He caught her before she could fall and mumbled something she didn’t catch, then threw the towel over her head and rubbed her hair vigorously until it was wild and askew and hanging in front of her eyes.
“Do you have a dressing gown?” he asked.
She was standing naked before him and had completely forgotten her state. The way he had bathed her and dried her left her feeling so comfortable and familiar with him that when he asked her the question, she simply pointed to the wardrobe and he retrieved an old robe that her mother had given her.
He held the robe out and she put her arms in the sleeves, tossing her hair out of her eyes as he pulled the sash tight. He pulled it so taut she grunted and he took her hand and led her back over to the bed.
“Now, to take care of your shoulders,” he murmured, pulling the top of the robe down to reveal her delicate shoulders and neck.
Truth was, he was so caught up in tending her that he hadn’t even stopped to realize that this was the same vicious woman who had slapped him earlier, who had screamed disrespectfully in her rage. The woman before him was calm and obedient and completely, entirely beautiful.
He didn’t know why he had held up the towel to her. True, he was intensely curious about her body and was not disappointed with his observations. She was perfectly formed, even for her small size, and her ripe breasts were the most beautiful he had ever seen. Aye, she was damn pleasing and he had been a fool to cover up all of that beauty with the robe.
It was so strange, this relationship they had developed since he had washed her hair. He hadn’t spoken but a handful of words to her, and she had yet to utter a sound, yet they moved together and responded to one another with alarming comfort. The male part of him liked it very much, but the rational part did not. To have a wife that was distant and cold was safe for him, someone who could not affect him in any way. But this woman in front of him now, this vulnerable lass, was dangerous. This was a wife who could get under his skin.
“Wait,” she put up her hand as he picked up the glass vial. “My hair. I would brush it before it dries into a bird’s nest.”
“I shall do it.”
He said it so fast that he startled himself. Why in the hell should he want to brush her hair? It was a maid’s duty. Yet he was brushing it all the same, watching the light from the fire play off of the silver and gold highlights. It began to occur to him that he wanted to do these things because his wife was now an acquired possession and, like most possessions, it was natural to want to inspect what was now his. He had been married to her for nearly an entire day and was not ashamed to admit he was pleased with this fancy piece of property.
Her hair combed out and braided to keep it under control, he once again pushed down the collar of the robe and picked up the vial. He had seen the extent of the damage when he had bathed her, and he rubbed the mint-smelling balm between his hands before massaging it gently into her bruised flesh, unconsciously wincing as he did so.
Dustin gasped as he touched her sore shoulders, trying to squirm away from him.
“Nay, my lady, I promise you that this will help your pains,” he said firmly, not letting her escape his touch.
“But it hurts so,” she moaned. “And that poison smells fiercely.”
He smiled faintly. “It does indeed, but trust me when I tell you that it will help you.”
She bravely allowed him to rub more of the stuff into her shoulders, flinching when he hit a particularly sensitive spot. But his hands were expert as they touched her and she gradually relaxed, beginning to trust him somewhat. And as she grew to trust him, she also realized her curiosity about the man was growing, too. She could see no harm in asking him a few simple questions.
“Where do you come from?” she asked softly.
“My home is in Derbyshire,” he replied. “The keep where I was born is called Lohrham Forest.”
“Is David your only brother?” she asked, her eyes closing drowsily as his warm hands moved over her skin.
“Aye,” he replied. “And I have a sister, too, although I have not seen her in some time. She is fostering in Bath.”
“How old is she?” Dustin inquired.
“Almost seventeen,” he said. “Her name is Deborah.”
Dustin’s eyes opened. “A biblical name, and very pretty. Is she fair as you and David are?”
“Aye, more so.” He put some more ointment on his hands and began to rub between her shoulder blades. “Yet she is not nearly as fair as you are. You have got the whitest skin I have ever seen.”
She snorted ironically. “And I am sure it is beautiful shades of purple and green by now. I always did bruise easily.”
His lips twitched. “Your back and shoulders are striking shades of blue.”
She sighed heavily, hanging her head and he was able to rub the smelly stuff into her neck. “How did you come to acquire your unusual name?” he asked after a few silent moments.
She sighed, feeling contentment and comfort as he rubbed away. “My grandmother’s ancestral keep is called Dustinley,” she replied. “My mother always swore that she would name her firstborn Dustin, for she was confidant her first child would be a boy. When I was born, she would not go back on her word and named me Dustin after all. Father added Mary Catherine.”
“Your father was a level-headed man,” Christopher nodded in agreement.
She twisted her head back to look at him, her wide gray eyes latching onto him like a vise. He was mesmerized by the beauty, the color, the emotion he saw in the depths. “How did my father die?” she asked softly.
He lowered his gaze, concentrating on his task. After a pause, he spoke. “An arrow to the chest.”
“Did he die immediately?” she asked quietly.
Nay, he did not, he lingered while his body rotted in the heat until it finally killed him. But he would not tell her that. “Aye, he did,” he lied.
Under his hands, he felt her sigh. “Well and good,” she said. “I should not have wished him to suffer.”
It took Christopher a few moments to realize that they had shared an entirely civil, entirely pleasant conversation. The ointment he had applied was well rubbed in, but for some reason he continued massaging her shoulders and back. Her skin was like silk, and God only knew how long it had been since he had tasted female flesh. But if he caressed her any longer he knew there would be trouble, so he removed his hands and she primly pulled the collar of the robe tight about her neck.
“This poison feels warm on my skin,” she said.
“Good,” he replied, washing his hands in the basin. “ ’Twill lessen your aches.”
“What is it?” she asked, turning to look at him.
He dried his hands, gazing back at her and noticing the way the firelight played off her hair, turning it the color of downy fluff. “Something I discovered on the quest,” he replied. “The Turks used it for nearly every ailment, but we Christians discovered that it works best on aches and strains.”
She nodded, wondering what exotic oils were warming her flesh. She knew, at least she hoped, that he would not put anything on her that would harm her, but it was the strange smell reminding her of the alien medicament.
“Now,” he put his hands on his hips as he faced her. “You will sleep this night and I do not want to hear from you again until the morning.”
“Aye, my lord,” she nodded, watching him as he acknowledged her with a sharp nod and turned for the door.
“My lord?” she called.
“Aye, what is it?” he turned with his hand on the latch.
She studied his face, noticing for the first time that it was rather pleasing and masculine, just like the rest of him. “Thank you.”
He looked back at her and she felt a peculiar sort of tingle in her arms and chest, wondering if the foreign ointment was beginning to make her sick.
“My pleasure, my lady,” he replied, closing the door behind him.
He was gone and she tried to make herself comfortable under
the covers, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell about her. She would have to wash the stuff off her come the morrow. Suddenly, something heavy hit the bed and she knew without looking Caesar had decided to come out from his hiding place to join her. She smiled, petting the cat as he got comfortable next to her.
Dustin thought the smell might keep her up, but as soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep with dreams of a handsome blond husband filling her mind.
*
Even as his wife slept the night away, Christopher was wide awake in massive bed that was now his. He could only stare up at the ceiling, his mind a confused jumble of emotions he could not quite grasp.
She had not mentioned leaving for Nottingham on the morrow, which was good. He had reconsidered allowing her to leave and hoped that she might change her mind before he had to order her to stay. After what had happened today, he was reluctant to let her from his sight and the damnable thing was that he didn’t have the slightest idea as to why.
He didn’t want his chattel damaged. Aye, that was the reason. Should she be hurt or maimed, ’twould be his burden to bear. Should she be killed, he would feel damn guilty for letting her leave in the first place. He could not seem to admit to himself that he was curious about her and she was very pleasant to look at, and in the recesses of his mind he knew if she left, Lioncross would be a colorless place. Besides that, he would have to appoint one of the servant’s chatelaine and from what he had seen of them, they were a stupid lot. Nay, he needed someone competent to run his house, and his wife seemed to have her wits about her. Well, sometimes.
Her place was here, at Lioncross, running the castle for him, not dreaming her days away in Nottingham. He only hoped she didn’t hit him when he told her that, his lip was still swollen. Besides, if she did that, he might have to put her over his knee.
Something hit the foot of the bed and he jumped, sword in his hand before he drew another breath. Yet his defensive posture was for naught. Caesar was purring madly at the bottom of the bed, kneading at the coverlets as he approached.
He let out a loud hiss of relief and put the sword back down. “Christ, you little maggot,” he grunted. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Caesar’s eyes were half-closed as he bumped up against Christopher’s hip, his big claws snagging the coverlet. Christopher sat up and frowned at the animal. “What are you doing here, anyway? Your mistress will be wondering where you are.”
The cat’s answer was to purr even louder, then yawn a big cat yawn at him. Christopher grinned in spite of himself. “So you want to sleep here, do you? Well, I will not allow it. I do not like cats, especially pushy ones. Go away.”
Caesar turned a couple of circles trying to find just the right spot to lay on, and then promptly deposited himself. Christopher scowled. “Nay, beast, not here,” he said sternly, reaching to pick up the cat.
Quick as a flash, Caesar rolled onto his stomach and latched onto Christopher’s hand, claws digging into him and his big teeth clamping down. Every time Christopher tried to move his hand, Caesar would scratch at his forearm with his huge back claws.
“So you think you have a catch, do you?” Christopher demanded, amused. The cat wasn’t hurting him so long as he remained still. “Release me, devil, or I will take my dagger to you.”
The cat started to purr again, still clutching his hand with a death-grip. Christopher shook his head. “Let me go and you can stay.”
The cat’s hind legs scratched at him again and Christopher scowled. “I promise.”
He would swear until the day he died that Caesar understood him. The cat immediately released him and rolled into a ball, his green cat-eyes closing contentedly and his purring loud and rhythmic. Christopher had to chuckle, sliding back down under the covers, trying not to disrupt his new friend.
“Damnedest thing I ever saw,” he muttered, finally feeling relaxed enough that he might sleep.
Caesar was half-laying on his neck when he awoke. The sun was just beginning to peer over the eastern horizon and the day looked to be clear. Christopher reached up and carefully removed the animal, lest he find a claw in his neck, and sat up, scratching his head. Finally rising, he ordered hot water so that he might quickly bathe himself.
After a brief wash and shave to trim up his beard, he dressed in most of his armor and gave a quick glance at his bed before quitting the room. Caesar was still fast asleep on his pillows. Christopher shook his head at the beast, he hoped this was not to be a nightly occurrence.
The house was coming alive as he descended the stairs, servants bustling about and the smells of the morning meal floating through the dim great room. David and Edward greeted him as they came indoors from the bailey.
“You overslept,” David commented.
“It would seem so,” Christopher answered, turning to Edward. “How goes the repair on the north corner of the keep?”
“Done, my lord,” Edward replied. “Finished yesterday while you were tending your wife. She looks well enough.”
Christopher’s brow furrowed. “Is she up already?”
“Aye, up and gone,” David said. “She seemed quite distracted, too. Did you two have words again?”
“Gone where?” Christopher demanded, ignoring the other questions.
David shrugged. “I do not know, but I sent Leeton to follow her,” he said. “Do not worry about her.”
Christopher passed a glance at the open front door, noticing the pink hue cast over the stone. He wondered why Dustin was up so early. Where could she possibly go? His inclination was to go after her but he refrained. Leeton would watch over her.
“Well, Edward,” he said after a moment, “Let us see what kind of repair job has been done to my wall.”
“You will approve, my lord,” Edward replied arrogantly. “I, myself, do.”
Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Then let us hope that your standards are as high as mine,” he said, just to poke at the man’s pride.
The repair was indeed well done and Christopher was pleased. There were so many other repair jobs that Edward and David had already put men on them. Even as the sun rose the keep was busy with activity. Christopher would inspect every job, every bit of material, personally.
“Where is Sir Jeffrey?” he finally asked after inspecting the second such repair job.
“On the wall,” David replied, glancing up to the ramparts. “He was up there all day yesterday, and was on the parapet before the sun rose. I have yet to say two words to that man.”
Christopher stopped and looked up to the top of the wall, his eyes scanning for the big German. It did not take long for him to find the man, standing with his arms crossed near the guard tower, gazing across the distant moor.
Christopher stared at the man for a few long seconds, his face unreadable.
“Send him to me,” he said finally. “We would be through with this now.”
“You are going to dismiss him?” David asked.
“Hell yes.” Christopher turned and went into the castle.
Jeffrey did not keep him waiting this time. Christopher received him in the small solar where he had delivered his missives to Lady Mary, standing by the long, thin windows that opened out onto the bailey. He, however, kept Jeffrey standing in silence for nearly 10 minutes before he acknowledged him.
“How long have you served here at Lioncross?” Christopher asked coolly.
“Six years,” Jeffrey answered, then almost as an afterthought, “my lord.”
Christopher ignored the potential insult. “Then you served Sir Arthur.”
“Yah, my lord,” he replied. “I am his captain.”
“Was,” Christopher corrected him as he turned around. “Since the man is dead and the fortress is mine, your position is dissolved.”
Jeffrey stiffened slightly. “Lioncross is my home, my lord. I have defended her well, as I have defended Lady Mary and Lady Dustin.”
Christopher looked at him then, when he men
tioned Dustin, just to see what sort of expression the man held. There was none.
“Then you know of my wife’s habits,” he said, deliberately using the term ‘wife.’ “Then, pray, do you know where she went this morning? You seem to keep an eye out for her, as you pointed out to me yesterday.”
“I do not know.” Jeffrey’s voice was colder. “I saw her leave, that is true, but I do not know where she went. Mayhap her watchdog can inform you of her actions upon their return.”
“Sir Leeton is an extremely capable knight, far more than a mere watchdog, I assure you.” Christopher did not like the man. “In fact, I have so many capable knights here at Lioncross that your services are no longer required. You may gather your personal possessions and be gone by the nooning meal.
He had, in effect, kicked him right out on his arse. Jeffrey, however, was expecting it and did not flinch. Instead, very strangely, he smiled and Christopher went immediately on his guard.
“As you wish, my lord,” he said. “In fact, I appreciate the orders. It will allow me the freedom and adventure I have been waiting for.”
Christopher didn’t answer, still eyeing the man warily. Jeffrey gave a little chuckle and moved for the door, stopping in the archway.
“There is one more thing, baron,” he said. “Since I am no longer under your command, then I feel no need to hold my tongue. I know your knights have been pressing the soldiers for information about me, and I can suspect what you have been told, so I will clarify the rumors for you. It is true that I feel more for Lady Dustin than simply friendship and duty. I know that you married her simply to gain the keep and for that, I cannot fault you.” His voice suddenly lowered and his smile faded. “Even though I am no longer her protector, have no doubt that I will still be watching over Lady Dustin. If I hear that you have so much as touched a hair on her lovely head in anger or violence, then I will come and I will kill you. Remember that.”
The de Lohr Dynasty Page 9
