He remembered his promise not to force her into his bed, yet as it stood, he was growing increasingly certain that he would have to break that vow. Dustin was his, and he would be the only one to brand her. He would kill any man who even as much as looked at her.
He had two nights in which to do the deed. He almost did it this morn, had it not been for David’s interruption. The thought of sweet, soft Dustin in his hands was enough to make him groan with pleasure. Tonight would have to be the night, whether or not she liked it; otherwise, he would have to do it tomorrow night while they were on the road. After that, they would be in London and he didn’t know when the opportunity would present itself once they arrived.
He changed into fresh clothing and donned portions of his mail and armor. He had duties to attend to, yet he had an overwhelming urge to seek out his wife.
He went with the urge.
*
Dustin wasn’t indoors.
She was outside in the overgrown garden that her mother had kept, cutting the last of the summer blooms from the dying stalks. Still dressed in the flowing black dress she had attended the funeral in, she seemed intent on ripping flowers free of their confines as her long blond hair did wild dances when the wind caught it. Christopher stood at the gate leading into the walled garden, watching her movements. He could tell from her body language that she was still perturbed.
He came up behind her, watching her struggle with a huge stalk. “ ’Twould be easier to cut it than to rip it.”
She jumped in surprise, turning to look at him. “You scared me.” She released the foxglove and tossed the other flowers she was holding into a big basket beside her. “What is it that you want, my lord?”
“Want? Oh, nothing.” He crossed his arms casually. “I came to tell you that we will be leaving for London tomorrow. You had better pack all that you intend to bring this eve so we may load it up on the wagon.”
“We leave tomorrow?” She suddenly looked forlorn.
His brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, regaining her composure. “Nothing, my lord. It’s just that London reminded me of Rebecca again. Suddenly, I do not want to go so badly.”
“Why?” he asked gently.
She shrugged, gazing about her. Then, she smiled ruefully. “Foolishness, my lord. I guess I was already homesick for Lioncross. How long will we be in London?”
He was standing a foot or so from her. Before he realized it, he was reaching out and pushing stray strands of hair from her face, tucking them over her shoulder. “A while,” he replied, studying her face. “I am not sure exactly how long, but a while.”
She sighed, excitement filling her as he played gently with her hair. “I shall be ready, then. How many trunks may I take?”
He cocked a blond eyebrow. “How many will you need? No pets, Dustin.”
“I know that,” she eyed him. “It’s just that when mother traveled to Nottingham last summer, she took six trunks with her. Jeffrey said it was too many.”
“Jeffrey is correct,” he replied. “Pack everything you need and we shall decide from there if you need to cut back.” He could not imagine she would manage to fill any more than two; three at the most.
Dustin gazed up at him as the wind whipped about her in the private walled garden. She did so want to take Caesar but Christopher had already told her that she could not. Well, he had said no pets, but Caesar was more like family, wasn’t he? She knew she would miss the cat terribly and decided to try to persuade him one more time.
“Christopher,” she began softly. “Can’t I please take Caesar? I promise he will be no trouble.”
“Dustin, I told you, he will not travel well,” he repeated patiently. “He will not be happy.”
“But I will miss him,” she insisted miserably. “He will be happy if he is with me. He will be heartbroken and lost here when I am gone. He may run away.”
“He won’t run away from here, I promise you that,” he said. “The cat is not stupid. He knows where he’s fed and warm and pampered.”
She made a wry face, signaling defeat, and lowered her gaze. He was sorry that he had to deny her, but he believed what he said, Caesar would still be ruling Lioncross upon their return.
She turned around and returned to picking the flowers. He continued to stand there and watch her, glancing up at the sky that was growing dark and menacing.
“It will rain soon,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”
She glanced up, wiping at her cheek with the back of her hand. “I am almost finished.”
He shifted on his massive legs, waiting patiently for her to finish, when suddenly there was a commotion over by the wall. They both looked over, watching the overgrowth shake violently.
Christopher stepped forward, wondering what sort of hellish wild animal was caught in the garden and wanting to protect his wife from any attack, when suddenly a great howl went up and Caesar came shooting out of the bushes, his ears back and his eyes wide. He tore after something neither human could make out.
Caesar tore a crazy path into the garden, screeching and running as fast as his fat body could take him. Dustin, watching her cat with her hands on his hips, wondered how long it would take him to catch the mouse so she could return to her task, when suddenly a tiny white rabbit burst forth out of the low-lying weeds, racing like the wind with Caesar hot on its heels.
“Caesar! Stop it this instant,” Dustin shrieked, attempting to track down the cat.
But the cat and the rabbit were much faster than the mistress, and after running up a wild path through the garden, they were through the gate and into the area by the kitchens where Dustin kept her rabbit hutch.
Dustin was beside herself as she ran after the two animals, leaving Christopher following her far behind, fighting off his amusement as she yelled at the cat like an unruly child. Dustin dodged and dashed, trying to cut them off, then being double-crossed for her efforts. After racing a mad course through the small bailey, the little rabbit took Caesar out through the postern gate carved into the outer wall, and Dustin was forced to follow.
Christopher wasn’t far behind, muttering a curse as he ducked into the tunnel and came through the other side. He could see Dustin running after the animals down the small grassy incline, still screaming at her disobedient cat. He was actually still quite amused, allowing himself to crack a smile now that he knew he wasn’t being watched.
Then, it was as if the heavens opened up and suddenly there were sheets of water drenching him in his clean clothes and armor. Huge flashes of lightning lit up the sky and his immediate concern was for his wife, racing around like a madwoman in the field below him. He could see that she had stopped and had turned to look upward, and he wondered as he went toward her if she had indeed caught her cat.
But her hands were empty and she was absolutely soaking. Christopher went to her, picking her up and carrying her back up the hill. Once she was in the shelter of the cave-like passage of the postern gate, she pushed herself from his arms.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I have to wait here for Caesar,” she insisted, pushing her wet hair from her eyes. “He hates the rain.”
It wasn’t simply raining, it was pounding. Thunder and lightning broke every few seconds and the intensity was growing. Christopher shook his head.
“Nay, lady, we go inside,” he said firmly. “The cat will take care of himself.”
In spite of her protests, he swung her into his arms again and carried her into the keep. By the time they passed through the kitchens and into the great hall, Dustin was shivering and her lips were blue. Christopher bellowed for warmed wine and hot water even as he carried her up to her rooms.
“Off with the dress,” he ordered, soaked to the skin himself but more concerned with Dustin.
Without a word, she tried to comply but her hands were shaking so that she could not manage the stays. He assisted her, releasing the fastenings and the surcoat sli
pped to the floor. She wore a shift underneath, plastered to her damp skin. Silently, Christopher had her lift her arms and he peeled it off of her.
As much as he would have liked to have stood there and gazed at her luscious nude body, she was as cold as ice and he ripped the coverlet off the bed and wrapped her in it tightly, using a portion of it to dry her hair. But she was still quivering, cold, so he steered her over to the fire that was snapping in the hearth.
“Stay there,” he ordered. “I shall return.”
“Where are you going?” she said through chattering teeth.
“To get something to warm you,” he replied.
She was too cold to ask any more. Christopher returned a few moments later with warmed, mulled wine and a serving wench in tow, loaded down with linen towels. He set the servant to drying his wife’s hair while he stood over her and watched her drink nearly half a goblet of the warmed wine. Outside, the storm was growing violent and Dustin kept turning her head to the window every time there was a crash of thunder or a bolt of lightning.
“Caesar hates the rain,” she repeated softly, her gray eyes concerned.
“I am sure he is safe,” Christopher replied. “How do you feel? Better?”
“Aye,” she nodded, taking another sip of wine as she gazed at him. He was still in damp clothing. “Aren’t you going to change out of your wet clothing?”
He glanced down at himself, knowing he should have dried the armor off immediately for it rusted easily.
“In a moment,” he replied. “When I am sure you are not going to go charging off into the storm again looking for your cat.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “I will not, I promise.”
He smiled in return. “In that case, I shall take off these wet things before this armor rusts and traps me within it.”
The wine was making her sleepy and silly. “Terrible,” she said with mock seriousness.
“Indeed,” he agreed, noticing that the wine was affecting her. “I would be quite useless, not to mention uncomfortable.”
“Not to mention you could not relieve yourself.” She suddenly looked up at him when she realized what she had said, her shock turning into bubbling giggles.
He grinned and patted her head. “You are feeling better, I see.” He looked sternly at the maid. “Do not let her leave. And no more wine.”
Christopher returned a half-hour later to find her curled up in a sturdy oak chair, still wrapped in the coverlet and munching on a hunk of bread with butter and fruit compote on it. In fact, there was a tray on the table next to her with more food on it. He was pleased when she smiled comfortably at him again.
“I had the maid bring this up,” she said. “We missed the nooning meal.”
“I know.” He reached down and retrieved a large piece of bread, also pleased she had thought of him when she ordered the meal. Outside, the storm raged violently but her chamber was warm and cozy and he sat in the chair opposite her as he ate.
“Your hair is almost dry,” he noted.
She ran her fingers through it. “Only on the top,” she said. “It takes forever to dry.”
He nodded faintly, finishing off the bread. “Your hair is beautiful.”
She touched it again absently. “There is too much of it. It is forever in my way.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You do not know how to accept a compliment, do you? I told you once you were beautiful and you told me you were too short.”
Her cheeks went a soft pink but she didn’t reply. He sat forward in his chair.
“The proper response to a compliment is ‘thank you’,” he said softly. “I know you know the words for I have heard you say them. Now, let us try this again; your hair is beautiful.”
She looked at him from underneath her thick lashes, yet he could see a smile playing on her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He gave her a half smile. “And you are very beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, looking away from him.
“And I am glad I married you,” he said, his voice gentle.
She looked at him, astonished. “You are?”
He held up a finger admonishingly and she corrected herself quickly. “I mean, thank you,” she replied, then looked at him curiously. “Are you truly?”
He grinned and sat back. “Aye.”
“But why?” she demanded, puzzled.
He looked amused. “Why not? You are beautiful and you have intelligence. You are a perfect match for me.”
She continued to stare back at him just as he was gazing at her. She was quite amazed at his confession. Question was – was she glad she married him? She wasn’t all sure yet, but she suspected that she was. What wasn’t to like?
However, she was feeling quite playful and happy with the warm wine coursing through her veins and she felt a strange sense of power with his admission.
“In my view, this marriage could have been much, much worse,” she said, feigning seriousness.
“Is that so?” he responded.
“Aye,” she nodded firmly. “For instance, you could have been a horrible, ugly, mean ogre and I would have been forced into submission. I would say that I was rather lucky for that you are not, and I suppose my father did choose well.”
“I thank you, my lady.” He raised an eyebrow. “Then I must agree that I, too, have fared rather well. You could have been an abomination to the eye and I would have still had to marry you. What if you had been as fat as a cow? Or as homely as a pig? If I wanted this fortress, then I would still have had to marry you. Aye, I was fortunate on that account.”
“You say that now,” she shot back good-naturedly. “I do not think that was your reaction the day we met.”
“Hmm,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “But we must do something about your disagreeable disposition.”
She turned her nose up at him. “I have never had anyone complain before.”
He laughed. “They wouldn’t dare. You hit too hard.”
She turned a coy gaze to him. “But you are not afraid of me, are you?”
He looked at her, falsely stern. “Your father was wiser than you know. He knew he must select a man who could hold his own against you in a fight. After seeing how I held off legions of Saracens, he was impressed enough to offer me the position. I was foolish enough to accept.”
She sat up, the coverlet partially falling away. “With the good comes the bad,” she teased. “You wanted Lioncross but I came with it.”
He folded his hands under his chin, his eyes like blue flame as they smoldered at her. “How fortunate for me.”
She grinned back, feeling his gaze licking at her. “Then tell me,” she said thoughtfully, “were you his first choice? Or was there an entire company of men my father weeded through to make his choice?”
Christopher actually looked thoughtful. Hell, he didn’t know, come to think on it. Was he indeed the first choice? Or had some other fool turned the baron down? Richard was close with Marcus Burton, now in the north determining the political tides of who was loyal to John. Could he have approached Marcus with the same proposal? Marcus was such an eloquent speaker that he could weasel his way out of anything, even a marriage contract.
He glanced at Dustin, suddenly jealous at the thought of her ending up in Marcus’ arms. Foolish, of course. He was the Lion’s Claw. Marcus was merely a general. He knew without a doubt that he had been the first choice.
“Nay, lady, I was his first and only choice,” he said confidently. “I am the only one worthy of the treasure of Lioncross Abbey.”
“Treasure? What treasure? We do have some wealth, but….”
He cut her off, taking her soft white hand, now warm, into his huge palm. “I meant you.”
“Oh,” she felt her cheeks go warm at the compliment. When he raised his eyebrows expectantly at her, she got his hint. “Thank you,” she added quickly.
As the fire crackled and Dustin finished her bread, Christopher held her hand, lost in his
own thoughts. Marcus Burton kept popping up into his mind, as much as he tried to ignore him. Marcus was his closest friend, outside of David, but the competition between the two of them had always been fierce. He wondered if Marcus would view Dustin as another contest, knowing the man’s taste for women. His gaze turned dark as he stared into the flames of the hearth; friend or no, this was one treasure he would not share.
“What are you thinking?” came a soft, sweet voice.
Jolted from his train of thought, he smiled at her. “Nothing, my lady,” he replied, letting go of her hand and rising to stretch his legs. “As much as I am reluctant to leave, I must go to make sure the final preparations are made for our trip to London.”
She nodded, standing up as well, but the heavy cover made it difficult. “And I will get dressed. I must be ready to search for Caesar when the storm passes.”
“You will not go without me, or another knight,” he pointed at her. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Christopher,” she replied patiently.
He eyed her, wary of her too-obedient answer. “I am serious.”
She looked at him, surprised. “So am I. I promise I shall take a guard dog with me.” Then she smiled with mock sweetness.
He let out an exasperated sigh, trying not to grin at her. “Goad me not, lady. I will take you over my knee.”
She jumped back, pulling the blanket tightly about her. “Don’t you dare!”
He did grin, then, and moved for the door. “I shall see you later, Lady de Lohr.”
Dustin was still smiling as he closed the door. Even as she dropped the blanket and dressed in a green woolen surcoat with a tight green silk girdle, she grinned. Every time she thought of her husband, she grinned. She could not help it.
*
It rained very heavily for the rest of the afternoon and Dustin was growing increasingly concerned about Caesar. Yet she could do nothing until the rain ceased, so she busied herself by packing for their trip to London. The hours passed relatively quickly as she and a maid kept themselves occupied with storing her entire wardrobe and personal items into two medium-sized trunks.
Her husband, however, had spent a good deal of time out in the rain looking for the cat, among other things. His captive, standing naked and shivering in the bailey, still refused to talk and he was growing irritated with the man. He would alternately search the field where the cat and the rabbit were last seen and then return to interrogate the prisoner again. David and Edward joined him as he went from one duty to the next, as Jeffrey patrolled the wall, and Leeton and the de Velt twins prepared wagons and other effects for the trip to London.
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 21