Warm, bone-tired but elated, Dustin was asleep before she even realized it.
*
Christopher must have fallen asleep with his head resting on his palm, because the next thing he knew, he heard David’s astonished voice and he shot out of his chair, instantly alert. It took him absolutely no time at all to spy Griselda descending the stairs with a swaddled bundle in her aged arms.
Christopher felt his knees go weak, be it because he rose too fast or because he was overcome with rampant emotion, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the old woman approaching him with a smile on her face was cradling his child and he could not take his eyes off of the white blankets.
“Dustin?” he managed to croak.
“Fine, my lord, fine as I told you she would be,” Griselda replied. “And your daughter is a fine, healthy baby.”
Daughter. He had a daughter. Disappointment was nonexistent as he timidly took the babe and gazed for the first time on the chubby red face. At that very moment there were no possible words to describe his emotions, for all that he seemed to be feeling was a peculiar euphoria that filled his body like warm honey. He could only stand there and stare at the miracle he and his wife had created, his gratitude for both lives spared were immense. When the baby stirred and made little sucking noises, he was instantly, deeply, in love.
The infant mewed like a kitten and the entire roomful of men and vassals let out a collective sigh of approval, moving forward to get a better look at the baby, but Christopher backed away from them and shielded the baby’s face with his free hand.
“I shall not have you breathing on my daughter like a pack of jackals,” he snapped, although it was done gently. He then turned to the midwife. “She is fine? I mean, my daughter?”
“Fine, fat and saucy,” Griselda nodded confidently. “Look at her for yourself, baron, and see how large she is.”
“I see,” he said softly, pushing a massive finger into a tiny palm and being rewarded with a strong grip. He could not stop himself from smiling broadly. David pushed forward, trying to peer into the creases of the cloth and Christopher took mercy on the man. “See your niece? Isn’t she the most beautiful female you have ever seen?”
“Aye, verily,” David agreed sincerely. “She looks just like her mother.”
Being reminded of Dustin again, Christopher looked at Griselda. “I must see my wife now.”
“She’s sleeping, baron, and in good hands,” the old woman assured him. “She will not know the difference if you spend a few extra minutes admiring your daughter.”
And admire he did. He crooned softly to the infant, announcing with satisfaction that she opened one tiny eye when she heard his voice. His knights had ignored his warning and were crowding around anyway, so he threw back the folds of the blanket and displayed her quite plainly for all to see and cherish. She was so very beautiful and perfect and in all his life he had never known such pride.
David was admiring her, too. But as he admired his new little niece with pride, another sinister, darker emotion entangled itself within the others and he uncomfortably shirked off the jealousy he was feeling. Yet, as persistent as the rising sun, it bloomed again, stronger than before and David took a step back, hoping the evidence of his envy wasn’t visible on his face.
He took a good look at his brother, as happy as he had ever seen him, yet there was more to it. There was a contentment he had never seen before and suddenly, he was wildly jealous. His brother had a beautiful wife, a daughter, a keep and loyal vassals. Once, David fit into those plans but he suddenly felt like an outsider. For so long it was only he and Christopher, against all others, but now he suddenly realized it was he alone against all others. Christopher had changed before his eyes and he had been left behind.
There were no flaws to Christopher’s and Dustin’s marriage. They loved each other desperately, that was obvious. The only negative intrusion had been that of Marcus Burton, and even that influence had simply faded away. Aye, his brother and Dustin were stronger than ever, and with the introduction of the baby, David’s place in Christopher’s life was dissolved. He had been shoved aside and he knew it. The longer he looked at the babe, the more consumed he became.
“What are you planning to name her?” Leeton asked, touching the silky skin.
Christopher raised his eyebrows slowly. “ ’Tis likely to create a bit of a problem for, you see, my wife selected only one name, a male name. I have no idea if she had even considered a female name.”
Christopher caught sight of a figure descending the stairs and looked up to see his sister. Her face was a mask of thrilled astonishment as she saw what her brother held.
“The baby!” she shrieked. “Dustin had her baby. Oh, why didn’t anyone awaken me?”
She rushed to Christopher, begging to hold the infant and he reluctantly complied. She cooed and ogled and gushed, declaring the babe to be the most beautiful one she had ever seen. Then, she began calling the baby Curtis and Christopher stopped her.
“It is a girl, Deborah,” he informed her.
Deborah looked at him blankly for a second before her face spread into the most marvelous smile. “A girl? Thank God. There are too many men around here for my taste as it is.”
They all snickered as Deborah kissed the baby and told her over and over how very perfect she was. Christopher crossed his arms across his weary body, simply content for the moment to watch his daughter as she was admired by all. He felt as puffed-up as an arrogant peacock, but as the seconds passed, his heart was being pulled to the second floor bedchamber where his wife lay sleeping.
The baby began to fuss and wail lustily and Christopher was alarmed. “What’s wrong? Why is she doing that?”
“I am sure she is hungry, my lord,” Griselda said. “I have seen to securing a wet nurse from the village so that your wife may recover uninterrupted.”
“That was wise,” Christopher agreed, looking with concern on the red-faced babe. “Take her and make sure she is fed. I would see to my wife now.”
The midwife moved to take the baby but Deborah begged to hold her just a bit longer but Christopher intervened. “Deborah, soon you will have a squawking infant of your very own. Now, unhand my daughter so that she might eat.”
With a smile, his sister reluctantly handed the child over.
Dustin’s room was dark except for the light from the fire, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Christopher entered quietly, waving away the maid who was sitting vigilantly by his sleeping wife. The woman left the room quickly, leaving him alone with Dustin for the first time in days.
He moved around the bed and sat in the great hide chair, removing his boots as quietly as possible. But his eyes, the entire time, never left her face. She looked so entirely peaceful and beautiful and it occurred to him that she wasn’t snoring. Boots off, he removed his tunic and leaned forward in the chair to tenderly stroke her head, knowing he should not because it might disturb her, but wanting so desperately to touch her. His love for his wife was so great it was more a part of him than his heart or his brain, he knew he literally could not live without her.
“So, coward, you come in when all of the screaming and blood has vanished,” Dustin mumbled, her face half into her pillow.
He smiled, his hand caressing her head. “You are supposed to be sleeping.”
Her face was pale and there were dark smudges under her eyes, but her beautiful smile lit up the room. “I could not. Not until I saw you.”
He took her hand and kissed it so reverently that it brought tears to her eyes. “Did you see her?” she asked.
His eyes were misty as well. “I did and she is absolutely beautiful, as is befitting your daughter,” he whispered. “Thank you, Dustin. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
He kissed her hand again and she sobbed softly, not bothering to wipe the tears away that were streaming down her temples. “Lord God, I am tired. She was not easily born, Chris.”
“I know.” He laid his chee
k on her hand, his eyes drinking in her face. “I suppose I am to blame for that. ’Tis my tremendous size.”
She shrugged. “As large as you are, I am equally as small. I believe we are both to blame.”
He smiled broadly and leaned forward to deposit the sweetest of kisses on her lips. His forehead touched hers, his huge hand still caressing her head and feeling her softness. He was content just to feel her, to touch her, and to know she had survived something as deadly as all of the battles he had ever faced. His hands touched her face and he could still feel her warm tears, and he kissed her entire face until all of the tears were but a damp memory. Beneath his touch, Dustin sighed raggedly.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips against her temple.
Dustin burst into soft sobs again and he shushed her gently, knowing how tired and emotionally drained she was. They both were.
“I think we have a problem,” he said after a moment, trying to lighten the heady mood. “You selected only one name, a male name. We certainly cannot name my beautiful daughter Curtis.”
She blinked at him, sniffling. “ ’Tis true that we cannot,” she answered hoarsely. “But I had selected a girl’s name, as well, only I wasn’t going to tell you because I wanted so badly the babe to be a boy.”
His smile faded. “Are you disappointed, then?”
“Nay.” she insisted and he instantly believed her. “How could I be? The moment I looked at her, I wanted her more than any scruffy male child. She’s so pink and perfect and…are you disappointed?”
“Perish the thought, Dustin,” he said with soft sternness. “She is my daughter, my flesh and blood, and I love her more than anything on this earth, other than you. I wouldn’t take a son for her if God himself marched into this room and proposed a trade.”
She smiled faintly. “I am so glad. I know that all men want sons and ….”
“Not me,” he insisted. “I am perfectly happy with a gorgeous daughter in the image of my gorgeous wife.”
She put her arms around his neck and he could feel for himself just how weak she was. She needed to sleep, and so did he.
“What is this name you have selected for her?” he asked, unwinding her arms gently.
She looked thoughtful. “I was hard pressed to think of the most wonderful name I could. Anne, Eleanor, and Catherine are too common and I do not like them. And since I have an uncommon name, I wanted our daughter to have a beautiful and uncommon name, too.”
“And?” he pressed.
She smiled. “I wanted to name her after you, and after me, so I put our names together. Her name will be Christin. Christin Valeria de Lohr.”
“Christin,” he repeated softly. “I like it very much. ’Tis as fragile and feminine and perfect as she is. And Valeria after my mother. Christ, I am lucky to have such a clever wife.” He leaned down and kissed her loudly on the forehead.
She smiled, her fatigue catching up with her and her lids suddenly very heavy. He stroked her forehead. “Sleep now, sweetheart. I shall not leave you.”
She nodded feebly, trying to adjust her sore body into a comfortable position. He thought about sleeping next to her this night, but he knew she was terribly stiff and he did not want his presence impeding her. If she wanted to sleep crosswise on the bed because it was more comfortable for her, then so be it.
He settled back in the hide chair, his hand resting on her arm, and lay his head back with a sigh of contentment. He stared at the ceiling a moment, silently thanking God for his infinite mercy and the blessings he had seen fit to bestow on him. Still touching his wife, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
*
Griselda stood like a silent guard as the wet nurse fed the baron’s new child, making sure all was well. When the infant had eaten her fill and slept contentedly, she retrieved her and carried her into the new nursery that had been decorated for her and her soon-to-arrive cousin.
She lay the babe down and re-swaddled the wrappings, tightening them as she went. At one point a tiny hand found its way out of the bindings and Griselda started to put it back when she noticed just how small the hand was. The rest of the baby was large and she was healthy, but her hands were tiny and wrinkled. Curious, Griselda undid the rest of the blankets and examined the feet. They, too, were small in proportion to the size of the body and wrinkled.
Griselda looked thoughtful as she wrapped the baby up again. The small hands and feet were indicative of a premature infant, although the child was as big as any she had seen. Properly swaddled and laid on her side, the old woman watched the dark-haired infant for a moment, pondering her discovery.
After a moment, she shrugged to herself and turned away; mayhap the infant was premature, after all mayhap Lady de Lohr had been right all along.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It was evident from the beginning that no child was ever loved more than Christin de Lohr.
Dustin dismissed the wet nurse after a week of service and insisted on caring for her daughter exclusively. After all, she had birthed the babe and ’twas only right that she tend her. Christopher tried to reason with her, but Dustin would not listen. As usual, he let her have her way but kept a careful watch on her diet and sleep habits, not wanting her to tire herself.
But the spoiling and doting was equal from both parents. Christopher would sit with the baby and rock her for hours, singing to her in his delightful deep baritone and Dustin would stand in the doorway and listen with tears in her eyes. Deborah could not listen at all, the sweet tenderness of a father and daughter sent her sliding into sobs. The shortening days of autumn were spent with his daughter when they should have been spent outside with his men, but he wasn’t overly concerned. David and Edward were driving them like slaves and he knew they were being kept at the ready.
Christin would awaken every two hours during the night like clockwork and Christopher had made it his duty to collect the hungry babe and bring her to his wife for nourishment. The pleasure and contentment he derived from watching his new baby tug at his wife’s breast was well beyond words. He had oft wondered what true peace of soul and spirit was, and if he would ever achieve such a thing. Watching little Christin suckle Dustin’s swollen nipple made him realize that he had achieved true contentment in life and had not even known it.
September passed into October and into November. The snows came and they were all in the deep freeze, but inside Lioncross, there was always a warm fire blazing and food enough for all. It was truly a place of happiness and love and Christopher was sure there was no better castle in all of England. All of his life he had been searching for himself, and here he had found it.
Christmas came and Christin had turned into a fat, red-cheeked cherub with an infectious toothless grin. Christopher adored the baby; she was rarely, if ever, out of his sight and he took to carrying her everywhere he went, much to Dustin’s irritation. Christin was her daughter, too, and she was hardly ever allowed to hold her. Fortunately for the irate mother, Christopher would not dream of taking the babe with him outside and during those times, Dustin bonded with Christin eagerly. She almost felt the outsider the way Christopher demanded he be allowed to hold his daughter at all times.
But she wasn’t jealous, nor did she feel neglected, for the nights were theirs and theirs alone. Christin finally started sleeping from dusk until dawn, and Christopher always made sure he reserved that space of time for his wife. Most often, they would take a bath together, soaping each other sensually until the heat of passion would overtake them and they would make slippery-wet love to one another. The first time Christopher had made love to her after Christin’s birth had been so sweet, she had cried with the pure joy of it.
And she felt in top form, too. Her luscious figure had returned better than before, she thought, and Christopher could not get enough of her. She was so truly happy for the first time in her life that she had completely pushed John and Ralph and Richard out of her mind, for fear of hexing her good fortune. She never wanted Ch
ristopher to leave her again and the thought of him returning to battle made her sick to her stomach.
But as time passed and Christin grew, quite another thing was turning her stomach into knots. Christin was absolutely beautiful with dark, wavy hair and her mother’s huge gray eyes, and Dustin was verily pleased to see that she looked like her. The eyes and the shape of her little mouth were definitely Dustin’s, but it was the color of the hair that upset her so. With her and Christopher so blond, the dark-hair of the babe stood out obviously. With every passing day, Dustin began to imagine she saw something of Marcus in the sweet baby face.
Foolish, she scolded herself, for her mother had possessed black hair and it was entirely possible that little Christin had inherited her grandmother’s dark hair. But the fear, the apprehension, and the overwhelming guilt plagued her.
Two days after Christmas, Dustin went out to the rabbit hutches to make sure the peasant boy had given the animals enough warm bedding and food. Christopher had the babe, as usual, in the great hall. Alexander had followed her out into the hellish cold, dancing around her feet to keep warm. As she was poking into one of the cages, a figure came up beside her.
“It is awfully cold to be out here,” David said, his nose red with the ice. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure they do not freeze to death,” she said, slamming a little door closed and securing it. “I thought you were tending to the new men-at-arms?”
“I was,” David said. “But Edward and Leeton are drilling them in battle rules and I want no part of it. Where’s Chris?”
“Inside with Christin, where else?” she snorted. “Sometimes I think he loves her more than me.”
There was something in David’s eyes that met hers strangely. “I doubt it,” he replied evenly, then paused a moment. His gaze was intense on her as he spoke. “I know, Dustin.”
She blinked at him, tilting her head. “Know? Know what?”
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 73