he knew as he lived and breathed that the House of St. John was responsible for all of her heartache.

  She was right; he had always been provided with all he had ever needed. He could only imagine her experiences with impoverishment and by taking care of those around her in need, she was simply doing what she had been forced by necessity to accomplish her entire life.

  “I am sorry, honey,” he whispered, grasping her arms as she struggled. “I am sorry I was harsh. Do not be angry… you’re entirely correct, of course. I do not know what it is like to be hungry or fearful or cold and I apologize for my ignorant statement.”

  Her wrestling lessened with his calm words, his gentle expression. But she was still angry. “I lured the dog-people here because I want to provide them with food, and mayhap someday even teach them to communicate. They’re human, Christian, like us. No one should be forced to live an as animal.”

  He sighed, feeling like a fool for having been so insensitive to her caring beliefs. Pulling her into a crushing embrace, he was relieved when she collapsed against him.

  “Of course, honey love. Whatever you say. I shall never again question your generosity or kindness.”

  Enclosed within Christian’s massive embrace, Gaithlin drew strength and comfort and solace from his powerful presence. In faith, she shouldn’t have become angry with him for being more fortunate than she; but given the circumstances and his callous words, she simply couldn’t help herself. If they were going to create a workable marriage, then he would have to understand everything about her. Even the less-than-pleasing things instinctive to a woman who had known little of the pleasantries of life.

  “See that you don’t,” she removed her face from his tunic, glaring weakly at him. “Even if you are more learned, I know best.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Aye, you do.”

  Managing a weak smile as Malcolm, tired of the interplay between the knight and his lady, suddenly demanded to be fed, Gaithlin wound her arms about her husband’s narrow waist and led him towards the sod shelter lodged deep into the Galloway Forest.

  Sup that night was a wonderful meal of roast rabbit, courtesy of Christian and Malcolm, and a fine stew of some of the vegetables they had purchased in town the day before. Seated before the campfire as it blazed deep into the Scots night, Gaithlin leaned contentedly against her husband as he finished the last of his greasy rabbit. On the opposite side of the fire, Malcolm had nearly eaten a whole rabbit himself and continued to chip away at the vegetable stew.

  Comfortable and weary, Gaithlin observed the contest between Christian and Malcolm as they set out to determine who could consume the most food. Although Christian had a substantial lead on the boy, Malcolm was nonetheless holding his own. Giggling between bites as Christian snorted like a pig, the young lad continued to eat as if he had two hollow legs in which to store his fare.

  Out in the darkness beyond the range of the campfire, the dog-man and his wife crouched several feet from the booming fire, eating the bits of bread and meat Malcolm had brought them. Gaithlin eyed them occasionally, wondering if they were so primitive that they feared the roaring fire and were therefore committed to remain in the cold darkness. Christian sensed her concern for her newest charity acquisitions, patting her leg when she appeared particularly pensive.

  “They’ll warm up to you, honey,” he told her as she lingered on the two humanoid forms longer than usual. “Don’t worry so. As long as you continue to feed them, they’ll gradually come to trust you more and more. Actually, I doubt at this point we shall ever be rid of them.”

  She shrugged, snuggling against him under the remarkably brilliant sky. “I hope so. It would be nice to be able to teach them to cultivate their own food. Mayhap they could even work for us someday and help us to grow crops.”

  He didn’t voice his doubts or reservations in the matter, instead, returning his focus to Malcolm as the lad struggled to swallow a particularly large bite. “You’re slowing down, Malcolm. I have already eaten ten times as much as you.”

  Malcolm’s eyes widened at the challenge. “Ye have not! Besides, I am still eatin’!”

  Gaithlin smiled faintly, shaking her head. “Christian, he cannot eat any more. He’s going to vomit.”

  Christian grinned broadly, pulling Gaithlin into his powerful, playful embrace. “Ha! Then I am the victor, and to the victor goes the spoils!” With that, he growled like a bear and nibbled Gaithlin’s ticklish neck until she squealed.

  Malcolm choked down the bite, frowning at the interaction between Christian and Gaithlin. “Tha’s not fair! I canna have her, anyway. Even if I win!”

  “Of course you cannot have her,” Christian said, ignoring Gaithlin’s weak giggles and pleas for release. “She’s mine. But should you ever win a contest between us, then you are free to choose your own spoils. Whatever it may be.”

  Malcolm’s eyes widened. “Anythin’?”

  “Anything.”

  The lad thought heavy on the possibilities, a gleeful smile coming to his lips. “Then I shall win th’ next contest. An’ I can pick me prize.”

  Christian returned the boy’s smile as Gaithlin pulled herself from his embrace, rising to stand on weary legs. “I must fetch the water for cleaning the dishes,” she said softly, scooping up the smaller iron pot they used for their water needs. “I shall be a moment.”

  “Malcolm can do that,” Christian said, gesturing to the boy. “Give him the pot, Gae. Let him get the water.”

  She shook her head, moving away from the heat and warmth of the bonfire. “I need to walk, Christian. I am absolutely exhausted and I need to finish my supper chores before I can retire. Truthfully, I shall just be a minute to the stream.”

  Christian sighed reluctantly but allowed her to continue, winking boldly when she blew him a tender kiss. Watching her light-blue figure as it faded into the darkness, his warrior instincts were suddenly highly attuned to the noise and atmosphere of the area. Protecting his wife even as she wandered towards the nearby brook to gather her water.

  The night was calm and still as Christian’s piqued ears deciphered every sound and snap; in fact, he felt himself growing rather complacent in his sentry duties until the dog-people suddenly let out a startling series of whoops. Rising from the pile of bones that had constituted their meal, they abruptly made mad haste towards the hovel of their nest.

  With rising concern, Christian watched the two dark figures dance across the clearing, sniffing the air like a pair of crazed animals. Although the dog-man had exhibited such antics once before for apparently no reason, Christian was nonetheless uneased by their skittish behavior. More skittish than normal.

  Rising to his feet, Christian could no longer see his wife; she had disappeared into the trees that shielded the bubbling brook from view. The moon above was bright, casting a faint silver glow about the landscape as he peered into the darkness in an ineffectual attempt to catch a reassuring glance of her rapid return. Seeing no such movement, he couldn’t help but call out to her as the dog-people continued to whine and bay.

  “Gae?”

  After an eternal moment, her faint reply came wafting back on the chill night air. “I am coming!”

  Mildly sati
sfied, he maintained his watchful position as Malcolm succumbed to an exhausted sleep in front of the crackling blaze. Attempting to disregard the continued yelps of his newest neighbors, he waited impatiently for his wife to return from the brook.

  The water was noisy, barely lit through the cover of dense canopy above. Gaithlin had recently answered her husband’s call, guessing his apprehensive cry had something to do with the dog-people’s sudden barking fit. Mayhap Christian had upset them and required her calming influence, she mused dryly. Or mayhap they had attacked him while his back was turned and tied him to a tree, just as he had done to the male.

  Giggling at the thought of Christian tied to a Scot pine at the mercy of two canine-like humans, she dipped the iron pot deep into the brook. Taking care not to stir up any silt, she waited patiently as the pristine water filled her little pot to the very brim. Around her, the night was still and calm and her thoughts began to wander to the ensuing eve within the enclosure of Christian’s wonderful embrace.

  Absolutely, she would insist he recite more prose. He was magnificent with his literate talents and she could hardly describe the arousal it brought upon her. Only knowing that his rich, deep voice enveloping each word of passion and delight brought waves of desire she had never before experienced. A world she wanted deeply to know, more and more with each passing moment. A world where she and Christian would come to discover more about each other than any man had ever known a woman. A world where she was happier than she had ever been.

  Pot filled, she rose from the creek, still lingering on her warm, delicious thoughts as she turned for the camp. Still pondering her own giddy fortune and the myriad of foolish thoughts that accompanied it, she was surprised to come face to face with a broad, armored chest directly in her path.

  The pot fell to the ground as Gaithlin let out a gasp of shock and terror. Staring back at her were a pair of unfamiliar brown eyes; they, too, were wide with obvious surprise.

  “Christ,” the knight rasped. “It is you!”

  Mouth hanging agape in surprise, Gaithlin was incapable of responding to his peculiar utterance. But as quickly as the knight’s astonishment appeared, it was vanished, and a great mailed glove reached out to grasp her cruelly by the arm. All around her, the trees suddenly came alive with soldiers and men in armor.