Chapter Four
Dustin buried her mother next to her father’s parents in the tiny chapel of Lioncross. She would have liked to have had a nice wake and mass for her mother, but with the oppressive heat, the body simply would not keep, and they buried Mary two hours after dawn.
Christopher stood a few feet away from Dustin, stoically listening to the same priest who had married them, intone the funeral mass.
He could hear Dustin’s faint sobs, wondering if he should lend her some sort of comfort but not making the effort to try.
Deep down, he didn’t want to be embarrassed if she refused him. And he knew she would.
His wife was dressed in black, from head to toe, only her porcelain face evident underneath the voluminous wimple. She was so pale that the contrast was striking. She had dark circles under her eyes; evidence that she had disobeyed him last night and had not gone back to sleep.
The mass was over and the priest moved to Dustin, whispering a few words of comfort to her. She nodded but did not reply, instead, continuing to stare at the fresh grave.
Christopher glanced at the other knights, standing several feet away, and dismissed them with a faint jerk of his head.
The servants and a few peasants had already left, trekking down the soft green slope and back toward the keep.
He waited until everyone was well out of range before attempting to approach Dustin.
“We should return now,” he said softly, standing behind her.
She didn’t respond and he wasn’t sure if she even heard him. He gazed off across the village in the distance and sighed. “My lady, the day grows wa….”
He was cut off when she whirled around in a great gush of black material, her gray eyes dark and her face flushed.
“I hate you,” she spit at him. “You caused all of this, you devil’s son. ’Twas you who bore the news of my father’s death, and you who forced me to marry. You drove her into her grave and I shall hate you forever.”
He was taken aback by the accusations but remained quite calm in the face of her raging.
“I forgive you for speaking to me in such a manner, knowing your grief is making you mad,” he said. “But as far as I….”
Then she did something so completely unexpected that he was caught entirely off guard. Somewhere from underneath the black cloak, a small balled fist came flying up at him and caught him on the corner of the mouth.
“You arrogant, conceited dolt,” she hissed.
“I do not care if you forgive me or not, and I am quite sane. But know this; I shall hate you until I die, always, and forever. You may hold the titles and lands of Lioncross, but I am your wife in name only. Never expect my respect or my loyalty or my kindness, for you shall never receive it.”
His jaw ticked as he wiped away the bloody trickle from his lips. His anger was apparent.
“Your mother was ill, my lady. I did not kill her,” he said, his voice like ice. “As to Lioncross, she is indeed mine. As are you, in name and in body, whether or not it meets with your approval.”
“It does not,” she spat.
“Nor does it meet with mine,” he retorted. “I simply wanted the keep. You are additional baggage.”
Stung, she glared up at him, her tears forgotten for the moment. He braced himself for the next barrage as he gazed impassively into the stormy gray eyes.
“For God’s sake, de Lohr, if you didn’t want me, then why didn’t you tell the king? Or my father?” her tone was suddenly pleading. “Why could not you have simply purchased the keep and leave me out of it?”
“Because your father wanted to see you married,” he said flatly. “It would seem that mayhap he didn’t think you could catch a husband on your own, being as old as you are, so I was offered the keep for the price of marrying you.”
She was breathing rapidly but her tears were gone. She lowered her gaze, she understood his words only too well.
“Let me go, then, and you can have Lioncross,” she whispered.
“Let you go where?” he asked, puzzled.
“My mother’s family lives in Nottingham,” she replied. “I would go live with them.”
“You are my wife, my lady,” he said firmly. “You will stay with me.”
“Stop calling me your wife,” she flared, then just as quickly relaxed. Her face was pained. “I would not move to annul the marriage, if that is your concern. I would remain your wife and you could keep Lioncross.”
He studied her face, his anger abating. “Why do you want to leave so badly?”
She looked at him, then. “Why would you keep me when you plainly do not want me? At least in Nottingham I could find some measure of peace.”
“I never said I did not want you,” he corrected her.
“You said I was baggage and that our marriage did not meet with your approval,” she pointed out.
He cocked an eyebrow; he had said that, hadn’t he? “But I never said I did not want you,” he repeated. “You, however, have hated me from the beginning, that much is clear. Do you find me so horrible that you would flee your lifelong home in order to escape me?”
She thought on that a moment. “I love Lioncross, my lord,” she said softly. “But I will not stay where I am not wanted. Lioncross may be my home, but it is your keep now. It is out of Barringdon hands.”
“You are no longer a Barringdon,” Christopher said. “As of late yester eve, you became a de Lohr. Aye, you belong here.”
He saw her face ripple at the mention of her new name and realized that David had been right; she hated it.
“Please allow me to go to Nottingham,” she whispered pleadingly. “I would be happy there.”
“And you would not be happy here if you remained?” he asked, not really wanting her to go but not wanting her to be miserable if she stayed.
After several long moments she shook her head negatively, her only answer. He could see the tears starting anew as she turned away from him.
Christopher sighed. He found increasingly that he did not want her to go, but he would not order her to remain. It would be better to have no wife at all than a miserable one making his life hell.
“Very well,” he replied. “You may depart as soon as you are ready. My men will escort you.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, standing over the freshly turned earth of Mary’s grave.
With a final, and perhaps sad, glance, he turned and left her in the dimness of the chapel.
*
Christopher did not see his wife the rest of the morning.
He knew she had come out of the chapel, according to his sentries, but she did not appear for the nooning meal and he checked with the kitchen to see if she had requested her meal sent to her rooms. She had not, and he grew irritated.
He had no time for all of this foolishness; he had a keep to run.
Forcing himself to forget about the woman he had been forced to marry, he delved into assessing his keep and deciding where to begin the renovations.
He knew Dustin’s dowry was extensive, even though he had yet to know the exact figures, but combined with his own wealth, he knew it to be enough to make Lioncross the jewel of the Marches.
Edward assisted him with his observations. The man had a head for money and building, and was a great help to him. As he talked, Edward listened and offered educated opinions, finally helping him narrow down his priorities.
The sun overhead was warm and but the air was cool toward mid-afternoon.
The bailey was virtually void of any activity as the servants stayed within the confines of Lioncross, and the sentries up on the wall were pacing their rounds.
At one point, Christopher caught sight of Jeffrey pacing the walls and the two men eyed each other like two cocks.
“What is it about that man that riles you so?” Edward asked, somewhat amused.
Christopher shook his head and turned back to their business. “I do not know. I do not trust him.”
“Why? He has done nothing,” Edward said.
Christopher shrugged, reading the parchment in front of him that he had been writing on. Edward grinned.
“I have been talking to some of Barringdon’s men,” he mentioned. “They like him and seem to think he is a strong soldier. They also say he has eyes for your wife.”
Christopher looked at Edward and then back up to Jeffrey on the ramparts. “Dustin?” he scratched his neck and refocused on the vellum. “Why am I not surprised? Then mayhap it is a good thing that she is going away.”
Edward’s mirth faded. “Are you really going to let her go?”
“She wishes it and I will grant it to her,” he replied, making another notation.
Edward watched his friend, seeing that the man did not wish to discuss the subject. But Edward was naturally curious and wondered why Christopher could so easily dismiss such a lovely woman. He was shallow, true, but he also knew he was capable of deep feeling.
“When will you dismiss Jeffrey?” Edward asked after a moment.
“Today,” Christopher replied.
“And when is Dustin leaving for Nottingham?” his friend asked, peering up at a broken corner on the side of the keep.
“I do not know,” Christopher answered. “Whenever she is ready. Mayhap in the next few days. I will want you to ride escort, of course.”
“Of course,” Edward agreed dryly. “Who else to protect the Lion’s Claw’s wife? Incidentally, when Jeffrey is dismissed from your command, what is to say he will not show up in Nottingham and serve your wife and her mother’s family?”
Christopher stopped what he was doing and looked at him. “He had better not if he values his life.”
Edward cocked an eyebrow. “He does not fear you; that is evident. And what better way to seek revenge for his dismissal than to seek out your wife and serve her while you are in London?”
Christopher threw down his quill. “Enough of this, Edward. What are you driving at?”