The Warrior Poet (15 page)

"I shall not
allow this!" Gaithlin shrieked
,
struggling
against him as Christian fought to control both her and his excited charger.
"Let me go, you St. John bastard! Let me go or I shall kill you, I swear
it!"

Had his horse not
leapt in agitation, Christian would have been quite able to control his
rebelling captive. But the horse danced nervously on his rear legs as Gaithlin
shrieked and struggled, pitching both master and hostage to the damp earth.

Christian heard her
grunt as she hit the ground, but his irritation outweighed his concern. Four
days of nearly-pleasant coexistence had suddenly reverted to the very hour he
had whisked her from St. Esk and once again, he found himself in possession of
a bitter, terrified captive. But he refused to rehash old territory; there had
already been a good deal of happenstance between them and he was unwilling for
her to ignore the fact.

Cursing
himself
for being stupid enough to inform her of her truer
purpose in the St. John - de Gare Feud, he pinned her luscious body against the
pebble-strewn road and roughly captured her hands beneath his massive
gauntlets.

"Enough!"
he roared, feeling her start beneath him. Her violent motions lessened as his
icy orbs met with deep blue. "You will cease this resistance or I shall
bind you hand and foot. Do you comprehend me?"

"You...
cannot... do this!" she grunted, disregarding his threat with her
continued struggles. "I shall... not allow you to... destroy my
family!"

He stared at her.
Lowering his body completely, she groaned when his excessive body weight
smashed her into the dirt and nullified the majority of her struggles. Head and
arms trapped within the vise of his massive arms, she was unable to avert her
eyes from his piercing gaze.

"Listen to me
well," his voice rumbled like the distant thunder. "I am weary of the
Feud. I have lost uncles, cousins and two grandfathers to a foolish argument
that has lasted for the better part of seventy years. I am tired of hating, of
fighting, of living under a constant state of alert within the confines of my
father's barony. My children will know the meaning of peace and freedom as my
brother and I never knew, and I intend to bring about that peace any way I
can."

Chest heaving with
emotion and strain, Gaithlin stared into his serious eyes. "Then surrender
your own forces. Why must it be the de Gares?"

He cocked an
eyebrow. "To the victor
goes the spoils
. I have
captured you; therefore, it is only logical for the de Gares to surrender. How
foolish would it be for me to mastermind your apprehension only to relinquish
you as a bizarre peace offering?"

Her struggles had
ceased entirely, her glorious hair spread over the dirt like an abstract halo.
From the depths of fury to the pinnacles of lust in a swift, blinding moment,
Christian was suddenly seized with the desire to kiss her as she struggled to
form a reply.

"'Twould be a
show of good faith, I should think, to return me home," she answered
breathlessly, flattened by his weight.
"To prove that
your peaceful intentions are sincere."

His usually
impassive expression washed with skepticism. "You know as well as I that
any St. John peace overture would be met by an arrow to the chest. If my father
and I are to achieve harmony, then we must
take
it."

"Then you do
not seek true peace," she hissed. "You only wish to demand victory,
whatever the price."

A flash of anger
coursed through him. "You have no right to act so sanctimonious. Your
father would do the same if the opportunity were present."

Her pretty jaw
ticked with emotion as the rage between them built once again. "You will
never have your peace, Demon. Not like this."

Unwilling to argue
the point, he abruptly shifted his weight from her and rose to his feet. With
one swift jerk, he pulled her to her to stand as his hand kept a vise-like grip
on her tender arm.

"How I achieve
my ends is none of your concern," he growled, pulling her toward his
horse. "I will ask you only once; will you ride peacefully until we reach
our destination or will I be forced to bind you?"

She would not lie
to him. St. John or not, her naive emotions and swirling puzzlement had been
brutally dashed by his arrogant intentions towards achieving peace and she was
dangerously close to tears. Bitterness strengthened her bold forthrightness as
she gazed into his eyes, cursing him with every breath she took.
Damn him!

He had protected
her one minute, battled with her the next. There wasn't one element to
Christian St. John that was predictable and she hated him for it. She hated
herself for not loathing him as deeply as she should have.

"Bind
me," her sensual voice was a whisper. "It is necessary if you do not
want me to fight you every step of the way."

He met her gaze,
knowing her sincerity. With another flash of fury, stronger than the one
before, he maintained a grip on her arm as his mailed hand fumbled through his
saddlebags for a length of rope. Locating the knotted cord, he roughly wound
the bindings about her tender wrists, tying them more tightly that he should
have purely out of anger and frustration.

His emotional level
soared to untapped heights as he fastened the knot with unusual harshness,
noting that he had tied her so securely that her hands were already devoid of
blood. His fury knew no limits and he was fully aware of his irrational state,
but his anger was completely void of conscience.
 
He was glad to see her suffer.

If the de Gare
wench wanted him to bind her,
then
bind her he would
and take great pleasure in it. In fact, he would tell her of his sadistic glee
so she would realize the fruitlessness of her actions. He would draw strength
from her terror and defeat, lusting after the power her emotions could provide
his failing St. John loyalties.

 
Rope secured, he grunted with satisfaction at
his fiendish handiwork. But the moment he glanced up to verbally lash her for
her stupidity, his brutal words died in his throat.

She was crying.

"Good
Christ," he muttered. Fury vanished with unnatural
speed,
he immediately moved to jerk his bindings free. But they were secured far too
snuggly and he fumbled furiously with them as a mournful sob escaped Gaithlin's
throat. The harder she cried, the more panicked his movements became. The very
moment the rope fell away to the damp road beneath their feet, she collapsed
hysterically into his massive arms. Christian held her tightly enough to
squeeze the breath from her.

"Forgive me,
Gaithlin, forgive me," he murmured into her hair. "I did not mean to
injure you, truly."

Her sobs were heavy
and unrestrained, as if her heart was breaking. Christian attempted to pull her
tighter, feeling like sadistic beast for brutalizing her so. Good Christ, his
emotions were so out of control he was hardly recognized himself any more.

"Let me see
your wrists, honey," he whispered. "Let me see what I have
done."

She shook her head,
sobbing deeply. "I... I hate you, Christian. I hate you terribly."

Harsh,
utterly insincere words.
He fought off a smile as he rocked her gently under the
fading Scot sun. "I hate you, too."

Removing her face
from his neck, she laid her cheek against his cold steel of his shoulder, still
sobbing. "You... you cannot do this to my family," she whispered.
"I would rather you kill me."

His smile faded as
he stroked her hair, her back. "I told you that I was not going to kill
you. Not ever."

She suddenly pulled
away from him, her slender hands gripping his arms in a desperate gesture.
"Please do not force my family to surrender. I beg of you, sire; do not do
this."

He was sucked into
the vortex of her panic, seized by the sincerity of her hopelessness. Gazing
into her pleading blue eyes, he felt himself losing ground by the second.

"I..." he
stammered, swallowing hard in an ineffectual attempt to reclaim his slipping
composure
. "
Gaithlin, there is nothing I can do.
My father is...."

"Please!"
She suddenly fell to her knees, holding both of his hands against her face.
"Christian,
I swear I shall do anything you ask.
Anything at all.
Just do not force my family to surrender Winding Cross."

He was in danger of
completely losing what was left of his control. He weakly attempted to pull her
to her feet, but she refused to move. Instead, she continued to hold his hands
tightly against her cheeks and sob as if her heart was being destroyed by her
worst nightmare.

Destroyed by a St. John.

He simply couldn't
deal rationally with her hysteria. Before he realized his actions, he was on
his knees in front of her, pulling her into a crushing embrace.

"Stop
this," he rasped, feeling her wet cheeks against his face. "Stop
crying, Gaithlin. I cannot...."

"Please,
Christian," she moaned, her tapered fingers intertwined in his beautiful
blond hair. "Please do not do this. You cannot imagine the suffering and agony
you will cause."

Good Christ, he had
to come to grips with his surging emotions. There was no telling what would
happen were he to allow them to rage unchecked any longer; already, he had
entered a realm where he had never before traveled, a world of such desperation
and anguish that he would have willingly given his own life simply to stop her
tears.

Taking a deep
breath, he grasped her head and forced her to look at him; which, in fact, was
not an entirely wise move. The very moment he gazed into her terrified blue
eyes, he felt his control slip yet another notch.

"Listen to
me," he whispered huskily. "Whatever happens between the St. Johns
and the de Gares is out of my hands. My father is Eden's baron and I am merely
his son, subject to his commands and directives as are the rest of his vassals.
By taking you from St. Esk, I have completed my orders and the remainder of my
father's scheme is beyond my control."

She shook her head,
tears spattering on his wrists. "You do not understand. I shall do anything
to prevent the compromise of Winding Cross." She swallowed hard, her
cheeks flushed with emotion. "I shall...I shall give you my servitude, my
body, my dignity.
Anything to prevent my family from having
to choose between my life and their honor."

He stared at her,
the impact of her words carving a blistering path deep into his soul. "You
are truly afraid that they will be willing to sacrifice you in order to
maintain the Feud?"

She wasn't. Her
mother would never allow the life of her only child to be sacrificed for the
worthlessness of a battered fortress and an ancient skirmish. But she couldn't
allow Christian to see the truth of it.
She
had to preserve the illusion of de Gare strength.

"Nothing is
more important than family integrity," she said after a moment, her tears
lessening.

He raised an
eyebrow. "Even the life of the heiress? That does not make any
sense."

"Would your
father sacrifice Eden for you?"

His gaze held even
for an eternity, ice-blue orbs against the deepest of blue. After a moment, he
stroked the remaining moisture from her face with the most delicate of touches.

 
"You and I are players in a grand
theater, my lady. It is a performance that commenced seventy years ago and has
yet to play itself out." He sighed heavily, his expression softening into
an emotional mien. "I am weary of this drama. When the sake of family
honor becomes more important than the lives of family members themselves, it is
time to re-examine the very reasons for our existence."

Calming, Gaithlin
listened intently to his speech. He touched her hair as he spoke, the gentle
man revealed within the guise of a Demon. When he finished, she shook her head
faintly in response.

"What are the
St. Johns and de Gares without their Feud, Christian? It is a much a part of
our heritage as the Angles and the Normans. It has become what we are."

He digested her
words, the mood between them amazingly calm after the desperate madness that
had consumed them not seconds before. After a thoughtful pause, he rose to his
feet and gently pulled her with him. Still holding her hands, he shrugged
vaguely.

"I do not want
to be a part of it. I do not want it to be a part of me," his gaze raked
over her as he spoke. "But I have no choice in the matter. And neither do
you."

She knew that. And
she was well resigned to the fact. "What will happen if my family rejects
your father's attempt at blackmail? What will become of me then?"

He eyed her a
moment before turning for his steed, grazing steadily by the side of the road.
"We shall cross that bridge when we come to it," he said quietly,
grasping the animal's reins. "For now, we are almost to our destination
and I should like to arrive before nightfall."