The Warrior Poet (42 page)

"'The Fruits of Seduction are best savored raw.

 
As with the
first savory bite of the ripened morsel,

 
the
sensual juices of provocation

 
contain
a plethora of ill-restraint.

 
The more tasted,
the greater the Need.'"

Gaithlin groaned
loudly as he finished, the last several words muffled against the tender flesh
of her shoulder. Grinding her hips against his thrusting hand, she yanked
brutally on his silken hair with the unending stress of her desire. "More,
Christian.
Tell me more."

He grunted in
response to her frenzied reaction, removing his fingers and pushing her onto
her back. Raising her skirts, he drove into her quivering flesh with unbridled
force. With every thrust, every beat of his heart, he drew her more deeply into
his soul than ever before. Needing her more desperately than he ever thought
possible.
Good Christ, how she possessed him!

"Greater is
the passion known...," he rasped, thrusting so hard that her entire body
shook violently with his strength, "by any standard of being."
Withdrawing slowly, he thrust again, hard enough to rattle her teeth. "To
reap the rewards of the Passion sewn...," Withdrawing again, he thrust
himself to the hilt. "Is beyond the limits of
Seeing
."

Gaithlin screamed
again as a violent tide of euphoric convulsions washed over her body, rippling
through her sheath and sending Christian over the edge of the erotic void. He
shouted softly as he spilled himself deep, her delightful name wafting on satisfied
cry. Panting and spent and entirely contently, he collapsed atop her incredibly
body to bask in the musky warmth of their powerful love.

"Good Christ,
Gae," he gasped. "Do my words truly affect you so?"

Weak and satisfied,
Gaithlin clutched him tightly to her breast. "Aye, my dearest Demon, they
do and I can hardly explain why
. '
Twas an amazing
discovery we happed upon last night in the midst of the abbey's common
room."

He cocked an
eyebrow, gazing into the dimness of their shack. "Had I known they would
inspire you so, I would have plied you with a bevy of elegant prose the very
day we met. Mayhap we could have avoided all of the battles and harsh
occurrences."

She pursed her lips
dubiously. "I doubt we would have calmed if St. Peter himself had
descended from Heaven to read us strains from the Psalms."

He smiled faintly
in agreement, listening to her heart thump loudly against her chest. After a
moment, he raised his head to meet her beautiful gaze. "As I recall, several
days ago I orated a poem I wrote specifically for you, yet you hardly reacted
in such an erotic manner."

She cocked an
eyebrow. "And, if you recall, I was hardly in a position to react at all.
Not only was I in pain, but I believe you were attempting to poison me."

He chucked softly.
"A tiny measure of opiate can hardly be considered poison, you silly
woman. Besides, it helped, did it not?"

She shrugged in
agreement and he kissed her sweetly, withdrawing his semi-aroused member from
her snug sheath. Groaning with disappointment, Gaithlin wrapped her long legs
about him in a valiant attempt to keep him from escaping.

"Where are you
going?" she demanded, her voice sultry and pleading. "Stay here and
recite some more of your works."

He didn't struggle
overly against her embrace; in fact, a calloused palm was taking great delight
in stroking her silken thigh as he spoke. "Honey, as much as I would love
to bombard you with my writings day and night until you beg reprieve, we have
work to do. There will be plenty of time for recitation this eve."

Her lower lip
jutted out. "But Malcolm will be here. We shall wake him."

He cocked an
eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. "What's this you say? That you
believe Malcolm will encumber your passion?
My, my, how
selfish.
You think only of yourself."

He laughed deeply
when she swatted his arm, releasing him from her leggy embrace. Incensed and
embarrassed as she heard her own distinct words echoed within his rich
baritone, she pulled her skirts down and bound clumsily to her feet in a fit of
good-natured humiliation. Yet before she could move away entirely, he moved to
stand and captured her within the vise of his iron embrace.

"You selfish
wench," he kissed her playfully, nibbling on her jaw as he continued to
taunt her.
"You naughty, naughty girl.
You would
have me abed day and night, reciting prose for your pleasure without thought to
my own wants and needs.
How terribly cruel.
How...!"

A shout suddenly
pierced the air outside the shelter, bringing an immediate response from
Christian. Throwing open the ancient door, he was greatly concerned to find
Malcolm bounding toward him.

"I found
somethin'!" the lad shouted. "Come 'n see!"

"What did you
find?" Christian demanded.

Malcolm didn't
reply; instead, he grasped Christian's hand and tugged furiously. "Come
on!"

Glancing over his
shoulder at an equally puzzled Gaithlin, Christian's initial anxiety faded as
he allowed Malcolm to lead him across the clearing towards a particularly thick
scrub of bramble.
Releasing the massive knight, the lad
pointing enthusiastically into the bush.
With another long and perhaps
reluctant glance at his wife, Christian peered into the branches.

Two wide pairs of
eyes gazed back at him through the shrubbery. Christian would have been
startled had the eyes not been a fair distance from him, one set particularly
familiar. Upon closer scrutiny, he could see that a small area within the brush
had been gouged out; a cluster of unrefined rushes covered the ground upon
which the wide-eyed bodies crouched, and a host of scattered implements
littered the area.

After several long
moments of observation and thought, Christian turned to his wife with a
furrowed brow. "Come and look at this, honey. Tell me what you
think."

Somewhat
hesitantly, Gaithlin moved forward and peered into the bushes. After the
initial shock of finding two sets of eyes gazing back at her, she gasped softly
in understanding and, Christian thought,
delight
.

"They've built
a nest," she said softly, straining to catch a better look amongst the
leaves. "I never thought they would, at least not this close to our
shelter."

Christian cocked an
eyebrow. "Then I was correct in deducing that your dog-people have decided
to move into our area."

Gaithlin nodded,
pulling back from the bushes. "I told you they would come to trust
us."

"I don't care
if they trust us or not. I am not comfortable with them living in such close
proximity to our possessions."

"Why is that?
Haven't they proven themselves trustworthy by leaving our camp untouched while
we were away?"

He let out an
irritated sigh, puffing out his cheeks. Turning away, he simply shook his head.
"Why would they suddenly decide to move closer to us? If they have lived
alone all of these years, then why..?"

"Because I
lured them," Gaithlin said without a hint of guilt. When Christian fixed
his disbelieving gaze on her, she nodded firmly. "Before we left for
Sweetheart Abbey, I set out a hearty portion of food. Partially to distract
them from our other goods and partially to reaffirm the trust I attempted to
establish the day you caught the dog-man. I was trying to show our good
intentions."

He stared at her a
long moment before scratching his head in an almost bewildered gesture. The
more he thought on her inherently naive actions, the more frustrated he became.
"Why would you do this?
First Malcolm, and now the
dog-people.
When will this stop, Gae? When you have given our food and
possessions away to every needy person in the territory? What about us, then?
Will you continue to give away everything until there is nothing left, even for
us?"

Her cheeks mottled
red with anger and resentment. Averting her gaze, she attempting to march past
him but he reached out, grasping her arm in a vise-like grip. Furious, she
broke his grasp, slugging her big fist at him when he attempting to regain his
hold.

"Leave me
alone," she spat. "You simply don't understand. You have always had
everything you have ever needed, Christian. You have no idea what it's like to
be hungry and cold and terrified."

His irritation was
dashed by rush of genuine remorse, knowing the circumstances that had bred her
natural giving instincts. Poverty, desolation... they had been her constant
companion for twenty-two years and he knew as he lived and breathed that the
House of St. John was responsible for all of her heartache.

She was right; he
had always been provided with all he had ever needed. He could only imagine her
experiences with impoverishment and by taking care of those around her in need,
she was simply doing what she had been forced by necessity to accomplish her
entire life.

"I am sorry,
honey," he whispered, grasping her arms as she struggled. "I am sorry
I was harsh. Do not be angry... you're entirely correct, of course. I do not know
what it is like to be hungry or fearful or cold and I apologize for my ignorant
statement."

Her wrestling
lessened with his calm words, his gentle expression. But she was still angry.
"I lured the dog-people here because I want to provide them with food, and
mayhap someday even teach them to communicate. They're human, Christian, like
us. No one should be forced to live an as animal."

He sighed, feeling
like a fool for having been so insensitive to her caring beliefs. Pulling her
into a crushing embrace, he was relieved when she collapsed against him.

"Of course,
honey love.
Whatever you say.
I shall never again
question your generosity or kindness."

Enclosed within
Christian's massive embrace, Gaithlin drew strength and comfort and solace from
his powerful presence. In faith, she shouldn't have become angry with him for
being more fortunate than she; but given the circumstances and his callous
words, she simply couldn't help herself. If they were going to create a
workable marriage, then he would have to understand everything about her.
Even the less-than-pleasing things instinctive to a woman who had
known little of the pleasantries of life.

"See that you
don't," she removed her face from his tunic, glaring weakly at him.
"Even if you are more learned, I know best."

He nodded solemnly.
"Aye, you do."

Managing a weak
smile as Malcolm, tired of the interplay between the knight and his lady,
suddenly demanded to be fed, Gaithlin wound her arms about her husband's narrow
waist and led him towards the sod shelter lodged deep into the Galloway
Forest.
 

Sup that night was
a wonderful meal of roast rabbit, courtesy of Christian and Malcolm, and a fine
stew of some of the vegetables they had purchased in town the day before.
Seated before the campfire as it blazed deep into the Scots night, Gaithlin
leaned contentedly against her husband as he finished the last of his greasy
rabbit. On the opposite side of the fire, Malcolm had nearly eaten a whole
rabbit himself and continued to chip away at the vegetable stew.

Comfortable and
weary, Gaithlin observed the contest between Christian and Malcolm as they set
out to determine who could consume the most food. Although Christian had a
substantial lead on the boy, Malcolm was nonetheless holding his own. Giggling
between bites as Christian snorted like a pig, the young lad continued to eat
as if he had two hollow legs in which to store his fare.

Out in the darkness
beyond the range of the campfire, the dog-man and his wife crouched several
feet from the booming fire, eating the bits of bread and meat Malcolm had
brought them. Gaithlin eyed them occasionally, wondering if they were so
primitive that they feared the roaring fire and were therefore committed to
remain in the cold darkness. Christian sensed her concern for her newest
charity acquisitions, patting her leg when she appeared particularly pensive.

"They'll warm
up to you, honey," he told her as she lingered on the two humanoid forms
longer than usual. "Don't worry so. As long as you continue to feed them,
they'll gradually come to trust you more and more. Actually, I doubt at this
point we shall ever be rid of them."

She shrugged,
snuggling against him under the remarkably brilliant sky. "I hope so.
 
It would be nice to be able to teach them to
cultivate their own food. Mayhap they could even work for us someday and help
us to grow crops."

He didn't voice his
doubts or reservations in the matter, instead, returning his focus to Malcolm
as the lad struggled to swallow a particularly large bite. "You're slowing
down, Malcolm. I have already eaten ten times as much as you."

Malcolm's eyes
widened at the challenge. "Ye have not! Besides, I am still eatin'!"