Chapter Thirteen #2
Marcus met his gaze for an eternal moment, frozen in time, no feelings nor reaction forthcoming. He wasn’t really surprised that Dustin had confessed. In fact, he felt rather relieved by it. Oddly relieved.
“Is that what you plan to do?” he asked quietly.
“Nay,” Christopher replied, as steadily as he could manage. “But I would like to know why you lied to me.”
Marcus sighed faintly and averted his gaze. “I do not recall lying to you, Chris,” he said softly. “Specifically, I told you I did not ravage your wife, and I didn’t. We shared a small, stolen kiss for which I am completely guilty, and nothing more. It was over almost before it began.”
Christopher’s big body tensed as he studied Marcus’ profile, but it occurred to him that he was right. He never actually denied kissing Dustin; he only denied ravaging her. His anger was fed because of the small technicality upon which Marcus was basing his answer.
“Why, Marcus?” he finally managed to whisper, his pain breaking through and hating the fact that he sounded so hurt. “Why did you do this?”
Marcus met his liege’s eyes, his composure slipping because of what he heard in Christopher’s tone.
“I do not know,” he murmured. “Mayhap the three days I spent with your wife proved to be too much for me. I told you I thought she was absolutely beautiful, and I believe my infatuation with her got the better of me. I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Chris, for everything. You know me well enough to know I am an honorable man.”
“I thought I did,” Christopher said. “I trusted you and you betrayed me.”
Marcus’ jaw ticked with the severity of his words. “ ’Twas never my intention. I can only beg your forgiveness.”
Christopher held his gaze a moment longer before looking away. Marcus, too, looked away, his eyes distant and painful.
“Do you have feelings for my wife?” Christopher asked quietly.
Of course I do. Marcus had been grappling with them ever since he kissed her. But he had a suspicion that this honesty would not be well received.
“ ’Twould be futile, my lord, for she cares only for you,” he said quietly, “and I am a man unaccustomed to futility.”
“Pretty words, Marcus, even for you,” Christopher said. “But you did not answer me.”
Marcus sighed softly, forming his answer carefully. “I told you that I am infatuated with her, but that is all. It will pass.”
“What if it does not?” Christopher asked. “Will I find myself being challenged by you in the future, the prize being my wife?”
“Nay, my lord, I would never do that,” Marcus insisted softly. “She is your wife, in the eyes of God and England. I would not, nor could I, take her from you.”
Christopher was more hurt now than when he had entered the room. His anger was banking, manifesting itself into sorrow. He had trusted this man, his dearest friend, and he had been betrayed.
“Do you love her, Chris?” Marcus asked after a moment.
Christopher didn’t look at hm. “I do not see how that is any of your affair.”
“It isn’t,” Marcus said. “But I think had this incident been more a matter of pure honor, I would be lying on the floor right now in a pool of blood. Yet I see a look in your eye now that I have never seen before, a great pain. If you did not love her, you wouldn’t be so agonized nor indecisive.”
Christopher clenched his teeth. “She is my wife, Marcus. Of course I am hurt by this, but at least she confessed. I had to drag it out of you.”
Marcus knew that was the closest thing to an admission as he would get. “Shall I seek another liege?”
“Nay,” Christopher said shortly, regaining some of his composure. “I need you, Marcus, and we must hold together if for nothing else than for Richard’s sake. No woman will drive us apart.”
Marcus bowed shortly. “As you say, my lord.”
The air between them grew stiff and formal, as if there was an understanding between them yet the camaraderie had vanished.
Christopher was distrustful of Marcus’ intentions, and Marcus resented his liege for the one thing he truly desired; his wife.
It was a horrible circumstance, one they both struggled with.
From the best of friends to distrustful comrades, the fall from grace was a painful thing, indeed.
*
Later on that evening, Marcus walked alone through the corridor heading toward his chamber, feeling distinctly saddened and ashamed. He was so caught up in his thoughts, wandering, that he was genuinely shocked to see Dustin emerge from the darkened corridor.
Dustin came upon Marcus, her beautiful face pale and furrowed. She was dressed in some sort of simple surcoat, wrapped in a heavy shawl. She looked ill and lost.
“Dustin?” he asked softly, deeply puzzled. “What in the hell are you doing out here? Where’s Chris?”
“I do not know,” she said wearily. “He has not returned and I was concerned. Are you all right?”
She was looking him over for injury and he knew what she meant. “I am fine,” Marcus reached out and took her arm, turning her around in the direction she had come. “Let me take you back.”
Dustin allowed him to lead her back down the hall. Truth was, she was feeling terrible and sickened, and was grateful for the assistance. But she was desperate to find Christopher for he had left so abruptly that she was terribly worried.
“I told him,” she said softly, leaning into his arm. “I am sorry, but I had to. ’Twasn’t fair to lie to him.”
“I know,” Marcus replied quietly. “We have spoken of it.”
“Does he hate you?” Dustin looked up at him. “He hates me, you know. He left me alone in our room. He just… left. He never wanted a wife and I am sure now that he is doubly sorry.”
Marcus shook his head. “That is nonsense,” he said, helping her up the stairs. “He does not hate you, and he does not hate me. He is grieved, ’tis all.”
“He took a serving wench to his bed right after we were married, you know,” she mumbled, tired and defeated. “When I found out I was hysterical. He hadn’t even bedded me yet, but I forgave him. Why can he not forgive me?”
“He will, Dustin,” Marcus murmured. “He will forgive us in time.”
She stumbled and he paused, lifting her into his big arms and carrying her the rest of the way down the hall. There were several soldiers in the hall and Marcus lay into them.
“Who’s in charge?” he bellowed.
The soldiers snapped to attention, the voice of Sir Marcus Burton sending bolts of fear through them.
“Crag Armitage,” one soldier replied firmly. “He is inside with the baron now, my lord.”
Without another word, Marcus pushed past the soldiers and kicked open the door to the antechamber.
Christopher was reaming the unfortunate sergeant as Marcus breezed in with Dustin cradled in his arms. One look at Marcus holding his wife and Christopher practically kicked the soldier out, his face contorted with rage.
“What do you do?” he demanded ferociously.
“I found her wandering the halls downstairs,” Marcus replied steadily. “She’s exhausted.”