The Warrior Poet (13 page)

"My, my, you
are a powerful woman," his tone was an erotic purr. "Does this hold
true in every aspect of your manner?"

Puzzled and apprehensive,
Gaithlin met his eyes for nearly the first time since he entered the room.
Suspecting he was insinuating something intimately physical, she struggled
against the slight flush that mottled her tender cheeks. "If you would be
so kind as to leave, my lord, I have no desire to continue this
conversation."

A leering smile
joined his erotic tone. "Odd that you should mention desire," he
said. "Certainly, mine must be evident to you."

His hand moved
across his swollen crotch; Gaithlin saw the gesture from just inside her line
of sight but absolutely refused to stare at the focus of his intimation.
Sickened as well as apprehensive, she stepped away from him, moving around the
end of the bed to put distance between them.

"You will
leave me," her voice was hoarse with fear and disgust.

To her horror, he
was moving toward her again. "I have no desire to leave you," his
voice was quiet. "Why are you so opposed to sampling my techniques?
Christian is certainly no more experienced than I."

Shaken and baffled,
she lost the battle against the deeply-threatening blush. In fact, she was
beginning to sweat but utterly terrified to remove the cloak. As if, somehow,
Christian's heavy garment would protect her against Kelvin's bold approach.

"I do not know
anything about experience or techniques," she replied quietly, her voice
quivering. "If you do not leave, I can guarantee you will be sorry. I will
not tolerate your advances."

Kelvin stopped;
after a moment, his head tilted playfully and his grin broadened.
"A game, demoiselle?
Do you intend to fight me?"

Cheeks hot,
Gaithlin met his amused gaze.
"Until the death, if
necessary."

"I assure you,
it will not be necessary. I will surrender willingly."

He resumed his
advance and Gaithlin moved away from him, around the bed. "Get out,"
she hissed. "I do not want you here. Go and take your gowns with
you."

She was fully
prepared for another suggestive retort. Instead, Kelvin leapt onto the bed and,
using it as a launch-board, propelled himself against her. With a startled cry,
Gaithlin found herself slammed against the wall by his superior weight.
Off-balance and off-guard, she stumbled over her clumsy feet and fell to her
ground with nearly two hundred pounds of male flesh pressed atop her.

Horror and fury
surged through her veins as she struggled against Kelvin's weight, heavy and
ungiving against her supple body. His hands, large and strong, moved to trap
her flailing arms.

"I like this
game," he grunted, catching an open palm against his neck. "You are
quite good at it."

Aghast as well as
terrified, Gaithlin's struggles increased against his supreme male power. She
had been able to subdue Christian and his men when they had come for her in the
abbey purely for the fact that she had managed to catch them off guard.
Unfortunately, the situation was turned against her at the moment; Kelvin's
surprise attack had startled her long enough for him to gain the advantage. He
had trapped her.

Gaithlin was fully
aware when he pinned one arm above her head, followed very shortly by the other.
Although she was strong for a woman, she simply wasn't powerful enough against
Kelvin's brute strength. As she thrashed furiously, he threw his entire body
weight atop her to prevent her from pitching him off. Breathing with exertion
and excitement, his flushed face loomed an inch
above her own
as he gazed into startled deep blue eyes.

"You are my
captive, Lady Gaithlin," he growled, his stinking
breath
hot on her face. "Surrender to me and I will be merciful."

Her head lolled
away from him, averting her reeling senses from his repugnant sense of
excitement. "Get off me, you bastard. I have no interest in playing your
demented game!"

He cocked an
eyebrow, his smile fading somewhat. "Bastard, am I? I beg to differ. My
heritage is long and legitimate," he leaned sideways, attempting to look
her in the face. "Pray, Lady Gaithlin, can the same be said for you? Tell
me who you truly are, you delectably naughty wench."

Lips pressed tight
and eyes focused on the wall beside her head, Gaithlin refused to answer.
 
Smiling, Kelvin licked her ear and she
shrieked in fear and disgust, her slender body bucking and twisting in a vain
attempt to dislodge him.

"Tell me,
Gaithlin," he purred, licking her again. "Tell me who you are."

She yelped when his
tongue stroked her cheek, biting her lip to keep from screaming in full-blown
panic. Grunting with the force of his body weight, she made a feeble attempt to
shake her head.

"No!"

Kelvin laughed
softly, moving to dropping sensual kisses on her neck, kisses that frightened Gaithlin
deeply. They were nothing like the erotic gestures delivered by Christian,
steamy and passionate and utterly wonderful. They were unnerving,
nauseating.
 
Yet the more she struggled,
the bolder his kisses became.

Trapped and
terrified, Gaithlin struggled to rein her horror. Fighting for lucidity, she
forced herself to come to terms with the fact that there was no way to
out-power Kelvin; clearly, he was superior in size and strength. Therefore, the
only way to disable him or discourage him would be to catch him off his guard,
just as he had surprised her by his unexpected attack. And the only way to
catch him unaware would be to cease her resistance.

Forcing herself to
calm was mayhap the hardest struggle she had yet to face. His kisses were
running along the base of her throat, sending chills of disgust down her spine,
but she wrestled against the bile in her throat in order to focus on the next
step in her deception - convincing him she would accept his onslaught.

Kelvin felt her
slender, womanly body relax underneath him and his bold smile returned as he
nibbled on her delicate jawline. The tapered fingers that he held captive over
her head went limp as he convinced her of his pleasurable intent. Releasing his
hold on her wrists as he was assured victory in their adult game, his large
hands moved to grip her head. Fingers intertwined within her silken blond hair,
he attempted to kiss her lips.

But Gaithlin would
not allow him access to her delectably ripe morsels. Turning her head, Kelvin's
mouth came to bear on her ear again. But it didn't seem to matter to him;
moaning with the pleasure of her tender, responsive body, his tongue obscenely
stroking the interior of her ear. Shivering in repulsion that Kelvin
interpreted as desire, she shifted slightly underneath him and reluctantly
brought her hands up to touch his arms.
Thick, broad arms,
but not nearly as large as Christian's.
Kelvin’s aggressive touch was
nothing like the bold onslaught from her captor that had literally melted her
senses.

Both attacks had
been unexpected, yet one had been so overwhelmingly magnificent that to compare
it to Kelvin's amateur attempt nearly brought a smile to her lips. She found
herself wishing it were Christian who lay atop her, searing her innocent
faculties with more emotion and sensuality than she ever realized existed.

But Christian was
nowhere to be found as Kelvin covered her delicious body with his grunting and
writhing. As Kelvin made another attempt to kiss her, she knew what had to be
done and she furthermore knew that she would only have one chance.
 
Gaithlin might have been romantically
innocent, but she was innately cunning.
 
She had a plan to stop his onslaught once and for all.

As Kelvin's mouth
came close to her lips but again, she put her soft hand over his seeking lips
in an attempt to gain his attention. As she hoped, his inquisitive, lusty gaze
met with eyes of deep blue and she made an attempt to smile seductively.

"The floor is
hurting my back," she whispered, listening to the quake in her voice and
praying he did not take notice. "Might we move to the... bed?"

He kissed her
fingers.
"Of course."
Pushing himself up, he
rocked to his heels, studying her in the faint firelight as she propped herself
onto shaking elbows. After a lengthy moment, he cocked his head with thought.
"Tell me who you are, Gaithlin. I promise I shall not tell Maggie."

She looked him in
the eye although she was quite aware that his tender testicles were looming
directly over her pointed boot. The target she was hoping for.

Her bravery fed,
she cocked an eyebrow. "Would you truly like to know?" she asked, her
sultry voice sending shivers of excitement down Kelvin's spine. When he nodded
eagerly, she shifted slightly so that her boot was located in a prime spot
beneath his parted thighs. When he rose to his knees in anticipation of
regaining his footing, she could not have wished for better positioning.

"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 no 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 is 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 elude 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 was 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 collected
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.