Chapter Seven
Christopher had followed her into the castle, being informed by a serving wench that she had passed through the kitchens and had run out the back.
Racing back out to his destrier, he mounted the animal and tore from the gates, reining around the side of his fortress until he came to the small tunnel that led from the fortified gate.
A glance in the distance showed his wife running like the wind, disappearing into a heavy grove of trees.
She was not difficult to follow, but he made sure she did not know he was behind her.
When she finally collapsed in a heap at the edge of a small lake, he kept his horse shrouded in the dense brush until he was sure she wasn’t going to take off running again.
Slowly and quietly, he dismounted and made his way over to her.
She was sobbing as if her heart was broken and he stood there for a long while, watching her and wondering what had upset her so. He knew she was surprised with the information that he was the king’s champion, but he could not imagine that it would drive her to tears.
He should have simply let her go, but for some reason he could not. He had to know what was upsetting her.
“Dustin,” he whispered.
Her head came up like a shot, her gray eyes wet with tears. “What…?” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“I followed you,” he said softly, obviously. “Why are you crying?”
She pushed herself up into a sitting position, facing the lake, deeply ashamed. “You wouldn’t understand, my lord,” she said hoarsely.
She heard his armor creaking as he came and stood next to her, finally sitting slowly. She kept her eyes riveted to the water, now shades of orange and yellow from the setting sun. It was peaceful and serene, and the bugs were beginning to buzz about as night drew near.
“Would you tell me even if I would not understand?” he asked finally, his voice soft.
His tone disarmed her and she fought to maintain her control. When he was gentle like that, she could feel all of her self-protection dissolve. She was terrified to give in to the feelings he provoked.
“I am a silly girl, my lord,” she said after a moment. “It matters not why I cry. I cry all the time, mostly for foolish reasons. I am sorry you felt you had to follow me.”
He was gazing across the water as well, listening to the deep gulp of the bullfrogs.
“I followed you because you are my wife and because I wanted to make sure you came to no harm,” he said, then slowly turning his head to look at her.
“And you are not a girl. You are a woman, and a beautiful one at that.”
Shivers shot up her spine at his seductive tone and her chest throbbed with a curious dull ache. Why did he say such things when they simply weren’t true? He had Lioncross, why did he still feel the need to speak sweet words to her? She stood up, wiping her eyes.
“Do not say those things to me,” she snapped. “I do not want to hear them.”
He watched her stiff back as she paced away from him. “Say what? That you are beautiful? ’Tis the truth, and I speak it.”
She turned swiftly, her eyes flashing. “You do not have to say them anymore,” she said. “Lioncross is yours and there is nothing to gain by flattery. I hate it when you say such things because I want to believe them.”
Her voice suddenly trailed off to a strangled whisper and she whirled back around, appalled at what she had said. Her cheeks were flushing brightly, she knew it, and she wished the ground would open up and swallow her.
But it was an eye-opening statement. Christopher understood a great deal in that outburst. As beautiful as Dustin was, she didn’t know it.
That was why she chased off suitors and men with honeyed words.
She didn’t believe herself to be the least bit attractive, and she thought the men were liars because she knew Lioncross to be the real prize.
Fact was, Christopher wasn’t so sure Lioncross was the real prize anymore.
He stood up. “Dustin, listen to me,” he said softly. “I never say anything that I do not mean. You are beautiful, and I have seen a great many women enough to know that. And I do not flatter, for I am not a charming man and I do not enjoy trivial romantic games. Look at me now.”
It took a few moments, but she reluctantly complied and he could see that her cheeks were a pretty shade of pink. She looked completely miserable and it touched him.
“Lioncross is indeed mine, but so are you,” he went on, softly. “ ’Tis true, I married you to gain the fortress, but over the past few days I have come to acquaint myself with a remarkable woman whom I should like to know better, I think.”
The setting sun behind him gave him an ethereal-like quality. Dustin sighed and lowered her gaze, inexplicably feeling the need to tell him her thoughts. She tried to control her mouth, to think of a smooth and believable explanation as to her actions, but she could not. She finally gave up.
“Do you want to know why I was crying?” she asked quietly.
“ ’Twas because I feel myself unworthy to be the Defender of the Realm’s wife.
I am unworldly, unmannered, unsophisticated and unrefined.
Now you would take me to London with you and I will do naught but embarrass you. I know nothing of court.”
His face turned hard. “Unless you are planning a temper tantrum in the middle of the audience chamber, think not that you could ever embarrass me,” he said pointedly.
“In fact, I will be the envy of every man there because I have the most beautiful wife in the country. As for those other qualities you mentioned, you are nothing of the kind, and if I thought you unworthy of me I would have annulled the marriage by now. No fortress would be worth the grief you mentioned.”
She gazed up at him as he approached. “I want to believe you, my lord, I do. But I cannot, not when I know how silly I am.”
His hand caught her under the chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Naive, yes, but you are not silly,” he said firmly. “I would never lie to you, Dustin. You will believe me.”
She wanted to but she could not, at least not at this moment. She was still far too unsure of herself and still unsteady with the entire situation. “I shall try,” she whispered.
The hand that was on her face began to caress her skin, timidly moving up her jaw until it reached her cheek. She could feel the warmth radiating down her neck, jolting through her spine, turning her limbs to mush.
“Your hand is as big as my head,” she giggled, her warm feelings bringing foolish words to her lips.
As if to see her point, he brought up his other hand and effectively captured her whole head in his grasp. They grinned at each other.
“You are right,” he said. “You fit most nicely in my hands.” Christ, he wanted to kiss her, but he remembered his vow and it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.
If she wanted affection in the marriage, then she would have to establish it.
He dropped his hands from her head, but his vow did not prevent him from holding her hand in his.
“Come, it grows late,” he said, leading her back to his horse. “We shall seek out your friend tomorrow.”
“Then you still want me to go?” she asked.
“Of course, Dustin,” he said, reaching the animal. “I want you with me. You are my wife.”
He lifted her up and sat her on the saddle and she winced, shifting on her sore bottom. He grinned. “Still hurting?”
“Aye,” she said, eyeing him. “And do not look so pleased with yourself.”
He mounted behind her. “You caused your own grief, my lady.”
She made a wry face as he reined his horse around. “I shall be smarter next time. Or faster.”
Grinning, he held her close to him the entire, leisurely ride back to the keep.
*
Later than night, it was well after midnight when Christopher heard the door to his room open quietly. Immediately alert yet remaining still, his right hand felt for the hilt of his sword and gripped it tightly, listening to careful footfalls crossing the floor, coming closer.
The footsteps stopped a moment, he guessed a few feet from his bed and then commenced once more, again very carefully, walking around the side of the bed.
His eyes were mostly closed but he could see the figure in the dark as it rounded the bed and drew close to him.
It was difficult to make out anything at all in the darkness of the room, and the muscles in his arm contracted as he prepared to strike.
Suddenly there were hands reaching down at him and he was forced into action, bringing up his sword with lightning speed to ward of his attacker.
Christopher was skilled, so skilled in fact that he purposely turned the blade flat side out to simply knock his accoster away as opposed to flat out killing him. Had he turned the sword a quarter inch more and lashed out with the sharp edge, he would have cut the intruder’s head off.
There was a cry as the shadow went slamming back onto the floor, knocking over a small table in the process. Christopher was up in an instant, but it was not to protect himself; he recognized the yelp. Dropping his sword, he reached down for the small figure.
“Christ in Heaven, Dustin,” he breathed, pulling her up against his chest and trying to soothe her. She was crying from fear and shock. “What are you doing here?”
Her tears were wetting his naked chest, her soft hands against his skin and it was a thoroughly wonderful experience, yet he was aware that his heart was pounding as he realized what he could have done to her. He held her back, trying to see her face in the darkness.
“Answer me, sweetheart. What are you doing here?” he demanded again.
He could see her quiver. “I….I came looking for Caesar,” she gasped. “I did not want to wake you.”