Chapter Ten
Dustin woke up coughing. She sputtered and choked for a long time before finally sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes. The fire in the hearth was a faint glow and she had no idea what time it was.
“Christopher?” she called softly.
She was answered with silence. Even the rain outside had lessened but she could still hear it.
Coughing harder, she realized she was freezing and pulled the covers about her tighter, wondering where her husband was.
She lay back down, trying to get comfortable, but then she was sweating and threw the covers off.
A moment later, she was cold again. And then she was very thirsty.
She sat up in bed again and tossed the covers off, freezing, and ran to the pile of clothing that lay on the floor. With icy hands, she donned her woolen shift, red woolen dress, stockings and boots. She was so thirsty that she wanted to find a well or watered wine to slake it.
The corridor outside was quiet and she could hear faint snoring coming from somewhere.
She walked silently down the hall to the staircase, shaking with chill as she went.
Oddly, her palms were sweaty and her forehead was coated with perspiration, and she wondered if her strange condition had something to do with her wounded hands.
Mayhap they had infected her somehow. Coughing again, she took the steps stiffly and wandered back into the kitchen.
There was a big wooden bucket on the counter with a ladle in it. Relieved, she took several large ladles of water, slurping the water. It felt cool to her parched throat and she wiped some on her hot face.
Then, she was so blasted hot again she could hardly stand it.
The woolen dress was like a furnace, hot and cloying and restricting, and she was desperate to take it off or cool down any way she could.
She was suffocating. Outside, the rain pelted the ground gently.
Cool rain. Dustin threw open the door and stood out in the downpour, feeling the water cool her overheated body.
She continued to stand there a few moments, coughing her lungs up and letting the cold water ease her.
“Dustin!” came a sharp voice behind her. “What in the hell are you doing?”
She turned to see David standing behind her, clad only in his boots and breeches. Astonished, he yanked her back inside.
“I am hot, David,” she protested weakly. “And I was coughing, so I came downstairs to get a drink. Why are you up?”
“Because I heard you coughing,” he informed her flatly. He put his hand up to her forehead, feeling her scorching cheeks. “Jesus Christ, you are burning up. You have a hell of a fever going.”
She batted his hands away. “Stop that. I am not sick, ’tis this damn woolen dress. It is making me hot.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You are hot because you are ill,” he said. “Where is Chris?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly, feeling weak and tired. “I woke up and he was gone. I don’t know where he went.”
David saw her sway and her lips went pale. He reached out and scooped her up, heavy wet dress and all. David wasn’t near as tall as Chris, but he was wonderfully broad and muscular and smooth. Dustin, not feeling like fighting him, wrapped her arms around his neck and lay her head on his shoulder.
“I guess I do not feel very well,” she admitted in a whisper.
“I can imagine,” David said, trying to ignore just how sweet and soft she felt in his arms, carrying her through the common room and up the stairs. Her long hair licked at his skin and he found he deeply envied his brother his wife.
He kicked the door of her room open and carried her in. He set her on unsteady feet, but she was sopping wet and he knew he had to get her out of her clothes.
“Stay here, Dustin,” he said softly, crossing the hall and throwing open a door. “Edward! Get out of bed and go find Chris.”
Edward, dazed, rolled around in his bed. “What is wrong?”
“Dustin’s taken ill,” David said. “Find Chris. Mayhap he is in the camp somewhere.”
Edward was up, donning his nearly-dry clothing. David retreated back into Dustin’s room. He didn’t want to undress her, but she was standing in the middle of the room, shaking like a leaf, and he knew he had to do something. He could not wait for Christopher to come and take care of her.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you out of that dress.”
Dustin didn’t protest. David deftly undid the stays of her dress and peeled the wet garment from her.
He then sat her down on the bed and removed her boots, biting his lip when he peeled off her stockings.
Her legs were like silk. He was struggling with himself more than he ever had, because he knew without a doubt that Dustin was the most desirable woman he had ever come across, a woman that was unknowingly endearing herself to him. A woman who was his brother’s wife.
Dustin remained clad in her damp shift, but David would go no further.
He wasn’t strong enough to remove the shift and he suspected his brother wouldn’t take kindly to it, anyway.
Dustin, still sitting on the bed with her wet hair, shivered violently and spurred David into another sort of action.
He stoked the hearth until it was a roaring blaze then moved her over by the fire.
“Come and sit over here and dry out,” he said.
He sat her in a chair right next to the fire, covering her legs with a thick blanket. Dustin, her eyes closed, sat and shivered. He stood back, wondering where in the hell his brother was and wondering why he could not have been offered Arthur Barringdon’s daughter.
Several minutes later, Christopher charged into the room with Marcus on his heels. He was winded, having run from the stable yards at top speed when Edward found him and relayed David’s message. His handsome face a mask of concern as his eyes fell on Dustin.
“What in the hell is wrong?” he demanded, falling to one knee beside her.
“She awoke coughing and went downstairs to find something to drink,” David explained as Christopher felt her hot face. “I heard her coughing and followed her into the kitchens. By the time I got there, she was standing out in the rain being soaked.”
“Out in the rain?” He cupped Dustin’s warm face, forcing her to look at him. “Why were you in the rain, sweet?”
“She was hot,” David answered for her. “I brought her back to your chamber and removed her dress, but her shift is still damp and she should probably take it off as well.”
Christopher nodded, pulling the blanket off of her. “Thank you, David. I appreciate your assistance,” he said. “One last thing, if you will; find the innkeeper and have his wife prepare a hot willow brew for her fever.”
David was gone without a word. Christopher glanced at Marcus. “I fear our conversation is ended, for the moment,” he said quietly.
Marcus nodded, his serious gaze on Dustin. “She cannot travel, Chris,” he murmured. “She is too ill.”
Christopher did not like the idea of leaving his wife behind, even if it be for only a day or two. He glanced down at her blond head.
“We shall see how she fares on the morrow,” he replied.
Marcus shook his head. “Look at her, Chris. She will not be well enough to travel by dawn.”
Christopher’s head snapped to his friend, banking the surge of emotion he felt. “What would you suggest, then?” he demanded quietly. “I must be in London by the end of the week and I will not leave her here.”
Marcus could see how agitated he was becoming. “I do not have to be in London by the end of the week,” he said. “I can stay behind and tend her until she is well enough to travel. I do not think you have much of a choice.”
Christopher looked at him for a long moment before gazing back at his wife. Dustin’s bright eyes were turned to him.
“You would leave me here?” she whispered.
He sighed, stroking her damp head. “You are sick, sweetheart. I can’t let you travel in this foul weather until you are well enough.”
Her eyes welled up. “I do not want you to leave me.”
Marcus discreetly vacated the room. Christopher stood his weeping wife on her feet and pulled off her shift before bundling her back up in the blanket and carrying her to bed. He removed his tunic and crawled in next to her, cradling her shaking body next to his.
“I do not want to leave you, but I have no choice,” he whispered against her hair. “I have to leave for London tomorrow.”
She pulled her arms free from the blanket and wound them tightly around his neck. “Please do not leave me, Chris.”
He kissed her. “I do not want to, Dustin, you know I do not. Now go to sleep, my love. I shall watch over you ’til morning.”
She calmed down a bit, snuggling against him and coughing. He held her tightly, yet his mind was reeling.
He had called her “my love.” Christ, what had he vowed just this evening? That love was a weakness and that he could not allow himself to love his wife, no matter what. He could care for her, like her, be fond of her, but he could not, would not, love her. It would kill him if he did.
Dustin sighed raggedly, shivering and coughing.
His heart ached to see her ill. It was his fault; he should not have allowed her to get so wet and he felt terribly guilty.
But he could not allow his concerns for her to override the more pressing concerns that were facing him in London.
And after his conversation with Marcus, there were problems aplenty.
He never did manage to sleep that night.
*
Christopher was up before dawn, dressed in full armor.
The innkeeper’s wife brought Dustin a brew of wine and herbs, and Christopher patiently coaxed an entire cupful down.
Her fever was minimal, but she was coughing and sneezing and generally miserable, and he was deeply sorry that she would not be able to go with him that day.
Dustin felt so rotten that in spite of her crying the night before, she didn’t care one way or the other.