Chapter Seven #2
He let out a heavy sigh and pulled her to his chest again, feeling her tremble in his arms. Much to his surprise, she was actually holding on to him as well.
He sat back on the bed, pulling her onto his lap and holding her close, scaring himself when he realized again that she could be lying dead at his feet this very minute. He didn’t like being scared.
Dustin had suffered the fright of her life and she was quite shaken by it.
Christopher had been so fast with the sword that she had scarcely seen the dim flash of steel before she was sitting on her bottom on the cold stone.
Frightened, her arms were wound around his neck, and her cheek lay against his warm shoulder as he comforted her.
It was almost worth the fright. He was so big and warm and gentle.
She’d never needed the comfort of a man before and had fought those who had tried, but at this time she found his strength to be most reassuring and pleasant. Someday, she might even like it.
Christopher held her for the longest time, neither one of them saying a word.
It was as if they both realized what could have happened and it brought the opinions of what they held for each other to new heights.
Christopher could not even think about it anymore, every time he imagined the worst, he felt sick.
Dustin, for her part, was feeling terribly lucky to be alive, and she was very content sitting on Christopher’s lap.
A loud purring invaded their clinch and something warm and fuzzy bumped up against Dustin’s back and Christopher’s arm. They both turned to look at Caesar, purring wildly and meowing at the same time.
“Damnable beast,” Christopher muttered.
Dustin turned in his lap, enough to reach out and pet the cat. In the process, she had ended up facing Christopher completely, face to face, chest to chest. It was a provocative position. Christopher noticed but Dustin didn’t; she was more focused on the cat.
“You are a traitor and a troublemaker,” Dustin whispered to the cat, scratching his ears. “What did I ever do to make you turn your back on me? Well?”
Caesar licked her fingers and then went over to Christopher’s pillow, kneading it with his claws.
“Back away, rodent,” Christopher said as he reached out a big hand and batted the cat away. Undeterred, Caesar jumped back on the bed and resumed his kneading in the exact same spot.
Christopher growled impatiently and Dustin giggled. “Caesar, the baron does not want you there.”
“I tried to put him out tonight, three times,” he said. “I closed the door each time, but somehow he got in. Where does he come from?”
Dustin shook her head. “I do not know. There must be a gap or a hole somewhere he can slip through,” she gazed at the cat again. “He is a clever beast.”
Christopher was looking at her as she watched the cat, her face so close to his that if he had stuck out his tongue, he would have licked her.
He could smell roses, assaulting his senses until his limbs tingled painfully.
How could a woman who shunned the more feminine things in life smell so damn sweet and womanly?
Yet that was exactly what she was, extremely feminine and completely unaware of it.
The flames of desire licked at him and he knew he was going to have a hell of a time dousing the fire if she didn’t leave right away. Damnation, he wanted her, but she would have to want him first. She would have to want him first.
“You have found your pet,” he said, his voice husky and soft. “I would appreciate you removing him so that I might get back to sleep.”
She turned her face and looked at him, jolted with his close proximity and riveted to the intense sky-blue eyes.
She could feel his warm breath on her mouth and his masculine musk filling her nostrils.
Her breathing began to come faster and with her reaction, she startled herself right off of his lap.
“I apologize again for surprising you this night,” she said, her eyes inexplicably glued to him as she retrieved Caesar. “Goodnight, my lord.”
She tore her eyes away and moved for the door, clutching the cat. By the time she reached the archway, she was almost running.
Ten minutes later, the cat was back.
Christopher appeared in Dustin’s room, holding the cat away from him as if it carried a disease. Dustin, almost asleep, was startled to see him looming over her, his face grim.
“I have a theory, my lady, I would like to test,” he said frankly.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “What?”
He threw the cat on the bed. “Move over.”
“What?” her eyes opened wide.
He pushed his way into the bed, shoving her over. “I am curious to know if Caesar is attached to me personally, or simply the bed I am sleeping in.”
Dustin tried to protest but the fact of the matter was that she was curious, too.
Somewhere in the process of allowing him into her bed, she was caught next to him and his arm ended up around her.
Pulled up against his muscular chest, she suddenly didn’t feel much like protesting anymore. She rather liked the feeling.
“Now be still,” he admonished, his arm squeezing her close.
“Pretend to sleep and let’s see what he does.”
Her cheek against the soft, smooth skin of the crook of his shoulder, Dustin obeyed and closed her eyes. Christopher feigned sleep as well, feeling the cat as it fidgeted and turned circles before finally plopping down, half on his legs. He heard the cat sigh contentedly, purring up a storm.
He lay there a long, long while, every so often taking a peek at the cat where it lay.
Caesar was sleeping soundly. This fact worried him, for it proved that Dustin’s cat was indeed attached to him and not to the bed upon which he had been sleeping.
He winced inwardly, wondering how Dustin was going to react to this discovery. Hell, he didn’t want the damn cat.
He glanced over at the top of her blond head. “Dustin,” he whispered. When he received no answer, he gave her a little shake and tried again. “Dustin.”
She responded by sighing raggedly and flinging an arm across his chest, burying her face half into his shoulder and giving another slow, languid sigh. He then realized she had fallen asleep and cracked a smile into the darkness.
With the cat draped across his legs and his wife burrowed against him, Christopher should have felt trapped but, instead, had the strangest feeling of satisfaction. He chuckled ironically and found himself stroking the top of Dustin’s blond head.
“If you two aren’t a maddening pair,” he whispered, feeling the silkiness of the strands. “What in the hell am I going to do with you?” He didn’t know if he meant the cat, or his wife, or both.
Unconsciously, Dustin’s fingers drifted across his skin and he put his hand over them, pressing her soft hand against his flesh.
He lay staring at the ceiling for an indeterminate amount of time, his mind a jumble of curious emotions. He didn’t even realize when he finally drifted off, for the next thing he knew the dawn was breaking, the cat was lying on his stomach, and both arms were wound protectively around his wife.
It was the best feeling in the world.
*
Dustin wasn’t quite sure how to feel anymore.
She’d never needed anyone, much less a man, and as fiercely independent as she was, she was desperately confused.
Puzzled because waking in Christopher’s arms had been a most wonderful experience and she hated herself for thinking such betraying emotions.
She absolutely refused to become attached to anyone, even her husband.
Dressed in the new golden surcoat that made her look like a goddess, she allowed Christopher, David and Edward to escort her into town to Rebecca’s small hut.
The peasants, who were well acquainted with the rough-and-tumble mistress of Lioncross Abbey, pointed and waved and smiled at her as she passed them by and Dustin was deeply embarrassed at the attention.
She felt as if she were making a spectacle of herself, pretending to be a fine lady when the serfs knew very well that she was not.
She was riding in front of her husband, who had been inordinately quiet this morn.
But, then again, so had she. She didn’t know what to say to him, and when she donned the golden surcoat for their trip to town, she tried to tell herself it wasn’t because she wanted to please her husband.
Her thoughts were completely foreign to her.
David was the first to dismount when they reached Rebecca’s cottage, lifting Dustin from Christopher’s saddle.
She thanked him when her feet hit the ground and tugged at her dress in a most unladylike manner to straighten it.
David and Edward grinned while Christopher raised a reproving eyebrow.
Dustin, still pulling at the neckline of her dress and scratching her right breast, caught the smiles of the two knights and realized what she was doing.
“Well, it itches,” she declared and, thrusting up her chin, approached the door and rapped loudly. She ignored the knights laughing behind her.
Rebecca opened the door after a moment, her eyes widening at the sight of her friend. “Dustin. My God. You look gorgeous.”
Dustin smiled broadly at her friend. “Thanks to you. It fits perfectly.”
The two women squealed in greeting, babbling so quickly that the men could understand very little.
“How’s your head? You had us so worried,” Rebecca gushed.
“It’s fine.” Dustin pulled her hair back to prove her point. “Christopher put a stitch in it and it is healing quickly.”
Rebecca glanced over her friend’s shoulder at the three big men, suddenly a bit subdued with their presence. But Dustin wouldn’t let the mood settle.
“We brought more material,” she said, grabbing her friend’s arm and dragging her inside. “The baron is taking me to London.”