Chapter Eight #2
But he did leave her breasts, eventually, and his mouth kissed every inch of her supple torso, her sides, even the underside of her arms. How in the world he could turn something like a kiss into the most sensual experience she had ever encountered was a mystery, yet she had no desire to think on it.
All she knew was that she loved what he did to her.
So far, every bit of loving he had done had been above her waist. But that soon changed and his huge hands began to touch her groin and inner thighs.
Dustin jumped as his fingers drifted over her mound of dark-blond curls, the sensations strange and thrilling.
It was such a private and intimate touch, and she was uncertain as to whether or not to stop him.
Still, he had been completely gentle and wonderful thus far.
She was struggling with herself and he seemed to sense it.
“Trust me, Dustin,” he whispered, kissing her fingers.
“I do, my lord, but….”
He shook his head and kissed her hand again. “You will call me Christopher in private, always. I am your husband, your lover. I will come to know you better than anyone.”
She looked down at him, reaching out to run her hand through his hair.
He had trusted her with his very private feelings, once.
There was so much she wanted to tell him, but it was difficult for her to lower her defenses long enough to do it.
Yet in this environment, just the two of them, it became easier.
“The only person who knew me well was Rebecca,” she whispered. “I would tell her everything; my hopes and dreams and dislikes. She was the only person I ever felt comfortable enough to confide in because she never laughed at me, nor made fun of my thoughts. She was the only person I ever trusted.”
“Not even your mother?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Mother’s ideals were different from mine, and she would only admonish me for being a nonconformist,” she whispered in reply, stroking his hair. “She was my mother, yet she did not know everything about me.”
His hand ran up the full length of her thigh and made her shiver. “I would know everything about you, wife.”
She gazed back at him for a long moment. “Then know I am afraid of what we are doing, yet I think I like it all the same. Is that strange?”
He cracked a smile. “Not at all. ’Tis right to be uncertain of something you have never experienced before, but I can promise you that it will be wonderful. You must trust me.”
She stared into his sky-blue eyes, as pure as air. Her reluctance was gone. “I do,” she whispered.
He blessed her with his wide, curvy smile that sent her insides jiggling wildly, a smile rarely viewed but the most sexy, magnificent gesture she had ever seen. She could not help but smile back as he lowered his head and returned to running his mouth over her thighs.
She was once again losing herself in his touch when there was a loud rap at the door, accompanied by someone calling Christopher’s name loudly.
Dustin jumped but Christopher merely paused, he face glazed with passion. “What is it?” he roared.
“Open the damn door, Chris!” It was David, irritated that the door was locked.
Christopher’s mouth returned to Dustin’s lower abdomen. “Go away.”
“Stop arguing and get out of bed,” his brother said, pounding on the door. “Ever since you arrived here, you have been the laziest bastard I have ever seen. Now open this goddamn door before I break it down.”
Christopher sighed. Obviously, David didn’t know Dustin was still in the room. He glanced up at his wife apologetically. “I shall see what he wants and send him away.”
As he pushed himself up, Dustin scrambled out of the bed and pulled her torn shift about her.
“It’s all right, sweetheart, get back in bed,” he told her gently, not wanting to lose the entire mood. “Let me see what he wants.”
Dustin snatched at the heavy coverlet and wrapped it around her like a mummy. Christopher sighed again; he knew the mood was already gone and she was very self-conscious. He was very annoyed with his brother.
He unlocked the door and David shoved it open from the outside, plowing it into Christopher’s nose. Even as Christopher let out a grunt and put his hand to his face, David’s look of irritation went to one of regret as he realized he hit his brother in the nose.
“Forgive me,” he insisted. “But why in the hell did you lock the door?”
Christopher eyed him, his hand still on his nose. He lifted an arm in Dustin’s direction. “To better protect my wife’s privacy from idiots like you.”
David’s blue eyes riveted to Dustin, standing wrapped in a blanket, and he was immediately contrite. “Oh, Jesus, I am sorry,” he said. “I did not know she was still in here.”
“She is,” Christopher gingerly wrinkled his tender nose. “What in the hell is so important?”
David looked at his brother, clearing his throat. “Uh… Mistress Rebecca’s father came to the gates before dawn. He is insisting that the bodies be buried immediately to prevent demon possession.”
“What?” Christopher demanded, incredulous. “What kind of nonsense is that?”
“I think I can explain,” Dustin said timidly, rounding the corner of the bed.
“Rebecca’s father is Welsh, and still clings to the old religions of his forefathers.
They believe that if a person is killed violently, then the angered soul will possess the body and wreak havoc on the living. He is very superstitious.”
Christopher ran his fingers through his hair. “Very well, then. If that is what the man believes,” he said. “David, go back to the man and tell him Lady Dustin will be there shortly.”
David nodded, passing a final glance at Dustin. “I really am sorry, my lady. You must think me quite lacking in manners.”
He seemed so remorseful that Dustin smiled and started to reply, but Christopher spoke before she could.
“Aye, she does, so get out of here,” he said, all but throwing his brother from the room. When David was gone, he turned to his wife. “I am sorry, too. I was quite enjoying our time alone.”
Dustin blushed. “I have a feeling that it will not be the last opportunity, my lord,” she said, moving past him like a giant wrapped bundle, keeping her gaze averted.
He smiled at her, pleased that she had all but given him permission to touch her anytime he so desired. And he was coming to quite desire her.
*
Christopher never left Dustin’s side.
From the moment he escorted her to the peasant cemetery next to the small church and throughout the ceremony read in the harsh Welsh tongue, he stayed close by her, his eyes constantly scanning the area for anything hostile.
Dustin was greatly comforted by his presence.
She was so distraught at the death of her best friend that she had wept nonstop since they had left the keep.
As she stood with Christopher underneath the trees, listening to the Welsh priest speak, she felt his arm around her arm but didn’t give it much thought until he removed it, then she turned to look at him.
Suddenly, she missed it terribly and he read her thoughts, replacing his arm and drawing her even closer to him.
Christopher’s knights stood to the rear, their attention also drawn to the surroundings. With the murders yesterday, they were wary standing in foliage that would serve as perfect cover for an ambush.
Rebecca’s father was absolutely stricken with grief. He had been out in the fields all day, returning to find soldiers in his house and his wife and daughter’s remains spread all over the interior. He simply could not comprehend the loss and even now lay prostrate on the two fresh graves.
Dustin cried softly for the man’s pain and for her own personal loss. She still could not believe her friend had befallen such a horrible fate and her agony was deep, deeper still for all of the losses she had suffered over the past week.
She wondered vaguely if she would ever be the same.
*
The same two men that had killed Rebecca and her mother now hid among the trees, watching the mass take place for their victims beneath cloudy skies over the wind-swept cemetery.
“Look at ’im, standin’ there with his grievin’ wife as if he were an innocent,” said the dark-haired, dirty man. “He as much as killed her, having her whore for ’im. ’Twas his own fault we had to kill ’er.”
The fat man nodded grimly. “And she was loyal to until the end. Never did tell us anything much.”
The oily man scanned their surroundings. “Virgil, do you think we could take the baron out? There’s lots of trees for cover, you know. One good arrow and we could remove him forever.”
Virgil shook his head. “Sir Ralph said to just spy on him, not kill him.”
“But think on it,” the other insisted. “We’d be doing John a favor. If we take out de Lohr now, he won’t have to worry about him anymore. We’ll be heroes,” the other said enthusiastically.
Virgil looked doubtful, but he knew his friend to be smarter. “I don’t know, Roy,” he said. “What if we make John angry?”
“How can we make him angry for doing him a favor?” Roy demanded, then turned and crawled back through the underbrush to the belongings they had brought. “See here. A crossbow. I am a good aim with it.”
Virgil scratched his head. “You will take out the baron?”
“With the first arrow,” Roy bragged, motioning to his neck. “The mail is weakest there.”
Virgil thought and thought. Mayhap Roy was right. He imagined the wealth and titles that would be bestowed on him for helping rid John of an archenemy. The more he thought, the better he felt about it.
“All right,” he said. “But from a distance. And we run like hell after the baron is down, for I do not want to go up against any of those knights of his.”
Roy nodded firmly. “The horses are tied up in the glen. A perfect getaway. Then we can return to London and tell Sir Ralph what we have done.”
Virgil nodded, scratching his verminous head while Roy loaded the crossbow and took an extra arrow. Then, together, they snuck into the trees for a prime vantage point, confident in their loyalty to their prince.