Chapter Fifty-Five #5
Dustin nodded feebly. Gabrielle stared at her a moment longer before letting out a painful sigh. “And you did not tell me? Why not?”
“I was afraid of what you would think,” Dustin said honestly.
“What I would think?” Gabrielle repeated. “My God, Dustin, you just heard the man order me to his bed like a common whore. What must you think?”
“I think that your situation is beyond your control and that you are not to blame,” Dustin replied firmly. “I could never think badly of you, Gabrielle.”
Gabrielle looked dazed as she sat on the edge of the bed. “I hate Lord Bruce,” she murmured. “He likes to make love to me in my arse. ’Tis painful and degrading.”
Dustin sat down beside her. “Marcus liked to do it that way, too, but I found it enjoyable. He never hurt me.”
Gabrielle looked at her, surprised. “ ’Tis a deviant way to make love, I say. What about Lord Christopher?”
Dustin shook her head. “Never like that. He never even suggested it.”
Gabrielle looked back at her hands and sighed. “Well, I had better go, then. I shall see you later?”
Dustin could not help it, she impulsively threw her arms around Gabrielle and they hugged each other fiercely.
“Be strong,” Dustin whispered.
Gabrielle rose and went to the door, turning to pause. “Oh, Dustin, do not ever let them treat you as they treat me.”
“I won’t,” Dustin insisted firmly.
With a weak smile, Gabrielle was gone and Dustin dissolved into a flood of tears.
*
John had plans for Dustin. He intended to have her that eve, but he knew it would not be that simple.
He knew she would fight him every step of the way and as much as that excited him, he did not want her to injure herself before he had a chance to feast on her amazing body.
The most logical and convenient solution he could think of was Christin.
He had no intention of harming the babe, but he could hold her somewhere where her frantic mother would never find her. At least, not until she had pleased him. Cruel and simple was the ploy and he looked forward to it with glee.
As he sat in his solar watching the temperature rise in the bailey, he was as happy as a child with Christmas candy, but he wondered seriously what had become of de Lohr and Burton.
Surely at least one man had survived their mortal bout, and surely he would lay search for his wife.
Since John had sent word to Richard regarding Dustin’s presence, he expected some sort of contact within the week.
He waited with relish, fully intending to play his advantage for all it was worth.
Meanwhile, he intended to play with Lady Dustin, pregnant or not.
Later that afternoon, Gabrielle took Dustin and Christin into the bailies that were Nottingham.
They were huge and were a village unto themselves, and Dustin studied everything with interest. Soldiers followed the three of them a short distance behind and she knew it was for spying as well as protection, so she kept her manner neutral and tried to not let them see when she was searching the walls for any doors or gates.
There had to be a way out of this damnable place.
More peasants than she had ever seen populated Nottingham.
They were happy people who genuinely interested her.
They would fawn from a distance over Christin and two of the ladies gave the babe a type of root to chew on to help her teething.
Christin, happy as always, chewed contentedly on the dried root and drooled all over her new surcoat.
Dustin thought the people to be remarkably open and friendly despite the dastardly men who ruled from the castle.
Dressed in a lovely blue linen surcoat, she broke away from Gabrielle and Christin to admire a particularly fine pair of doeskin boots hanging on the cobbler’s shed.
People were milling about and around everywhere, and business was going on, so she thought nothing of the figure who had brushed by her and leaned against the wall of the shed.
Finished appraising the boots, she started to turn around when she heard her name.
“Lady Dustin!” came the urgent whisper. “Do not turn around, my lady, lest you give me away.”
Startled, her first reaction was to indeed turn around to the source of the voice, but she caught herself instead. She forced herself to calm down and feigned interest in another pair of shoes, hoping her shaking did not show.
“Who is it?” she whispered as casually as she could manage.
“ ’Tis Darren, my lady, your husband’s squire,” Darren whispered. “He has sent me with a message.”
Dustin was overwhelmed in that moment with relief and joy.
He was alive! Christopher had survived. But in the same instant she knew he was alive only because Marcus had met his death and grief flooded her.
But her happiness overcame all other emotions and she suppressed an urge to scream her elation.
“He lives, Darren?” she hissed.
“Indeed, my lady,” Darren replied. “He wants you to know that Richard and his army are riding to your aid. They will be here on the morrow.”
“The king?” Dustin was stunned, her mind spinning. “What…what of Marcus? Is he dead?”
“Nay, my lady, he rides with the king,” Darren whispered. “They have put off their duel in order to save you.”
Dustin was shocked and fought to maintain her composure.
The king was riding to her aid? It did not make sense, especially since the man hated her.
And Christopher, was he coming because he was obliged to or because he wanted to?
After everything that had happened, how could she be sure?
And Marcus was alive, after all. She was relieved, of course, but she did not like Darren’s words…
‘to put off their duel.’ Did this mean the moment she was returned, they would try and kill each other again?
She simply did not know; how could she be sure of anything anymore?
She could not, but she knew one thing for certain; she wanted Christin away from Nottingham. If there was to be a battle, she wanted her daughter safe. She believed she could handle John and Ralph, but if they were to threaten Christin….she would be lost. Anxiety clutched at her.
“Darren, you must take Christin out of here,” she whispered, glancing from the corner of her eye to see where her guards were. “If there is to be a fight, she must be safe.”
“But…my lady,” Darren protested. “I am to protect you. I cannot leave.”
“You must!” she snapped, drawing attention and recovering nicely by grabbing a shoe and yelling to the cobbler that he must make the shoe in her size. When the soldiers looked away, she took her first look at Darren. “Darren, she must be taken to safety. She is in great danger here.”
“But what of you?” Darren asked urgently. “You are in danger, too.”
She scowled at him. “I can take care of myself, but I cannot take care of myself and Christin. You must take her to her father.”
Darren was speechless. This was not part of his plan, nor was it part of his orders. He dreaded telling her “no.” “My lady, I cannot leave you,” he whispered feebly. “Lord Christopher sent me here to protect you.”
She glared at him, her pretty jaw ticking. “Protecting Christin is the most important thing in the world. Darren, so help me, if you argue with me, I shall tell Christopher you were most disobedient.”
His young face washed with apprehension. “Please, my lady, do not…my orders were to protect you.”
She ignored him, glancing behind her again to see that Gabrielle was looking at her curiously. Quickly, she pretended to straighten a pair of shoes. “Meet me out here in an hour. Right here, behind the cobbler’s shed. Do you understand?”
Darren sighed with resignation. “Aye, lady, I do. Unfortunately.”
Behind her, there was a bit of commotion and she turned around to see Sir Dennis la Londe approaching. Her heart sank; she hadn’t seen him since her arrival and was hoping to avoid him. Darren faded away as Dennis smiled leeringly at her.
“My lady,” he greeted in his heavy French accent. “I was told of your arrival. May I say, it is delightful to see you again.”
She barely nodded, moving away from Darren and back toward Gabrielle. Sir Dennis followed her closely, like an eager dog.
“It was certainly a surprise to hear of your visit,” he said, then glanced at Christin. “Oh, my, is this the enfant de Lohr? Strange, she looks like a Burton with that dark hair.”
Dustin whirled to him, her teeth clenched. “My mother had dark hair, and if you will, ask Lord Bruce, who happens to be Christin’s great-grandsire. Now, if you will excuse me.”
She tried to push past him, but he stuck to her like grease on a spoon. “Your grandpapa is Lord Bruce? I did not know, chèrie. How fortunate.”
She hated his sickly-sweet accent and rolled her eyes at him in disgust. He responded by grabbing her sharply by the arm, his big fingers digging into her soft flesh.
“If I were you, I would behave with a bit more respect.” His voice was cold, not at all friendly as it had been just a moment before. “A warning this time.”
Her nostrils flared angrily and she yanked her arm away. “Do not presume to give me a warning of any kind, Sir Dennis. My grandsire is your host, as is your prince. I do not answer to you.”
She twisted away from him and walked away with her entourage in tow. Sir Dennis watched her go with beady eyes, imagining all sorts of deviant things in his warped mind.
“You will, chèrie,” he murmured. “Soon, you will.”