“Very well,” she replied softly, making sure to look into his eyes. “I will tell you so that you will know, exactly, who has given you the most memorable night of your life.”
“Yes? Yes?” he panted.
She smiled, a beautifully seductive gesture. “Do you truly wish to know?”
“Yes!” he practically shouted. “Tell me and be done with it! I cannot wait for your tender fruits any longer!”
“I will not make you wait any longer,” she cocked a completely erotic eyebrow, unaware of the fact that she was playing adult games far better than most seasoned adults. For her, the seduction and roleplaying came naturally. “My name is de Gare. Gaithlin de Gare.”
It didn’t matter that she broke her promise to Christian at that very moment; she wanted Kelvin to know the name of the woman who would most likely damage him for life. Gathering her strength, she brought up the pointed toe of her boot and carved a blistering path of pain and anguish into the sacs that would continue the Howard Family line.
The furious shock of her action was not enough to offset the instant, searing pressure. Reflexively, Kelvin yelped a startled cry and attempted to move away from her; still, she continued to plunge her toe deep into his aroused manhood. Her foot followed him as he sprawled to the wooden floor, driving hard, bringing inconceivable pain and relishing every agonizing moment he was suffering at her hands.
‘Blood and Heart give life,
not of the same variety.
Blood can be depleted;
yet the Heart sustains for eternity.’
~ Chronicles of Christian St. John
Vl. V, pg CCL
CHAPTER SIX
Gaithlin’s eyes beheld Kelvin for an eternal moment as the man fell to his buttocks on the wooded slats, his gaze wide with complete shock as her boot remained buried in his swollen crotch. The full effects of the pain had yet to sink in as Gaithlin lurched away from him, leapt to unsteady feet as her deep blue eyes blazed with terror and fury.
“I hope you die from your pain, you bastard,” she seethed, her body quaking with fright. “I hope you die and I hope your anguish lingers the entire heated journey to Hell’s depths.”
He opened his mouth to retort when the complete brunt of the agony descended upon him and the lips that had so recently assaulted Gaithlin were suddenly screaming their suffering with such ferocity that the very walls reverberated with the anguish. Hell’s depths might have been preferable to the anguish of the lady’s brutal betrayal.
Covert betrayal or not, Gaithlin had no desire to be near the screaming, invalid man as he proceeded to vomit his sup over the clean wooden boards. Shaken to the point of very nearly becoming incapacitated herself, she crawled over the bed in her hasty attempt to move away from him. Now that the deed was done, she was desperate to be free of his presence. She had to find Christian; she knew he would help her. The St. John would protect his de Gare captive.
Gasping with fright, she barely made it to the door when the wooden panel was suddenly being shoved open, slamming against the supporting wall and nearly smashing her in the process. The very next thing she was aware of was massive hands clamping down on her tender arms.
“Gaithlin!” It was Christian. “What in the hell…?”
Verging on tears, Gaithlin attempting to answer when Kelvin suddenly rattled off another piercing scream. Baffled and startled by the unearthly howling, Christian pulled Gaithlin into a protective embrace as his former friend writhed about on the floor. But he was not so preoccupied with his hysterical friend that he did not notice Gaithlin’s death-grip about his waist.
The entire house and hold was becoming aware of Kelvin’s screams and Christian could hear rapid footfalls approaching down the corridor. Stunned but not witless, he pulled Gaithlin into the room with him and shut the door, keeping one arm around his quivering captive as he lodged the iron bolt. Watching Kelvin vomit more bile and a portion of blood, he attempted to collect his swirling thoughts.
“What happened?” he demanded, struggling to keep his tone calm; she was already deeply shaken and he had no desire to upset her further.
Face buried in his tunic, she visibly wrestled with her fright. “He… he came to my room bearing dresses. And then he tried… he threw me to the floor and… oh, Christian, he thought I was your mistress and he demanded that I….”
Christian understood a great deal in her halting, panting explanation. But it still did not allude as to why Kelvin was squirming on the floor like a madman, expelling the contents of his innards. “What did you do to him, honey? Why is he vomiting blood?”
Her head came up, focusing on his ice-blue orbs, and he was physically impacted by the fear in her eyes. “I kicked him in his manhood as hard as I could.”
He stared at her a moment before allowing his gaze to drift to Kelvin. Having nothing left in his stomach, the man was currently experiencing a round of the dry heaves and Christian found he had absolutely no sympathy for the idiot foolish enough to tangle with Gaithlin de Gare. In fact, he repressed the powerful urge to do further damage on the lady’s behalf.
After a lengthy, disgusted moment, he returned his attention to the woman clutched against his chest. Drained both physically and emotionally, her head resting against his chest, she had turned away from the scene at hand and he shook her gently to regain her attention.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked, his rich voice oddly tight.
She shook her head, refocusing her attention on him. He was towering over her, enveloping her in a crushing embrace, and Gaithlin swore at that very moment she had never felt so safe or protected in her entire life, St. John or no.
“He did not hurt me,” she whispered, noticing the delicious curve of his lips and the marvelously smooth texture. “But I think I have killed him.”
He smiled faintly, a gesture she found to be utterly beautiful and comforting. “Nay, you did not kill him, but I am sure he wishes he were dead.”
She continued to stare into his eyes, nearly distracted from the crisis at hand as she studied his incredible face. “When he regains his senses, he will demand the right to punish me,” her low voice was a raspy whisper; she found his full lips to be diverting and she struggled to maintain her focus. “Mayhap it would be best if we leave. Now.”
He cocked an eyebrow, thinking heavily on kissing her again in spite of the moaning going on about them and the commotion in the hall beyond. “It’s pouring rain. Moreover, I doubt Kelvin will be demanding your head before the night is out. We can still enjoy a warm bed and leave at daybreak.”
Tearing her eyes from him, she focused reluctantly on the now-still, groaning figure crumpled on the floor. “I fear he’ll come for me regardless. He knows my name.”
Christian was silent a moment as her words sank deep, feeling a disturbing twinge of betrayal at her greater implication. “What do you mean?”
“I told him my name,” she whispered, attempting to pull free of Christian’s embrace. “He demanded I tell him and I did… immediately before I kicked him.”
When she pulled away from him, he somehow felt as if a portion of his body had been ripped free. Suddenly, he didn’t feel entirely whole any longer. But his sense of loss at the moment was weak compared to his rising fury with Gaithlin’s admission.
“You promised me that you would not reveal your identity, my lady,” he said.
She heard his tone and it was infinitely disturbing. Wide eyes, apologetic and as blue as the deepest waters, gazed at him. “And I had every intention of keeping my pledge, sire, truly. It was never my purpose to betray my word. But I was frightened and caught up in the heat of the moment and….” She shook her head, genuinely remorseful. “I am sorry, Christian. My promises are usually infinitely more substantial than my display has led you to believe.”
Hands on hips, he met her gaze steadily as he pondered her words. In truth, he understood her explanation completely; using Gaithlin’s panic against her, Kelvin had forced the truth from her
and she had retaliated by driving her foot into his family treasure. But regardless of the fact that he found himself in complete agreement with her actions, he would not so readily allow her to believe that he would instantly forgive the breach of a strongly-held vow.
“Time will tell, my lady,” he said quietly, eyeing Kelvin when the man groaned again. Taking a deep breath as he returned to the immediate problem, he continued to ignore the weak pounding at the door and the soft demands for entry. “For tonight, I believe you shall sleep in my room. I would assume that Kelvin wishes to be left alone.”
Gaithlin’s gaze trailed to Kelvin once more, wondering if she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life running from a vengeful, impotent man. But she did not regret her actions nor the method utilized in the least; indeed, it had been necessary. Nodding faintly, she climbed over the bed with the intent of collecting Christian’s cloak on the opposite side. Having fallen off during the struggle, it lay upon the floor in a discarded heap.
Christian watched her as she crept over the large canopied bed, observing the gowns she mashed beneath her knees. As Gaithlin nearly tripped off the bed in her attempt to regain Christian’s cloak, he made his way to the mattress and scrutinized the garments displayed.
“Is this what he brought you?” when she nodded, he fingered the red gown. “Hmm. Quite lovely. And quite expensive.”
Clutching the cloak to her breast, she gazed at the gowns with such longing that Christian felt a tug to his heart. It occurred to him that if the de Gares were barely able to provide themselves with adequate sustenance, then the extravagance of fine clothes were completely out of the question. Without hesitation, he scooped up the five heavy garments and motioned for Gaithlin to make her way over the bed.
“Come along, my lady,” he held out his hand, steadying her as she walked over the mattress. “The hour grows late and we have a long journey on the morrow.”
“What are you doing with those gowns?” she asked, jumping from the bed to the floor beside him.
He continued to hold her hand. “What does it look like? I intend to accept Kelvin’s offering on your behalf. By accepting these dresses, we forgive him for his most aggressive actions towards you.”
She cocked a slow eyebrow. “We forgive him?”
The grip on her hand tightened, naked flesh against naked flesh. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he moved to his crumpled bygone friend, pulling Gaithlin along with him and making sure she didn’t step in the vomit and blood as he bent low to look the man in the face.
Eyes closed, Kelvin was pale and breathing rapidly. Christian resisted the urge to laugh in his face for his brazen stupidity.
“Do you hear me, Kelvin?” he said. “I accept your apology for attacking my lady. And we shall hear no more about it.”
With a faint groan, Kelvin’s deep green eyes fluttered open, focusing on Christian. “You… you bastard,” he rasped, spittle forming on his lips. “Get out of my keep and take your bitch with you.”
All of the calm fled from Christian’s face. Gowns still clutched in one arm, he released Gaithlin’s hand and grasped Kelvin by the front of his stained tunic. Yet before he could inflict any more damage against him, Gaithlin grasped him firmly by the arm.
“No more, Christian,” she whispered, her gaze moving between the crippled man and her angry captor. “Let’s go. We shall leave tonight.”
For the second time since entering her bower, his given name rolled off her tongue like the finest, most delectable wine. His gaze lingered on Kelvin a moment longer before returning his gaze to the woman hovering beside him. Disheveled, weary and beaten, she was the most beautiful angel he had ever beheld and he knew, at that moment, that there was nothing on earth he wouldn’t do for her. Good Christ, he was falling deeper into trouble by the moment.
The large palm that had so recently clutched Kelvin returned to Gaithlin’s hand. To his surprise, she willingly clasped it tightly.
“I told you that I do not believe it wise to leave this night,” his voice was a raspy whisper. “It’s raining like mad and I refuse to be a party to the resulting illness that will surely claim your life.”
She frowned. “I have not been ill a day in my life, Demon. I am as hardy as you.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I believe I told you not to call me Demon.”
She burst into a radiant smile, laughing softly at his irritation, and he was immediately unbalanced by the display as if she knew what a devastating affect her smiles had against him.
“You did,” she snickered weakly. “But you are very humorous when you are angry.”
Both of his eyebrows rose. “Your sense of humor is misplaced. I am attempting to preserve your health and you are intent to annoy me?”
Her smile faded as she stared into the depths of his icy-blue eyes. So entirely pale that they were nearly white. “I apologize then,” she said softly, with gentle sincerity. “I suppose it is my own way of making light of your concerns. To prove to you that I am well aware of my own welfare.”
He drew in a long, deep breath, feeling her silken hand enclosed within his own. “I realize that,” he said softly. “But the moment I whisked you from St. Esk, you became my responsibility. And I do not take my duties lightly.”
It had gradually become easier for her to forget her captive state as time and situations progressed and being abruptly reminded of her crisis brought a certain measure of depression and gloom settling about her once again. Above all of the giddy emotions, baffling ideals and terrifying occurrences, one factor remained true; she was the prisoner of Christian St. John.
In the corner, Kelvin stirred again, jolting her from her train of thought as the man suddenly struggled to a semi-upright position as if rising from the dead. Noting the fact that his newly-found enemy was coming lucid, Christian hastened for the door with Gaithlin in tow. But not before Kelvin focused his venom on the both of them.
“If I see her again, Christian, I shall kill her,” he grunted, clutching his gut. “You’d better take your bitch far, far away.”
Christian unbolted the door, pausing a moment to match Kelvin’s hostile gaze. “Listen to me well, Kelvin Howard. I could have spilled your guts this night for having discovered your tryst with my former betrothed and I would have been entirely within my right to do so. But I spared you simply for the fact that Maggie is not worth the price of your life.” Gently, he pulled Gaithlin through the archway, ignoring the soldiers and servants hovering in the corridor beyond. “But hear me now and know that I speak the truth; you will never again threaten the lady you were so careless in attacking. Any incursion, violation or threat on her person, no matter how minor, shall be met with lethal force by the Demon of Eden. I will not repeat this warning.”
Pale and drawn, Kelvin knew full well the meaning of Christian’s utterance. But he was also well aware of the St. John – de Gare Feud; having grown up in Cumbria, the state of the two warring families was an established fact. It was a detail that had not escaped the confines of his pain-hazed mind as he had wallowed on the floor in complete misery.
He had heard her defiantly mentioned name the very moment she had driven her rock-hard boot into his lust swollen privates. It was a name he would never, ever forget.
“She’s a de Gare, Christian,” he hissed, fighting the urge to vomit yet again. “You would deprive me of the pleasure of seeking revenge against her simply because you would complete the task yourself.”
Gaithlin heard him. Eyes wide, she focused on Christian as his unwavering gaze continued to meet Kelvin’s agonized orbs. “What I do with the lady is my own business,” his voice was exceptionally low. “As I have not demanded answers as to what you and my former intended were doing isolated far from the convenient cover of Castle Howard, you will do me the courtesy of not questioning my motives or my intent.”
“You are going to kill her anyway,” Kelvin struggled to his knees. “At least allow me the right to punish the woman for possibly depriv
ing me of an heir.”
Gaithlin jerked against his vise-like grip, but he did not release her. Nor did he look at her as his attention remained on his former friend. After a moment, his gaze moved to Gaithlin and her terrified struggles ceased; never had she witnessed a look of such tenderness, such warmth. Her almond-shaped eyes were wide with wonder as he graced her with an even, completely unexpected smile.
“Look at her, Kelvin,” his voice was faint. “Do you truly believe I would kill her?”
“You are a St. John, Christian,” Kelvin’s voice was faint. “You must kill her.”
Uncertain and struggling with the terror Kelvin’s words evoked, Gaithlin averted her eyes from Christian as the man’s smile faded. After a lengthy pause, he returned his attention to his former friend one last time. His expression was nothing short of loathsome.
“I shall send Maggie to you,” he said, his voice cold. “Mayhap she can heal what ails you.”
In a haze of tension and confusion, Christian swept Gaithlin down the smoke-shrouded corridor, leaving Kelvin to the care of his servants and soldiers and cursing the events the day had brought upon him.
Praying he saw the de Gare bitch one last time before he died.
Praying for revenge.
*
It had been an exceptionally difficult night. Uncomfortable spending the remainder of the night within the walls of Forrestoak, Gaithlin convinced Christian that they would do better to seek shelter somewhere else. Reluctant but uncharacteristically compliant to his captive’s reasoning, Christian packed her gowns into a confiscated satchel and, wrapping her yet again in his black cloak, took her down to the stables to retrieve his steed.
Through the rain and the wind and the biting climate, they set north for the Borders. Physically drained, Christian was concerned that his weary state would impede his ability to protect them from the threats that abound on the open road, especially in the dead of the night. Recollecting that an old hunter’s shack was not far to the north of Forrestoak, set deep into the wooded clusters that populated Howard lands, he veered off the path a few miles up the road in search of the little refuge.
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