Chapter Eight #6
“I thank you, my lady.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Then I must agree that I, too, have fared rather well. You could have been an abomination to the eye and I would have still had to marry you. What if you had been as fat as a cow? Or as homely as a pig? If I wanted this fortress, then I would still have had to marry you. Aye, I was fortunate on that account.”
“You say that now,” she shot back good-naturedly. “I do not think that was your reaction the day we met.”
“Hmm,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “But we must do something about your disagreeable disposition.”
She turned her nose up at him. “I have never had anyone complain before.”
He laughed. “They wouldn’t dare. You hit too hard.”
She turned a coy gaze to him. “But you are not afraid of me, are you?”
He looked at her, falsely stern. “Your father was wiser than you know. He knew he must select a man who could hold his own against you in a fight. After seeing how I held off legions of Saracens, he was impressed enough to offer me the position. I was foolish enough to accept.”
She sat up, the coverlet partially falling away. “With the good comes the bad,” she teased. “You wanted Lioncross but I came with it.”
He folded his hands under his chin, his eyes like blue flame as they smoldered at her. “How fortunate for me.”
She grinned back, feeling his gaze licking at her. “Then tell me,” she said thoughtfully, “were you his first choice? Or was there an entire company of men my father weeded through to make his choice?”
Christopher actually looked thoughtful. Hell, he didn’t know, come to think on it.
Was he indeed the first choice? Or had some other fool turned the baron down?
Richard was close with Marcus Burton, now in the north determining the political tides of who was loyal to John.
Could he have approached Marcus with the same proposal?
Marcus was such an eloquent speaker that he could weasel his way out of anything, even a marriage contract.
He glanced at Dustin, suddenly jealous at the thought of her ending up in Marcus’ arms. Foolish, of course. He was the Lion’s Claw. Marcus was merely a general. He knew without a doubt that he had been the first choice.
“Nay, lady, I was his first and only choice,” he said confidently. “I am the only one worthy of the treasure of Lioncross Abbey.”
“Treasure? What treasure? We do have some wealth, but….”
He cut her off, taking her soft white hand, now warm, into his huge palm. “I meant you.”
“Oh,” she felt her cheeks go warm at the compliment. When he raised his eyebrows expectantly at her, she got his hint. “Thank you,” she added quickly.
As the fire crackled and Dustin finished her bread, Christopher held her hand, lost in his own thoughts.
Marcus Burton kept popping up into his mind, as much as he tried to ignore him.
Marcus was his closest friend, outside of David, but the competition between the two of them had always been fierce.
He wondered if Marcus would view Dustin as another contest, knowing the man’s taste for women.
His gaze turned dark as he stared into the flames of the hearth; friend or no, this was one treasure he would not share.
“What are you thinking?” came a soft, sweet voice.
Jolted from his train of thought, he smiled at her. “Nothing, my lady,” he replied, letting go of her hand and rising to stretch his legs. “As much as I am reluctant to leave, I must go to make sure the final preparations are made for our trip to London.”
She nodded, standing up as well, but the heavy cover made it difficult. “And I will get dressed. I must be ready to search for Caesar when the storm passes.”
“You will not go without me, or another knight,” he pointed at her. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Christopher,” she replied patiently.
He eyed her, wary of her too-obedient answer. “I am serious.”
She looked at him, surprised. “So am I. I promise I shall take a guard dog with me.” Then she smiled with mock sweetness.
He let out an exasperated sigh, trying not to grin at her. “Goad me not, lady. I will take you over my knee.”
She jumped back, pulling the blanket tightly about her. “Don’t you dare!”
He did grin, then, and moved for the door. “I shall see you later, Lady de Lohr.”
Dustin was still smiling as he closed the door. Even as she dropped the blanket and dressed in a green woolen surcoat with a tight green silk girdle, she grinned. Every time she thought of her husband, she grinned. She could not help it.
*
It rained very heavily for the rest of the afternoon and Dustin was growing increasingly concerned about Caesar.
Yet she could do nothing until the rain ceased, so she busied herself by packing for their trip to London.
The hours passed relatively quickly as she and a maid kept themselves occupied with storing her entire wardrobe and personal items into two medium-sized trunks.
Her husband, however, had spent a good deal of time out in the rain looking for the cat, among other things.
His captive, standing naked and shivering in the bailey, still refused to talk and he was growing irritated with the man.
He would alternately search the field where the cat and the rabbit were last seen and then return to interrogate the prisoner again.
David and Edward joined him as he went from one duty to the next, as Jeffrey patrolled the wall, and Leeton and the de Velt twins prepared wagons and other effects for the trip to London.
Even though he was very busy, Christopher found that if he was not immediately occupied, his thoughts would drift to his wife and he found himself wondering what the night would bring.
Would she be willing and responsive to him, as he had seen she was capable of being?
It had been more than a day since she last had a tantrum or had showed her stubborn streak, and he was pleased with the woman he was coming to know.
He wondered if she found him agreeable, too.
As dusk drew near and the rain showed no signs of letting up, Christopher abandoned the search for the cat and returned to the keep, making sure the gate was secured for the night and seeing personally that posts were set.
Leeton and Max had the night watch in the miserable weather, although David and Edward would relieve them close to dawn.
Christopher instructed all of his knights and senior soldiers to keep a close eye on the captive in hopes that once the rain turned freezing, the man would talk.
Inside the castle, the great hall was warm and a huge fire was blazing in the equally huge hearth.
Cooking smells floated in the air from the kitchens on the ground floor level, reminding him of just how hungry he was.
Soaked and itching with the damp wool, he dropped his armor in the foyer and had two soldiers carry it away to be cleaned.
Dripping water, he took the stairs two at a time and made his way to his chamber.
Just as he was entering his door, he could hear Dustin’s voice far down the hall. Glancing back, he could see her moving between her mother’s room and her own, her arms laden with surcoats and other bulky materials. Curious, he went to see what she was doing.
Two maids were following her around and he could see with his initial observation that all of Dustin’s mother’s clothing was laid out all over the dead woman’s room.
Cloaks, dresses, fine surcoats, shoes… every inch of the room seemed to be covered with garments and accessories.
He put his hands on his hips as he examined the mess, wondering what in the hell she was doing.
Dustin was in the process of shaking out a heavy fur-lined cloak, studying it for rodent holes or damage.
She caught sight of her husband in the doorway and smiled sweetly at him.
In that small gesture, he felt his heart soften and noticed he was verily pleased with her reaction. She was happy to see him.
“Greetings, husband,” she said gaily. “You are all wet.”
“Astute as always, Lady de Lohr,” he said with a raised brow. “What is it that you are doing?”
She lay the cloak down. “Seeing if there are any of mother’s things that will do me service in London,” she said. “I have only two cloaks, and not very nice ones at that. Mother has armfuls.”
“I can see that,” he said. “But there are surcoats strewn about as well. You are not planning to take any of those, are you?” He ended with a warning tone, reminding her that he did not approve of her wearing her mother’s too-tight garments.
She looked at him. “Only those of which you approve,” she said patiently. “Since I have so few nice surcoats, I will try on every one of mother’s and you can tell me which ones I can and cannot wear.”
Sly, he thought. Rather than choose them herself and being obstinate about it, she would let him do the picking. That way there was no way he could disapprove of what she wore. “Very well,” he said after a moment. “But only a few, mind you. We can have more made in London made to fit you.”
She smiled. “Truly? More clothes for me?”
He shook his head at her, at her surprise at such a simple thing as having a surcoat made.
“In case you haven’t realized it, you are a baron’s wife and you must be properly dressed,” he said.
“I believe we have been through this before. I shall order dozens of dresses made for you in London, and all the accessories to go with them.”
She looked pleased with the extravagance, surprised he felt she was worth it. She’d never thought much about her clothing, but found that she was suspiciously interested in looking her best as of late.
“As you say, husband.” She gave a happy little shrug, leaving the maids to finish shaking out the clothing. “Would you let me help you from those wet clothes?”
Now it was his turn to be surprised. “Aye, I would,” he agreed.