Chapter Twenty-Seven
Back at Windsor, the hour was rapidly approaching for supper and Dustin decided that she would attend her first formal meal in over a week.
Christopher was doubtful as to whether or not she was strong enough, mentally and physically, but he did not want to deny her.
She seemed happy as she and Deborah admired her new surcoat and fussed over each other as they experimented with different hairstyles, and he was deeply relieved that she was returning to her happy self.
There was a knock on the antechamber door and Christopher left his wife and sister to go and open it. Marcus barged into the room, dressed finely in his new tunic bearing his coat-of-arms.
“Well? What do you think?” he demanded, turning around so Christopher could see the whole thing.
Christopher was wary of the man’s presence because of his wife’s attitude, but he admired the crest just the same.
“Magnificent,” he said, stepping back to study it better. The colors were a crimson field with black and gold, the silhouette of a massive bear with a crown around his right arm and a sword in his left hand. “Very impressive.”
“Dud is wearing his tonight,” Marcus said. “And Sir Stephen Marion has pledged to me this day, of which I am extremely pleased.”
Christopher nodded. “The man is a fine knight, very strong,” he agreed, wondering if Dustin could hear Marcus’ voice.
“And do you know who else has pledged to me? Sir Dalton le Crughnan,” Marcus said proudly.
“Le Crughnan? Christ, Marcus, he’s the biggest man in England. How in the hell did you earn his loyalty?” Christopher demanded.
“I bested him this afternoon in a fight,” Marcus said, a huge smile on his lips. “He said he would only serve a man who could beat him in a fair battle, and I did. He’s mine.”
Christopher shook his head. “Good Christ, I will never again say a bad thing about you lest le Crughnan come after me to avenge you. Hell, I do not even know if I could have bested him.”
“He is not such a fearsome animal now that I have spent some time with him, but Dud is scared to death of the man,” Marcus said.
Christopher snorted. “Me, too. He’s a giant.”
Marcus grinned, glancing past him to the open bedchamber door. “I hear your wife is up and about. Glad to hear it.”
Christopher looked quickly at the door and moved to close it. “She and Deborah are preparing for supper,” he said. “We shall see you in the grand dining hall this evening.”
Marcus nodded. “I am relieved she is feeling better, Chris. How is her mood?”
Christopher cleared his throat, wondering how to answer him. “Rotten, at times,” he admitted. “She is still quite affected by the whole thing, Marcus, so do not take offense too quickly if she….well, if she isn’t acting herself.”
Marcus agreed, wishing he could at least speak to Dustin. He had really rushed to their apartments to show her his new crest and hear her praise, but that would have to wait until supper.
“Well, I suppose I had better gather my men,” he said, retreating to the front door. “I shall need them to beat the women off me now that I have established my own house. I suppose I am considered quite a catch.”
Christopher gave him a lopsided smile. “Christ, why? Get out of here, you arrogant whelp.”
“You will help me select my wife, Chris,” Marcus said. “Considering you landed the most beautiful, desirable woman in the realm, I will trust your opinion.”
“Choose your own wife, Burton,” Christopher opened the door for him. “I shall not be blamed for the poor woman’s misery.”
He closed the door on Marcus and turned to see Deborah and Dustin exiting the bedchamber. Deborah’s face was tight with emotion.
“So he wants a wife, does he?” she said. “Why didn’t you mention me? You are so eager to get rid of me.”
“Deborah, I am not a matchmaker,” Christopher said firmly. “You and Marcus will have to form your own relationship without my help.”
Deborah looked decidedly displeased, but Dustin’s face was cold. Christopher noticed her expression and sought to get rid of his sister for the moment.
“Go dress for dinner,” he told his sister. “Dustin and I will come and retrieve you in an hour or so.”
Deborah quit the apartments with an injured ego while Dustin merely turned back for the bedchamber. Christopher followed.
She was dressed in a long shift, fumbling with her new surcoat in preparation for wearing it.
“Are you still angry with Marcus?” he asked. “He shall be sitting with us at supper tonight.”
“For Deborah’s sake, I will tolerate him,” she said. “Help me with this surcoat, please.”
He held the surcoat up for her and she slipped the luscious gold brocade on, smoothing it over her trim torso as he did the stays. Christopher stood back a moment, watching her as she observed herself in the mirror and he let out an appreciative sigh.
“Christ, you look marvelous,” he said with approval. “The surcoat was well worth the price.”
Dustin gazed back at herself; the surcoat clung to her like a second skin, the wide, scoop neckline barely off her shoulders and the sleeves long and bell-shaped at the wrist. The skirt was long and narrow, emphasizing her figure to a fault.
She looked like a golden goddess and Christopher was growing lustier by the minute.
When she moved to put her hair back, he stopped her.
“No,” he said, putting her hands back to her side.
Still looking at her reflection in the mirror, he ran his fingers through her hair, playing with it and combing it, until it was a glittering erotic mass.
He pushed a healthy portion of it over her right shoulder, allowing it to cascade over her breast and hang past her waist, while the rest of her hair hung down her back to her buttocks.
She closed her eyes as he touched her, her heart pounding with excitement and her breathing growing rapid.
She loved it when he played with her hair, relishing his touch.
He stroked and touched and played to the point when he was finished, she was panting for him painfully and he buried his face in her neck.
His arms went about her and she relaxed into him, feeling his hot mouth kiss and lick at her neck.
“Chris,” she moaned.
“What?” he mumbled into her neck.
“We cannot… well, we cannot do anything and you are driving me insane,” she murmured. “Stop this torture, husband.”
He stopped only to spin her around to face him, his hands gripping her arms and his face dark with passion. “Kiss me,” he demanded.
She grinned, hearing her own plea in his words. She kissed him long and hot and feverishly, a kiss of pure desire.
“Now who is torturing whom?” he asked in a raspy voice. “I cannot touch you for at least six weeks, the midwife told me so.”
“I know,” Dustin replied. “She told me as well.”
They looked regretfully at each other for a moment before he hugged her briefly and pulled away, preparing to dress for supper.
“Do not wear that surcoat again until I can do something about it,” he instructed her firmly, then mumbled more to himself. “Christ, this will be the longest six weeks of my life.”
*
William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, and William Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, were their supper companions that evening.
Dustin sat between Christopher and David, her husband entirely occupied by the chancellor and the marshal.
David did his best to keep her entertained, but she was restless and out of sorts.
Deborah sat on David’s other side and Marcus next to her.
Dustin was determined to ignore Marcus. She could not bring herself to look at him, knowing how he felt, knowing he was the reason she fell down the stairs.
If he had only come up when she had called to him, she wouldn’t have descended the stairs.
Aye, she blamed him, although she knew deep in her heart that it wasn’t his fault.
Yet she had to find a focus for her grief, and Marcus made a convenient whipping post.
All of their friends had made a grand fuss over Dustin’s appearance and she tried hard to be gracious.
But her patience wore thin quickly and she was grateful when the meal commenced.
After a fine supper of meats and winter vegetables, the king’s minstrels began the entertainment with a slow folk ballad and soon the floor was filled with dancing couples.
Dustin watched, remembering her mother had taught her the dance when she was young, and suddenly wishing her husband would dance with her.
Marcus made a number of attempts to start a conversation with her, but she would respond with one-word answers or not at all. Frustrated, he resorted to conversing with Leeton and Edward, and kept his back to Deborah, which upset her immensely.
Ralph was on the dance floor with a very young, pretty redhead, dancing lightly.
Dustin didn’t even realize he was there until he stopped in the middle of the song right in front of her.
Christopher, aware of Ralph’s attentions on Dustin, turned menacingly to the sheriff.
If the man so much as mentioned their loss, he would kill him where he stood.
“I am surprised to see you out and about, Lady de Lohr,” he said thinly. “From what we had heard, you were near on your deathbed.”
Dustin met Ralph’s gaze steadily. “Nay, sire. As you can see, I am well.”
Ralph had imbibed a bit too much wine. He pushed his dancing partner away and leaned forward on the table. “Call me not sire, my lady. Relatives should not be so formal.”
Dustin looked confused as well as irritated. “What?”
Ralph laughed low in his throat. “Are you feigning ignorance or are you truly unaware of our ties?”
Christopher stood up. “Stop harassing my wife, Fitz Walter.”
Ralph smiled openly. “I am not harassing her, truly, de Lohr. Your wife and I are related by blood.”
“My wife would never be related to the likes of you,” Christopher growled. “If you value your life, you will leave this table posthaste.”