“This is ruined,” she said softly.
He glanced at the surcoat, feeling his fatigue and pain catching up with him. “No matter,” he said softly. “We shall have more surcoats made, as I promised. But I do like the color on you.”
She reached around and undid the stays, and the surcoat fell to her feet in a billowy swish of silk. She kicked the surcoat into the corner and removed her slippers and stockings, gazing at the pile with disturbing memories. She wondered if she would ever be able to wear deep blue silk again.
Distressed once more, she turned away from the mound of clothing and opened her mouth to speak, but promptly clamped it shut again when she saw that Christopher had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep. Silently, she tip-toed over to the bed.
He did indeed look like a young lad with his clean face. She smiled as she delicately touched his blond hair, running her hand down his smooth cheek. She had fairly forgotten just how full and sensual his lips were, lips that made her feel more wonderful than anything on earth. Her fingers traced the granite-squareness of his jaw, glad that the beard was off because it had covered the gorgeous deep dimples in his cheeks.
A shudder ran through her when she realized just how close he came to death. Tears threatened her again, but she fought them off, telling herself firmly there was no need to cry anymore. He was going to be fine.
Tenderly, she kissed his cheek and went to her wardrobe to retrieve another surcoat. She donned a pretty pink surcoat with a braided brocade rope that hung around her hips and pulled her hair back to the nape of her neck and plaited it into one thick braid. She had seen a woman in the grand dining hall with her hair plaited in such a way and decided it looked very pretty. Sans hose, she put on her slippers and exited quietly into the antechamber.
Marcus was there, standing by the window as if in a daydream. He turned around when Dustin entered the room.
“How is he?” he asked.
“Sleeping.” Dustin glanced around the room. “Where is everyone?”
“The melee is about to start,” he said. “Everyone is down at the arena.”
“They are competing after what happened to Christopher?” she said angrily. “What of Sir Dennis? Is he able to compete?”
“Aye, he is.” Marcus wasn’t the least bit happy about it. “It would seem that David and the others have a score to settle with the man and they would not be deterred.”
Dustin looked long at him a moment. “Why didn’t you go, too?”
“Because someone needed to stay here with you,” he replied.
She sank wearily into a chair and curled her feet underneath her. “It is unfortunate that Christopher cannot kill the man himself,” she said. “If I were Chris’ size, I’d don his armor and pretend to be him.”
Marcus looked thoughtfully at her a moment and she picked up on his line of thinking, shaking her head. “You will not do it, Marcus. You cannot fight with your arm.”
“I was able to defend you yesterday,” he said. “I can handle a sword with my left hand fairly well.”
“But Christopher hurt his left shoulder,” Dustin pointed out. “Don’t you think that someone would notice, particularly Sir Dennis?”
“I doubt anyone was paying that much attention,” Marcus replied, glancing over at Christopher’s discarded armor and tunic. “Besides, Chris and I are about the same size.”
“He’s taller than you,” she said flatly.
“Not by much,” Marcus insisted. “He is six inches over six feet, and I am nearly five inches over six feet. What is an inch or so?”
“You weigh more than he does,” Dustin told him.
“Ten pounds or so,” Marcus said. “With a helmet on and all that armor, who will know the difference?”
“I will,” Dustin said softly. “I won’t allow you to, Marcus. If something were to happen to you, I would die of guilt. Now sit here and keep me company and let us hear no more talk of the melee.”
Reluctantly, he complied, yet thinking it was wonderful to have her all to himself for the afternoon. It was almost as if they were a normal, married couple sharing a quiet day together, and for a brief few moments he allowed himself the fantasy.
Later on that night after the sun had set, Dustin went into the bedchamber and lit the tallow candle by the bed. Christopher was still soundly asleep, snoring softly. She smiled and gently touched his hair, turning to remove her surcoat. The surcoat, shift and slippers ended up on the chair and she dashed to the hearth to stoke the fire before sliding into bed, nude, beside her husband. He was warm and she was freezing as she snuggled up against him. Even in his sleep, his arm went about her and she pressed close against him and wallowed in his heat. She wasn’t particularly tired and found herself running delicate fingers over his magnificent chest, feeling his soft skin and smelling his musk. She forgot he was asleep as she played with his nipple, making it peak just as he hardened hers. Curious, she stuck her tongue out timidly to taste it.
Christopher let out a groan and his eyes opened drowsily. “Any more of that and you will kill me,” he said huskily.
“I am sorry,” she reached up to stroke his forehead.
“So am I,” he replied. “Were I not so weak, I’d throw you on your back and make love to you until the dawn.”
A slow smile crept onto her lips. “Why must you always make love to me? Why cannot I make love to you?”
His eyes blinked slowly and then he smiled. “You can, if you wish,” he replied. “But I can do naught to help you.”
She was feeling brave and sat up on her knees, her beautiful body bathed golden in the candlelight. “Then do not. Just tell me what to do.”
He sighed, his eyes closing briefly. “Do what feels right, sweet love,” he said. “Do what tastes good, what makes you feel good. Do what I do to you.”
She smiled, running her hand up his bandages to his unwrapped chest. “As you say, sire,” she whispered.
She started at his neck, kissing him softly, running her tongue over his flesh, suckling his earlobe until he moaned with frustration. She delighted in his massive chest, kissing and licking him, working around the bandages and loving every moment of it. The terror of the day was still with her and her movements and actions were her way of telling him how glad she was that he was still alive, and still hers. And he understood every word.
She straddled him and her mouth, her hair, caressed his lower abdomen, below the bandages. Her tongue invaded his navel and he shuddered, the fingers of his good hand entwining in her luxurious hair. Her mouth went lower and lower and he felt her hot little hands timidly grasp his huge organ.
“Does it hurt if I hold you like this?” she asked.
He lifted his head weakly and looked at her, her hair was wild, covering her entire body and her lips were red and swollen. If he could have managed any one feat at that moment, he would have taken her in his arms and bed her until she fainted.
“Nay,” he rasped. “It feels wonderful.”
She looked down at his throbbing manhood, running her hands up and down the length of it. “Can I kiss you there?”
“Please.” He lay his head back down on the pillow, anticipation filling him.
The very moment her hot lips touched him, he thought he was going to spill. But he restrained himself with every ounce of strength, feeling her become bolder by the moment.
“Dustin, do you know how I put my tongue in your mouth?” he whispered. “Pretend that my organ is my tongue.”
“Put it in my mouth?” she asked with surprise.
“If you wish to, then do it,” he responded quietly.
She put her mouth around him, uncertainly at first, but with growing confidence as she moved her tongue around him, running it under the ridge of the head. He stifled a moan as she plunged her whole mouth down on him and drew up slowly, sucking him hard.
“Christ,” he shuddered. “I shall explode if you do that again, sweetheart, I swear it.”
She grinned, arrogant with th
e power she held over him. “Do you like it? Truly?”
“Truly,” he whispered in response, never more sincere in his life.
So she did it again and again until he yanked her hair roughly, pulling her up. They were breathing heavily with want, sweat already coating their bodies as Dustin crawled over him, bringing her lips to bear on his again, kissing him wildly. His hand was still entangled in her hair as if to never let her go.
With eager, shaking hands, Dustin grasped his massive shaft and straddled him, slowly lowering herself onto him as she had done once before. As slick as she was, it still took her two tries to completely embed him within her tight little body and they both released moans of pure ecstasy.
As weak as he was, Christopher had never felt more pleasure and his explosive release came within seconds. Dustin, however, was still in full passion and continued to move up and down on him, relishing the fullness of him within her. She could feel herself building to her peak when he reached down and manipulated her taut bud of womanhood expertly, bringing her to climax in a burst of stars.
When her cries of pleasure ceased and her body went warm and weak, she fell beside him and cuddled up to his musky body. He cradled her tightly, wishing he could do more than simply hold her against him.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked softly.
He was so weary and relaxed he was very nearly asleep. “Nay, sweet love, you did not. ’Twas a thoroughly miraculous experience, one I hope to repeat nightly. Go to sleep now.”
She squirmed against him a moment longer as she got comfortable, finally sighing with contentment. It was a beautiful end to the most harrowing day of her life, but she was willing to put it behind her as long as Christopher was safe and in her arms. Within minutes, she was in a deep, dreamless sleep.
Christopher felt her go entirely limp against him, so desperately tired yet not quite able to fall back asleep yet. What Dustin had done to him, with him, was still in his mind and he relived it for a moment. Her hands, her mouth, her incredible body lingered in his brain and he considered himself so unbelievably fortunate to have her. ’Twas but one more reason to be loyal and grateful to Richard, had it not been for the man’s insistence, he would have never married Arthur Barringdon’s daughter.
Dustin snored softly in her sleep and he smiled, caressing her with his right hand. “Dustin?”
She was asleep, unable to answer him and he knew it. Yet his feelings for her would not be stopped and were brimming to be expressed. She could not hear him to know precisely how weak he was and, somehow, he felt safe with the knowledge. And terribly cowardly.
“I love you,” he whispered, stoking her soft arm. “More than life, sweetheart, I love you.”
Dustin snored on into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sir Dennis won the melee after nearly killing David. John, pleased with his new champion, granted the man a title and lands to accompany in Dorset, prime lands to be sure. With yet another new baron at Windsor, Christopher was dealt another worry.
The justices met after the tournament and decided that until they had a body or confirmation of Richard’s death, the man was still England’s king and they would continue administering the country in his absence. Christopher, in full agreement with their conclusion, decided to delay his return to Lioncross until there were any changes regarding Richard’s well-being. It did not, however, sway his mind to send Dustin northward. He had yet to speak with Marcus about it, but knew the man would do as was asked of him.
The trouble was, he could not seem to bear to part with her. He was in bed an entire week with his ribs and shoulder injury. She did everything for him, and he was becoming quite dependent on her. She was the first thing he saw in the morning and the very last thing he saw at night. His attachment to his wife was growing by the minute, as was hers to him. Before the week was out, they were absolutely inseparable.
Deborah did indeed stay on with Dustin as expected. Christopher and David were pleased to have their little sister under their wing, and Dustin was grateful for the company. Deborah and David occupied smaller apartments next to Christopher and Dustin, and the two women got along as if they had known each other all their lives. Dustin felt the loss of Rebecca less and less each day and was better able to cope with life at Windsor with Deborah’s courtly manner. Christopher also had another motive for keeping his sister with him; John and Ralph knew exactly who she was and he felt better able to protect her if she were under his roof.
Weeks passed and Christopher healed rapidly, as did Marcus. Toward the end of November when the wind was freezing and ice covered the ground, Christopher was completely healed and Marcus was able to flex his fingers. The arm had atrophied a bit, but he set to sword practice to strengthen it, as much as he was able to hold anything in his stiff hand.
John and Ralph had kept a remarkably low profile. Even with Sir Dennis and his henchmen as the prince’s constant companions, there were no confrontations, threats, or attempts on Christopher’s life. In fact, it was almost too good to hope for and Christopher was increasingly concerned that John was merely attempting to lure him into a false sense of security. There was, however, one point of great distress in the midst of the calm. John’s mercenary army were growing in strength and size and Christopher, as well as the justices, suspected that Philip Augustus was channeling funds into England somehow to pay for them. There was also the unmistakable fact that a great majority of the mercenaries were Frenchmen.
Dustin matured a great deal in those few weeks. The simple young woman with simple tastes was growing into the flower of Windsor. Everyone knew who she was and she was the target of most of the social events at the castle. If someone were having a gay party, then it was a must that Lady Dustin de Lohr attend. If she didn’t, the party was an immediate failure. At first the attention was due to the fact that she was the Defender’s wife, but as people gradually got to know her, she began to build her own formidable reputation.
The fact remained, however, that Dustin was not a frivolous, party-minded individual and she found most parties extremely boring. Her clothing had gotten more trendy, thanks to Deborah, but she still wore no jewelry other than the cross Christopher gave her and her wedding rings. And she never, ever went anywhere without her husband. It became a standing joke around Windsor that there was an invisible umbilical cord that linked the two together. Not only that, but for as much as Marcus and David and the others were with her, more lewd jokes suggested that each man took his turn with her on different nights. Baron de Lohr’s group was a tightknit, impenetrable clique.
’Twas the very end of November when Dustin awoke one morning after Christopher had left and proceeded to take a long, hot bath. She bathed almost every morning in the winter to get her blood warmed and flowing. As her maids fussed and fretted, she hopped from the tub and into a thick linen towel, drying off in the chill of the room.
“Nay, not that surcoat,” she told the maids. “ ’Tis too tight. I would wear the blue woolen surcoat this morn.”
Obediently, the blue surcoat was brought and one of the maids had a bit of a time trying to fasten the stays on the back. Dustin would suck her breath in and then exhale loudly, stay by stay, until they were all secure. Even then, the surcoat was far too tight. She gazed back at herself in the mirror.
“Look how tight this surcoat is,” she demanded with disgust. “I am getting as fat as a pig.”
The maids passed glances at each other as Dustin tugged and pulled at the surcoat.
“And look at my breasts. They’re growing as large as melons,” she said, pushing at her breasts and then flinching when they hurt. “I have got to stop eating so much.”
“My lady, if I may be so forward,” the plumper of the two older woman spoke. “Did your mother not speak to you of the ways of men and women?”
Dustin looked at the woman as if she were daft. “Of course, Lottie. Even so, I am a woman married and surely would have figured it out by now.”
�
�Nay, my lady, ’tis not what I meant,” the older woman said patiently. “Did your mother ever speak to you of breeding?”
“Well, of course,” Dustin said impatiently. “She told me that a man and a woman consummate their marriage and eventually….” The huge gray eyes widened to the point of bulging from her skull and she was actually shocked speechless. “A child? I am to bear a child?”
The maids giggled. “From the looks of it, one the size of the baron,” Lottie said. “When did you last have your menses?”
Dustin was shaking with excitement and surprise, and it was difficult for her to hold a thought, any thought, but try she did.
“Let me see,” she struggled to think. “Lord, it’s been so long and I didn’t even realize it. I suppose the end of September.”
The maids nodded at each other, satisfied. “Then you are nearly two months along with this child, and it should be due in early summer.” “June,” the other maid said helpfully.
Dustin put a hand to her mouth, half covering the silly grin on her face. She could scarcely believe it and was absolutely thrilled. “Truly?” she breathed timidly. “A son for Christopher?”
The maids giggled again and Dustin twirled about with delight, wanting to laugh and cry and jump for joy all at the same time. She grabbed George and did a happy little dance, and then scooped up Alexander and bounced him around while Harold barked loudly at her feet.
“I must go find my husband immediately.” She put George down on the bed and tugged at her surcoat, and then laughed at herself for trying to make it fit. “I suppose I shall have to get all of my dresses altered.”
She dashed out into the antechamber, warmed by a huge fire roaring in the hearth. Outside, the sky was nearly black with storm clouds even though it was almost mid-morning.
The maids scurried after her, demanding that she wear her warmest cloak. She was so scatterbrained that she put the cloak on backwards before realizing her error and turning it around correctly. Laughing at herself again as Lottie pulled it tight, she opened the front door to the apartments and met with the usual half-dozen guards.
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 51