Christopher motioned David and the others out, moving for the door himself. With a final glance, he quit the room and closed the door quietly, leaving his wife to deal with her grief alone. But even as the others retreated back to the great hall, he remained behind, standing watch outside Lady Mary’s door in case Dustin needed him. He didn’t want her to have to go searching.
But Dustin didn’t come out and, after an hour, Christopher went back into the room to make sure she hadn’t done something horrible to herself in her moment of grief.
The room was nearly pitch black except for the small fire in the hearth. He moved silently for the bed, noticing that Dustin had not moved a muscle. Instead of open sobs, as she had been doing earlier, she was sort of moaning pathetically. Her hands were clutching her mother’s bedcoat as if she were to hold on tight enough, she could prevent her mother from slipping into the world beyond.
He realized she was stricken with grief, but she would become ill if he allowed this wallowing to continue. He cleared his throat quietly.
“My lady,” he whispered. When he received no reaction, he spoke her name. “Dustin.”
She stirred a bit and her eyes flew open. Slowly, she turned her head until her pale gray eyes found him and focused. He gazed back at her, unaware of his gentle expression.
“ ’Tis time to return to your own room, my lady,” he said softly.
Her head came up. “Nay,” she said, her nose stuffed from crying. “I would stay here. My mother needs me.”
“Your mother is dead, my lady,” he said with gentleness he never believed himself capable of. “Let me take you back to your rooms.”
Dustin looked at her mother as if she didn’t believe what he was telling her. Her features crumpled. “It is not true,” she whispered in a painful burst. “She cannot be dead.
He moved around the side of the bed. Lady Mary was already stiff and the underside of her body was turning deep purple.
“Dustin, she is gone,” he said quietly. “You must let the servants take the body away for burial.”
Dustin sat bolt upright in bed, her lovely face twisted. “No burial,” she snapped. “Not in the ground.”
“What do you mean?” he asked with a furrowed brow. “What else is there?”
She looked as if she had an answer but a sob escaped her lips and tears coursed down her cheeks. “The ground is cold and dark,” she whispered. “Mother does not like the cold.”
His heart went out to her. She sounded so much like a small child, so vulnerable and pathetic. He reached out and grasped her arms.
“Your mother is in paradise, sweetheart,” he whispered, feeling her soft flesh in his hands like a painful jolt. “She will not care that her earthly remains have been placed in the earth.”
Dustin was amazingly light and he swept her into his arms effortlessly. But she stiffened, twisting and pushing against him.
“Put me down,” she cried. “I can’t leave her.”
He gripped her tightly to his chest. “Relax, my lady. All will be well.”
“Nay!” she screamed, beating him with her fists and screaming for her mother.
Christopher took her out into the hall where he was met by several house servants. “Where is Lady Dustin’s room?” he barked.
A few women pointed fingers to the room directly across the corridor and he was moving for it, his wife still screaming and thrashing about.
“Remove her mother,” he ordered the weeping group. “We bury her come the morn.”
He entered Dustin’s bedchamber and slammed the door. Then, he went straight to her bed and placed her upon the mattress. Sniffling and weeping, Dustin tried to climb off the bed as Christopher removed his heavy leather vest. The vest hit the floor and he reached out and grabbed her by her leg, dragging her back across the bed and throwing himself on top of her simply to keep her from escaping. He didn’t know what else to do.
Surprisingly, she didn’t overly resist him. Certainly, she was stiff and unbending, but she wasn’t outright fighting. She lay enclosed in his massive arms, her back to his chest as they lay upon their sides. After a while her movements lessened and her crying softened to no more than loud hiccups. He could feel her hands gripping his arms.
She was soft and warm and sweet-smelling against him, igniting his husbandly desire. He didn’t want to marry the woman and he wanted little to do with her, but the fact remained that she was beautiful and alluring. He also felt a measure of emotion towards her at the death of her mother, and pity had a way of breaking down one’s resistance. When she finally ceased all struggles, he removed one arm from her long enough to pull the coverlet up over them both, realizing he was focused only on her comfort and needs. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t thinking only of himself. It was an odd awareness.
It was a long while before her trembling stopped and she went limp against him and he knew she had fallen asleep. Christ, how the scent of roses filled his nostrils. He had never liked roses very much but there was something about the particular scent on his wife that made it different. He thought he could grow to like it.
He smiled into the darkness, laughing at himself. The only time he had ever been in bed with a woman was to satisfy himself, and here he was laying with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, his legal wife no less, and he wasn’t making mad love to her. What in the world was happening to him? Since when did he give a care about anyone other than himself?
He thought of Dustin, how she had been rude to him, how she had been openly hostile. She’d never said a kind word, nor had he even seen her smile. Yet here he was, comforting her. Christ, he was stupid. The sands of the Holy Land must have rotted his brain somehow.
“My lord?” It was Dustin.
“Aye?” he answered, mildly surprised that she was awake.
She took a ragged breath. “When you carried my mother up the stairs earlier, I did not thank you.”
“ ’Twas my duty, as your husband,” he replied.
She paused a moment. “I know. But I will thank you all the same.”
He grunted a reply, thinking she sounded quite lucid now and thinking on leaving. In fact, he thought it would be a very good idea considering the warm and yielding thoughts he was having about her. He didn’t want to let his guard down for a woman who would only batter him.
“You do not have to stay with me,” Dustin said softly, as if she was reading his thoughts. “I am much calmer now.”
He unwound his arms and she rolled onto her back, looking up at him with a completely open expression. He was propped up on one elbow, gazing down at her and thinking her face to be wonderful. So much for letting his guard down; he couldn’t help it.
“You are beautiful,” he said before he could stop himself.
Dustin blinked in surprise at the compliment. She said the first thing that came to mind. “I am too short.”
He scowled, showing emotion for the first time. “What does that have to do with your beauty?”
She looked stumped and tired. “I…I do not know. I am just too short, that’s all.”
He cocked a reproving eyebrow and pushed himself out of bed. “The usual response to a compliment is ‘thank you,’” he said.
She sat up wearily, watching his movements. “Were you with my father when he died?”
He paused, looking at her, before collecting his leather vest on the floor. He debated what to tell her but realized he couldn’t lie about it. “Aye, my lady.”
“How did he die?” she whispered.
He didn’t know if he should tell her anything. After all, she had enough grief without hearing about Arthur’s nauseating end.
“We will discuss that at a later time,” he said after a moment. “As it stands, you will go to sleep and I will see you on the morrow.”
She didn’t answer him but lay back down, her huge gray eyes still on him. He watched her in return, his movements slowing a bit, not particularly liking the distant look in her eye. He was hesita
nt, thinking that mayhap he should not leave. Women in grief were known to do all sorts of strange things, and he did not want to be held responsible should his wife decide to hurt herself.
As he wrestled with indecision, something heavy rubbed up against his leg and he took a startled step back, looking down to see a huge orange cat blinking up at him with green cat-eyes. It was the biggest damn cat he had ever seen.
“What’s this?” he pointed at the feline.
Dustin tore her eyes from him long enough to follow the direction of his finger. “ ’Tis Caesar, my lord. My cat.”
The cat was purring loudly and moved over to him, rubbing on his leg once again. “I do not like cats,” he said finally.
A flicker of a smile crossed her face. “He likes you,” she said. “And he does not take to people easily. Caesar is my very best friend.” She clucked to the cat and the beast immediately jumped onto the bed, kneading the mattress to get comfortable.
He watched her pet the cat, a faint smile on her lips. He was becoming enchanted by her faint expression and was seized with the desire to see her smile even larger. He was very curious to see what sort of smile she could display. Was it charming? Twisted? Did she even have all of her teeth?
“That beast is as large as a lamb,” he remarked. “What do you feed it? Small children?”
As he had hoped, she smiled wide and he was absolutely captivated. As beautiful as she was, her whole face changed dramatically when she revealed her straight, white teeth and deep dimple in her left cheek.
“Nay, my lord, only chicken and innards,” she replied softly, scratching the cat’s ears. “ ’Tis all he will eat. But he is a fine hunter.”
“No doubt,” he cocked a dubious brow. “I will have to watch that he does not hunt me. I have a feeling that I would become supper.”
She gave a small laugh and he found himself smiling in return. But when her eyes moved to him once again, he quickly erased his smile. For some reason, he did not want her to see that she had affected him that way.
“I will leave you and Caesar, then.” He moved for the door, strangely feeling better that the cat had made an appearance, as if the animal could watch over her. “Sleep well, my lady.”
She watched him close the door, still scratching the cat. Her smile faded and in the darkness of the room, she had never felt more alone in her entire life.
Her husband was a cold man. Even in his kindness, he was a cold barbarian, for his kindness was forced and unreal. When he had held her with those massive, warm arms, he was stiff and not at all comforting. It was obvious he didn’t like her, although he had called her beautiful. Strange, she thought. Mayhap he just meant her hair and not the whole of her. Or mayhap he liked the color of her eyes. Whatever the reason, he was not sincere.
Sadness swept over her and tears came to her eyes once again. Tears of grief for her mother, tears of pity for herself.
She was entirely alone.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dustin buried her mother next to her father’s parents in the tiny chapel of Lioncross. She would have liked to have had a nice wake and mass for her mother, but with the oppressive heat, the body simply would not keep, and they buried Mary two hours after dawn.
Christopher stood a few feet away from Dustin, stoically listening to the same priest who had married them, intone the funeral mass. He could hear Dustin’s faint sobs, wondering if he should lend her some sort of comfort but not making the effort to try. Deep down, he didn’t want to be embarrassed if she refused him. And he knew she would.
His wife was dressed in black, from head to toe, only her porcelain face evident underneath the voluminous wimple. She was so pale that the contrast was striking. She had dark circles under her eyes; evidence that she had disobeyed him last night and had not gone back to sleep.
The mass was over and the priest moved to Dustin, whispering a few words of comfort to her. She nodded but did not reply, instead, continuing to stare at the fresh grave.
Christopher glanced at the other knights, standing several feet away, and dismissed them with a faint jerk of his head. The servants and a few peasants had already left, trekking down the soft green slope and back toward the keep. He waited until everyone was well out of range before attempting to approach Dustin.
“We should return now,” he said softly, standing behind her.
She didn’t respond and he wasn’t sure if she even heard him. He gazed off across the village in the distance and sighed. “My lady, the day grows wa….”
He was cut off when she whirled around in a great gush of black material, her gray eyes dark and her face flushed.
“I hate you,” she spit at him. “You caused all of this, you devil’s son. ’Twas you who bore the news of my father’s death, and you who forced me to marry. You drove her into her grave and I shall hate you forever.”
He was taken aback by the accusations but remained quite calm in the face of her raging.
“I forgive you for speaking to me in such a manner, knowing your grief is making you mad,” he said. “But as far as I….”
Then she did something so completely unexpected that he was caught entirely off guard. Somewhere from underneath the black cloak, a small balled fist came flying up at him and caught him on the corner of the mouth.
“You arrogant, conceited dolt,” she hissed. “I do not care if you forgive me or not, and I am quite sane. But know this; I shall hate you until I die, always, and forever. You may hold the titles and lands of Lioncross, but I am your wife in name only. Never expect my respect or my loyalty or my kindness, for you shall never receive it.”
His jaw ticked as he wiped away the bloody trickle from his lips. His anger was apparent.
“Your mother was ill, my lady. I did not kill her,” he said, his voice like ice. “As to Lioncross, she is indeed mine. As are you, in name and in body, whether or not it meets with your approval.”
“It does not,” she spat.
“Nor does it meet with mine,” he retorted. “I simply wanted the keep. You are additional baggage.”
Stung, she glared up at him, her tears forgotten for the moment. He braced himself for the next barrage as he gazed impassively into the stormy gray eyes.
“For God’s sake, de Lohr, if you didn’t want me, then why didn’t you tell the king? Or my father?” her tone was suddenly pleading. “Why could not you have simply purchased the keep and leave me out of it?”
“Because your father wanted to see you married,” he said flatly. “It would seem that mayhap he didn’t think you could catch a husband on your own, being as old as you are, so I was offered the keep for the price of marrying you.”
She was breathing rapidly but her tears were gone. She lowered her gaze, she understood his words only too well.
“Let me go, then, and you can have Lioncross,” she whispered.
“Let you go where?” he asked, puzzled.
“My mother’s family lives in Nottingham,” she replied. “I would go live with them.”
“You are my wife, my lady,” he said firmly. “You will stay with me.”
“Stop calling me your wife,” she flared, then just as quickly relaxed. Her face was pained. “I would not move to annul the marriage, if that is your concern. I would remain your wife and you could keep Lioncross.”
He studied her face, his anger abating. “Why do you want to leave so badly?”
She looked at him, then. “Why would you keep me when you plainly do not want me? At least in Nottingham I could find some measure of peace.”
“I never said I did not want you,” he corrected her.
“You said I was baggage and that our marriage did not meet with your approval,” she pointed out.
He cocked an eyebrow; he had said that, hadn’t he? “But I never said I did not want you,” he repeated. “You, however, have hated me from the beginning, that much is clear. Do you find me so horrible that you would flee your lifelong home in order to escape me?”
She
thought on that a moment. “I love Lioncross, my lord,” she said softly. “But I will not stay where I am not wanted. Lioncross may be my home, but it is your keep now. It is out of Barringdon hands.”
“You are no longer a Barringdon,” Christopher said. “As of late yester eve, you became a de Lohr. Aye, you belong here.”
He saw her face ripple at the mention of her new name and realized that David had been right; she hated it.
“Please allow me to go to Nottingham,” she whispered pleadingly. “I would be happy there.”
“And you would not be happy here if you remained?” he asked, not really wanting her to go but not wanting her to be miserable if she stayed.
After several long moments she shook her head negatively, her only answer. He could see the tears starting anew as she turned away from him.
Christopher sighed. He found increasingly that he did not want her to go, but he would not order her to remain. It would be better to have no wife at all than a miserable one making his life hell.
“Very well,” he replied. “You may depart as soon as you are ready. My men will escort you.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, standing over the freshly turned earth of Mary’s grave.
With a final, and perhaps sad, glance, he turned and left her in the dimness of the chapel.
*
Christopher did not see his wife the rest of the morning. He knew she had come out of the chapel, according to his sentries, but she did not appear for the nooning meal and he checked with the kitchen to see if she had requested her meal sent to her rooms. She had not, and he grew irritated. He had no time for all of this foolishness; he had a keep to run.
Forcing himself to forget about the woman he had been forced to marry, he delved into assessing his keep and deciding where to begin the renovations. He knew Dustin’s dowry was extensive, even though he had yet to know the exact figures, but combined with his own wealth, he knew it to be enough to make Lioncross the jewel of the Marches.
The de Lohr Dynasty Page 6
