Chapter Fifty-Nine #5
Time had no meaning as they held each other, too consumed by emotion to speak. Christopher embraced his wife to him, his eyes closed, smelling and feeling her to the very core of his soul. It was a magical moment, the sweetest of times, and he did not even realize he was rocking her slowly.
“Why did you leave?” he managed a rasp whisper.
She sighed raggedly, pulling back from him.
Her hair, half of it out of the braid, was ensnared in the shoulder joints of his armor.
“Because you and Marcus were fighting,” she sniffled.
“You were fighting because of me. You hated each other because of me. I thought…thought if mayhap I left, you would stop fighting. You would have no more reason to.”
His hands gripped her face, swallowing her head. “How could you think that?”
She shook her head, lowering her gaze. “I do not know. I was going to leave and never come back.”
His sky-blue eyes bore into her. “Do you hate me so much that you would be so desperate to escape me?”
She choked on his words and her eyes widened. “I do not hate you at all. I love you, Chris, but you should hate me for causing you so much trouble.”
It all became painfully clear to him why she had left and he shook his head slowly.
“Christ, Dustin. I could never hate you, sweetheart, and in spite of your crazy ideas you have done absolutely nothing to cause trouble,” he said, his voice infinitely tender.
“I thought you ran away for all of the pain and grief I had caused you. It was not easy on you to think me dead, and it certainly unbalanced you when I returned. I thought you hated me, sweetheart.”
Her mouth opened in surprise. “Of course not. Chris, I love you.”
He let out a heavy sigh and pulled her to him once again with all of the reverence and satisfaction he felt.
He was so terribly relieved that his body threatened to collapse on him.
In fact, he discovered that his hands were indeed shaking and it puzzled him.
But he continued to hold his wife and said a silent prayer to God for her safety.
So what if there was a battle raging around them; they could do without their Defender for a moment longer.
Suddenly, the burned-out doorway were filled with knights and Christopher looked up to see his brother standing in the doorway, his eyes wide.
“What took you so long?” Christopher demanded softly.
David almost collapsed with relief. “Jesus Chri….are you all right?” he asked, entering the destroyed room. “Where in the hell are Ralph and John?”
“Ralph is dead but I do not know where John is,” Christopher said, releasing his wife. “How goes the siege?”
“Nottingham is ours,” David replied confidently. “The mercenary troops are already disbanding. Say, who’s this bastard in the hall?”
“Some fool who was stupid enough to challenge me,” Marcus replied, touching the puncture wound in his back.
Gabrielle, on the opposite side of Marcus, craned her neck around and let out a gasp of surprise. “Lord Bruce.”
Dustin’s eyes widened and she broke away from Christopher, only to be met with the gory sight of her dead grandsire. Christopher moved quickly behind her, afraid she was going to fall into fits, but instead, she shook her head.
“He got what he deserved,” she murmured, turning to Marcus. “Thank you, Marcus. You did my mother and me a great service.”
“That is your grandfather?” Marcus repeated incredulously, not sure whether to beg her forgiveness or acknowledge her thanks. He looked to Christopher, who shook his head faintly. Let it go.
Most of Christopher’s and Marcus’ knights were crowding the corridor, waiting for a command of action and were wholly glad to see Lady Dustin. It was Christopher who moved first.
“Let’s get the hell out of here, then,” he said, his voice strangely dull.
Marcus moved to escort Gabrielle, who made a valiant attempt to walk but found her knees buckling.
In an instant, she was in Marcus’ arms and he found himself gazing back at an extraordinarily lovely woman.
He truly hadn’t noticed before. Gabrielle flushed and started to apologize, but he shushed her.
“You have had a time of it, my lady,” he said, noticing the clear hazel of her eyes before tearing himself away. “I consider it an honor to assist you.”
He swept her out of the room, followed closely by Dustin, Christopher and David. Yet suddenly, when they filtered into the hall, Christopher came to an unsteady halt and weaved dangerously. Dustin turned around to ask him what the matter was when he suddenly plummeted to his knees.
Dustin screamed and grabbed hold of one of his massive arms. “What’s wrong?”
David and Edward were there, grave concern written all over their faces. Christopher, breathing hard, ripped off his helmet and sent it crashing before putting a hand over the left side of his torso.
“Goddamn wound is acting up again,” he mumbled.
“Wound? What wound?” Dustin demanded severely. “Let me see it.”
He tried to stop her, but she pushed his shaking arms away and shoved his mail and armor aside. An oozing, puckered scar the size of an apple confronted her and she gasped loudly.
“What’s this? How did this happen?” she cried.
“Shush, sweetheart, you are going to get yourself all worked up,” Christopher said, his voice soft and a tired smile on his face. “This, my love, is why I was away for three months. This is what nearly killed me, and I see it is trying to accomplish its unfinished task.”
Dustin’s pallor turned ashen and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my dear God,” she whispered. “Oh, Chris, you have reopened it. Are you going to die?”
“Nay,” he said flatly. “All I need is some rest and my wife by my side and I shall recover fully. David, take Dustin. Edward, help me to stand or we shall never make it out of this Godforsaken place.”