“Dustin, I will not be fighting him,” he said softly. “Marcus had an…accident this morning and he is unable to compete.”
“Accident? What sort of accident?” she looked at him suspiciously.
“He broke his sword hand,” he replied softly.
Dustin was concerned. “Is he all right? How did he do it?”
“He will be fine,” Christopher replied, avoiding her second question. “Tell me, my lady, would you like to go to the Street of the Jewelers later today? I promised you a trip.”
She shook her head. “Nay, I do not feel like shopping.”
He raised an eyebrow. He repressed an urge to leave her alone to her self-pity, instead resorting to a seldom-used tactic; he begged.
“I would like you to come with me,” he said softly, gently. “Please?”
She shook her head again. “Nay, I do not want to go,” she repeated.
That was as much begging as Christopher was going to do. Abruptly, he rose and began fumbling with his armor. There was frustration and disappointment to his movements. Dustin watched him from the corner of her eye first, then more openly, watching his sharp and rather reckless movements.
“Do you really hate Marcus?” she asked.
“Nay,” he replied. “I do not. I never did.”
“Do you hate me?” she questioned.
He came to a halt and looked at her. “Of course not, Dustin. I could never hate you.”
She stood up, her body rigid and her beautiful face intense. “Then tell me you forgive me or tell me you will never trust me again before you take another breath,” she pleaded. “I cannot go on with this any longer, Christopher.”
He stared back at her. “Is it so important that I forgive you? Are you not satisfied to let things pass over?”
“Nay, I am not,” she said passionately. “I will not have this between us, not for the rest of our lives. I will not have a seed of bitterness or a gram of mistrust that you can throw back in my face.”
“Why would I do that?” he asked, puzzled. “But if it is so important to you, then I do forgive you.”
“And Marcus?” she pushed.
He lowered his gaze, pretending to busy himself with his helmet, but she reached out and stopped his hands, her fingers curling around his great mailed gloves. He tried not to look at her but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Their gazes locked and she lifted her eyebrows.
“Do you forgive him?” she whispered, enunciating each word.
“Would you have me forgive him?”
She nodded firmly so there would be no mistake. Christ, as he looked into the depths of her haunting gray eyes he knew at that moment that there was nothing on earth he wouldn’t do for her.
“Then I do,” he whispered.
“Will you tell him or shall I?” she asked.
“I will when I see him,” he replied, trying to shake off the effect her gaze was having on him.
She shook his hand, trying and succeeding to regain his attention. “Nay, Christopher, you will tell him now.”
“Dustin, I am not yet finished with my bouts and…..”
She cut him off. “The man is crippled, Christopher. ’Twould greatly improve his outlook to know that you do not carry a grudge,” she said softly, her tone honey to his ears. “And know this, husband; a clandestine relationship takes two people. Even if Marcus were willing, which he was not, I certainly would not jeopardize my marriage to you by taking part. ’Tis you I love, husband, not Marcus Burton.”
He stared back at her, her words sinking in. ’Tis you I love, husband. Her words filled him more than he ever thought possible, hearing it again from her and knowing that this time, she meant it. She wasn’t ill or sleepy. She was clear-headed and rational. When she smiled as if to emphasize her words, he came apart, kissing her happily more times than he could count, listening to her giggles and sighs and, finally, her soft pleas to stop. Her arms were wound around his mailed neck, her face against his beard.
“I am so glad you do not hate me,” she whispered against his cheek.
He kissed her chin. “Dustin, there is nothing you could possibly do to make me hate you,” he replied. “I am so sorry for the things I said. I didn’t mean them.”
“I know,” she rasped, cuddling against him.
His kisses slowed and he grew thoughtful. “You said something to me last night, something that has irked me ever since.” He relaxed his hold and she slipped down to stand on her feet. “You said that sex is all we have between us. It isn’t, is it?”
She shook her head and put her fingers on his lips to quiet him. “I just told you I love you, Chris. Obviously, there is more than a physical relationship on my part.” Her smile faded. “But what about you? When I asked you, you gave me a pretty speech that I still find difficult to understand. You said love was difficult to achieve and that it took time. It took me less than a week to know that I loved you. Is that enough time?”
He grinned and kissed her fingers. “It is.”
She caught his knowing grin, eyeing him. “And?”
“And what?” he said with good-natured evasiveness. “Do you wish me to tell you that I would die for you a thousand times over? That I worship the ground you walk on? That I find myself living simply to see your smile, to hear your laughter, to feel your fist on my jaw?”
She giggled, closing her eyes briefly and drinking in his words happily. “Aye, tell me all that and more,” she breathed. “Tell me you love me.”
His smile faded and his grip tightened, his blue eyes boring into her. “I do. More than anything.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t truly expected to hear him admit it and she was surprised, but at the same time an overwhelming sense of elation swept her and she smiled broadly. She grabbed his beard and shook his head gently.
“Then say it, Chris,” she demanded softly. “I would hear those words from your lips.”
He pulled her to him, nipping at her ear. “In time, sweetheart. But know that I do.”
She would be satisfied with that for now. She did not understand why it was so hard for him to utter the words, but it mattered naught. He admitted his love and she was delirious with joy.
“Now we must go and find Marcus,” she said, pulling away from his probing lips.
“Now?” he repeated, his thoughts lingering more on seeking their bedchamber.
“Now, Chris,” she said firmly. “He feels terrible, I know it.”
Christopher gave her a long look before sighing with reluctance. “Very well.”
He took his wife’s hand and escorted her to the low, squat outbuildings that housed visiting knights. The knight’s quarters were cool and dark as the two of them entered, the smell of the corridor dank. As they progressed, she became apprehensive, wondering if Marcus would throw them both out on their ear. But she had to try; she was sure if she hadn’t hounded her husband then he would not have come. The man’s pride was legendary.
Christopher stopped before an iron-clad door and gave a sharp rap. They heard Marcus’ voice demand identification of the caller.
“ ’Tis me, Marcus,” she said softly before Christopher could respond. “Dustin.”
After several moments they heard the latch to the door lift and slowly, the door swung open.
Marcus’ pale face loomed in the door, his right hand bandaged almost to his shoulder. His eyes were riveted to Dustin, and then with surprise they focused on Christopher. But there was no emotion whatsoever and the silence was uncomfortable.
“We came to see how you are faring,” Dustin offered, feeling the tension rise. “I am so sorry you had an accident. Is it bad?”
Marcus looked at her a moment before opening the door wide and allowing them entrance.
“It’s bad enough, my lady. I will not be fighting in the tournament tomorrow,” he replied politely.
“What did the physician say?” Christopher asked.
Marcus didn’t look at him as he pulled
up a chair for Dustin. “That it is broken.”
“How bad?” Dustin asked, concerned, her lovely face upturned to him.
Marcus sat on his bed. “Bad,” he said with a nod of his head. “Very bad.”
Dustin glanced at Christopher, who was looking at his friend. As Christopher gazed at the man, the waste and the selflessness of Marcus’ actions gripped him like a vise and he felt his pride, his rigidness abate.
“How bad, Marcus?” he pressed quietly.
Marcus looked at the bandage, touched it. “Most of the bones in my hand are broken, as well as my elbow,” he said. “The physician seems to think that my arm, when it heals, will be virtually useless.”
Dustin gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, Marcus, that’s terrible,” she exclaimed softly. “But surely the physician is wrong. Why, once your hand is healed, ’twill only be a matter of building your strength again.”
“Or learning to fight with my left hand,” Marcus smiled at her, his eyes dulled.
Dustin returned his smile sympathetically. “Marcus, I am truly sorry for you. You are the greatest fighter I have ever seen, next to Christopher, of course. You will be again, someday, I know it.” She reached out and gingerly touched the stiff bandage. “How did it happen?”
Marcus didn’t even look at Christopher, keeping his eyes focused on Dustin’s blond head. “It’s not even worth mentioning, my lady, truly. What’s done is done, and I’ve moved on.”
Dustin didn’t press anymore. Christopher wouldn’t tell her how it happened, and neither would Marcus, and she suspected that one had to do with the other.
“I hear that you are now a great and powerful baron,” she said, trying to shift the subject to something less morose. “Congratulations, Marcus. Richard will be most pleased.”
He nodded. “I hope so, as I am eager to see my holding,” he said. “The winters are hell that far north, though.”
She grinned, her eyes alive. “They cannot be worse than winters on the Welsh border. We freeze sometimes for six straight months.”
“Do you hear that, Chris?” Marcus actually looked at him. “You have six months of the deep freeze to look forward to.”
Christopher cracked a half smile. “Then I am pleased to have you to commiserate with.”
Marcus snorted. “I am not entirely sure I am equipped to handle a cold winter any longer,” he said. “Winters in the Holy Land were beautiful and mild. I fear I have been spoiled.”
Christopher nodded. “As have I,” he said. “I am ashamed to admit it.”
Dustin, happy that they were at least talking civilly, took the opportunity to slip from the room. She rose from her chair and put her hand on Marcus’ shoulder.
“My husband wishes to speak with you, Marcus, so I will leave you two alone.” She patted his shoulder before moving for the door. Christopher, standing in front of her like a huge movable wall, crossed his arms.
“And where do you plan to go?” he asked pointedly. “I will not have you wandering the halls of the knight’s quarters alone.”
“That is true, my lady,” Marcus rose. “I am sure your husband doesn’t mind if you hear what he has to say.”
Christopher looked over her head to Marcus. “Nay,” he said after a moment. “I simply….Marcus, I know that whatever I say is grossly inadequate considering what has happened, but all the same I wanted you to know that….well, that I am so very sorry for the way I acted, and for what I said. I cannot explain myself except to say that I was foolish. Whether or not you forgive me is your privilege, but I wanted you to know my feelings just the same.”
Marcus gazed back at him, his cobalt blue eyes unreadable. Christopher, positive the man was going to throw him bodily from the room then and there, cleared his throat and continued.
“Dustin will be awarding prizes at the tournament tomorrow,” he said. “I would consider it an honor and a personal favor if you would act as her protector.”
Marcus knew how hard that request must have been for Christopher. Truth was, he would like nothing better. He was almost as good with a sword in his left hand, as he was with his right hand, although most people didn’t know it. But Christopher knew it, else he would not have asked.
Marcus didn’t blame Christopher for anything, for all of the events stemmed from his blunder. If the situation had been reversed, he doubted he would have acted with as much control as Christopher had, in spite of everything that had happened.
“ ’Twould be my pleasure, my lord,” he said after a moment, his heart melted by Dustin’s huge smile.
Christopher nodded shortly. “My thanks,” he said. “What did John say of your injury?”
That seemed to bring some humor to Marcus’ lips. “He was only just here moments before your arrival,” he replied. “His personal physician tended me, you know. To say the prince is furious is an understatement, especially in light of the fact that I had all of my conditions put in writing and he cannot do a damn thing about it. I am a baron by his hand whether or not he likes it, and he has no champion at the tournament tomorrow.”
Dustin, feeling the tension of the room drain away, was happier than she had been in a few days. She leaned into Christopher, feeling his arm go about her waist.
“We are going to the Street of the Jewelers, Marcus,” she said. “Please accompany us.”
Marcus waved her off. “Nay, my lady, as much as I would like to, I have been ordered to rest and I must say that my arm throbs.”
“Of course,” Dustin nodded. “Then mayhap we will see you at supper?”
“I would not miss it,” he replied. “That is, if the baron is gracious enough to allow me the company of his knights and wife.”
“You are my vassal, it is expected that you are with me at all times,” Christopher said firmly, rescinding his order of dismissal he had issued the night before and hoping to make it sound firm enough that Marcus would not dare back down. But the man was a baron now, too, and was no longer subject to Christopher’s orders. “If that is agreeable,” he added.
Marcus grinned at the addition of the last sentence. “It is,” he replied. “Did you know that John granted me five hundred troops to take with me to Somerhill? As big as your force, I might add. The task at hand is selecting my knights. If you have no objection, I will be taking Dud and Trent with me.”
“None at all, as they are your men,” Christopher replied. “There are many fine knights at Windsor because of the tournament and tomorrow should provide you with a great opportunity to view their skills.”
Marcus nodded. “I already have at least two men in mind.”
“Who?” Christopher was suddenly all talk, all business.
Dustin listened to her husband and his vassal, almost weak with relief. Once again they were talking as they had when she had first met Marcus, before all of the ugly scenes and words. Therefore, she was perfectly content to stand there patiently whereas before, she would have whined to leave.
They left Marcus to rest almost an hour later. Dustin by then was truly bored, twitching restlessly until Christopher finally excused himself. They left the knight’s housing and proceeded back across the grounds, their pace unhurried and their talk light. She could scarce believe that this morn she had been desperately angry at him, unsure of any feelings she had. Strange how everything became abundantly clear in a matter of minutes.
“To the Street of the Jewelers, then?” Christopher asked as they left the knight’s quarters, taking her hand and all but forgetting about the practice rounds going on in the arena down the slope.
She nodded. “I would buy you that massive ring now.”
He was grinning, scratching at his beard underneath his mail hood. “This beard itches something fierce when I perspire. What say you were I to shave it off?”
She was amazed that he had asked her opinion and took the question seriously. “You are most handsome with it off or on,” she said. “If it irritates you, then shave it off.”
“But I
will no longer be able to scratch you when I kiss you,” he teased, grabbing her and rubbing her cheek with his beard until she screamed.
“Shave the bloody thing off!” she yelled, smiling, as he released her. “You like to use it to torture me.”
“True,” he agreed. “Then mayhap I shall keep it.”
They laughed together and continued to the stables.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
From where Ralph stood, he had a perfect view of Baron de Lohr and his wife as they wandered leisurely down to the stables. He watched them hug and laugh until they disappeared from view before turning to John, seated several feet away and sitting in front of a chess set.
“Well?” John asked, considering his next move.
“De Lohr and his wife,” Ralph told him. “Looks as if he will be taking her out for a ride.”
“I’d like to take her for a ride,” John mumbled suggestively, moving a piece. Ralph pushed himself away from the window and sat back down.
“What do we do now with Burton nonfunctional?” he asked, moving his knight.
John chewed his lip as he thought. “The bastard probably broke his hand himself,” he said. “He gave me some lame excuse about a horse stepping on it. Why does this always happen to me? Just as I seem to gain the upper hand, disaster strikes. Waste of a perfectly good baronetcy for nothing. Well, now, de Lohr continues to be a problem.”
Ralph watched the prince make another move and began contemplating his own. “I am a firm believer in destroying the man at the source,” he said. “ ’Tis obvious that we can trust no one else for this task. He is quite fond of his wife, my lord. I suggest we start there.”
“What? Kill her? You used that threat on Burton but I did not believe you to be serious,” John replied. “She’s far too lovely to kill, Ralph, and I have not yet had a chance with her.”
“Nay, not kill her,” Ralph said. “But it would not be impossible to abduct her and spirit her far away. How could de Lohr focus on your destruction if he was consumed with worry for his wife?”
The de Lohr Dynasty Page 38
