Chapter Fifteen #2
“Jesus, Marcus,” David swore softly. “Why in the hell did you do that? You shall be lucky if that hand will ever be useful again, much less hold a sword.”
Marcus, his face pale the only indication of the level of pain he was experiencing, continued to meet Christopher’s eyes steadily.
“I will not fight against the baron,” he repeated weakly.
David passed a glance at Christopher as he wrapped Marcus’ hand in a scarf to stop the gushing blood. Without another word, David led Marcus back down the hall and disappeared with him, leaving Christopher standing in stunned silence, alone in the corridor, with tears in his eyes.
*
Christopher found Dustin sitting in their great antechamber with a piece of needlework in her hand.
She did not acknowledge him in any way when he stormed in, tossing his cape aside and marching to the closet that held his armor.
He was still reeling with shock, and was far more determined than he had ever been to win the tournament tomorrow and laugh in John’s face.
He felt as if he were fighting for both Marcus and himself, as well as Richard and the entire crown.
Sometimes it was as if the weight of the world were riding on his massive shoulders and it would merely take a feather’s burden to break him into a thousand pieces.
The feather’s burden could very well come in the form of his wife.
He didn’t glance at her as he put on his armor, even as her maids came out to help him with his mail hood and gauntlets.
Dustin ignored him, as well, her beautiful face buried in her needlepoint.
If the maids questioned her behavior, they did not show it.
Christopher chased the serving women away and strapped on his sword, moving to pick up his helmet. He did glance at Dustin then, his eyes raking over her in a pretty purple surcoat and her hair pulled back softly. She looked beautiful.
“You are coming with me,” he said shortly.
Her head came up. “Where, my lord?”
He adjusted his helmet before slamming it onto his head. “To the practice field, lady, as you did yesterday. Gather your cloak.”
Still clutching the needlework, she retrieved the other cloak she brought, an off-white heavy cape with ermine lining, and swung it over her shoulders. He watched her secure the neck and pull it comfortably about her, wanting to help her, to touch her, but restraining himself from even trying.
As his wife, he had every right to touch her any way he pleased, but she was quite distant and cold and he found his guard was up as well.
“Come, Lady de Lohr,” he held out his arm formally and she accepted stiffly.
He took her down to the practice area with him where several dozen knights were already going about their practice rounds. He sat Dustin down by the new lists where he could keep an eye on her and went to join his men over by the eastern wall of the arena.
David saw him coming. He was working out a scratch in his sword as his brother approached. “How is your wife this morn?” he asked.
“I do not know,” Christopher replied disinterestedly, then turned to the rest of his men. “We will practice between ourselves this morn. Baron Sedgewick’s men wish to challenge us to light rounds later, as do Lord Darby’s men. We will take them on after the nooning meal.”
Everyone moved to the arena but Edward. He moved close to Christopher. “David told me what happened with Marcus.”
Christopher nodded, slamming down his face plate. “How does he fare?”
“Marcus? His hand is crushed and he will be fortunate if he can ever hold anything in it again, but he’s resting comfortably in his quarters,” Edward replied, eyeing Christopher. “You really should go see him, Chris. The man ruined his life because of you.”
Christopher’s head snapped to him. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think that I’m completely guilt-ridden that my insides are eating themselves out? Leave me alone, Edward. I would deal with this myself.”
“Does Dustin know?” Edward asked softly.
“Hell no, she doesn’t,” Christopher snapped. “She already resents me and I will not add fuel to the fire.”
“She’s going to hear about it, you know,” Edward pointed out. “ ’Twould be better if she heard the truth from you first. If she hears it secondhand, ’twill only worsen her feelings.”
Christopher sighed, unsheathing his sword and examining it. Then he lowered it, jamming it into the cold earth.
“Marcus found her wandering the halls last night and brought her back to me,” he said quietly.
“He held her in his arms as if she were the damn Virgin Mary or something. When I saw the look on his face, and the way she was pressed against him, something….I snapped, Edward. I ordered him out of my service, and away from my wife. It was if I were listening to someone else shout at Marcus and I had no control over it. Dustin was there, of course, and heard everything. She told me I was not fair and she was right, but I honestly felt I was doing what was necessary to preserve our marriage. I just did not go about it properly.”
Edward nodded in understanding. “And Marcus, distraught, ran right to John and accepted a reward for representing him in the tournament.”
“Something like that, I am sure,” Christopher murmured.
“He insisted that Ralph had threatened Dustin’s life and that fact contributed to his decision.
But he, like me, has had time to think about the rashness of our actions.
The only escape for him was to injure himself so he could no longer fight, thereby saving his pride and reputation.
But I do not know what escape there is for me; I have made a mess out of everything because of this goddamn pride I carry. ”
Edward gazed off across the arena, seeing Dustin sitting in the stands with her nose buried in her needlepoint. “Do you want my opinion?
Christopher snorted. “Absolutely.”
“Then apologize to Dustin and beg her forgiveness for being so harsh and cold and cruel,” Edward said. “I have a feeling she would be most understanding if you were to only be honest with her. And as for Marcus, apologize as well and hope for the best. He worships the ground you walk on, you know.”
Christopher nodded vaguely, drawing his sword forth from the ground deliberately. “You are most likely right, my friend,” he said. “Come now; let us see who is sharper this morning in the arena.”
Glancing up from her needlepoint, Dustin stole glances at her husband as he fought Edward effortlessly.
To watch him fight again caused her heart to swell with enormous pride and she again remembered the passion and fire between them last night.
But since yesterday he had returned to the cold, unfeeling baron that had come to Lioncross over a week ago, a man who married her in dirty armor and whose steely demeanor filled her with loathing.
It made her eyes fill with tears to think that he would be that way the rest of their lives, unable to forgive her for an innocent mistake.
She had let her guard down for this man and had welcomed him, albeit reluctantly, into her heart. She had grown to love the man whose strong hands and warm smile made her feel warm and safe. But stung by his words and by his actions, she would be damned to make the same mistake twice.
Lost to her thoughts, she became aware that there was a body next to her and she glanced over, seeing that it was Ralph Fitz Walter. She scooted several inches away from him, still with her needlepoint lifted as if to create a barrier between them.
“Lady de Lohr,” he greeted formally. “How lovely you look today.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she mumbled.
“Ah, I see your husband out there,” Ralph remarked. “A fine warrior. The best. I trust that he and Marcus have come to an agreement over you?”
Dustin lay the needlepoint down in her lap, her gray eyes guarded and dark. “I know not what you mean, my lord. There is no agreement to reach.”
“Of course not, my lady, my mistake,” Ralph said quickly. “But did, in fact, your husband tell you that Marcus will be competing against him in the tournament? It will prove to be a priceless match.”
“Against him?” Dustin stared at Ralph. “Nay, my lord, he said nothing.”
Ralph smiled narrowly. “Then let me be the first. Mayhap the prize will be more than a simple reward, eh? Mayhap there will be a trophy involved.”
Dustin shot to her feet, her anger and hatred of this man filling her. “I am no trophy, sire, and I resent being labeled as such. I am Christopher’s wife and will always be, Marcus or no Marcus. The man is inconsequential to me.”
Ralph’s eyebrows rose. “Pray forgive, madam, ’twas not my intent to offend,” he said soothingly. “I simply meant… well, ’tis well known that there is a struggle of the heart where Marcus and your husband are concerned.”
“You are so wrong, Sir Ralph, that I resist the urge to laugh in your face,” Dustin snapped.
“There is no struggle, other than the continuing struggle of honor and morality. I married Christopher for duty and honor, nothing more. I am his legal wife and would do nothing to jeopardize that station. Now, if you will kindly leave me alone, I would appreciate it.”
Ralph rose to his feet. He was aware of several mailed forms approaching him from all sides. Christopher came up to stand by his wife with his sword held tightly in his hand. Ralph smiled and bowed deeply to Dustin.
“Thank you for your company, my lady,” he said graciously. “And I look forward to seeing your beautiful face at the tournament tomorrow.”
Dustin didn’t reply, averting her gaze. Ralph, amused, looked at Christopher. “Greetings, my lord,” he said. “I see you are in fine form today.”
“Be gone with you, vermin,” Christopher rumbled.
Ralph laughed. “Not much for compliments, are you? Well, tomorrow will tell just how fine your form is. I look forward to your bouts with Burton.”
Christopher took Dustin’s arm and gently began to lead her away. Ralph, ignoring the knights breathing down his neck, watched her go. He did so enjoy goading her and the baron.