Chapter Forty-Eight #3
Dustin did not answer a moment, feeling particularly stubborn. She was so used to having Marcus bow to her every whim that she did not like it when he pulled rank on her.
“Do you understand me?” he asked when she kept silent.
She shrugged, looking away from him. He reached out and snatched her arm, whipping her around to face him. Poor little Christin’s head snapped with the suddenness of the movement and Dustin gasped.
“Answer me,” he said in a low voice.
He only succeeded in making her mad. “I understood you perfectly. And I do not like being handled like a rough-house wench.”
“Then do not act like one,” he replied smoothly.
“I shall act as I please, Lord Marcus,” she said. “If you do not like it, then send me home. I did not ask to come here.”
He stared back at her a moment before releasing her arm. “Yet you are here nonetheless and will abide by my wishes,” he said quietly. “I do not wish to fight, Dustin. Would you take the nooning meal with me, alone, in my chambers?”
She gazed at him a moment. “Do you mean to ask if I will bed you again? I do not feel like it.”
He let out a hissing sigh and stepped back from her, his exasperation showing for the first time. “If I wanted to bed you, then I would do it. I do not need to ask your permission. I was simply looking to spend some time alone with you.”
Her mouth opened in outrage. “You would not bed me without my approval,” she said hotly. “You are not my husband, Marcus Burton, nor are you my lord and master, and I shall not be treated like your concubine.”
He grabbed her again and pulled her close to him, his eyes blue flames. “I shall treat you like my wife if you will let me,” he snapped with quiet ferocity. “Damnation, Dustin, what do I have to do to you to make you believe that my love is sincere? All I want to do is love you.”
Her hostility, fed by her own confusion, drained away. He was so vulnerable, so open, that she could see his soul in his eyes. How terrible to love someone so completely and not receive just a little in return. Now there was another item to add to her guilt.
“I am….I am scared,” she whispered before she could control herself. “Everything I have ever loved has died. I cannot love anymore, Marcus.”
His anger fled at her open confession. He could see she was being entirely honest and his heart ached for her.
“I won’t ever leave you, and I won’t die,” he whispered earnestly. “I swear to you, Dustin, with God as my witness. Do not be afraid, honey. Please. I will not hurt you.”
She stared at him a moment, wanting to believe him but still afraid. Christin reached out and grabbed at his face and he kissed her little hand, still staring at Dustin. That sweet, simple gesture brought tears to Dustin’s eyes.
“I just don’t know, Marcus,” she whispered.
He sighed faintly. “If anyone should be afraid, it should be I,” he said quietly.
“Hell, Dustin, I have wrestled with a demon greater than myself for the love of you. I’d walk the fires of hell or swim from here to eternity for you, and that in itself is scary.
I love you desperately and know even so that you do not love me, yet I lay myself open to you every day, hoping beyond hope that you shall come around.
I risk great personal anguish for you. Now, tell me; who should be more afraid? Me or you?”
Christin batted at his cheek, entranced with the scratchy stubble. Dustin continued to stare into his eyes, battling a demon of another sort; she still loved her dead husband and she knew she could never love Marcus, but she could not bring herself to tell him that.
“I shall try,” she said after a moment. “I can only promise to try.”
“And marry me?” he pressed gently.
“And marry you,” she agreed, feeling as if she had just lost some sort of battle.
He smiled and kissed Christin’s hand again, then kissed her. Even if she did not love him, his kiss could still curl her toes.
“You won’t regret it, I promise,” he said.
She forced a smile at him as he took Christin from her and put his arm around her waist, resuming their walk.
“Won’t you tell me why you were so rude to Dud?” she asked again, nicer this time.
Marcus cleared his throat softly, averting his gaze. He did not want to admit the truth to her.
“Because he was neglecting his duties,” he said simply. “Didn’t Chris ever tell you not to question any order he gave to his men?”
“In a sense,” she said, knowing Marcus was right. “He told me never to question any order.”
“And he was right,” Marcus teased, although the underlying tone was serious. “Never question my orders, my lady. Each command serves a purpose or function, and is well thought out. Understand?”
“Aye,” she nodded.
He sensed her melancholy mood but refused to give into it.
“Shall we ride into town? The man at the livery had a beautiful pony I thought would make a fine mount for Christin.”
“A pony?” Dustin repeated. “Marcus, she’s only seven months old. She cannot ride a pony.”
“Not now, but give her a few months.” He nibbled on the baby fingers. “She will ride like a knight.”
Dustin shook her head. Even if he wasn’t Christopher, sometimes he sounded a good deal like him.