Even though he was very busy, Christopher found that if he was not immediately occupied, his thoughts would drift to his wife and he found himself wondering what the night would bring. Would she be willing and responsive to him, as he had seen she was capable of being? It had been more than a day since she last had a tantrum or had showed her stubborn streak, and he was pleased with the woman he was coming to know. He wondered if she found him agreeable, too.
As dusk drew near and the rain showed no signs of letting up, Christopher abandoned the search for the cat and returned to the keep, making sure the gate was secured for the night and seeing personally that posts were set. Leeton and Max had the night watch in the miserable weather, although David and Edward would relieve them close to dawn. Christopher instructed all of his knights and senior soldiers to keep a close eye on the captive in hopes that once the rain turned freezing, the man would talk.
Inside the castle, the great hall was warm and a huge fire was blazing in the equally huge hearth. Cooking smells floated in the air from the kitchens on the ground floor level, reminding him of just how hungry he was. Soaked and itching with the damp wool, he dropped his armor in the foyer and had two soldiers carry it away to be cleaned. Dripping water, he took the stairs two at a time and made his way to his chamber.
Just as he was entering his door, he could hear Dustin’s voice far down the hall. Glancing back, he could see her moving between her mother’s room and her own, her arms laden with surcoats and other bulky materials. Curious, he went to see what she was doing.
Two maids were following her around and he could see with his initial observation that all of Dustin’s mother’s clothing was laid out all over the dead woman’s room. Cloaks, dresses, fine surcoats, shoes… every inch of the room seemed to be covered with garments and accessories. He put his hands on his hips as he examined the mess, wondering what in the hell she was doing.
Dustin was in the process of shaking out a heavy fur-lined cloak, studying it for rodent holes or damage. She caught sight of her husband in the doorway and smiled sweetly at him. In that small gesture, he felt his heart soften and noticed he was verily pleased with her reaction. She was happy to see him.
“Greetings, husband,” she said gaily. “You are all wet.”
“Astute as always, Lady de Lohr,” he said with a raised brow. “What is it that you are doing?”
She lay the cloak down. “Seeing if there are any of mother’s things that will do me service in London,” she said. “I have only two cloaks, and not very nice ones at that. Mother has armfuls.”
“I can see that,” he said. “But there are surcoats strewn about as well. You are not planning to take any of those, are you?” He ended with a warning tone, reminding her that he did not approve of her wearing her mother’s too-tight garments.
She looked at him. “Only those of which you approve,” she said patiently. “Since I have so few nice surcoats, I will try on every one of mother’s and you can tell me which ones I can and cannot wear.”
Sly, he thought. Rather than choose them herself and being obstinate about it, she would let him do the picking. That way there was no way he could disapprove of what she wore. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “But only a few, mind you. We can have more made in London made to fit you.”
She smiled. “Truly? More clothes for me?”
He shook his head at her, at her surprise at such a simple thing as having a surcoat made. “In case you haven’t realized it, you are a baron’s wife and you must be properly dressed,” he said. “I believe we have been through this before. I shall order dozens of dresses made for you in London, and all the accessories to go with them.”
She looked pleased with the extravagance, surprised he felt she was worth it. She’d never thought much about her clothing, but found that she was suspiciously interested in looking her best as of late.
“As you say, husband.” She gave a happy little shrug, leaving the maids to finish shaking out the clothing. “Would you let me help you from those wet clothes?”
Now it was his turn to be surprised. “Aye, I would,” he agreed.
They returned to his chamber and he sat on a chair, holding out his massive leg while she removed his boots one at a time. He watched her lovely face as she concentrated on removing his wet things, careful not to get herself wet. She was dressed in a soft knit woolen dress with a snug girdle that made the material drape over her breasts most invitingly. In fact, he’d never seen her look lovelier.
“Is your prisoner still out in the rain?” she asked as she hung his tunic up to dry.
“Aye,” he replied, unfastening his breeches and they fell to the ground, rendering him nude.
Dustin had her back turned to him as she hung the tunic up. When she turned around to face him, she let out a gasp and quickly turned around again in shock. He grinned, picking up his breeches and walking over to her.
“You can hang these up,” he said softly, hanging them over her shoulder and in front of her face.
She snatched them away and stiffly hung them up next to the tunic. “Where are your clothes so that I might get them for you,” she asked primly, still not turning to look at him.
He was genuinely amused by her prudish stance. For a woman who melted under his hands like none other, he found it somewhat surprising.
“Do I make you uncomfortable like this?” he asked. “I am told I am quite exquisite.”
She fidgeted. “ ’Tis not that…well…indeed…’tis just…” She stamped her foot in frustration. “Would you please put some clothes on?”
He continued to grin. “I have seen you nude.”
She closed her eyes for a brief second at the memory, remembering how embarrassed she had been the first time, and how she had not even noticed the second. She was ashamed that the second time had been so easy for her.
“Aye, you have,” she conceded.
He studied her stiff backside, the way her hair fell so softly down her back like an impossible cascade. “There is no shame in seeing your husband naked.”
She didn’t know what to say. He was right, of course, but she was still embarrassed. She’d never seen a naked man in her life and the mere thought brought heat to her cheeks. Christopher, seeing how miserable she was, retrieved his breeches from the wardrobe and put them on.
“You can turn around now,” he told her, feigning insult. “I have no desire to parade around nude for a woman who is appalled by it.”
She turned around, slowly, her eyes falling to the leather breeches he now wore. She almost looked sad and he wondered why.
“What’s wrong with you now? Do not you approve of these, either?” he demanded, half in jest.
She opened her mouth to say something, then reconsidered. Instead she bit her lip. “They are fine. ’Tis time for supper, I am sure.”
He drew out his spare pair of leather boots, well-worn, and put them on. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing,” she insisted, moving to his wardrobe. “What tunic would you wear?”
“The woolen tunic with the snug neck, the color of eggshell,” he said.
She pulled it free and helped him put it on. He straightened the tunic, smoothing it over his glorious chest as she watched. She fought off a disturbing urge to push his hands away and do it herself. When she moved away from the chair, he suddenly reached out and snatched her arm, pulling her to him.
Their eyes met, clear gray to pure blue. “Be honest with me, Dustin,” he said in a low voice. “All I will ever ask of you in this marriage is that you be honest. Now tell me, what were you going to say?”
She met his gaze evenly. “You have asked a great deal more than that already.”
He could have taken that statement as a challenge, but instead, the hand that gripped her trailed down her arm until he found her hand. He pulled her palm to his lips and kissed it.
“Tell me.”
Her gaze continued to hold even, although he could nearly read the emot
ions in the pure depths. He thought he might have to ask her again, firmer this time, but after a moment he saw her relax as if she had considered her options and had decided to give in to him.
“I was going to say that I know I should not be embarrassed to see you without clothing, yet I am just the same,” she said quietly. “I have never seen a naked man before.”
“Not even a soldier? Or your father?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nay, mother was quite strict about that. She believed flesh was a gateway to sin, and the less seen, the better,” her gaze left him. “My mother’s father was a deviant man, Chris. He used my mother for his own pleasure before my father married her. Mother was terrified of physical contact, even with my father. ’Tis why she insisted on separate bedchambers. You occupy his former rooms.”
He was coming to feel remorseful that he had baited her. He let out a disgusted hiss. “There is no greater atrocity than incest,” he muttered. “Arthur knew of this and still he married your mother?”
“Aye,” she replied, meeting his eyes once again. “His father and my mother’s father were friends, and my parents were betrothed as babes. Everyone knew what my grandsire did to my mother, yet they all feigned ignorance. Even on the wedding night, when guests demanded the stained sheets, my father cut his own hand and smeared blood on the linens.”
Christopher was sickened on Dustin’s behalf, yet he knew that sort of occurrence was all too common. He felt a good deal of sorrow for his young wife as she had come to hear of the worst life had to offer.
“Did your mother tell you this?” he asked softly.
“Aye, she did,” she nodded. “One night right after father left with Richard. She was feeling sorry for herself, I suppose, and had too much wine. Father never knew she told me.”
“Is your grandsire still alive?” he asked.
“Aye, he is,” she answered.
His eyes suddenly narrowed. “Does he reside in Nottingham?”
She could see where this was leading and she timidly sat on his knee, putting her arms around his neck shyly. “I am not going there anymore, remember?” she reminded him. “ ’Twould seem you would rather have me in London.”
His arms went about her, their faces close. “Would you have truly exposed yourself to that potential hell simply to escape me?”
She shrugged. “I did not know you then, my lord,” she said. “I reasoned that what awaited me in Nottingham could be no worse than what awaited me at Lioncross.”
“Then you reasoned incorrectly, lady,” he said softly, yet sternly. “You will never go near Nottingham, and if your mother were still alive, I would beg her for the privilege of championing her.”
He was so close and she found him very strong and virile and powerful as he spoke of championing her mother. Her cheeks felt warm again. In fact, her whole body was on fire. She was gradually aware that she had been watching his mouth as he spoke, noticing his dark blond mustache and beard. It was very attractive. Before she realized it, she reached up and ran her fingers along his stubble.
He froze, watching her face as she played with his beard. The scratchy hair tickled her fingers and she smiled.
“I like your beard,” she said.
He pulled her closer, rubbing it against her cheek skin and she giggled, trying to push him away. “Do you like it still?” he was still rubbing at her cheek.
She squealed, her hands shoving against his chest. “It scratches like briars.”
He stopped and grinned at her as she rubbed her cheek. “A pity you will have to suffer through the winter with it,” he said. “I will scratch you at every opportunity.”
She rubbed the sides of his face roughly with both hands and then hopped from his knee playfully. “Not if I am in my bed and you are in yours.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Think not, lady, that I am going through the entire winter sleeping alone, or through this marriage for that matter.”
“So you intend to sleep with me always and forever?” she asked, still smiling.
“Aye, I do, and no argument,” he stood up, facing her with his hands on his hips. “We will sleep in the same bed from this night on. When we return from London, I will see that all of your personal effects are brought to my chamber.”
She was surprised that she didn’t care in the least. She liked sleeping in the same bed with him, for he was soft and warm and comforting. “As you say, husband.”
He expected an argument and was surprised when he didn’t get one. Dustin continued to smile at him, her hands clasped behind her back. He braced his legs apart, clasping his own hands behind his back.
“I am pleased that you are learning well to obey my wishes,” he said. “As much as I enjoy a good battle, I do not enjoy them with my wife.”
“Why not?” she asked innocently. “I think we fight well together, do not you?”
“You are indeed a test for my formidable skills, but I would rather we act toward each other as we are now,” he said. “I would rather talk to you than yell at you.”
She was warmed by his words, feeling a sense of connection with him as she had never felt in her life. But smells from the grand hall were wafting into the room, reminding them both of how hungry they were, and they were both distracted.
“Lady de Lohr, I believe dinner awaits,” he said after a moment, offering her his arm. Together, they proceeded to the meal.
All of the knights save Jeffrey and Leeton were at the table, already stuffing their faces with food. Christopher seated his wife next to his brother and took his own chair at the head of the table. Their trenchers were filled to overflowing and their cups topped.
The storm outside continued to vent its fury as the occupants inside Lioncross ate and drank and carried on a fine meal. Dustin’s attention was riveted to Max and Anthony, again telling hysterical stories that had her in stitches. Christopher, silent as usual, was perfectly content to finish his meal listening to his wife’s loud laughter.
They ate and drank, laughed and talked, until there was nothing left. It had been a fine evening. As the remains were being cleared from the table, three soldiers entered the front door of the castle, dripping wet from the terrible elements outside. They sought out their liege.
The soldier in the lead bowed quickly. “My lord, the captive wishes to speak with you.”
Christopher glanced at David. “Well and good for him that he does,” he muttered, then looked to his soldiers. “I shall come shortly.”
The knights, all of them, quit the hall as the soldiers exited back out into the vicious weather. Dustin, alone at the table, looked after them and felt a bit lost all of a sudden. The abrupt silence was disorienting. She watched as David ordered Christopher’s armor brought forth once more, and personally helped his brother don the metal plating. As they had been doing it all their lives, they worked as a team to adeptly dress in their protection. When Christopher finished strapping on a piece of plate armor over his forearm, he turned, almost as an afterthought, to his wife still at the table.
“I will not be long,” he said confidently.
She nodded in response, watching as he and his men quit the castle. Beyond the door, the lightning flashed and the rain came down in buckets, yet it was eerily quiet in the grand hall.
Dustin sighed. When it had just been her and her mother, the grand hall was always this quiet and she was very aware of the difference before and after Christopher had come. She had come to enjoy the company of him and his men very much, and alone in the hall, she found the loneliness oppressive. As much as she had loved her mother, she felt it almost a sacrilege to admit that she liked life at Lioncross better now since the baron had arrived.
Even with everything that had happened, the deaths and fights and incidents, Christopher had somehow breathed life into the dying keep. Dustin was glad she hadn’t gone to Nottingham, and glad circumstances had prevented her from leaving. Had she gone, she would have never come to know her husband and would have probably spent
a good deal of time resenting him for marrying her and taking her keep.
Another clap of thunder sounded loud overhead and Dustin glanced up as if she could see it. With another sigh, she left the hall and went to her mother’s small solar. There was a small fire in the hearth and Dustin moved for the windows, paneled with rare and expensive glass, for they provided protection and an excellent view of the bailey where she could watch what was going on between her husband and his prisoner. She was curious, for her father never kept prisoners, and she wanted to see what they were going to do with the fool who almost killed David.
*
The bailey had turned into a mucky, slippery lake as Christopher and his knights crossed it, heading for the wet, naked man near the eastern wall. Leeton and Jeffrey were already standing on either side of the man and Christopher could hear his wails as he approached.
He planted himself in front of the prisoner, spitting out the rainwater that had run into his mouth.
“I am here,” he said coldly. “What is it that you wish to tell me?”
The captive was truly miserable, his entire body was blue and his teeth were chattering violently. “Ev-v-v-erything, my lord. I only ask shelter and clothing.”
Christopher didn’t react for a moment. Then, he leaned close to the man’s face. “You had better be truthful, fool, or I will gut you on the spot.”
“I am, I a-a-a-am,” he insisted loudly. “I s-swear it on the bible.”
Christopher motioned for him to be released, stepping back as Leeton and Jeffrey untied the man and handed him over to David and Max. He preceded his knights and the prisoner back into a side entrance of the castle that led into a row of small cubicles that were once used for confessionals as part of the original abbey structure. It was a seldom used place, full of ghosts, with a dim and musty smell. Although it wasn’t warm, it was dry and the man was given a rough woolen blanket to dry off with.
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 22