Chapter Seven #9
The idea that scared her the most was the fact that she wanted him to care for her.
She wanted him to like her, to protect her, to need her.
He had told her that he did care for her, and even when she heard it, it was as if she didn’t want to hear it.
It was as if the stubborn, independent female inside her was fighting with the soft, willing woman that was begging to be let out.
The meal passed and even when the food was cleared and the senior officers left, and the knights were enjoying their wine and stories, she found that she was enjoying the company too much to leave.
She was increasingly aware of Christopher’s gaze on her but she tried desperately to ignore him. She didn’t know what to say to him.
Two of the kitchen servants who also doubled as minstrels began to play their wooden flutes and Dustin listened dreamily to their soft ballad.
David tried to get her to dance, twice, but she refused.
She honestly didn’t know how to dance very well and she would not embarrass herself. She’d never liked to dance.
The more they drank, the louder and wilder the stories became and the more amused Dustin became.
She listened to the de Velt twins recall a particularly comical adventure they had shared and she laughed until tears came to her eyes.
Max and Anthony were not the brightest men in the room, but they were gifted storytellers and she enjoyed their antics.
As Dustin loosened up, Christopher nursed his third watered wine.
He sat back in his chair, smiling as he listened to his knights and watching his wife’s reaction.
She giggled and joked, endearing herself to men who had only seen her belligerent and surly side.
This was the Dustin he wanted to know, to be a part of.
He hoped to talk to her again before she retired for the night and was preparing his strategy when several of his soldiers entered the smoky hall.
Christopher and the other knights were immediately on guard as a senior soldier saluted his liege.
“Trouble in the village, my lord,” the man said.
“What sort of trouble?” Christopher demanded.
The soldier’s gaze flicked in Dustin’s direction. “It seems that a young woman and her mother have been killed, and the entire village is in an uproar,” he said. “ ’Tis said that the young woman was a friend of your wife’s.”
Dustin shot up from her chair in a panic. “Who is it? Who was killed?”
The soldier was hesitant, looking to Christopher for direction. “I…,” he stammered. “I am not certain. They could be wrong, of course.”
Christopher could see the man’s reluctance but he needed answers. “Who have they said was killed?”
The soldier sighed faintly, knowing he had no choice but to relay what he had heard. “Comlynn,” he said after a moment. “I was told her name was Comlynn.”
Dustin’s hands flew to her mouth. “Rebecca?” she gasped.
Christopher looked at her with great concern, instinctively reaching out to steady her. “Steady, lady,” he murmured firmly before looking to his knights. “Mount your steeds. We ride.”
The great hall turned into a shifting company of men, all moving purposefully to do their liege’s bidding, but Christopher wasn’t paying much attention to them.
He was more concerned with his wife, who had quickly dissolved into tears of fright.
Not wanting to leave her, alone and terrified, standing in the great hall, he swept her into his arms and carried her up to her bower.
Once in her chamber, he set her down on the floor but still kept a strong grip on her arms. She was gasping and crying, her face as white as snow. She didn’t try to pull away from him or fight him, rather, she seemed afraid to let him go.
“Christopher,” she gasped. “It cannot be true.”
He felt terrible for her; losing her father, her mother, and now her close friend all within a few days. His huge hands cupped her face.
“I shall go see, sweetheart, I promise,” he soothed her. “I shall see to your friend.”
Her hands were gripping his wrists, her big gray eyes gazing up at him. “I would come.”
He shook his head. “Nay, you will stay here and wait for me,” he said calmly. “I shan’t be long.”
“Please,” she begged. “I want to come. I must see for myself.”
“Dustin, you will not, you will stay here,” he said, pulling her to him fiercely, holding her to stop her struggles and comfort her. “I promise I will return quickly. I want you to stay here and calm yourself. The soldier could be wrong, you know.”
Those seven words calmed her considerably. Her crying lessened but she still clung to him, her face buried in his tunic. He stroked her hair, her back and arms, unwilling to leave her until he was sure she was calming. When he felt her breathing slow, he pulled back and looked at her.
“I will go now,” he said softly. “But I shall return. Promise me you will not leave your room.”
She nodded unsteadily, her face wet and her lashes spiky with tears. She looked so pitiful that his heart went out to her and he leaned down, gently kissing on the cheek.
Dustin’s hand went instinctively to the spot he had touched. She could still feel his lips there, soft and sweet. It had been a tender act, one of unspoken warmth, and as she continued to gaze up at him, somewhat awed by the gesture, he winked at her.
“I shall return,” he said simply and quit the room.
She sat on her bed and waited.