The Warrior Poet (12 page)

Driven to a grand
performance of tears, both real and pretend, Maggie backed away from him with
wide, frightened eyes. "I... I do not understand, Christian," she
moaned softly. "It has always been this way between us. You had your life
and I had mine. I thought you were happy this way."

"Happy?"
he repeated dully, as if he had never heard the word. He shook his head slowly.
"What is there to be happy of? Seeking in other woman what I could never
find in you, searching endlessly through England's female ranks for the one
solitary female who would satisfy my needs in life? I was never happy, Maggie.
And I don't think you are either."

Delicate tears splashed
to her cheeks. "Yes I am, darling. You make me very happy."

His face was taut
with emotion and fatigue. "If I did, then you would have remained faithful
to me."

Maggie stared at
him a moment, thinking on his words.
Seeing a grain of truth.
Wiping at her eyes, she seemed more intent to ponder his calm words than to
carry on an act.

"Are you
suggesting that we will never be happy or true to each other?" she asked
softly, fixing him with her wide brown eyes. "If that is the case, then I
promise you that you are wrong. I shall be true to you from this moment on if
that is what you wish. And I shall make you happy, Christian. I swear it."

He met her gaze,
unwilling to consider her offer. It occurred to him that he was very eager to
be rid of her, concerned to focus his time and energies on the one woman who
had occupied his mind for the better part of a month. Good Christ, he was in
the midst of the most irrational thoughts he had ever had the misfortune to
generate.
Thoughts of loving a de Gare, thoughts of being
faithful to none other than his family's mortal foe.
A
woman who, at the moment, was his captive.
He'd never considered himself
capable of being completely faithful to one woman but, then again, h
e'd never met a de Gare before.

"No more, Maggie,"
his voice was soft with fatigue. "We have said all there is to say.
Consider yourself a free woman from this night on."

Maggie stood in
front of the archway, no longer tearful. Although Christian seemed completely
determined to discard her from his life, she wasn't entirely convinced of his
sincerity. Certainly, he was angry for having caught her in a tryst with one of
her innumerable lovers, but she was quite certain that time and careful thought
would gradually bring him back to his senses.

And the fact that
Jean St. John was looking forward to the du Bois dowry with a particular hunger
would also help to convince Christian that his harsh words had been rash. Aye,
Christian's father would be of tremendous help to her cause.

"Very well,
darling," she said softly, moving through the doorway. "If that is
your wish, I shall leave you to your thoughts."

Christian didn't
say anything as she silently quit the room, knowing very well it would not be
the last time he beheld her presence. Maggie was too preoccupied with marrying
the Demon of Eden to give it all up so easily. And he would not have been at
all surprised to discover if she had made an appearance in Gaithlin's doorway
to demand vengeance.

Maggie was catty,
sly, and treacherous; Christian was well aware of her qualities. And he was
coming to know Gaithlin well enough to realize that if Maggie provoked her in
the slightest, she could very well end up sporting a lovely black eye.

He smiled at the
thought of Gaithlin taking her soft fist to Maggie's eye; certainly, the woman
deserved worse. In fact, based on his experience with the physical
characteristics of Gaithlin de Gare, it was quite possible that Maggie would
end up with more than a bruise for her troubles and Christian found himself
wondering if he should casually make his way to Gaithlin's bower simply to make
sure neither woman came to harm.

Aye, paying a visit
on the western wing seemed to be an agreeable idea. Anything to discourage
Maggie from venting her anger on an unsuspecting victim who might very well
turn on
her,
and Christian had no intention of giving
Forrestoak's gossips any more ammunition for their already-overloaded arsenal.
Running his fingers through his dark blond hair a couple of times, he quit his
room in silence.

Eager
for the excuse to see his captive.
 

***

But Gaithlin wasn't
alone. It all began when Kelvin Howard reappeared at her door not ten minutes
after he had left her, his arms laden with several of his sister's discarded
gowns. Still wrapped in Christian's oversized cloak, she had allowed her host
into her bower purely for courtesy's sake.

Kelvin had smiled
endlessly at her, offering a blathering excuse regarding the offerings he had
strewn across her bed. His sister had grown too fat for them, he explained, and
they were simply taking up space within the confines of her already-overcrowded
wardrobe. Since Gaithlin's possessions had been brutally stolen by a band of
heartless bandits, he could ask for no greater pleasure than to deliver the
gowns to a beautiful woman in need.

Wary and silent,
Gaithlin had eyed the selection of gowns with a good deal of distrust and a
healthy measure of glee. They were finer than anything she owned, and already
she could feel the expensive silks caressing her tender flesh. But Kelvin's
eager expression kept a powerful restraint on her excitement; she couldn't help
but believe he was expecting some form of payment for his gift of charity.
And not a monetary payment, to be sure.

Unused to the finer
arts of persuasion or lady-like games, she had thanked him stiffly for his
generosity and set about explaining her refusal for such a donation. The harder
she attempted to refute his "gifts", the more firmly he insisted that
she try on the red gown. 'Twould seem it was his favorite and he was most eager
to view her within the striking color.

An
uneasy banter that went on for several minutes.
Short of bodily
removing the man from her bower, Gaithlin was at a loss as to what to do.
Certainly he was her host and she felt very uncomfortable refusing his
expensive addition to her non-existent wardrobe, but there was something in his
earnest manner that unnerved her. A gleam in his eye she was unfamiliar with.

The gentle argument
went on for an excessive length of time until she realized Kelvin had seated
himself comfortably in a hide-covered chair with nary an intention of leaving
until his guest complied with his demand to try on the red gown. Against the
wall with Christian's cloak swathed protectively around her body, Gaithlin had
grown weary of the foolish banter and simply remained silent as Kelvin swerved
off the subject of her new garments in favor of a first-hand account of his
visit to Rome.

Gaithlin didn't
care about Rome. She wanted the man out of her room so she could bathe away the
dirt and aches that had constituted her day. Then, mayhap, if he didn't reclaim
his gifts in an indignant huff when she factually convinced him to leave her
bower, she might try on the red gown.
And the green one, too.
Mayhap even the blue wool.

But she wasn't going
to move from her post by the wall until he left her in peace. His childish,
arrogant manner was coming to be an irritation far more than an intimidation
and she was in the process of summoning the courage to ask him to leave when he
suddenly rose from the chair, eyeing her suggestively.

"Tell me
truthfully, my lady," his voice was soft, lingering. "You are not
Christian's cousin."

She blinked in
confusion at the rapid change of subject. He had been speaking of Rome not a
moment before and she swallowed hard, making a valiant attempt to compose a
believable lie. For the fact that she had been raised isolated and alone,
interacting with mature individuals not from her own family was something of a
new experience and she felt
a certain
desperation at
her lack of worldliness.

She was not an
accomplished expert when it came to seasoned, adult games. Already, she felt at
a distinct disadvantage as Kelvin slowly advanced.

"Why do you
question Christian's word?" she stammered, hating the fact that she
sounded off-balance. "He told you that I was his cousin and you will
believe him."

Kelvin's long, long
legs set a slow pace across the scrubbed wooden slats. His green eyes twinkled
faintly. "I would believe him except for one factor; you are far too
lovely to be a St. John relation. With the exception of Christian and Quinton,
all of the St. John's
are
fairly short and
compact."

Unfortunately,
Gaithlin's lack of adult experience thrust itself to the forefront with her
puzzled, non-thinking, entirely brainless reply. "Who is Quinton?"

She realized she
had committed a mortal error before the words were even out of her mouth and
she averted her gaze, cursing her stupidity and complete lack of sense.
Although Kelvin already had the upper hand in their conversation, his low
laughter told her that she had dug herself into a deep well of lies from whence
there would be no return. She found herself wishing that Christian would burst
through the door and save them both from her witlessness.

A perfectly
plausible falsehood dashed to cinder in one swift blow of her reckless tongue
and she was concerned for two completely valid reasons; Christian had forced
her to promise that she would not reveal her true identity, and she was deeply
concerned that she
keep
her word. She was unable to
fathom the reason as to why it was so important that she maintain her honor in
the face of a hated St. John, only knowing that she was unwilling to betray her
pledge.
Unwilling to
betray her enemy
.

And the second
reason for her concern was obvious; Christian had invented the lie to save his
dignity after discovering his betrothed's infidelities with none other than the
man attempting to press his company. The Demon of Eden possessed a good deal of
pride and honor, and having come across his intended frolicking like a
well-used tart had been a rude discovery. St. John or no, Gaithlin didn't
believe anyone should be treated with so little respect.

With those two
substantial factors weighing heavily on her mind, she avoided Kelvin's gaze as
he drew close. She was so intent on eluding his piercing stare than she
neglected to notice the close proximity of his body until it was too late.
Cornered against the wall, she pressed herself against the stone as if to force
the cold blocks to absorb her. Fear, relatively unknown until that moment,
sprouted a weak seed deep in the pit of her belly.

"So you have
no knowledge of your other cousin?" Kelvin's voice was sickeningly
seductive, his tone still laced with laughter. "I find that extremely odd,
Lady Gaithlin.
If that is indeed your name."

A blossom of anger
joined the seed of fear. "Of course it is my name," she snapped
softly, attempting to move away from him. "Lady Gaithlin de Bl... de
Bl..."

He laughed again.
"So you fail to remember your surname as well? God's Blood, you are far
too young to find yourself succumbing to the effects of senility."

Frustrated,
Gaithlin's palms began to sweat. She couldn't seem to keep her thoughts
straight with his nearness, his bold characteristics intimidating her into
irrationality. With a final lunge at the rope of control, she pushed herself
off the wall in the hope that she could physically shove him back, away from
her, thereby emphasizing her imminent request that he leave her in peace.

His presence was an
unwanted, tiring bother and she fully intended to tell him so. Charity or no,
he had moved past the boundaries of her patience and she was determined to be
rid of him before he could manage to inflict more damage to Christian's
fabrication

"I would ask
you to leave, my lord," she said firmly, plowing into his right shoulder
and sending him stumbling back. "I am weary and wish to retire for the
night."

Undeterred but
understandably surprised by the tall woman's apparent strength, Kelvin cocked
an auburn eyebrow. Being lord of his own manor provided him with the authority
and aggressiveness to put forth his demands without fear of refusal, and gazing
at Gaithlin's lowered
head,
he was no longer
interested in playing games with the lanky wench. He had come for a reason this
night; and it hadn't been to ply her senses with his sister's new gowns.

Thinking back, he
couldn't recall ever seeing a finer woman. As sup had uneasily continued
earlier that eve, and after his fear of Christian's wrath had subsided, he
found his attention completely occupied by the beautiful lady with the
cat-shaped eyes. Even as she shoved food into her mouth like a starving
soldier, he had been unconcerned with her table manners; in fact, he rather
liked watching her pink tongue slurp the grease from her slender white fingers.

Had Christian not
been so incensed with the discovery of Maggie's blatant infidelities, he would
have coerced his former friend into sharing his mistress. As it was, Christian
was off sulking in his bower and Kelvin was determined to seek his own sport
with the tall wench. And the
mound of dresses on the bed were
to insure her silence in the matter.