The Warrior Poet (18 page)

"Apologize,
wench."

"I will not.
And don't call me wench."

Christian gazed at
the rosy-cheeked hostage clutched against his chest. "Apologize for your
defamation and I shall not call you wench."

"But it is
true. I shall not apologize for speaking the truth."

He scowled.
"You are a disagreeable female. I should punish you severely for your
insults."

She raised a saucy
eyebrow at him, unable to disregard her giddy tingling any longer. From the
moment she had awoken in his arms, the sensation had been pervasive, gaining in
strength. Odd that her captivity with the Demon of Eden was becoming more and
more attractive, isolated with a man who was both her enemy and her protector.
A man who was able to evoke primitive, wicked emotions within her.

"You would
punish me for the truth?" she sounded breathless.

Christian caught
the tone, desire and lust such as he had never known coursing through his big
body. Good Christ, this woman affected him like none other, her exquisite face
and unexpected personality drilling deep into his soul. If there were any
doubts that he had fallen in love with her lingering in the recesses of his
mind, they had been dashed to reckless cinder. In fact, he couldn't remember
when he hadn't been focused on Lady Gaithlin in every sense of the word. She
was his captive, but he wanted much, much more.

And he was unafraid
to take what he wanted. Gazing into her eyes, he realized she wanted him to
take what he so obviously desired. Even if she was unable to voice her silent
commands, he was quite adept at reading her mind. He knew, without a doubt,
that they reflected his own thoughts precisely.

There was no longer
a Feud between them. St. John or de Gare didn't seem to matter any longer; all
that mattered was the fact that Christian was in love with his fair captive,
and she too was coming to feel something for him. The Demon was no longer an
object of fear and loathing, but a subject of curiosity and discovery.

Gaithlin felt his
lips, soft and gentle and
seeking,
and she gave into him
without a struggle. One moment she was crushed against his chest, half of her
long body on the dirt of the floor; in the next, she was completely atop his
magnificent torso, straddling him as she matched his fevered kisses blow for
blow. Her inquisitive desire coupled with her natural fearlessness caused her
not to passively succumb to his attentions, but rather to parallel his actions.
Touch for exquisite touch, and kiss for magnificent kiss.

Christian's fingers
were in her hair, feeling the tresses covering them like a silken web of glory.
Her mouth, delicious and curious and eager, met his passion with head-on force
and there was nothing on earth strong enough to rein his lust as she mimicked
his suckling actions. Biting softly into her lower lip, he plunged his tongue
into her mouth when she gasped softly in surprise.

Gaithlin was hardly
aware when he rolled her onto her back, his massive body crushing her against
the rushes that had constituted their bed. Her legs still straddling his hips,
she could feel a hard lump pressing against her thigh. Having never experienced
a male arousal before, she did not understand the significance; the only matter
of consequence at the moment was the sensation of his bold tongue stroking the
pink interior of her mouth.

She groaned in
disappointment and ecstasy as he left her lips, moving down her neck to the
swell of her beautiful breasts. Clad in one of the woolen garments confiscated
from Kelvin Howard, a clinging garment with a plunging neckline that was far
too short for her height, the soft fabric gave way to Christian's probing lips
as he branded her with the proof of his desire. This time, when the neck of the
gown fell away to his eager fingers, she did not resist.

In fact, he seemed
to incite
a boldness
in her that she was unaware of. Naïve
or no, a pure virgin in every sense of the word, she instinctively knew what
she wanted from a man. The pleasure, the ecstasy, and the maddening desire that
threatened to devour her very soul... she needed it.

"More,
Christian," she clutched his head, bucking and heaving beneath him as he
moved to pull the remainder of her gown away from her glorious breasts.
"Give me more. I must have... ohhhhh!"

Excited beyond his
wildest imaginings, both hands encircled her creamy globes as his heated lips
came to bear on a tender nipple. Where Gaithlin had screamed in fright with the
last such attempt, this time she moaned with rapture. The harder Christian
suckled her, the more desperately she clutched him against her breast.

Still straddling
him, her supple thighs held him tightly to her as her back arched up from the
floor. Her arms completely encircled his head as her face buried itself in the
top of his hair, gripping him so tightly that she swore to be suffocating him
within the mounds of her delightfully tender breasts.

A
most pleasurable form of death.
Fully engulfed in the heated folds of Gaithlin's
incredibly responsive body, Christian had never experienced such delight. With
all of the women he had experienced, the seasoned to the foolishly naive, never
before had he known such complete
fulfillment.

Even though he had
yet to physically penetrate her, it didn't seem to matter; if he never bedded
her in the literal sense, she would still be the most satisfying woman he had
ever embraced within his arms.

But he fully
intended to bed her, to demonstrate his emotions. Her skirts were up in no
time, revealing the legs he remembered so lustfully well. Long and slender with
the texture of pure satin, he ran his calloused hands from her knees to her
buttocks, groaning with the pleasure of the sensuous touch. Beneath him,
however, Gaithlin suddenly stiffened and he raised his head from her delightful
breasts, breathless.

"What is
wrong, Gae?" he slurred her name, too caught up in his desire to pronounce
more than one syllable.

Her eyes were wide,
her cheeks flushed with passion and uncertainty.
 
She opened her mouth to speak but no words
would come forth, only a good deal of gasping. Licking her lips, she made a
second attempt.

"You... you
said you were not... are you going to..?"

The question hung
between them and he stared at her a moment, his breathing calming but his hands
never leaving her rounded buttocks. "You do not want this?"

Her eyes were riveted
to him, opened and virginal and honest to a fault. He could read her desire,
matching his own and then some. But he could also read a very distinct, very
tangible fear.

Slowly, very
slowly, he removed his hand from her delightfully supple bottom and discreetly
pulled her skirts down. For a man who had lost his virginity at eleven years of
age, bedding more women than most men could ever hope for within their entire
lifetime, he could hardly understand why he was so unwilling to take what he
wanted from a woman who had incited more lust and madness in him than anything
he had ever encountered.

Muddled and
frustrated to the point of unnatural calm, he stared at Gaithlin's lovely knees
for a moment before lowering the skirt of her gown completely.
 
When his eyes met her wide blue orbs, he
simply shook his head like a weakling idiot.

"If I forced
myself upon you, then I... apologize," he could scarcely choke out the
words, knowing she had wanted his attentions as badly as he wanted to give
them.

But he was also
seasoned enough to realize that she was unaware of her natural urges, only
cognizant of the fact that they frightened her to the point where she was
unwilling to give in to their power.
Be patient
, he told himself with
reined calm.
Be patient and teach her what it is to succumb to one's desires.

Without another
word of remorse or repentance, he moved to push himself off her and was
startled when a soft white hand suddenly grasped his arm. Pure ice met with
deep, serious blue.

"Why do you do
this to me?" her voice was a whisper.

Frozen in a half-crouched
position, Christian's brow furrowed faintly. "Do what? Touch you?" With
a hint of embarrassment, he shrugged.
"Because I cannot
seem to keep my hands from you."

Gaithlin sat up,
slowly, as Christian sank to his haunches. Straightening the neckline of her
gown, she seemed particularly pensive as her lovely brow furrowed deeply.
"Why?"

He cocked an
eyebrow. "Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Why
else?"

Their faces were
inches from one another as the soft early morn brightened through the slats of
the dilapidated shed. Illuminated by the tender golden glow, they continued to
stare at one another as if nothing else on earth existed.

After an eternal
pause of silence and wonder, Gaithlin finally shook her head with confusion. "Merciful
Heavens, Christian, you're a St. John. Kelvin was correct when he said you had
to kill me; you should be driving your sword into my heart rather than trying
to steal it."

He swallowed the
gasp of surprise that came to his throat, settling back on his buttocks on the
rushes of their bed. Was he indeed close to stealing her heart? Was it possible
that she was beginning to experience the same emotions that were plaguing him?
Her knees brushed against his shin as he seated himself before her, their expressions
curious, puzzled, and completely open.

"I told you
before that I am weary of this war," his voice was husky with emotion,
filling the silent pause between them. "What I do, I do because I am a
loyal St. John and nothing more. My personal feelings have nothing to do with
my allegiance to my family's honor. De Gare or no, I would drive my sword into
my own heart before I would take your life."

She met his gaze a
moment, puzzled and embraced by the emotions radiating forth from the Demon of
Eden. "Why?"

A faint smile
tickled his lips, laughing at her naked honesty and curiosity.
The first
time I saw you, swimming naked in the lake.
"I don't know. I should,
in fact, be asking you that question," his eyes raked her hair, her
delicious features, with confusion. "Why do you affect me as you do, Lady
Gaithlin de Gare? Have you cast a spell over my soul that would cause me to
forget all that I am, everything that I stand for? I have spent five days with
you and the only reality I am aware of any more is the fact that I cannot ever
remember being more enchanted by a woman."

Gaithlin's cheeks
mottled a pretty shade of pink and she lowered her gaze uncertainly. "I
have done nothing but fight you and harass you at every turn. If you are
charmed by a shrew of a woman, then you are a peculiar man."

His grin broke
through. "You are a prisoner, Gae. I should hardly have expected you to
remain completely compliant."

Her eyes came up
again, rapidly, to meet with his twinkling orbs and he could read her
puzzlement. "Why do you call me Gae?"

Carelessly,
Christian shrugged.
"Because I am too lazy to enunciate
your entire name.
Does this offend you?"

Did a delightful
nickname offend her?
Of course not.
Coming from a
family caught up within the boundaries of poverty and war left little time for
affection or compassion, and hearing a selective term come from Christian's
mouth meant for her alone somehow filled her with silly, magical warmth. Almost
as if he... cared.

"Nay,"
her sultry voice was soft. "It does not."

"Good. Even if
it did, I would continue to call you by that name until the day of my
death."

She smiled faintly,
brushing away a stray lock of silken blond hair. "You intend to know me
until you die?"

His smile faded.
Reaching out, he suddenly grasped her behind the neck and pulled her to him
with a surge of unmistakable possession. Gaithlin gasped with the swiftness of
his action, bringing her hands up to prevent being slammed against his broad,
broad chest. Fingers that had been raised protectively not a moment before
suddenly turned soft, lingering, heated the very moment they met with his thin
tunic.

Gazing into
Gaithlin's eyes, Christian's expression screamed with intensity. An intensity
that permeated her flesh, seeping deep into her soul and branding her with the
unspoken emotions she too had been experiencing. Being a mature adult with a
lifetime of seasoning had helped Christian rein the sensations perplexing him
into madness, yet Gaithlin had no such practice. Fear and delight, confusion
and hatred, they all combined into a wild vortex that seemed to control every
facet of her existence.

"I intend to
have you with me until I die,” he muttered.

Gaithlin could only
stare at him. He wasn't making any sense; or mayhap it was
her
own
confused mind misinterpreting his words, hearing what he had spoken
but understanding very little of what he had implied.

"What does
that mean?"

He cocked an
eyebrow, his eyes lingering on her ripe lips. "What does it sound like? I
intend to have you forever. I intend to marry you."