Chapter Four #3
Dustin and the other two women rose swiftly. “What is it, Jacob?” Eve demanded.
“Welsh raiders,” the man said. Being on the edge of the village like they were, they were always more vulnerable than anyone else. “We must hide.”
Rebecca gave a little shriek and knocked over her stool. “Under the beds!”
“How close, Jacob?” Eve was breathless.
“Close,” her husband replied, hustling the women toward the beds. “I barely beat them out of the fields.”
Panic rose in Dustin’s veins. She had lived here all of her life and had seen what Welsh raiders could do. But never in that time had she been caught outside the protective walls of Lioncross, and she was terrified.
“Are the soldiers riding to meet them?” her voice was shaking.
“I do not know, my lady. I can only assume so,” the man replied, practically shoving his wife under the bigger of the two beds.
Of course they were riding to intercept them. Her soldiers were alert, that is to say, her husband’s soldiers were alert. And, after all, her husband was a baron and had fought with Richard, hadn’t he? Surely he was riding out, too. He would protect them.
Just as Rebecca was sliding under the smaller bed, the door of the hut crashed in with a deafening noise.
Dustin shrieked, startled and panicked to see three swarthy Welsh bandits storm into the room, the faces bent on nothing short of murder.
She ran cold with terror, she knew what was going to happen to her and there was no way to stop it.
But she bolted away just the same, only to be caught by one of the bastards, who laughed gleefully. At that point Dustin could only think of what was going to happen to her. She was filled with a panic and knew that her only hope was to fight like the devil, and fight she did.
The raider had her around the waist, holding her up against him and babbling in the harsh Welsh native tongue.
She was twisting wildly, swinging her fists and putting every ounce of strength she had in her legs to kick him painfully.
But he was laughing, spewing Welsh and snorting, and she knew it would not end well for her.
He was carrying her through the main room and back into a smaller all-purpose room.
Dustin put her hands out as they passed through the doorway, making it impossible for him to move her through it until he removed her wedged arms. He would succeed in removing one only to have the other grab hold of the jamb and cling for dear life.
It took the raider four tries to get her to release her hold so he could move her through the archway.
There was a table in the small room. Dustin threw herself forward and grabbed ahold of it, struggling fiercely enough that the man lost his grip for a moment, and it was enough of a chance for her to grab hold of the leg of the table, winding her arms around it in a death-grip.
She could not, would not, let her anchor go, for she knew if she did, then her fight was lost.
The raider was angry now. He grabbed Dustin by the hair and pulled hard, drawing screams from her but she did not release her hold.
He tugged and tugged, finally grabbing hold of her arms and pulling with a grunt of effort.
He managed to pull Dustin and the table several feet across the floor, but little else.
By now the man was thoroughly frustrated and resorted to smacking Dustin across her head and shoulders, trying to daze her enough to force her to relinquish her hold.
She screamed loudly with the shock and pain, but bore down and tried to protect her head as much as she could.
But, truth was, she was becoming light-headed and she was scared to death.
Mayhap she was to see her mother and father sooner than she had expected.
The man grabbed a big iron spoon and hit Dustin across the temple with it, stunning her. Her grip relaxed and she fell heavily to the floor, her temple bloodied.
Pleased with the result and a bit weary from the effort, the dirty man rolled Dustin over onto her back and tore at her bodice, his filthy hands roving greedily over her breasts.
She moaned and made a feeble attempt to claw at him, but he laughed and began to push her skirts up, running his hands along her shapely legs, murmuring in Welsh the entire time.
Spittle hung from his lips; he was going to enjoy this one.
But he never had the chance. He heard his cohorts yelling, only to be immediately silenced.
Panicked, he rose from his crouch but never made it completely to his feet as a shadow fell across the room.
Before he could defend himself, the Welshman’s body collapsed on the floor as his head rolled to the opposite wall in a bright spray of blood and flesh.
Christopher’s sword was still in his hand and he moved to Dustin.
He could see that she was injured and he sheathed his sword with a hissed curse.
The strangest feeling welled up in his chest but he chased it off angrily, too busy to deal with it at that moment.
All he knew was that he felt a sense of both grief and relief.
It was the oddest sensation he had ever known.
He tore off his gauntlets, running his hands gently over her head, probing the gash along her hairline.
Her beautiful hair was sticky with blood and he found himself stroking it aside gently.
Satisfied her skull wasn’t fractured, he proceeded to assess the rest of her body and his concern was lessened to find that she had no broken bones.
With his examination complete, he gathered Dustin into his arms and carried her into the greater room.
But his tight chest still plagued him and he was greatly angered by it.
Damn foolish woman. She was more trouble than she was worth.
Christ, how could he let her go to Nottingham when all she ever did was get into trouble?
He would not be near to save her if she left.
Disgusted with himself for feeling a sense of duty to his wife, he found it easier to deal with if he focused his anger on the foolishness of her actions.
Rebecca and her family were huddling by the hearth, all of them gasping when they saw Dustin, unconscious, with blood coating her head. Christopher passed them a disinterested gaze.
“She suffers no broken bones,” he said coolly. “She will live.”
“She fought him like a banshee, my lord,” Rebecca said bravely, her pale face streaked with tears. “She was very courageous.”
He raised a brow. “And very foolish. What was she doing here?”
“We went shopping, my lord,” Rebecca said. “She bought material for new dresses. To please you,” she added, although it was an out and out lie. The baron looked so angry that she felt she had to say something to ease his fury toward her friend.
A flicker of an expression crossed his face but was quickly gone. He dared a small glance at Dustin’s pale face, surprised by her friend’s words.
“Be that as it may, you were all lucky I found you in time, or the remains of Lady Dustin would now be coating your floor,” he said sternly. “Mistress Rebecca, you and my wife are never to leave the safety of Lioncross unescorted again. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, my lord,” Rebecca replied, seeing his coldness but also noticing just how handsome the man really was. It was an odd combination.
Christopher studied the young woman for a brief second before turning for the door. Two other huge, fierce-looking knights were there waiting for him.
“My lord,” Rebecca called out to him, taking a few brave steps forward. “How did you find us? There are so many other huts, and you did not know where Dustin had gone.”
“Did she tell you that I did not know she was gone?” he asked.
Rebecca nodded. “Aye, my lord, she did and she said you did not care.”
He looked back at the young woman with the red hair for a few long moments. He could feel himself relenting somehow, easing. He cared where she went; he forced himself to admit it.
“Her screams,” he finally said. “I recognized her screams.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows furrowed. “I do not understand, my lord.”
He sighed sharply and averted his gaze. “You asked me how I found her. It was because I recognized her screams. She carries a distance.”
He was gone, leaving Rebecca and her family to clean up a grisly mess in the smaller room but considering it a small price for their lives.