Chapter Eight #4
“Now,” Christopher’s voice was low and controlled, “I will give you another chance. Tell me who sent you.”
The man was weak and afraid. “I…I told you that no one has sent us. We were simply robbers, my lord.”
“Robber’s with a fine crossbow? Robbers bearing Prince John’s colors?” Christopher pointed out. “I think not. Why did John send you?” He knew the answer already, but he wanted to hear the reply all the same.
“He didn’t,” the fat man insisted, spittle dropping from his pale lips. “We were, we are robbers.”
Christopher’s face was impassive as he stared at the fat little liar. Brusquely he motioned to Anthony. “Strip him.”
The prisoner wailed loudly, his pleas for mercy going ignored. Anthony and Jeffrey proceeded to strip the man nude, leaving his shredded clothing at his feet. Christopher crossed his arms over his chest.
“Do not whip me, my lord,” the man begged, crying. “Please have mercy.”
“I am not going to whip you,” Christopher informed him rather callously, glancing up to the gray puffy clouds that scattered in the sky. “Beg for mercy from the elements for they are your nemesis now.”
With that, he turned on his heel and headed toward the castle. He was confronted by Dustin’s puzzled face as she stood on the top step to the structure.
“Who’s that?” she wanted to know. “What are you going to do to him?”
Christopher’s gaze was kindly on her. “That, my lady, is a would-be assassin, and I intend to do exactly as you see,” he replied. “A night in the cold ought to loosen his tongue.”
Dustin gazed back at the prisoner, already shivering in the cool temperatures of the day. “You intend to freeze him to death?”
Christopher removed his gauntlets. “Perhaps, but I doubt it will come to that. I expect him to be spilling his life story before the sun sets.” He returned his focus to his wife. “I hear my brother fares well. Where is he?”
“Here,” David said, coming out of the castle, dressed once again in his armor. He rotated his shoulder gingerly. “A scratch.”
Christopher raised an eyebrow. “That arrow hit you hard, little brother. Are you sure?”
“It was not a scratch, it was a deep puncture.” Dustin frowned, angered that David had disobeyed her and gotten out of bed.
David smiled. “Mayhap to you, but to me it is a scratch,” he said. “I am fine.”
Dustin put her hands on her hips. “If you exert that arm, you are going to tear the stitches,” she pointed out. “Would it kill you to spend the remainder of the day resting?”
“Probably not, but I do not feel like it,” David replied, turning to his brother and motioning toward the captive. “Who’s that bastard?”
“One of John’s inept spies,” Christopher replied. “We killed the other one.”
“There were only two?” David asked. “Not an army to ambush us?”
“Nary a trace of an army,” Christopher replied. “Just the two fools. I suspect we will have more answers by dusk.”
Dustin, annoyed that David was ignoring her and Christopher seemed to have forgotten she was there, stormed back inside the castle. David and Christopher, still looking at each other yet completely aware of her display of temper, smiled at one another.
“She practically tied me to the bed,” David said.
“Is it really a scratch? Should I take a look?” Christopher asked.
“It is,” David insisted. “Look if you will, but you will agree with me. As it is, I have a training session I am late for over in the arena.”
Christopher shrugged with resignation. “Very well, go to it. But if you tear those stitches, do not ask me to defend you from Dustin’s wrath. She shall have your hide.”
David grinned. “She can have it.” When Christopher’s smile vanished, he put up his hands in supplication. “A jest! Jesus, Chris, where’s your sense of humor?”
David shook his head and took the steps to the bailey, followed by the de Velt twins. Jeffrey had left to attend to his duties, leaving Christopher with Edward and Leeton.
“He likes your wife,” Edward commented.
“As my brother, I should hope that he would,” Christopher replied evasively, wanting off the subject. “Don’t you two have anything to do?”
Leeton and Edward looked at each other, then shook their heads simultaneously. “Nay.”
Christopher glared at them. “Then find something or I shall find it for you,” he said, his gaze trailing to the open castle door. “I will be inside.”
He made his way to his rooms, passing by Dustin’s chambers to see if she were there.
When she wasn’t, he went directly to his bedchamber and stripped off his armor and clothing, taking the time to wash himself from head to toe in the basin.
As he washed, he was lost in thought. He knew for a fact that the man in the bailey was John’s plant, and he knew the arrow had been meant for him, or worse, meant for Dustin.
Already John was starting his covert assaults and Christopher decided that the sooner he could get back to London and keep track of the prince, the better.
He briefly debated as to whether or not to leave Dustin at Lioncross, yet he could not do that in good conscience.
He would not be comfortable unless he was protecting her, and he would worry if she were left behind.
He splashed water on his face, chuckling bitterly at himself.
When he had arrived on English soil, the greatest worry on his mind was Richard’s throne and his own hide.
Now with the added element of a wife he unexpectedly cared for, his problems were multiplied tenfold.
Not only did he have to keep himself safe, but he had to worry over her as well.
It wasn’t fair. He was entrusted with the most important mission of Richard’s reign and although it was inadvertent, the king had given him the added burden of Dustin Barringdon.
He briefly wondered if Arthur hadn’t been a John loyalist and had planned the distraction all along, knowing Christopher’s fondness for beautiful women.
He knew John to be clever and conniving. Christopher would have to be completely neutral in front of the prince when it came to his wife; otherwise, he knew she would be used against him. If John so much as suspected that he cared for Dustin in any way, then Christopher would be at a disadvantage.
He grabbed a towel, wiping his face and neck, his eyes distant in thought.
He had to be honest with himself, how on earth could he remain neutral in regards to his wife?
He could not, and he knew that. He was damn possessive of her and for good reason, he liked her.
And, more importantly, he hadn’t yet consummated their marriage.
If someone else got to her before he was able to mark her… .
He remembered his promise not to force her into his bed, yet as it stood, he was growing increasingly certain that he would have to break that vow. Dustin was his, and he would be the only one to brand her. He would kill any man who even as much as looked at her.
He had two nights in which to do the deed.
He almost did it this morn, had it not been for David’s interruption.
The thought of sweet, soft Dustin in his hands was enough to make him groan with pleasure.
Tonight would have to be the night, whether or not she liked it; otherwise, he would have to do it tomorrow night while they were on the road.
After that, they would be in London and he didn’t know when the opportunity would present itself once they arrived.
He changed into fresh clothing and donned portions of his mail and armor. He had duties to attend to, yet he had an overwhelming urge to seek out his wife.
He went with the urge.
*
Dustin wasn’t indoors.
She was outside in the overgrown garden that her mother had kept, cutting the last of the summer blooms from the dying stalks.
Still dressed in the flowing black dress she had attended the funeral in, she seemed intent on ripping flowers free of their confines as her long blond hair did wild dances when the wind caught it.
Christopher stood at the gate leading into the walled garden, watching her movements.
He could tell from her body language that she was still perturbed.
He came up behind her, watching her struggle with a huge stalk. “ ’Twould be easier to cut it than to rip it.”
She jumped in surprise, turning to look at him. “You scared me.” She released the foxglove and tossed the other flowers she was holding into a big basket beside her. “What is it that you want, my lord?”
“Want? Oh, nothing.” He crossed his arms casually. “I came to tell you that we will be leaving for London tomorrow. You had better pack all that you intend to bring this eve so we may load it up on the wagon.”
“We leave tomorrow?” She suddenly looked forlorn.
His brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, regaining her composure. “Nothing, my lord. It’s just that London reminded me of Rebecca again. Suddenly, I do not want to go so badly.”
“Why?” he asked gently.
She shrugged, gazing about her. Then, she smiled ruefully. “Foolishness, my lord. I guess I was already homesick for Lioncross. How long will we be in London?”
He was standing a foot or so from her. Before he realized it, he was reaching out and pushing stray strands of hair from her face, tucking them over her shoulder. “A while,” he replied, studying her face. “I am not sure exactly how long, but a while.”
She sighed, excitement filling her as he played gently with her hair. “I shall be ready, then. How many trunks may I take?”
He cocked a blond eyebrow. “How many will you need? No pets, Dustin.”
“I know that,” she eyed him. “It’s just that when mother traveled to Nottingham last summer, she took six trunks with her. Jeffrey said it was too many.”
“Jeffrey is correct,” he replied. “Pack everything you need and we shall decide from there if you need to cut back.” He could not imagine she would manage to fill any more than two; three at the most.