“She suffers no broken bones,” he said coolly. “She will live.”
“She fought him like a banshee, my lord,” Rebecca said bravely, her pale face streaked with tears. “She was very courageous.”
He raised a brow. “And very foolish. What was she doing here?”
“We went shopping, my lord,” Rebecca said. “She bought material for new dresses. To please you,” she added, although it was an out and out lie. The baron looked so angry that she felt she had to say something to ease his fury toward her friend.
A flicker of an expression crossed his face but was quickly gone. He dared a small glance at Dustin’s pale face, surprised by her friend’s words.
“Be that as it may, you were all lucky I found you in time, or the remains of Lady Dustin would now be coating your floor,” he said sternly. “Mistress Rebecca, you and my wife are never to leave the safety of Lioncross unescorted again. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, my lord,” Rebecca replied, seeing his coldness but also noticing just how handsome the man really was. It was an odd combination.
Christopher studied the young woman for a brief second before turning for the door. Two other huge, fierce-looking knights were there waiting for him.
“My lord,” Rebecca called out to him, taking a few brave steps forward. “How did you find us? There are so many other huts, and you did not know where Dustin had gone.”
“Did she tell you that I did not know she was gone?” he asked.
Rebecca nodded. “Aye, my lord, she did and she said you did not care.”
He looked back at the young woman with the red hair for a few long moments. He could feel himself relenting somehow, easing. He cared where she went; he forced himself to admit it.
“Her screams,” he finally said. “I recognized her screams.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows furrowed. “I do not understand, my lord.”
He sighed sharply and averted his gaze. “You asked me how I found her. It was because I recognized her screams. She carries a distance.”
He was gone, leaving Rebecca and her family to clean up a grisly mess in the smaller room but considering it a small price for their lives.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dustin’s first cognizant impression was one of pain. Her head hurt, her neck hurt, her shoulders hurt. Everything hurt. She had no idea why she was in so much pain, but she tried to move a bit and was met with sharp jabs and aches everywhere. In a rush, the attack came back to her and she found that she could lift her sore arms, with effort, just enough to put her hand to her spinning head. She only remembered being beat, and then darkness. She could only assume the worst had happened and with that horrible thought, she began to cry.
“Are you in pain?” She recognized Christopher’s voice immediately and her eyes flew open, dazed and stunned.
“My lord,” she gasped. “What? Where am I?”
“Home, my lady, at Lioncross,” he said. “Tell me, do you hurt?”
She stared back at him, her mouth agape. How did she get back here? Lord, she didn’t remember a thing.
“Aye,” she whispered, letting her arm fall back to her side.
“Tell me where,” he instructed.
She noticed that he was dressed in a pair of soft leather breeches and a white tunic that, for the first time, revealed the magnificence of his build to her. His shoulders were extremely broad and his waist was very slender and it made her head hurt to think him pleasantly formed; she didn’t want to think him pleasant in any way. Especially in lieu of the tongue-lashing she was about to receive from him. And she deserved it, she had not told anyone where she was going on purpose.
“My head,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “And nearly everywhere else.”
She felt his hand about her head and was surprised that for the huge size of them, they were as gentle as butterfly wings.
“I cleaned the cut on your temple, but I am afraid I had to put a stitch in it. However, your hair should cover the tiny scar,” his hands were moving down her neck to her shoulders. “I didn’t feel any broken bones. Do you have any sharp pains?”
“No,” her voice was feeble. “Just aches.”
He didn’t reply and took his hand from her. Dustin had yet to hear him move away from the bed and could only assume he was still standing there, looking at her, waiting for her to open her eyes so he could yell at her.
Then, she heard a joint pop as he turned and walked away, heading across the floor. Secretly, she cracked an eye open to see what he was doing. She saw that he was over near the door, pouring himself a goblet of wine from her pretty pewter decanter.
As he stood there, she began to notice just how well-formed the man was, in spite of the fact that she didn’t want to notice. His legs were long and as big around as small trees, and the hand that held the goblet swallowed it up. That had been nearly the first thing she noticed about him, how big his hands were. Yet when he had touched her, he was as gentle as a lamb. It was a confusing paradox, she thought, distressing her all the more. But she would rather die than admit she found her new husband… attractive.
“Would you like some wine?” he was still over by the door, facing away from her.
So he knew she was watching him. No use pretending otherwise. She rolled over onto her side with a great deal of effort, watching him as he turned around to look at her.
“You are grunting like an old man,” he commented, coming toward her.
“I feel like an old man,” she answered. “I feel like I am dying.”
“Nay, my lady, you are very much alive,” he said.
Her head suddenly came up. “And Rebecca? Is she…”
“Your companion is well, as is her family,” he answered her. “You seemed to have borne the brunt of the assault.”
She lay her head back down slowly, relieved. “I was the only one who ran. I suppose they did not want me to escape.”
“What they wanted was your soft white flesh,” he replied.
She closed her eyes and big, fat tears spilled over, running down onto the pillow beneath her. Her lower lip trembled until she bit it, forcing it still. Christopher watched her struggle with her fear.
“No need for tears, my lady,” he said after a moment. “You are safe and will recover.”
Her eyes few open and riveted on him. “But I will never recover what that damnable bastard took from me.”
“What did he take from you?” Christopher demanded. “Did he steal something?”
She wondered how Christopher fit into all of this, closing her eyes against his angry face. Had Rebecca and her family brought her back to the keep, leaving the explaining up to her? She remembered so little that she was close to admitting she was going to have to ask Christopher how much he knew and what had happened. She was terrified of what he might do to her if he found out she had been raped.
“How did I get back here?” She hoped she could find out what she wanted to know without damaging her pride. She hated admitting she was dependent on him for answers.
“I brought you back here,” he said. “Yet you did not answer me. What did he steal?”
“You brought me back here?” She lifted her head curiously. “But how did you know? I mean, how did you find me? Did you ride out with the soldiers to intercept the raiders?”
“I did not ride out with my men.” He came over to the bed. “Jeffrey told me you had gone into the village and I went looking for you. When the raiders attacked the outskirts, I then moved to defend the village and only by chance heard your screams.” He stood at the foot of the bed with a reproving glare. “I found you by pure luck alone, Dustin, nothing more. Had I not been within earshot, that marauder might have taken more than your innocence, he might have taken your life. As it was, you received a nice gash to the scalp for your troubles and you were lucky for only that.”
She blinked up at him, his words slowly registering. Then she was not violated? Relief swept through her, making her limp and weak. But along wi
th the same thought she realized that Christopher had saved her life, and the lives of her friend and her family. She was indebted to him whether or not she wanted to be and she found the thought distasteful. She did not want to be obligated to him for any reason.
“You should have let him kill me,” she said bitterly, turning away. “Then Lioncross would be yours and you would have no wife to burden you.”
He slowly cocked an eyebrow. “I saved your life and this is how you thank me?”
“How would you have me thank you?” she shot back in a rage, thought better of it, and cooled. “I am your wife, my lord. If simple words of thanks do not suffice, you may simply take what pleases you to even the debt.”
“Your self-pity grows tiresome,” he said, moving around the side of the bed. “I will not take anything from you, wife. You will give it or I will not have it. And simple words will suffice, though I expect none for I was simply doing my duty. You are my wife and I would protect you.”
She met his gaze for several long moments. It was an expectant silence, waiting for her reply to determine if this conversation would end as the others had, with anger and bitterness. Surprisingly, her eyes softened just a bit and she licked her rosy lips.
“Thank you for doing your duty, my lord.”
She had swallowed her pride, he knew that. He felt no need to rub her nose in it. “You are welcome,” he said.
She looked at him for a moment longer before twisting around and trying to arrange her pillows so that she might sit up. The pressure on her shoulders when she lay on her back was painful. Christopher saw what she was trying to accomplish, however weakly, and moved to help her. When the pillows were stacked and she struggled to sit up, he put his hands under her arms and lifted her up, moving her back against the pillows.
“My thanks again, my lord,” she said softly. It was becoming easier the more she practiced.
“Are you comfortable now?” he stood back.
She winced as she tried to adjust her sore body. “As much as possible, I suppose. The fiend did do a complete job of beating me.”
Christopher’s face fell a bit. “He beat you?”
She nodded, glancing up at him and wondering why he looked so disturbed. Surely he knew that.
“Where? Show me,” he demanded.
She sat forward a bit, pulling back the collar of her dress. “My shoulders and back,” she told him as he pulled the material even further to observe her injuries. “I grabbed hold of a table leg and would not let go, and he took a stick to me.”
Her dress had covered up all of this, he thought grimly as he studied the purple and blue bruises. And there were several ugly welts, not enough to bleed through the material, but severe enough to hurt. Certainly he had checked her for broken bones, but he had not seen the bruises she bore.
He stood back and she noticed his jaw was ticking, knowing that he found her repulsive. Absently, she tugged at the collar of her dress, trying to cover her horrible bruises.
“Nay, do not,” he told her curtly. “Remove that dress. I will return.”
With that, he spun on his heel and quit the room, slamming the door behind him.
Dustin was bewildered. She had no idea what he had in mind, only knowing that the man frightened and confused her. Lord, she was so weary and sore that all she wanted to do was soak her beaten body in a tub of hot water. Tossing off the covers, she stiffly rose from the bed and summoned a serving wench for a bath.
He said he would return. She knew he would, but she didn’t care. He would probably be gone hours and she didn’t care if he ever returned; only wanting to sit up to her neck in rose-scented water and forget this horrible, horrible day ever happened. She brightened a little to remember that most likely, on the morrow, she would be traveling to Nottingham and there she could start fresh, away from her husband and away from the home that no longer welcomed her.
Christopher re-entered his wife’s room to discover that she had only partially obeyed him. True, she had taken off the dress, but she had not donned a robe, instead, choosing to take a bath, of all things. She was busy singing away with her back to him, lathering a bar of soap between her hands.
He stood by the door for several minutes, watching her run soapy hands over her arms and legs, the firelight glistening off of her slick skin. He knew she had not heard him enter with all of the noise she was making and wondered if he should announce himself or if he should continue to stand there, stealing glances at the woman he married.
But he was not a voyeur and he cleared his throat loudly, telling her he had returned. Dustin shrieked and covered her nakedness with her arms, sinking up to her mouth in the warm water.
Christopher walked slowly and deliberately around the tub, his hands on his hips as he gazed down at her. She was watching him with huge eyes, obviously quite shocked and outraged at his boldness.
“I do not recall telling you to take a bath,” he said.
“The warm water makes my aches feel better, my lord,” she replied, water in her mouth.
“I told you I would return,” he pointed out.
“But you did not say when,” she insisted.
He had to admit she was, technically, correct. He gave her another reproachful glance as to not admit her accuracy and went to put a vial of some kind over on the table. She eyed the container curiously.
“What is that?” she asked suspiciously.
“Get out of that tub,” he told her.
She sat a little straighter, eyeing him and the vial. “I would know what that is.”
He frowned. “It is not poison, for Christ’s sake. Get out of the bath.”
“But…but I have not washed my hair,” she said, wondering if she was going to have to drink the potion in the glass and absolutely not wanting to.
He looked at her irritably for a moment before beginning to roll up his sleeves. “Very well. I will do it and you will be done with this.”
“I am quite capable of washing my own hair,” she protested, thinking his hands on her while she was in the tub were entirely too intimate and disturbing.
“Why? Do not you have maids to do it for you?” he was still rolling up his sleeves.
“I bathe alone, my lord,” she said stiffly.
He frowned again and moved towards her. “Why in the hell would you do that with a house full of servants to help you?” he asked. “ ’Tis most strange that you would.”
He had come too close and she suddenly plunged her head underneath the water, as if trying to hide her whole body from him. He fought off a grin, trying to remain severe as he stood over the tub and waited patiently for her to run out of air. She came back up several moments later, sputtering and coughing. He did grin then.
“Are you finished?” he asked, picking up her soap. “Can we get through this, please?”
She started to protest and again attempted to dive under the water but he grabbed her by the hair, rubbing soap into her scalp until it frothed up a rich white. Roses filled the air, permeated the skin of his hands and he knew he would be smelling the scent for the rest of the night. Not an entirely bad prospect, he had had to admit. The scent was growing on him.
Dustin was initially appalled at his actions. She didn’t want the man near her, much less helping her to bathe. But the very moment his big, gentle hands started massaging her scalp, she quickly reconsidered. The maids could be rough, which was why she liked to do it herself. But not Christopher; his hands were actually tender as he scrubbed her scalp, lathered her hair, and worked his way down to the very ends.
She felt herself relaxing, closing her eyes at his touch and hating herself for it, yet it was so wonderful she could not help it. There were moments when she would remember that she didn’t like him and she would stiffen again, but a mere few seconds later she would go as limp as a wet rag. It was a strange condition that struck in wave after wave until she finally relented completely and allowed herself to enjoy the attention. It was so new to her, so completely foreig
n, but she knew she liked it very much.
Christopher liked it, too. It was certainly one of the most pleasant experiences he had ever had and he soaped her hair much longer than was necessary simply because he loved the feeling of her hair in his hands and was growing to like the smell of roses. She had stopped fighting him and that pleased him strangely, too.
But the water was growing cool and it would not do for her to take a chill. Taking an empty pitcher left by the side of the tub, he filled it from the bath and poured it over her hair, again and again until the water ran clear.
Neither one of them had said a word the entire time. It was as if both of them were reconsidering their harsh stances, wondering if indeed the other was not as bad as was originally thought. It was a curious time for wondering and reasoning and thinking, trying to sort out insane ideas as to what marriage was truly about. They were married, the holiest and most intimate of unions, yet they were strangers to one another.
Mayhap under different circumstances they might have felt differently toward one another, but their beginning had been so rough that it was difficult to feel any other way.
Christopher twisted her hair, wringing the water from it. Then he moved for the large square of linen and held it up for her.
Dustin looked back at him, stunned at what he was suggesting. Yet his expression was completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever as he held it up patiently; even so, she was extremely hesitant to climb out of the tub. After all, they were strangers. Surely he did not expect her to forget all of her modesty simply because he was labeled her husband.
But the fact was that he was her husband. He had every moral and legal right to see his wife unclothed. She could hear her mother’s words.
Duty, Dustin, duty!
Swallowing her embarrassment and humility, and knowing she was surely going to die from shame, she rose quickly from the tub as the water coursed off her body. Avoiding his eyes, she jumped over the side and threw herself into the linen towel, pushing herself against him in the process. Much to her surprise, his massive arms went around her and began to dry her briskly.
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 8