Chapter Twenty #3
She did as she was asked, feeling something heavy and cold lay against the white skin of her bosom like a great block of ice.
“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he ordered quietly.
She did and immediately looked down to see what he had placed upon her.
Her breath caught in her throat when she observed a large golden cross, inlaid with glittering sapphires and strung upon a beautiful gold chain.
It was simple and elegant, entirely gorgeous, and she turned it over and over in her hands as she admired it.
“Oh, Christopher,” she gasped. “It’s lovely.”
“Do you like it?” he watched her expression and could only read joy.
“Oh, I do,” she exclaimed, her face lighting up with a huge smile. “I shall never take it off, I swear it. But why do you give it to me now, in front of everyone, where I cannot thank you properly?”
His great gloved hand caressed her cheek and her heart fluttered at his warm, loving gaze. “You thank me properly by being my wife, by bearing my colors, by your beauty and your spirit. ’Tis the greatest thanks I could receive.”
“I will thank you later in private, nonetheless,” she promised quietly.
“I will live on that vow the rest of the day,” he said, turning as a knight roared by on a gaily colored destrier and the crowd applauded loudly.
“Who is that?” Dustin asked.
“Sir Stephen Marion,” he replied. “A pompous fool if there ever was one.”
Dustin watched the knight remove his helmet and acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, eyeing her husband as he pretended to ignore the cries. “Lord, he’s a handsome devil,” she teased.
Christopher tightened his gauntlets. “Not after I get finished with him,” he said. “Take your seat; Marcus should be here shortly.”
“Where are you going?” Dustin grabbed his arm, suddenly afraid to let him go.
He put a hand over hers. “I must prepare, sweetheart.” He could read the anxiety on her face and patted her hand reassuringly. “Do not worry. Enjoy yourself. This will be exciting, I promise.”
He tried to steer her toward her chair, but she balked. “Wait; I haven’t given you a favor.”
“Aye, you have,” he said, holding up his left hand. “I wear it on my finger.”
“But…it’s just a wedding ring,” she grappled for her surcoat. “Let me give you a real favor you can carry in your gauntlet.”
“This ring means more to me than any slip of material, Dustin,” he said softly, stilling her hands. “I really have to go now.”
Again he moved her toward her seat but she stopped dead in her tracks like a stubborn old horse. “Kiss me.”
His brow furrowed. “I cannot, sweet. I have got my helmet on and….”
“Kiss me, please.” She was insistent.
He sighed, wondering what was bringing on this case of nerves.
True, she had never been to a tournament before, but she was acting as if he were going to his death.
With thick fingers, he unlatched his helmet and removed it.
Before he could take another breath, she grabbed his mailed head and planted an urgent, hard kiss on his bearded lips.
“Dustin, what’s the matter with you?” he demanded quietly.
“Nothing,” she insisted, still holding his head. “It’s just that I have never been to a tourney before and I know there is always a chance that you could…”
“Do not say it or you shall curse me,” he warned lightly. “My sweet love, I have been competing in tournaments since I was twenty years old and I have yet to be injured in one. You worry overly.”
She started to pout but he thankfully caught sight of Marcus rounding the stands. “Look, there’s Marcus,” he said quickly before she could stall further. He waved at the man. “Marcus!”
Marcus caught sight of them as he entered the lists, his eyes warming at Dustin. She looked absolutely beautiful in the dark blue surcoat. Christopher took her hands from his head and kissed them before placing them on Marcus’ arm.
“Take her before she convinces me not to compete,” he said. “I have yet to see to my horse or to my men.”
Marcus’ hand closed over her two small ones. “Why? What’s the matter?”
“She’s afraid,” Christopher said, putting his helmet back on. “She has never been to a tournament before and she’s concerned that I will end up impaled on a pole or some other sort of nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense,” Dustin insisted hotly.
Christopher and Marcus passed glances and Marcus began to lead her toward their seats. “Aye, it is,” Marcus said. “You are in for a great treat, my lady. Tournaments are a test of skill and tactics, not a fight to the death.”
She allowed him to settle her, but her eyes were glued to her husband as he strode away across the busy arena. They were barely seated when Marcus found himself the object of several young women’s attentions, all in a rush of giggles and perfume.
Dustin lost sight of Christopher and turned her attention to the flock of young ladies fawning over Marcus, cooing like silly sappy fools about his arm, lamenting the fact that he would not be competing.
Dustin sighed irritably, if there was anything worse than a cow-eyed man, it was a cow-eyed woman.
She turned her back as Marcus politely fended off his admirers.
The arena was alive with knights and horses and servants.
Banners of nearly every great house in England whipped about in the brisk wind that was picking up, blowing the dead leaves across the field.
Dustin’s fear for her husband was gradually replaced by the building excitement as the competitors prepared for the great meet ahead.
She quickly lost her anxiety as she eagerly watched a knight’s last practice with his new joust pole, or mayhap a few final light blows against another knight.
Everyone was busy, making ready for the events in one form or another.
Marcus found it very strange to be watching the games from the stands.
He had never in his life watched a tournament from this vantage point and realized he was very restless.
He tried to concentrate on various opponents, evaluating them as if he were actually going up against them, but the constant stream of female admirers were distracting and he was losing his good nature.
The more the stands filled with various houses and nobility, the more women seemed to occupy themselves with the great Marcus Burton.
Dustin was peppering him with questions, but she was a welcome diversion.
Her view of life, of the world, in general was refreshing and he was happy to answer her inquiries.
But no sooner would he respond to her than another lady was tugging on his arm, vying for his attention.
He began to wonder if sitting in the stands was such a wise idea, if he continued to be as distracted as he was, he would not be able to keep an eye on Dustin.
Dustin, over all of her excitement, could see Marcus’ irritation. The women about him were fluffy little chits with shallow brains and even shallower hearts, and she suspected that there was only one way to get rid of them.
“Do you want me to fight them off?” she asked.
He turned greatly amused eyes to her. “Hopefully that will not be necessary,” he responded, then eyed a particularly busty woman as she approached him with a smile. “Yet, on second thought, I may have to accept your gracious offer.”
Dustin eyed the woman, too, a few feet away. “I think I know a way to be rid of them,” she said. “Do most of these people know who I am?”
“A few, not all,” Marcus replied. “I doubt the women have made the association that you are Chris’ wife; those gossipy little whores. They come up to me in groups and then retreat to tell their friends, and then their friends move in. Why do you ask?”
Dustin grinned a mischievous grin. “Go along with me, Marcus, whatever I do.”
Before he could respond, she bounded onto his lap and threw her arms around his neck.
“Of course I shall marry you, Lord Marcus. We shall be ever so happy at Somerhill and…!” She suddenly looked up at the busty woman innocently.
“Greetings, ladies. Congratulate me!” She fixed Marcus with as sweet and loving expression as she could muster.
“The baron and I are to be married immediately. Tell everyone we will have a big, expensive wedding. Won’t we, darling? ”
Marcus was watching her with astonishment but didn’t miss his cue. “Of course, my love, whatever you say.” For good measure he kissed her loudly on the cheek.
The big-chested woman was appalled and outraged. She took a step back, glaring at Dustin’s smirking face, and put her handkerchief to her lips as if to stop the scream of shock rising in her throat.
Dustin just beamed up at her, pulling Marcus’ face into the soft curve of her neck. “Remember, tell everyone. Marcus Burton is no longer a free man, and I am the jealous sort with a belt full of daggers that I am quite good with.”
The woman shrieked, nearly stumbling over her own feet in her haste to leave. Dustin’s fake smile turned into a real one and Marcus tore his face away from her silky neck, not because he wanted to but because he knew if he kept it there any longer, Dustin might become suspicious.
“There,” she said smugly. “That should take care of that.”
She climbed off his lap and took her seat, gloating at her cleverness.
Marcus, however, was still a bit stunned.
Having her so close, so sweet, so warm against him only served to reinforce his desire for her.
For a brief, clandestine moment he actually held her, actually put his face against her incredible skin and the faint scent of roses permeated his nostrils.
Marcus was a strong man, but he was not perfect. His want for his liege’s wife was multiplying and he was having a devil of a time controlling it. He knew her actions were innocent, but they had provoked the banked flames in him nonetheless.
“Thank you,” he managed to say. “Mayhap that will keep the foolish birds away from me.”