England's Greatest Knights: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I didn’t spy. I observed your water ballet with the greatest delight and respect,” he grinned maliciously as his lips delicately brushed her silken neck. “ ’Twas Quinton who spied.”

  She grunted angry, terribly distracted from her fury by his tender kisses. “So your brother saw me naked as well? Merciful Heavens, I have never been so mortified in my entire life! How can you not see the severity of this terrible situation?”

  He cocked an amused eyebrow, his lips dancing over the crest of her shoulder. “Because the situation is not at all severe. You were swimming in a lake within compromised lands and my brother happened across you while on patrol. Being a normal, lusty male, he was naturally enchanted by your presence and chose not to announce himself lest you become frightened or, coming to know you as I have, most likely violent. You could have very well injured my little brother in your anger.”

  She didn’t reply as she pondered his reasonable explanation, her jaw ticking in frustration and humiliation. He continued to grin at her, his mouth moving to her earlobe. Christian knew her anger was abating when he saw her eyes flutter closed as he suckled the tender morsel of flesh.

  “Don’t be angry, Gae,” he murmured. “There is no need. I knew from the moment I first saw you frolicking about in the pond that I would have you.”

  Miffed but rapidly succumbing to his attentions, she found she could no longer maintain her shame. If Christian was not slighted by his brother’s knowledge of his future wife’s deliciously naked body, then she reasoned her insult was hardly worth the effort.

  Truthfully, there wasn’t any point in maintaining the furious shame. What did it matter that Quinton St. John had seen her naked; being a normal male, as Christian had so eloquently described him, surely he had seen a naked woman before. Clearly, she wasn’t a sight out of the norm. Furthermore, what did it matter that Christian had also seen her nude and exposed, her flesh displayed for all to see? He was seeing her naked now.

  When his tongue began to stroke the curve of her dainty ear, her humiliation and fury evaporated like a puff of smoke. Grinning with the thrill of his erotic touch, she forgot all else in favor of his magnificent attentions.

  “And how did you know that?” she asked softly, turning onto her back and gazing into his beautiful face. “You said yourself that you did not know who I was.”

  “Mayhap I didn’t know factually, but I had a reasonable suspicion.”

  Her arms wound themselves around his thick neck and she matched his knowing grin, devouring the delicious lines of his angular features. “You suspected that I was a de Gare?”

  His massive arms embraced her lanky, slender body, feeling the silken texture of her skin against his flesh. “It was logical.”

  She rubbed her nose against his affectionately, her smile broadening. “Then if you suspected my heritage, why did you not kill me immediately?”

  He continued to gaze at her, wedging his thick legs between her thighs to ease his body weight off her torso. Rubbing his nose against hers as she had done to him, more gently on his second brush, his mouth hovered tauntingly above her fully ripe lips. “Because if I had, I would have never known the pleasure of loving you.”

  His lips descended upon her mouth before she could reply, suckling the breath and life and blood from her very bones. Gaithlin, her mind still swimming with the impact of his softly uttered confession, moaned low in her throat as she responded wildly to his passion. The further he kissed and stroked and caressed, the hotter she became.

  I would have never known the pleasure of loving you.

  Christian could not believe he had admitted the emotions of his heart. But he had confessed nonetheless, and he was not at all astonished to discover that he did not regret his words. In fact, he found himself wondering why he had not admitted it before this moment. Caught up in the heated strains of a most emotional circumstance, it had been the natural thing to do.

  As natural as making love to her. As his emotional demands matched the physical needs of his voracious body, he gripped Gaithlin behind her long thighs and pulled her knees up, winding her supple legs about his hips. Breaking away from her delicious mouth, he gazed down at his heavy manhood as it pressed gently against her tender core, watching with the greatest of excitement as their bodies prepared to join.

  Pleasure and excitement for the both of them. Gaithlin’s fingers were anchored deeply into his hair, feeling the newness of his throbbing member as it sought her sensitive center. Christian’s head blocked her view of the erotic spectacle about to occur, but through her panting and maddening desire she could feel his fingers as they alternately stroked her delicate folds and guided his manhood nearer to its target.

  Once brought to bear, he seemed to slip into her virginal passage with amazing ease. They both groaned with pleasure and surprise as he barely anchored himself an inch, but it was an inch nonetheless. A very effortless inch, as she was literally dripping with excitement and moisture from his expert attentions.

  Christian could hardly contain himself, but restrain he did; a painfully difficult employment of his years of training in the art of self-control. Feeling the tiny muscles contract around the ruby-red tip of his phallus was the greatest torture he had ever known and he growled low in his throat, straining fervently against the natural urge to drive into her. The pain, the pressure, the unbelievable ecstasy was more than he could have possibly comprehended.

  It was an overwhelmingly supreme effort to move slowly, withdrawing himself and then pressing into her again, gaining headway in minute quantities. He would have been doing quite well with his controlled efforts had Gaithlin not writhed and panted beneath him, fracturing his concentration and threatening to cast him off the edge into the erotic abyss.

  But he maintained his composure, groaning softly with every new millimeter gained, feeling her incredibly tight sheath drag at him, calling to him with the silent shout of desire, and he considered it a monumental achievement that he had yet to fully answer the call. With every miniscule progression gained, he felt as if he was being reborn.

  He was well aware of the fact that his entire body was quaking with anticipation and powerfully reined hunger. But his restrained held firm as he inched into her and he was in the process of congratulating himself for his control when the unexpected happened – in a blinding flash, he suddenly found himself seated to the very hilt.

  Gaithlin yelped quietly with the force and swiftness of the action and Christian’s eyes flew open wide, his astonished expression coming to bear on Gaithlin’s taut face. He froze, poised above her, as she struggled to catch her breath. Her clawed hands, gripping his rock-hard buttocks, dug crescent-shaped wounds into the flesh.

  It took him a moment to realize she had impaled herself upon his rod of iron. He had been aware of her long, slender body wrapping itself about him tightly, her hands to his buttocks, but he hadn’t imagined that she had possessed another purpose in mind other than to simply brace herself for the inevitable stab of pain as her maiden’s barrier was breached. He would have laughed at her boldness had he not been shocked with the concept that she had thrust her pelvis forward in an attempt to capture the entire length of his throbbing maleness.

  “What… what did you do?” he demanded, scarcely able to speak.

  She licked her lips, squirming uncomfortably beneath him. “I was tired of waiting,” she whispered, her deep blue eyes meeting him with a certain degree of guilt. “I am sorry, Christian. But… but you were torturing me with your prolonged pace and I was eager to be done with the pain I knew was yet to come.”

  His brow furrowed faintly. “So you thought to hurry me along?”

  She shrugged, wrapping her legs more tightly about his hips. “The anticipation of my maiden’s agony was unbearable,” she said softly. “Are you angry?”

  He shook his head, chuckling weakly. “Nay, my lady, I am not,” kissing her nose, he shifted his weight and braced his powerful arms on either side of her slender body. “In fact,
your bravery is amazing. Imagine when I boast that my wife took her own virginity with the aid of my manhood. Certainly, there is something strange to that declaration.”

  She giggled, the stabbing sting radiating from her groin lessening by the moment. “It will be our secret.”

  He matched her grin. “Indeed. I would be embarrassed to admit that you did my job for me.”

  She twisted again, still smiling as she attempted to find a measure of comfort within the fading pain. “You did all of the work, my dearest Demon. I will avow the fact ’til I meet my grave.”

  He gazed deeply into her eyes, watching her face as he slowly withdrew from her deliciously snug sheath. Their smiling expressions faded as he thrust into her again, very slowly, seating himself to the hilt with tender force. Beneath him, Gaithlin shuddered with ecstasy and Christian watched, entranced and overwhelmed, as her large nipples hardened in response to his physical demands.

  It was as he had always imagined it be, greater than he could have ever imagined it to be. As with the very first time he had seen her, fantasizing the sensations of her supple legs wrapped around his body in passion, her incredibly responsive body reacting to his unspoken desires, the excitement was almost more than he could withstand. His thrusts increased, feeling her body pull at him, the friction building greater than any he had ever known.

  As the scorching heat between them mounted to giddy heights, Gaithlin found herself completely upswept in the newness that was erotic ecstasy. Knowing now what it meant to couple with a man and wondering in the same breath if every experience would be as wondrous as the first.

  Truthfully, beyond the pain of losing her innocence, she hadn’t known what more to expect, which was why with every thrust, every withdrawal, she was pulled deeper and deeper into a world where Christian was lord and master over her world. Where every breath she took depended upon his skill as a lover and where every beat of her heart was reliant upon his amazing physical prowess.

  As the sun rose upon the deep green countryside, Christian took his captive to heights never before mastered. For Christian and Gaithlin, there was only one world worth existing in – theirs. When the pinnacle of their passion was finally unleashed, Gaithlin’s screams of surprised and euphoria echoed off the mighty Scot pines, intermingled with the unearthly growls of the Demon’s pleasure.

  As Malcolm lingered fearfully outside of the shelter door, wondering if the lady and her English knight had somehow managed to harm each other in the midst of their vocal struggle, he was wise enough to realize that entering the shack would not be the correct decision. Whatever transpired, he would wait until the warlord was calm before interjecting his defense of the lady. Even though he had come to adore Christian, the man was still inherently frightening.

  Unaware of Malcolm’s dilemma outside the hut, Gaithlin struggled to recover her composure as she nestled within the powerful embrasure of Christian’s arms. Cradled against his magnificent, sweaty chest, her mind was a maelstrom of warm, giddy thoughts.

  “Christian?” she murmured.

  His face was buried in the side of her head, dozing lightly from his most wondrous experience. Truthfully, if the physical act itself had somehow managed to kill him, he wouldn’t have cared in the least. As it was, he found himself perpetually amazed by the raw sweetness of it and he almost felt as if he, too, had been a virginal innocent before embarking on the most amazing erotic voyage of his life.

  “Hmm?” he mumbled, exhausted and spent.

  “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.