Chapter Eight
Rebecca wasn’t simply killed, she was massacred. When Christopher entered the small hut, he was assaulted by blood everywhere; all over the walls, all over the floor. His stomach turned at the sight, but only on behalf of his wife. Her worst fears had just been confirmed.
Rebecca’s mother was in the smaller room, tied to one of the posts and all but gutted.
Her blood coated the floor and Christopher was sure she was completely drained of it.
Whoever had done the horrifying deed seemed to have done it with particular malice, for the woman was so chopped up that she was barely in one piece. That sort of anger indicated madness.
But the sight of Rebecca, in the alcove where the beds were, disturbed him greatly.
Whoever had killed her had done it with such viciousness that even a hardened warrior like Christopher was taken aback.
David and Edward, having arrived several minutes earlier, had already had a chance to examine the body.
“What devil did this?” David muttered, gazing down at the corpse.
Christopher motioned at her. “Her throat is cut,” he commented. “And it looks as if she had been gutted.
“Look at this,” Edward lifted her wrist. “She is missing a few fingers. This woman was tortured, Chris.”
Christopher let out a sigh of disgust. “Why in the hell would anyone torture this woman?” he wondered aloud. “What could they possibly gain by it?”
David flipped up her skirts, revealing bloodied thighs. “She was raped, too.”
“Christ,” Christopher muttered, looking hard before turning away, crossing himself. “Whatever you do, do not tell Dustin that. God be merciful.”
The knights stood silently over the young woman, saddened at such a waste and feeling for the baron’s wife.
Christopher took a moment to compose himself before turning around once more and reaching down to gently pull Rebecca’s skirts back over her legs.
With a sigh of regret, he reached down and picked up the stiffening body.
“Take the blanket off the bed,” he ordered softly. “Spread it out.”
Christopher personally wrapped Rebecca up in a tight little bundle for burial while the de Velt twins took care of the mother.
No one had seen the father and assumed he was dead as well, but just to be sure, Christopher sent a few soldiers out to search for the farmer.
He wondered vaguely if Rebecca’s father killed his family, but didn’t dwell on it.
What was done was done, and now he would have to deal with his wife’s grief.
It seemed that death had followed him to Lioncross Abbey. He came bearing news of death, and three deaths had followed his arrival. He knew he wasn’t directly responsible but he wondered if Dustin would blame him anyway. He hoped not.
As he was leaving the hut, his eyes were drawn to the hearth and he suddenly stopped, staring at what he saw.
Two surcoats, nearly finished except for the hem, hung untouched by the gore and carnage surrounding them.
He paused a moment before reaching up and collecting both of them, folding them over his arm as he left the cottage of death without a hind glance.
*
Rebecca’s death was too much for Dustin to take.
She went hysterical and it took Christopher and David both to force down a poppy potion that knocked her out in minutes.
They watched her twitch and fidget even in her sleep, looking so tiny in the middle of Christopher’s huge bed.
Both men were deeply exhausted from the day’s events.
“Go get some sleep,” Christopher told his brother. “I can handle her from here.”
David nodded, moving for the door. “Damn, Christopher, what’s going on around here?” he muttered. “Ever since we arrived there has been nothing but death.”
Christopher looked down at his sleeping wife, deep in thought. “Everyone close to her has died,” he said softly. “I wonder if this is some curse I have brought back with me, manifesting itself on her for the sins I have committed against the infidels.”
David shook his head. “Any curse that strong would have attacked you first… why waste it on those around you?”
Christopher sighed heavily, removing his hauberk and moving for his plate armor. “I will see you on the morrow,” he said, then stopped his brother before he could close the door. “Post extra guards, David. If we have a murderer on the loose, then I do not want him infiltrating my keep.”
David nodded, quitting the room. Christopher proceeded to remove the rest of his armor and stripped off his tunic.
He sat heavily on the oak chair and pulled his boots off, pausing a moment as he felt his fatigue.
He rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his neck.
Then he glanced over at Dustin, sleeping fitfully, and wondered if she would be better on the morrow.
He hoped that Rebecca’s death didn’t throw her off the edge of madness.
Caesar appeared at his feet, rubbing up against him and he found he was actually glad to see the cat. He reached down and scratched the orange ears before moving to the bed, slipping in carefully beneath the covers and making sure his sword was at the ready.
Dustin twitched and let out a ragged sigh, turning over and pressing herself right into Christopher’s chest. Contentment warmed over him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
Caesar, not to be left out, curled up against the nape of his neck and his head vibrated with the force of the animal’s purring, yet it did not bother him.
He was coming to like it… all of it.
*
Dustin awoke to something tickling her cheek. She brushed at it, thinking it to be Caesar, but it tickled her again and again and finally opened her eyes when she heard a throaty laugh. Christopher, propped up on one elbow, was smiling down at her. She smiled back.
“Good morn, my lady,” he said softly.
She stretched a bit. “Good morning, husband,” she said, then memories from the previous evening flooded her and tears filled her eyes. “Rebecca!” she gasped.
His smile vanished and he enclosed her in his arms to comfort her. “I am sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “There was nothing I could do.
“She’s dead,” she cried softly.
“I know,” he replied simply, not knowing what else to say.
Her crying was soft and mournful, deeply painful. Yet she spared him the hysterics from the previous night. She had cried so much the past week that it was becoming easier to gain control. The whole time, Christopher didn’t say a word; he simply held her, trying to give her some consolation.
“We must bury her,” she said finally, her face pressed against his naked skin.
“We will,” he answered. “Whenever you are ready.”
She shifted, pulling her hair free that was trapped between them as she looked at him. Gazes locked, devoured.
“Today?” she asked.
He nodded vaguely. “Do not rush. Whenever you are strong enough.”
She gazed back at him, her tears and fears fading away as his sky blue eyes swallowed her up. They were so close, and with his nakedness, she began to feel that giddy warmth again. The longer she gazed at him, the stronger the feeling became.
“I should get dressed,” she stammered.
“As should I,” he replied, his voice raspy.
“I cannot get up unless you release me,” she said.
“Do you want me to release you?” he asked.
“Do you want to release me?” she countered, embarrassed at the bold question.
“Nay,” he answered, his voice silky. “I do not. Does that shock you?”
The giddy warmth was overwhelming her, causing her breathing to become ragged and her hands to sweat.
“What….what will you do to me if you do not release me?” she asked.
“What would you have me do?” he said in turn.
She shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t know. Will you kiss me again?” It was a question, not a request, but he took it for his own interpretation.
He answered her by clamping his lips on hers, his lips soft and probing and his stubble scratching her silky skin.
She knew instantly that it was as wonderful as she had remembered, and her arms went about his neck tightly.
When he felt her acceptance, he let his inhibitions go.
He would have her, and he would have her now.
He laid her back on the bed, his hands trailing down her body as he had dreamed of for so long.
Her breasts beneath her shift were firm and round and felt wonderful against his big hands.
And the way she pushed into him as he touched her drove him further over the edge of ecstasy.
The moment he touched her, it was as if she had always been his, as if he had touched her this way a thousand times, each was sweeter than the previous.
He found his hands were shaking with excitement when he reached up and tore her shift right down the front, all but destroying it.
Dustin let out a shriek but didn’t stop him, instead, watched him as he kissed her shoulders, her chest, and his great hands were so gentle on her breasts.
He kissed a circle around each breast, slowly and lingeringly, until her breathing was so rapid she thought she might faint.
The sensations were beyond anything she had ever imagined.
When he lifted his head and suckled on a peaked nipple, he took her to a whole new level of passion.
Dustin nearly came up from the mattress but his heavy body and firm hands prevented it.
His mouth on her breasts was so wickedly lustful that she could not help herself from panting, spiraling out of control with his touch.
Her hands found his thick hair, pressing his head against her nipples to encourage him.
She never wanted him to stop, for the feelings were too wonderful to comprehend.