Border Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Do it!” he roared.

  Stumbling, Gaithlin moved away from her husband, fear and panic welling within her mind. Even though her head was throbbing and the world was still rocking, she clearly understood that she and Christian were in a great deal of danger.

  It was as she had always feared; Christian’s treacherous, selfless devotion would indeed cause his own men to turn against him. Gasping with terror, she dashed across the clearing, listening to Christian’s roar of anger when his brother attempted to follow her. More terror, more anxiety… tripping through the front door of their shelter, she nearly knocked an equally frenzied Malcolm on his skinny little bottom.

  Gaithlin wasn’t afforded the opportunity to speak as astonishment and panic overwhelmed her. Suddenly, Malcolm was thrusting a sword into her palm. “Give it tae Sir Christian!” he commanded, shoving another battle weapon into her other hand. “An’ this is fer ye!”

  Struggling to keep her hysterics from raging out of control, Gaithlin accepted the weapons from the young boy as if she were a warrior serving in battle. Head spinning and chest heaving, she ran from the sod shelter as fast as her long legs would carry her.

  The sword and war hammer were heavy as she raced across the clearing towards her husband and his antagonistic family members. She could hear their muffled voices but was unable to distinguish the words as she charged up, bearing two mighty weapons. A tangible fury had begun to take root, displacing her panic and feeding off it at the same time; how dare the St. John horde threatened her Christian when his motives and his desires were truly noble! How dare they question his wisdom when he is truly considering their future!

  How dare they reject his overture of peace!

  Gaithlin had never been afraid to use a weapon; clearly, Christian had discovered that from the first. Bearing down on the three uneasy men, she shoved Christian’s heavy broadsword into the ground blade-first and brandished the war hammer with a powerful, offensive grip.

  “Get away from him, you St. John bastards,” she seethed, her focus almost entirely on Jasper. “Move away from him or I shall cut your damnable heads off.”

  All three men looked to her, Christian moving away from his cousin and brother to retrieve his impaled sword. Although Jasper’s expression was still frozen in a menacing glare, Quinton seemed entirely indecisive as he gazed steadily on his new sister-in-law.

  “My lady,” he began quietly. “You have to understand… we must do this. Christian knows that we must follow my father’s orders.”

  “Your father is wrong,” Gaithlin hissed, tightening her grip on the hilt of the hammer. “Your father is as stupid as mine when it comes to the welfare and regard of his family. He cares not for peace or true contentment, but only the hereditary triumph the Feud can bring him. And he doesn’t care how he achieves victory, only that it be attained.”

  Beside her, he heard Christian’s emotional sigh. “As I said, I shall… return with you to Eden if you leave my wife in peace. I don’t want her involved in any bloodshed, Jasper. I will come with you peaceably.”

  Quinton nodded faintly, feeling disoriented and drained. But Jasper would have no part of Quinton’s weakening stance; Christian could not convince him that his treacherous actions had been correct as he had so easily swayed his foolish, adoring younger brother.

  Unsheathing his sword, the entire company of men that had been hidden in the recesses of the Wood suddenly stepped into the clearing, forming a half-circle around Christian and Gaithlin. Malcolm, who had followed Gaithlin from the shelter with one dirk in each hand, stared at the collection of soldiers with huge eyes; he had come to help the lady defend her husband from the pair of evil warriors. He realized that mayhap his bravery had not been entirely wise.

  But he would not back down from his protective stance; he was dedicated to the knight and his lady to the death, and he swallowed hard as the English soldiers drew closer. He wondered what it would feel like to have a sword driven deep into his fearless little heart.

  Meanwhile, Christian had moved in front of Gaithlin, entirely focused on his mighty cousin. “Don’t do this, Jasper. I have no desire to kill you.”

  Jasper lowered his visor. “I have my orders, Christian. Return you to Eden and kill your captive.”

  “She’s my wife. I shall not allow you to kill her.”

  “She’s a de Gare.”

  Quinton put his hands up as his brother and cousin squared off against one another. “Christian’s not wearing any armor, Jasper. This is hardly a fair fight.”

  “Hold your tongue, Quinton,” Jasper’s voice was low. “You have proven thus far to be entirely weak-willed and disobedient to your father’s directives. You will allow me to handle the situation.”

  Quinton’s jaw ticked angrily as he faced his cousin. “I am in command, Jasper, not you. You will do as I say.”

  Jasper’s helmed head turned in Quinton’s direction. “And you are showing distinct traitorous tendencies like your brother.”

  “Bite your tongue, you bastard.”

  “You’re listening to his lies.”

  “They’re not lies. Only your stupid mind would be unable to make sense out of his sound reasoning.”

  In spite of the razor-sharp tension filling the chill night air of the Galloway clearing, Christian found himself, as usual, intervening in a squabble between Jasper and Quinton. “Enough!” he roared, waving his brother away irritably. “Move away, Quinton, unless you want me to gore you too.”

  Amazingly enough, Quinton kept silent. With the greatest of remorse and sorrow in his eyes, he moved out of Christian’s line of sight as Jasper properly distracted the man with his imminent hazard.

  Aye, Quinton was weak-willed and foolish at times, mouthy and opinionated. But he was also clever. And he knew there was only one way to prevent Christian and Jasper from killing each other, no matter how covert or treacherous that method may be. As his brother and cousin focused on one another in battle-heightened determination, Quinton made his way towards an equally distracted Gaithlin. He had to take her; only then would his brother surrender.

  Gaithlin was so preoccupied with her husband’s battle, in fact, that she never saw Quinton approach. The next she realized, massive hands were grasping her war hammer and she yelped with surprise and fear, struggling fiercely against Quinton’s iron grip. One moment, Christian was preparing to battle for her life; in the next, she was waging her own mighty skirmish.

  Christian heard her grunts of panic and exertion. Puzzled, he tore his eyes off his powerful cousin long enough to witness his brother and wife struggling viciously over the war hammer. Suddenly terrified that Quinton planned to carry out her execution while Jasper held his attention captive, Christian broke away from his impending duel in a furious burst of speed and power.

  Although caught up in his own struggle with his remarkably strong sister-in-law, Quinton was not so focused that he did not see his brother running at him with his sword held high. Instantly, he released the weapon of struggle and scrambled for his own sword, completely determined to defend himself from his brother’s infuriated wrath.

  Unfortunately for Quinton, he wasn’t fast enough to reclaim his sheathed broadsword; Christian brought his blade down, flat side, and caught Quinton on the upper arm. The maneuver was indicative of Christian’s skill with a blade; he had purposely intended to shove his brother aside, not outright slice him to ribbons, and Quinton immediately crashed to the ground from the force of the blow. Before he could recover his footing, Christian had his wife by the arm and was pulling her in the direction of the ancient sod shelter.

  “Get inside,” he commanded. “Take Malcolm with you and stay there. Don’t come out until I retrieve you myself.”

  Eyes wide with terror, Gaithlin fell to her knees clumsily as Christian yanked her across the clearing. Pulling his wife to her feet, he was momentarily distracted from his impending battle when she threw her arms fearfully, painfully, about his neck.

  “Let m
e help you,” she begged, her panting breath hot on his ear. “Let me fight with you!”

  Allowing himself the brief luxury of experiencing the mutual apprehension, he kissed her fiercely. A gesture laced with the potency of his emotion. “Nay, honey. You must stay to the shelter and allow me to wage our war.”

  They were nearly to the structure; he was practically carrying her across the trampled earth. Still clinging to his neck, Gaithlin refused to release her hold. Afraid if she did, she might never see him again.

  “Please, my dearest, please,” she whispered desperately. “Please let me help you. There are too many of them for you to fight alone.”

  “And you believe that you will make the difference between victory or defeat?” he set her to her feet, kissing her again and lingering over their contact as if he, too, was afraid it might be his last. Everything was happening so quickly that he had yet to build up a substantial panic, but he could feel his terror gaining momentum. Shoving open the door, he tried to push her inside. “Go, honey. Do as I say.”

  “Sir Christian!” came a childish, completely terrified shout. “Behind ye!”

  Christian gave Gaithlin a brutal shove, pushing her deep into the sod shack. Ducking simultaneously, the distinct hum of a broadsword sang inches above his head. Raising his own sword in an offensive gesture, he realized at that split second that he and Jasper had engaged in a fearsome battle. And it was something he never thought he would live to see; a St. John protecting a de Gare.

  Matching Jasper blow for heavy blow, he was vaguely aware when a shrill whistle pierced the clear night air and he realized, once again, that his brother was moving against him. Whether or not Quinton saw his reasoning, it was apparently not enough to sway him against Jean’s directive. Quinton was, after all, the only loyal St. John son left; whether or not he understood Christian’s motives or sympathized with his plight, he was evidently determined to carry out his father’s orders for the sake of the St. John cause.

  Christian’s heart sank as he caught shadows of movement beyond Jasper’s animated form. Quinton was mobilizing the company of men, moving them towards the sod house with the intent of overwhelming Christian with sheer man-power. Up until this moment, the men-at-arms were completely content to remain out of the vicious argument between family members; now, however, Quinton was pulling them into the skirmish. By using their strength and loyalties against the Demon.

  “Quinton!” he roared. “Leave her alone! If you hold any love for your brother, you will leave my wife alone!”

  Mingled within the advancing tide of men, Quinton heard the cry, tearing his heart into a thousand pieces. Christ, he understood his brother’s change of sympathies as much as he was able and the reasoning behind the hope for a lasting peace was logical and inviting. But in faith, it was not his judgment to make; the only man capable of truly waging a lasting peace was the very same man who controlled the House of St. John.

  Christian must be returned to face what he had done, to explain his reasons and to prove that he was not a traitor; in faith, it was evident that he was the only truly loyal St. John among them. Only Christian was willing to jeopardize his very life for the sake of peace.

  And only he could make Jean understand his motives, his desires, his very sanity.

  Were it up to Quinton, he would have turned on his heel and left his brother and new wife in peace. But with Jasper as his overbearing conscience, he had no choice but to uphold his father’s orders. Whether or not he agreed with them.

  The men-at-arms had effectively surrounded Christian and the sod house, waiting impatiently to capture the treacherous Demon. Quinton stood by a moment, watching his brother’s fluid, magnificent movements as he met Jasper’s onslaught with effortless grace. But he could also see the panic in his brother’s expression, something he had never seen before, and it only served to destroy his heart further. The sooner he controlled Christian and returned him home, the sooner the chaos would settle.

  With a heavy heart and stinging tears, Quinton gave another piercing whistle and several dozen men threw themselves forward into the sword fight, swarming over both Jasper and Christian. There was a good deal of grunting and cursing as the soldiers struggled to control the man who had once been their greatest leader.

  It was a violently boiling mass of men and limbs, straining and struggling against their unwilling target. Before it was over, four men had been mortally gored by the Demon’s sword and Quinton watched with a lump in his throat as his brother was brutally subdued by his own men.

  Quinton lost sight of Christian as the angry, betrayed soldiers bound him hand and foot like a common thief. Jasper, having stood silently during the entire melee, calmly sheathed his sword as his mighty cousin was lifted from the ground, hog-tied by the ropes of dozens of furious men.

  “Quinton,” above the chaos and disorder, Christian’s gaze sought out his brother. His beautiful face was bruised and battered, his expression beseeching. “Don’t kill her. I have never been known to beg in the past, but I will beg you now. If you have ever loved me, don’t kill her. Please.”

  Quinton didn’t reply. As the soldiers carried Christian away, he swore he saw tears in the man’s eyes. Tears for his wife. Dear God, he’d never seen that expression on his brother’s face and he prayed he never would again. Swallowing hard, he opened his mouth to demand the men show their mighty Demon a measure of compassion when two barking, terribly filthy humans suddenly burst forth from the bramble and threw themselves at the retreating soldiers.

  Startled, the soldiers that weren’t carrying Christian hastened to retrieve their swords, but not before they were savagely bitten and scratched by the screaming banshees. Kicking and fighting and snapping, the dog-man and his wife valiantly attempted to defend the only man who had ever shown them any kindness. Although terribly outnumbered, they didn’t seem to pay the negative odds the deserving heed; all that mattered was that their master was in trouble. And they would do what they could to assist him.

  But their courageous efforts were not enough against the seasoned St. John soldiers. In a flash of moonlit metal, the dog-man and his wife met with a particularly violent death.

  Christian witnessed the exchange, more sorrow settling over his already grief-saturated heart. From the beginning of their bizarre relationship, Christian had never paid any particular heed to the sub-human pair and was devastated to discover that, along with their trust for his caring wife, they had also placed their trust in him. Because he was a part of her.

  Good Christ, he should have listened to their barks of fear earlier this eve. He should have given in to his instincts, realizing something was horribly wrong and thereby taken appropriate action when their unsettling howls unnerved him. If he had given the dog-people their due credence, mayhap he and Gaithlin would still be relatively safe. Fleeing from his brother and cousin, but still relatively safe.

  But there was no time for hindsight, what-ifs and could-have-beens. What mattered now was that he was being taken away to face judgment for his most grievous actions and his wife, that which was most precious to him, was in grave jeopardy. If only he could make his brother understand. If only he could make him listen.

  Twisting his head away from the crumpled forms littering the moon-bathed earth, he struggled to catch a final glimpse of his brother. “Quinton!” he shouted, his voice breaking with emotion. “If you kill her, I swear I shall hunt you down like an animal and make you suffer as you have never suffered before! Do you comprehend me?”

  Quinton remained silent, biting off his equally-emotional reply. As Christian was carted through the trees, he staunchly endeavored to deliver one last, heart-wrenching plea.

  “Don’t kill her, Quinton,” his voice was faint with distance and pain. “I love her. Please… don’t kill her.”

  Abruptly, the man vanished, swallowed up by the surrounding woods as the soldiers carried him to their distant mounts. Next to Quinton, Jasper shifted his weight on his thick legs and moved to
unsheathe his broadsword. Examining the weapon as Quinton stared dully into the darkened cluster of trees where his brother had so recently disappeared, he took a resigned step towards the shelter.

  “I shall do what needs to be done,” he said quietly.

  “Nay,” Quinton held out a sharp hand, halting his advance. Meeting Jasper’s dubious gaze, he struggled to regain his splintered composure. “I shall do it. He’s my brother and I shall take care of his… mistake.”

  Jasper cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think….”

  “I said I shall do it,” Quinton snapped more forcefully. Waving his cousin off, he moved towards the shelter. “You help the men with Christian. I shall catch up to you when I am finished.”

  Jasper let out a long, blustery sigh. “Quinton, I don’t like this any better than you do. This entire situation is unnerving to say the least. But I believe it would be best if I…”

  Quinton unsheathed his broadsword with a loud clang. “Catch up with the men and make sure they do not skewer Christian in their anger. If anyone is going to kill my brother’s… wife, it shall be me. I shall not have his hatred looming over your head any more than it already is.”

  Jasper’s jaw ticked as he cast his younger cousin a long, skeptical gaze. After a lengthy pause, his broadsword was slowly re-encased in its heavy scabbard and he sighed again. A completely heart-felt gesture.

  “Be swift, then,” he mumbled. “Only for the sake of Christian, I should not like his enemy wife to suffer.”

  Quinton eyed him a moment. “For a man who was most intent on seeing my father’s orders carried out, your manner has softened.”

  Jasper averted his gaze, his blue eyes lingering on the moonlit landscape of Galloway. “As I said, I don’t like this situation any more than you do. But we must do as we are told, no matter if we have personal feelings on the matter or not.”

  “Even at Christian’s expense?”

  “He’s a traitor.”

  “And I disagree. He’s willing to sacrifice his entire reputation in order to achieve peace.”