Horde."
Christian's gaze
lingered on her a moment, the familiar feelings of waste and foolishness coming
to bear as he pondered the state of their families' relations. More than ever,
he believed the Feud to be a senseless attempt to maintain the family honor.
Two families sentenced to live and die by a grossly distended argument that had
lurched out of control until the true sense of righteousness had been lost.
The noise level in
the gallery increased, breaking Christian from his thoughts as a pair of dogs
appeared in the doorway, fighting over a large bone. Without another word on
the Feud that had been a part of their mutual existence since before their
birth, he extended his arm to Gaithlin and she placed her slender hand on his
forearm.
As he led her
toward the warm, hazy room, he caught her rapid movements as she attempted to
make herself more presentable from the corner of his eye. They were the frantic
actions from a woman who had spent the entire afternoon being battered or
abused, one way or the other.
"Stop your
fretting," he growled. "Your worries are for naught."
Smoothing at her
hair, Gaithlin's wide eyes met with the soaring gallery as they emerged through
the doorway. "I look like a street urchin."
He cocked an
eyebrow, casting her an intolerant glance as the heat
and cooking smells from the grand hall assaulted them both. "You are
acceptable enough," placing his free hand over hers in a most
companionable gesture, she suddenly found herself pulled tight against his
torso. "Remember to address me as My Dearest. Do you comprehend?"
She sighed with
frustration. "I am not daft, Dem... I mean, my dearest. You have already
informed me of the role I am to play and I shall not disappoint you."
His eyes on the
large table at the far end of the cavernous hall, he raised a threatening
eyebrow purely for Gaithlin's benefit. "You'd better not."
Gaithlin would have
scowled at him had the sharp smell of burnt meat and dog feces not embraced her
like a glove. Wrinkling her nose at the pungent aroma, she allowed Christian to
lead her through the smoke and pages and various inhabitants of the hall in
their advance to the head table.
She was so consumed
with the atmosphere and sights about her that she failed to notice the change
of expression on Christian's face. From expectation to suspicion to disbelief,
the very next she was aware her escort had come to a complete halt and his
entire body went rigid with rage and astonishment.
For certain,
surprise did not seem to encompass the depths of his reaction. The dishonor of
his pride was evident in naked proportions.
‘Betrayal is a repulsive philosophy;
unless ,
of course,
it is committed with the Purest
of Intent."
~Chronicles of Christian St. John
Vl. V, pg. XXII
CHAPTER
FIVE
"Maggie!"
Dogs scattered as
ladies shrieked their fearful reaction to the booming shout. The musicians on
the balcony above the gallery came to an unharmonious ending as the entire hall
came to a startled halt. Gaithlin, her eyes wide, gazed at Christian in
complete surprise.
He was looking
directly at the head table and before Gaithlin could draw another breath, he
was marching for the long, cluttered slab of wood, his expression nothing short
of lethal. In the very center of the feasting table, an auburn-haired man and a
lovely dark-haired woman had been sitting conspicuously close; at the sight of
Christian, they peeled apart faster than the human eye could comprehend and
made great haste to put distance between themselves and the Demon of Eden.
"What are you
doing here?" Christian was focused on the raven-hair lady. When she stared
at him with the expression of a frightened doe, he jabbed a massive finger at
her. "Answer me, Maggie, or God help me, I shall not be merciful in my
punishment. What are you doing here?"
The Lady Margaret
du Bois could scarcely believe the vision before her. Bottomless brown eyes
stared at her betrothed with a
Christian's gaze
lingered on her a moment, the familiar feelings of waste and foolishness coming
to bear as he pondered the state of their families' relations. More than ever,
he believed the Feud to be a senseless attempt to maintain the family honor.
Two families sentenced to live and die by a grossly distended argument that had
lurched out of control until the true sense of righteousness had been lost.
The noise level in
the gallery increased, breaking Christian from his thoughts as a pair of dogs
appeared in the doorway, fighting over a large bone. Without another word on
the Feud that had been a part of their mutual existence since before their
birth, he extended his arm to Gaithlin and she placed her slender hand on his
forearm.
As he led her
toward the warm, hazy room, he caught her rapid movements as she attempted to
make herself more presentable from the corner of his eye. They were the frantic
actions from a woman who had spent the entire afternoon being battered or
abused, one way or the other.
"Stop your
fretting," he growled. "Your worries are for naught."
Smoothing at her
hair, Gaithlin's wide eyes met with the soaring gallery as they emerged through
the doorway. "I look like a street urchin."
He cocked an
eyebrow, casting her an intolerant glance as the heat
and cooking smells from the grand hall assaulted them both. "You are
acceptable enough," placing his free hand over hers in a most
companionable gesture, she suddenly found herself pulled tight against his
torso. "Remember to address me as My Dearest. Do you comprehend?"
She sighed with
frustration. "I am not daft, Dem... I mean, my dearest. You have already
informed me of the role I am to play and I shall not disappoint you."
His eyes on the
large table at the far end of the cavernous hall, he raised a threatening
eyebrow purely for Gaithlin's benefit. "You'd better not."
Gaithlin would have
scowled at him had the sharp smell of burnt meat and dog feces not embraced her
like a glove. Wrinkling her nose at the pungent aroma, she allowed Christian to
lead her through the smoke and pages and various inhabitants of the hall in
their advance to the head table.
She was so consumed
with the atmosphere and sights about her that she failed to notice the change
of expression on Christian's face. From expectation to suspicion to disbelief,
the very next she was aware her escort had come to a complete halt and his
entire body went rigid with rage and astonishment.
For certain,
surprise did not seem to encompass the depths of his reaction. The dishonor of
his pride was evident in naked proportions.
‘Betrayal is a repulsive philosophy;
unless ,
of course,
it is committed with the Purest
of Intent."
~Chronicles of Christian St. John
Vl. V, pg. XXII
CHAPTER
FIVE
"Maggie!"
Dogs scattered as
ladies shrieked their fearful reaction to the booming shout. The musicians on
the balcony above the gallery came to an unharmonious ending as the entire hall
came to a startled halt. Gaithlin, her eyes wide, gazed at Christian in
complete surprise.
He was looking
directly at the head table and before Gaithlin could draw another breath, he
was marching for the long, cluttered slab of wood, his expression nothing short
of lethal. In the very center of the feasting table, an auburn-haired man and a
lovely dark-haired woman had been sitting conspicuously close; at the sight of
Christian, they peeled apart faster than the human eye could comprehend and
made great haste to put distance between themselves and the Demon of Eden.
"What are you
doing here?" Christian was focused on the raven-hair lady. When she stared
at him with the expression of a frightened doe, he jabbed a massive finger at
her. "Answer me, Maggie, or God help me, I shall not be merciful in my
punishment. What are you doing here?"
The Lady Margaret
du Bois could scarcely believe the vision before her. Bottomless brown eyes
stared at her betrothed with a
Similar Books
