Chapter Five
Dustin’s first cognizant impression was one of pain.
Her head hurt, her neck hurt, her shoulders hurt.
Everything hurt. She had no idea why she was in so much pain, but she tried to move a bit and was met with sharp jabs and aches everywhere.
In a rush, the attack came back to her and she found that she could lift her sore arms, with effort, just enough to put her hand to her spinning head.
She only remembered being beat, and then darkness.
She could only assume the worst had happened and with that horrible thought, she began to cry.
“Are you in pain?” She recognized Christopher’s voice immediately and her eyes flew open, dazed and stunned.
“My lord,” she gasped. “What? Where am I?”
“Home, my lady, at Lioncross,” he said. “Tell me, do you hurt?”
She stared back at him, her mouth agape. How did she get back here? Lord, she didn’t remember a thing.
“Aye,” she whispered, letting her arm fall back to her side.
“Tell me where,” he instructed.
She noticed that he was dressed in a pair of soft leather breeches and a white tunic that, for the first time, revealed the magnificence of his build to her.
His shoulders were extremely broad and his waist was very slender and it made her head hurt to think him pleasantly formed; she didn’t want to think him pleasant in any way.
Especially in lieu of the tongue-lashing she was about to receive from him.
And she deserved it, she had not told anyone where she was going on purpose.
“My head,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “And nearly everywhere else.”
She felt his hand about her head and was surprised that for the huge size of them, they were as gentle as butterfly wings.
“I cleaned the cut on your temple, but I am afraid I had to put a stitch in it. However, your hair should cover the tiny scar,” his hands were moving down her neck to her shoulders. “I didn’t feel any broken bones. Do you have any sharp pains?”
“No,” her voice was feeble. “Just aches.”
He didn’t reply and took his hand from her. Dustin had yet to hear him move away from the bed and could only assume he was still standing there, looking at her, waiting for her to open her eyes so he could yell at her.
Then, she heard a joint pop as he turned and walked away, heading across the floor. Secretly, she cracked an eye open to see what he was doing. She saw that he was over near the door, pouring himself a goblet of wine from her pretty pewter decanter.
As he stood there, she began to notice just how well-formed the man was, in spite of the fact that she didn’t want to notice.
His legs were long and as big around as small trees, and the hand that held the goblet swallowed it up.
That had been nearly the first thing she noticed about him, how big his hands were.
Yet when he had touched her, he was as gentle as a lamb.
It was a confusing paradox, she thought, distressing her all the more.
But she would rather die than admit she found her new husband… attractive.
“Would you like some wine?” he was still over by the door, facing away from her.
So he knew she was watching him. No use pretending otherwise. She rolled over onto her side with a great deal of effort, watching him as he turned around to look at her.
“You are grunting like an old man,” he commented, coming toward her.
“I feel like an old man,” she answered. “I feel like I am dying.”
“Nay, my lady, you are very much alive,” he said.
Her head suddenly came up. “And Rebecca? Is she…”
“Your companion is well, as is her family,” he answered her. “You seemed to have borne the brunt of the assault.”
She lay her head back down slowly, relieved. “I was the only one who ran. I suppose they did not want me to escape.”
“What they wanted was your soft white flesh,” he replied.
She closed her eyes and big, fat tears spilled over, running down onto the pillow beneath her. Her lower lip trembled until she bit it, forcing it still. Christopher watched her struggle with her fear.
“No need for tears, my lady,” he said after a moment. “You are safe and will recover.”
Her eyes few open and riveted on him. “But I will never recover what that damnable bastard took from me.”
“What did he take from you?” Christopher demanded. “Did he steal something?”
She wondered how Christopher fit into all of this, closing her eyes against his angry face.
Had Rebecca and her family brought her back to the keep, leaving the explaining up to her?
She remembered so little that she was close to admitting she was going to have to ask Christopher how much he knew and what had happened.
She was terrified of what he might do to her if he found out she had been raped.
“How did I get back here?” She hoped she could find out what she wanted to know without damaging her pride. She hated admitting she was dependent on him for answers.
“I brought you back here,” he said. “Yet you did not answer me. What did he steal?”
“You brought me back here?” She lifted her head curiously. “But how did you know? I mean, how did you find me? Did you ride out with the soldiers to intercept the raiders?”
“I did not ride out with my men.” He came over to the bed.
“Jeffrey told me you had gone into the village and I went looking for you. When the raiders attacked the outskirts, I then moved to defend the village and only by chance heard your screams.” He stood at the foot of the bed with a reproving glare.
“I found you by pure luck alone, Dustin, nothing more. Had I not been within earshot, that marauder might have taken more than your innocence, he might have taken your life. As it was, you received a nice gash to the scalp for your troubles and you were lucky for only that.”
She blinked up at him, his words slowly registering.
Then she was not violated? Relief swept through her, making her limp and weak.
But along with the same thought she realized that Christopher had saved her life, and the lives of her friend and her family.
She was indebted to him whether or not she wanted to be and she found the thought distasteful.
She did not want to be obligated to him for any reason.
“You should have let him kill me,” she said bitterly, turning away. “Then Lioncross would be yours and you would have no wife to burden you.”
He slowly cocked an eyebrow. “I saved your life and this is how you thank me?”
“How would you have me thank you?” she shot back in a rage, thought better of it, and cooled. “I am your wife, my lord. If simple words of thanks do not suffice, you may simply take what pleases you to even the debt.”
“Your self-pity grows tiresome,” he said, moving around the side of the bed. “I will not take anything from you, wife. You will give it or I will not have it. And simple words will suffice, though I expect none for I was simply doing my duty. You are my wife and I would protect you.”
She met his gaze for several long moments. It was an expectant silence, waiting for her reply to determine if this conversation would end as the others had, with anger and bitterness. Surprisingly, her eyes softened just a bit and she licked her rosy lips.
“Thank you for doing your duty, my lord.”
She had swallowed her pride, he knew that. He felt no need to rub her nose in it. “You are welcome,” he said.
She looked at him for a moment longer before twisting around and trying to arrange her pillows so that she might sit up.
The pressure on her shoulders when she lay on her back was painful.
Christopher saw what she was trying to accomplish, however weakly, and moved to help her.
When the pillows were stacked and she struggled to sit up, he put his hands under her arms and lifted her up, moving her back against the pillows.
“My thanks again, my lord,” she said softly. It was becoming easier the more she practiced.
“Are you comfortable now?” he stood back.
She winced as she tried to adjust her sore body. “As much as possible, I suppose. The fiend did do a complete job of beating me.”
Christopher’s face fell a bit. “He beat you?”
She nodded, glancing up at him and wondering why he looked so disturbed. Surely he knew that.
“Where? Show me,” he demanded.
She sat forward a bit, pulling back the collar of her dress. “My shoulders and back,” she told him as he pulled the material even further to observe her injuries. “I grabbed hold of a table leg and would not let go, and he took a stick to me.”
Her dress had covered up all of this, he thought grimly as he studied the purple and blue bruises. And there were several ugly welts, not enough to bleed through the material, but severe enough to hurt. Certainly he had checked her for broken bones, but he had not seen the bruises she bore.
He stood back and she noticed his jaw was ticking, knowing that he found her repulsive. Absently, she tugged at the collar of her dress, trying to cover her horrible bruises.
“Nay, do not,” he told her curtly. “Remove that dress. I will return.”
With that, he spun on his heel and quit the room, slamming the door behind him.
Dustin was bewildered. She had no idea what he had in mind, only knowing that the man frightened and confused her.
Lord, she was so weary and sore that all she wanted to do was soak her beaten body in a tub of hot water.
Tossing off the covers, she stiffly rose from the bed and summoned a serving wench for a bath.
He said he would return. She knew he would, but she didn’t care.
He would probably be gone hours and she didn’t care if he ever returned; only wanting to sit up to her neck in rose-scented water and forget this horrible, horrible day ever happened.
She brightened a little to remember that most likely, on the morrow, she would be traveling to Nottingham and there she could start fresh, away from her husband and away from the home that no longer welcomed her.