Chapter Twelve #4
His smile vanished. With a heavy heart, he resumed his meal.
They were being served a course of venison in a sweet sauce when Ralph suddenly appeared in front of them, his oily face focused on Dustin. Dustin nearly choked when she looked up and saw him leering down at her.
“What do you want, Ralph?” Christopher demanded coldly.
“Me? Nothing,” he said. “But our glorious prince has sent me to offer his hearty approval to Lady Dustin’s bold action.
A protective wife is a wonderful thing, de Lohr.
Yet if she is that aggressive with a woman who had not even touched you, I wonder how you, baron, would deal with a man who had indeed done more than lay a hand on your wife? ”
Christopher returned to his food. “I would kill him, of course.”
“Even Marcus Burton?” Ralph’s gaze flicked two chairs to Dustin’s left.
Dustin’s head came up, her eyes wide. But Christopher didn’t flinch. “And what lies do you have to tell me about Marcus?” he asked disinterestedly.
Ralph smiled directly at Dustin. “Ask your wife, de Lohr. She will tell you.”
Dustin was close to exploding. With all of the raging emotions she was feeling, they were begging for a release. She could not believe what she was hearing and, before she realized what she was doing, she stood up and slapped Ralph Fitz Walter across the face as hard as she could.
“You evil little bastard,” she hissed.
The entire table shot to their feet, Christopher with his hand to the hilt of his sword but making no move to stop his wife. The front portion of the room that witnessed the action went silent and the silence spread as the explanation went from person to person.
She had hit him hard. Ralph’s head snapped sharply to his left with momentum and slowly, he brought it around to face Dustin again.
Her face was angry and flushed, but her gaze didn’t waver.
Ralph knew he could not seek revenge now, in front of her husband, but he was deeply humiliated. He forced himself to smile at her.
“Too close to home, my lady?” he said thinly. “Mayhap you should have used the same tactic on Marcus in the common room at the inn.”
Dustin was livid and unthinking. She bound onto the table, skirts and all, and would have throttled Ralph had it not been for Christopher grabbing her.
He hauled his hissing, kicking wife against him and had to yell at David and Marcus to keep them from charging Ralph in her stead.
Edward grabbed hold of Marcus to control the big man.
“Dustin,” Christopher said harshly. “Stop it. You are making a scene.”
She stilled, aware that he was right and trying desperately to control her fear and anger.
But she was reeling with shock and disbelief; how in God’s name did Ralph find out about Marcus and her?
More importantly, what would Christopher think now?
If Christopher wasn’t sure he loved her before, then surely this would kill any affection he had for her.
Ralph, having accomplished what he had set out to do, abandoned the table, leaving everyone in an uproar.
Dustin simply wanted to die. She fell back into her chair, her hands covering her face miserably, as Christopher and Edward tried to calm the table and each other.
She could not even look at Marcus; she wondered if he were even still at the table.
Surely he would turn and run for his life. Mayhap she should go with him.
There was a cup thrust at her, big hands forcing hers around it. “Drink this, sweetheart,” Christopher murmured. “Be a good lass and drink up.”
Shaking, she took several large swallows.
Christopher had one hand on her wrists, helping her drink, while a big arm was draped over her shoulders.
Dustin thought that mayhap he would get her drunk to lessen the pain when he killed her, but his expression looked deeply concerned, and that puzzled her.
“That’s my good girl, take another drink,” his voice was soft and rich, caring even. She gazed up at him, wondering when he was going to take her head off, but he simply smiled at her. “Are you all right?”
She could not even answer him. She was looking at him, but not really comprehending anything. His smile faded. “Dustin, are you all right?” he asked again.
She opened her mouth feebly but words refused to come forth. She was suddenly quite warm.
Christopher snatched the cup from her, reaching down to pick her up. David was standing up on her other side, aiding his brother as he collected the huge skirt.
“I am taking her out,” Christopher told his brother. “Stay here and enjoy the evening. Come and see me when the festivities have ceased.”
“What about Ralph?” David demanded.
Christopher fixed him with a deadly glare. “I shall deal with Ralph.” He swept Dustin from the room amidst the chaos.
Marcus saw them go from the corner of his eye, feeling sick and angered.
He wished it could be he who comforted Dustin, for God only knew how mad and ashamed she was.
He should have sought her out earlier, to explain what had happened and to tell her what he had told Christopher.
He hadn’t exactly lied, but he hadn’t exactly told the full truth.
He wondered if he would indeed be a dead man come the morn.
Leaving the great hall in chaos, Christopher carried Dustin to their apartments. It was quiet and dark except for the banked fire in the hearth. Christopher was as gentle as a mother as he carried Dustin into their bed chamber and laid her upon their bed.
Dustin lay there, curling up into a big red and blond ball as if she could fold in on herself and hide. Christopher removed his armor in silence, stripped off his shirt and pulled off his boots. He then proceeded to bank the fire in the hearth before finally turning to his catatonic wife.
“Did Ralph’s words upset you so?” he said quietly.
She closed her eyes and hot tears ran across her face and onto the pillow. “Are you going to kill me?”
He looked shocked. “Kill you? Why on earth would I kill you? Do you actually think that for one moment I would believe that snake’s lies?”
Her eyes opened after a moment. Then, slowly, she turned to look at him. He looked like a great ethereal being with the firelight silhouetting his massive frame. It took her several long moments to grasp what he had just said.
“You do not…you do not believe him?” she whispered before she could stop herself.
“Of course not, Dustin,” he said curtly. “I know Marcus better than that, and I would hope that I would know you better, too. Ralph and John will spare nothing to gain their ends and destroy me. Using you and Marcus was nothing short of vile, even for them.”
She sat up, her hair spilling over her. Her relief was immense but she was afraid to say anything lest he suspect that her relief was a bit too great.
Yet there was one point in all of this that bothered her tremendously; he obviously trusted her, and she had done naught to earn it. She felt guilty all over again.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said softly, for she could think of naught else to say.
“For what? For rejecting their lies?” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Something occurred to her at that moment; when she had heard the rumors about her husband having bed a serving wench, she had confronted him and he had confessed.
With that knowledge, she was able to deal with it and move on.
Yet here the same opportunity presented itself and she took the coward’s way out by omitting the truth.
Mayhap if she placed the blame on herself, where it truly lay, then he would not be so harsh with Marcus.
The thought of her living with this lie hanging over her head was unbearable.
Out of respect, out of guilt, mayhap to hurt him as he had hurt her, she realized she was about to confess. Perhaps there were many reasons for it. All she knew was that she had to. Her great gray eyes turned to him and she could see that his expression was soft. She met his gaze steadily.
“Chris, Ralph spoke the truth,” she said softly. “Marcus did indeed kiss me in the common room at the Inn. It was short and went no further, but it happened. His guilt is as great as mine.”
Christopher stared at her a long time. In faith, he didn’t trust himself to speak.
He could see simply by her expression that she was being open and honest with him, and that drove a knife into his belly.
So it was true. Though he kept his gaze on her, something in his expression changed.
The warmth fled, replaced by shock and ice.
Dustin could see the change come over him. She hadn’t expected anything different. “You were truthful with me, once, when I asked you about the serving wench you bedded,” she said softly. “I cannot lie to you about this and I can only pray that you forgive me as I forgave you.”
He bolted off the bed, pacing toward the windows aimlessly. His hands began to work, great plate-sized hands, clenching and unclenching, finally dragging through his hair. His body was tensing more and more with each step he took.
“Is that all that happened?” he asked, his voice tight. “What about all of the time he spent with you in your room?”
“He never touched me, I swear it,” she said evenly. “He was never anything but perfectly courteous. He kissed me, once, that was all.”