The Warrior Poet Read Online Free PDF

It was distressing to realize he was walking the fine line between
sustaining his knightly vows and the loyalty of his family's honor, not quite
devoting his full allegiance to either. As he listened to his men grunt and
curse in their efforts, he wished there was an easier way of going about his
father's objective. He wasn't pleased with the compromise his dedications had
taken.
      Shifting
impatiently on his massive legs, he let out a weary sigh; given the heavy
losses Eden had sustained during her most recent siege of Winding Cross, he
would have been entirely happy to rest and regroup before attempting the siege
of St. Esk. But there was no time for respite, as Jean had sternly suggested.
Better to gain the de Gare wench immediately and Christian had been sent north
with all due speed.
    Certainly, he was not looking forward to isolating
himself with the woman while his father forced Alex de Gare to come to terms of
surrender. Sequestered in the woods of Galloway Forest, he wasn't warm with the
thought of spending an indeterminate amount of time guarding a woman he could
just as easily do away with.
    His jaw ticked at the latter thought, realizing he was
coming to think like his father more and more every day. Normally, he
strenuously adhered to the moral and chivalrous codes of an honor-bound knight;
women were creatures of grace and beauty and completely removed from the realm
of violent thought or action. But when it came to a de Gare female, he found
himself willing to make an exception and the idea greatly distressed him.
    He wondered if close-quartered isolation with his mortal
enemy would bring about the woman's death regardless of his personal
convictions; hatred had a strange way of clouding one's moral beliefs.
    He was jolted from his darker ponderings as a shout
pierced the night air, indicating the main door to the abbey had been breached.
Spurring his charger forward, he trampled across the wide garden of precious
summer vegetables and ripped through a small wooden fence in his resolve to
reach his destination. Dismounting with purpose, he shoved past his excitable
men and made his way into the depths of the convent.
    There were dozens of St. John soldiers on his heel,
armed to the hilt with weapons and mail and fully prepared to tear the
structure apart in their quest to reach the intended target. But Christian's
broadsword remained sheathed as he surfaced into a wide common room; shadows of
frightened nuns ducking for cover flitted across the dim walls and Christian's
advance came to a halt as he sized up the non-resistant situation.
    "I would speak with the abbess!" he roared.
    Certainly, there was no man in the realm louder or more
terrifying that Christian St. John. King Henry remarked once that the man's
voice could bring a response from God himself and, without a doubt, he was used to complete obedience in all matters. But his sharp command was met
with silence and his ice-blue gaze scanned the room with rising irritation.
    "Bring me the abbess and no harm will come to this
place. Deny my request and I shall burn it to the ground."
    He could hear faint splinters of hissed whispers,
accompanied by the shuffle of feet. Jaw ticking as his annoyance grew, he opened his mouth to once again issue his demand
when a slight, huddled woman emerged into the weak light. Christian focused his
attention on the quaking gray form.
    "Are you the abbess?"
    The woman didn't reply for a moment. "Wouldst thou
violate our haven, my lord?"
    "Gaithlin de Gare. I want her."
    Christian could see the woman's average features in the
soft illumination as they twisted with puzzlement. "The Lady Gaithlin... who
art thou, my lord?"
    He moved toward her, shoving aside a small table and
setting it on end with a startling crash. "It does not matter,” he said. “Give
her to me and I shall leave you in peace."
    The woman visibly swallowed and Christian could hear more
hissed whispers, presumably directed at her. She was obviously