The Warrior Poet (25 page)

She didn't want the
Demon to believe Winding Cross to be any weaker than it already was. Still, he
had to know the truth.
He had to hear
it from her lips.

"Why didn't
you tell me this sooner?" he asked hoarsely.

She shrugged weakly,
staring at her hands. "I did not want you to know," she whispered,
bringing her gaze to meet his icy orbs. There were tears welling in the deep
blue depths. "Why do you think I was so adamant that you not blackmail
Winding Cross with my abduction? You would have discovered the truth of the
matter, that there was no Alex de Gare to bargain with. With my father gone,
what is left between Eden and complete victory? For the sake of my family's
honor, I had to maintain the illusion of de Gare strength for as long as I was
able."

He was still
crouched on his haunches, watching her with rigid intensity. Good Christ, her
reasoning was completely logical and he could hardly dispute her loyalties.
Weak with an emotional turmoil such as he had never known, he sank to his
buttocks, resting on the cold dirt floor. His expression, his entire demeanor,
was laced with fatigue and confusion.

"When did you
plan on telling me?” he finally asked. “I would have found out
eventually."

Cold and tired and
utterly beaten, Gaithlin averted her gaze. "What does it matter? You know
now that there is nothing left of Winding Cross. You are in possession of her
heiress and soon your father will use me to blackmail my mother." Weakly,
she lay on her side again, away from him; Merciful Heavens, she could no longer
bear to look at the man. "And I
lied
on another
account, sire. My mother will indeed sacrifice Winding Cross to keep me safe.
She will turn it all over willingly in the hopes that your father will spare my
life. So, you see, Winding Cross was yours the moment you whisked me from St.
Esk, whether or not you realized your feat."

He stared at her,
his face pallid in the weak light. He couldn't remember ever feeling so
defeated. He found he couldn't reply to her statement, merely capable of dully
gazing upon her horizontal form as she lay deathly still within the confines of
their musty shelter. The discovered revelations and the ensuing emotional
upheaval
was
almost too much for him to endure.

"I am sure you
realize that there is no need to marry me any longer," Gaithlin's voice
was a slurred whispered above the snapping embers. "I can bring nothing to
this marriage, as you have already acquired Winding Cross. Pray be merciful in
your judgment of my heritage and actions, Demon."

He continued to
gaze at her a moment longer. Gaithlin heard his joints pop as he rose from the
floor,
his soft boot falls as they crossed the room. The old
door creaked open, then shut softly behind him.

Gaithlin lay there
and wept.

***

Eden was certainly
an appropriate name for the fortress labeled the Gem of Cumbria. Within the
gray-stoned walls of the mighty fortress, there was music and laughter and food
for all.

Certainly, the grand
hall of Eden was greater than any house in the north. With two six-foot hearths
filled to capacity with flaming embers, a collection of minstrels huddled in
the open-beamed loft above, peppering the merry crowd of diners with their
assortment of musical delights.

And
none more merry nor more appreciative of the finery than Lady Margaret du Bois.
Seated between
Jean and Quinton, she was in the process of delightfully sucking the meat from
a bone Quinton had offered her. Game fowl, her favorite, as her grunts of
pleasure and giggles of contentment conveyed. Quinton was so aroused by her
sucking noises that he had nearly soiled himself.
Twice.

And Maggie knew of
his excitement all too well; Quinton always had the same reaction to her,
although he had refrained from forcing his attentions purely for the fact that
she was pledged to his elder brother, whom he adored. Had she been anyone
else's betrothed, he would have bedded her repeatedly and taken great delight
in it. As it was, watching her luscious red lips devour a tiny portion of fowl
nearly drove him off the brink of lust-induced madness.

Jean pretended to
ignore the sexual games going on between his younger son and his heir's
intended, weakly attempting to convince himself that Maggie was simply being true
to her usual, over-affectionate character. Since the moment she had arrived
this morn, unannounced and escorted by a company of Howard soldiers, Quinton
had been completely blinded by her beauty and charm. He always had been. Jean
wondered what the future held for two brothers both smitten with the same woman
and tried not to dwell on the darker implications.

"Maggie
darling," he said finally, unwilling to allow the grunting and teasing to
progress further lest Quinton be forced into irrational actions. "You have
not yet mentioned the purpose of your visit. As I told you this morn, Christian
is away on business for me and shan't return for some time."

Distracted from
Quinton's flushed face, Maggie's expression was instantly serious. Wiping her
fingers on a towel, she leaned close to Jean.
Too
close.

"And as I
mentioned briefly, I am aware of Christian's absence," she said, her eyes suggestively
roving the older man. "I believe I alluded to the fact that I was
desperate to speak with you regarding your eldest son."

Jean gazed down his
nose at her, fighting the natural urge to put proper distance between them. She
took great delight in her feminine skills, skills she used on her future father
and brother-in-law with tremendous glee. Had she not come from such an
unbelievably wealthy and prominent family, Jean would have thought her to be
the precise essence of a soiled trollop. Certainly, he couldn't think so poorly
of Christian's future wife. But, God, there were times....

"Would it be
possible to retreat to your solar, my lord?" she asked prettily, batting
her eyelashes. "What I say is most important and I do not wish to be
interrupted."

With every swish of
the long-lashes, Jean felt as if he were being whipped by some unseen, force.
Sometimes he didn't know if he should laugh at her or run for his life; he
wasn't blinded by her as his sons were. To him, she was simply the means by
which to link the St. Johns to greater power and wealth. But that didn't omit
the fact that he was human, and he didn't want to be alone with her.

He drank from his pewter
chalice, his eyes perusing the room even as Maggie gazed seductively at him.
Down the table, Jasper St. John guffawed like a wild man as a host of young servant
girls surrounded him, feeding his considerable ego and tactfully ignorant of
his lacking smarts.

Jean watched his
brother's son a moment before swallowing his fine red wine, wondering if he
would have been wiser to have wed the du Bois woman to his simpleton nephew. He
would still have the fortune, but none of the direct linkage.

But whatever his
regrets or lack of foresight where it pertained to Lady Maggie, he refused to
ponder them now. Forcing himself to focus on the woman, he cast
her a
thin smile. ""I believe we can speak quite
adequately here," he said. “No one will interrupt us, save Quinton, and I
suspect he should like to hear what you have to say about his brother."

Fully prepared to
launch into her grand performance, Maggie graciously agreed to his reasoning
and logic. Wresting to rekindle her courage, she drew in a deep, if not dainty,
breath
. She knew what she had to do.
 
She had been waiting for this moment.

"As you say,
my lord," she said softly, glancing about the room filled with the stench
of roasting meat and musty bodies as she collected her thoughts. "But I
believe it only fair to warn you that you will not like what I have to
say."

"Is that
so?" Jean was well into his third cup of wine. "Then I am amply
fortified. Please continue."

Making sure that
Quinton was attentively hovering over her right shoulder, Maggie leaned
inconspicuously towards Jean. "I saw Christian several days ago in the
company of a woman," she said softly. "A woman he claimed to be his
captive."

Jean's tolerant
expression vanished. No one save his sons and a few men-at-arms knew of
Gaithlin de Gare's capture, a delightful bit of blackmail he had been savoring
for several days now. His greatest secret, lodged in the wilds of Scotland with
his Demon Seed, never again to see the light of day as Jean played God with her
family and future. A task he had taken particular sadistic glee in executing.

But his abduction
of the de Gare wench had yet to become public knowledge; at least, he had been
assured by his spies and officers that his secret was still intact. Until now;
his eyes, blinding shards of Nordic blue, suddenly blazed at the woman beside
him and for a brief moment, he could see the flicker of fear glimmering in her
eyes. A glimmer that was far more satisfying than any sexual trick she could
perform.

"How in the
devil do you know this?" Jean's voice was a growl. "Where did you see
them?"

Maggie could feel
Quinton's body heat behind her; discreetly, she moved away from Jean and gently
pressed herself into Quinton as if seeking protection from his father's anger.

"Please, my
lord, you must calm yourself," she implored weakly. "There is far
more to tell and you will send me into fits with your vicious temper."

Temples throbbing,
Jean saw though his haze of hatred clearly enough to know the verity of
Maggie's words. Forcing down his abhorrence when it came to the mere mention of
the de Gare name, he took another swallow of wine with snappish patience.

"Speak,
then."

Maggie eyed the
man, knowing well his enmity of the de Gares and not particularly surprised
with his reaction. In fact, his instability when it came to his most hated foe
would make her mission to exact revenge upon Christian that much easier.
Already, she could taste the chaos she was about to create.

"Your son and
his captive paused at Forrestoak Manor in the Howard Territories for a night of
feasting and merriment," she went on quietly, quickly. "Lady Carolyn
and I happened to be at Forrestoak visiting Lady Carolyn's brother, Kelvin,
when Christian and the de Gare woman arrived. Truthfully, my lord, I will not
mince words when I say that I was shocked to discover my intended with another
woman, even if he did declare her to be his prisoner. And I was even more
shocked with the manner in which they responded to one another. Certainly not
how a captive should react to her captor."

Stunned, Jean
simply stared at her, unsure how to respond. Unsure if he wanted to know
exactly what she meant. Confusion swept him, a momentary lapse that deadened
his tongue. But when he waded through the befuddlement, he found he was better
able to control his loathing towards the House of de Gare in lieu of
discovering why Marble-Head Maggie found Christian's behavior to be so
reprehensible.

"And how did
they respond to one another?" he asked.

Maggie made sure to
meet his eye, delaying her answer as she settled more firmly against Quinton. A
delicate white hand interlaced itself within the hearty folds of Quinton's
large palm, purely for effect. As if she
were
groping
for the strength to confess.

"Like
lovers."

It wasn't the
answer Jean was expecting. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what he was expecting.
After a moment’s deliberation, his brow furrowed and the color drained from his
face. Maggie thought he, quite literally, might become ill.

"What... what
do you mean?" he rasped.

Maggie felt the
advantage swing heavily in her favor. Embellishing the part of the jilted
betrothed, she dabbed daintily at her eye.
"Exactly
that, my lord.
Christian fed her like a child, held her hand, smiled
gently at her and even kissed her," she took a deep breath. "And...
and they shared a chamber. Dare that is all I tell you, my lord."

Jean's jaw swung
open in disbelief. He was scarcely aware when he rose from his chair, knocking
over the chalice of wine that had rested near the edge of the table. His
ice-blue eyes were rivet to Maggie as if they were somehow physically attached,
digging into her tender flesh with claws of demanding anguish.

"You will tell
me everything," he nearly shouted, oblivious to the audience he was
attracting.

"Father!"
Quinton hissed,
acutely aware of their listeners. "Lower your voice, please. You will
simply frighten Maggie with your raging."

Jean heard his
youngest son's plea, but it did little to quell his mounting outrage. Cold
shock washed over him as he pondered the possibilities Maggie was suggesting.
Certainly, Christian would not have treated an enemy as a lover.
And especially not a de Gare.
His eldest son was exceedingly
clever, and if he had shown an ounce of mercy towards the wench, then he must
have possessed good reason.

With that thought,
Jean forced himself to calm. Taking a deep breath, he haltingly regained his
seat and bellowed for more wine.