Chapter Fourteen
Marcus, furious and irrational, found himself wandering aimlessly through Windsor’s great corridors.
All of his senses were reeling, his mind focused on Christopher’s rage and words, and wondering if he should return to protect Dustin from his wrath.
Yet he knew the anger was focused on him and him alone, and that hurt him to the core.
A moment of weakness would apparently cost him what he had worked for all his life.
He found himself wandering the royal wing, padding along the fine woolen rugs. He stopped and turned himself around, not wanting to be anywhere near John, but there was a body behind him, blocking his path.
Ralph’s lip curled in a sneer. “Took a wrong turn, Burton?”
Marcus wasn’t in the mood for the man. “Move aside, Fitz Walter.”
Ralph, amazingly, did as he was asked and Marcus brushed past him.
“ ’Twould be a shame if anything happened to Lady Dustin, don’t you think?” Ralph said leadingly.
Marcus froze, turning around with slow restraint. “What are you babbling about?”
Ralph shrugged and it just occurred to Marcus that there were no other soldiers in the hall. Ralph had confronted him alone, a rare happening, but it put him all the more on guard.
“Just that,” the sheriff said lightly, leaning against the wall. “Lady Dustin is a beautiful woman, obviously loved by a great many men. ’Twould be a pity if an accident were to befall her.”
He had Marcus’ full attention. “Ralph, let me make this as plain as I may. If Lady Dustin so much as stubs her toe, I will come looking for you and I will kill you. Is that understood?”
“Perfectly,” Ralph said. “But I am sure you will have to stand in line for that honor behind her husband. Unless…unless, of course, you were her husband.”
Marcus’ steely facade was invaded by a hint of annoyance. “That again? I told you once that I would not consider being John’s champion.”
Ralph stared Marcus down for a brief moment, then examined his nails.
“Baron Marcus Burton has a certain ring to it,” he said.
“And I understand there is a lovely baronetcy in Somerhill simply waiting for a deserving man. You are from York, are you not? Surely Somerhill is of your acquaintance. A perfect place to raise a family with a beautiful woman, far from London and Lioncross.”
Marcus was actually listening to him. He was alternately appalled and interested. Ralph looked up, catching the gleam in Marcus’ eye for a split second. He knew when to strike.
“All you have to do is champion John at the tournament,” he insisted. “Burton, you can joust in your sleep. Surely I am not asking too much.”
Marcus fought off the urge to agree with him, closing his eyes and turning away.
Yet, for the sake of argument only, he pictured what Ralph was suggesting; with Christopher gone, he could marry Dustin and take her away to the north.
Alone, he could champion Richard’s cause and rally the northern barons for their support.
And Christopher’s knights could pledge their loyalty to him, with Lioncross falling into the ward of the crown.
But Christopher had to be out of the picture. He tried hard to imagine his friend gone and he simply could not. Tens of thousands of Saracens had tried to kill the Lion’s Claw, what made him think that he could do it, legally, at a tournament?
Marcus shook himself from those thoughts, shocked and disgusted for plotting Christopher’s demise.
He could no more kill Christopher than kill himself.
How in hell could a simple woman cause him to rethink his morals, his devotions, and his entire life?
He wasn’t even sure what he felt for her, but whatever it was, he had never experienced it before and it was making him crazy.
Nay, he could not and would not kill Christopher, no matter how angry he was with him. But he could compete against him.
There was nothing wrong with that, except it was too late to seek a sponsor… except for John. If Marcus won, mayhap regardless if he won, he would have his title and his lands. And, mayhap as well, he would have a bit of revenge.
Slowly, he turned to Ralph, surprised the man was still there looking questioningly at him.
“I will hear more of this,” he mumbled, hating himself even as he said it.
*
Dustin had been asleep for hours. Lying on the huge bed, alone, she looked like a small child. She lay on her back, one arm over her head and the other resting on her stomach, with the firelight reflecting softly on her pale face.
Christopher hadn’t slept at all. He didn’t even enter the bedchamber until he was positive she had fallen asleep, and even then he did nothing more than stare at her.
His mind was still cold with shock and anger, but he was beginning to come around. His anger with Marcus had not abated and standing at the foot of the bed watching his wife sleep somehow intensified his feelings.
Yet it was more than anger, because the bitter twinge of jealousy filled his mouth – jealousy because he knew Marcus to be a fine man and Dustin, being so na?ve in ways of the heart, could have just as easily fallen for Marcus.
Mayhap that is why he sent Marcus away. With the man out of his hair, he could better deal with his own feelings toward his wife. With Marcus around, he went out of control so easily and it scared him.
Gazing down at Dustin’s beautiful face, he knew in his heart that he loved her dearly. He always would, no matter what happened. Damn, she could have slept with Marcus and he would have forgiven her simply because he could not stand the thought of being without her.
He meandered around the side of the bed and reached down, stroking a wayward strand of hair from her forehead.
She sighed raggedly, turning in the direction of his hand and he felt the heat of desire lick at him.
His hand lingered on her forehead, touching her face for a moment before he sat beside her.
His fingers combed through her incredible mane, feeling its silkiness against his rough skin and lifting it to his nostrils to inhale the faint rose scent.
The same hand left her hair and traced ever so delicately down her neck, tracing her breasts through her shift.
He was aware of his engorged shaft straining against his breeches but he was content to touch her for the time-being, knowing she would spurn any sort of advance once she awoke.
He would steal this time, then, to worship her.
He didn’t know how long she had been awake, watching him, for when he happened to glance up from delicately tracing her nipples, her wide gray eyes were on him.
Startled, he stopped his exploration and stared back at her, wondering if he should say something.
He opened his mouth to tell her he was sorry for waking her when he could not seem to remember the words and before he could stop himself, his mouth and body descended on her.
Dustin should have fought him, but she could not seem to find the strength or the desire.
Once his great hands scalded her and his expert tongue licked her lips into a frenzy, she turned herself over completely, forgetting about the anger and fear and hurt that had constituted her day.
All that mattered was Christopher, on her, in her, touching her.
Even if he didn’t love her, his touch said otherwise and it was easier to pretend.
Her shift was torn down the middle in one swift move and his clothes came off hurriedly as they bit and sucked at each other hungrily.
His hands found her breasts, his lips found her nipples, and Dustin’s cries of ecstasy filled the room.
He was moving furiously, almost roughly, but she loved all of it and encouraged him onward.
He was absolutely consumed with her. His fingers stoked her most delicate center, coaxing forth her juices that told him without words how badly she wanted him. She was soaking before he could insert a finger into her, and he forewent the finger in lieu of his throbbing manhood.
They came together in a cataclysmic clash of pure desire.
He thrust into her in one long, powerful movement and she moaned loudly, biting her lip to keep from screaming.
He drove into her, again and again, watching her nipples harden in response to his force, watching her breasts shake with the power of his thrusts.
She was so tight and slick that in no time at all he was convulsively spilling himself into her.
Dustin, feeling him throbbing and pulsing within her, could not help but answer in volcanic triumph.
When the tempest passed and they were basking in the warm musk of their lovemaking, Christopher felt her stiffen in his arms and he knew that her guard had gone back up.
“Dustin,” he said softly. “I am…I am sorry that you had to witness my exchange with Marcus. But you must understand that I had to do what I felt best for you. For us.”
“As you say, my lord,” she said, aloof.
He sighed into her hair. “Do not be angry with me, sweetheart.”
“What does it matter? You have made it obvious that I am good for naught much else but bedding and appearance,” she said. “As you have just proven, you can easily take what you want from me no matter how I feel.”
He pushed himself up, away from her. “Do not place the blame on me, lady. You responded quite easily.”
She didn’t look at him. “That is because sex is all we have between us, my lord. You respond to my body, I respond to you, and soon we will beget an heir. Do you think it possible that you could love your child even if you do not love the child’s mother?”
He rolled off the bed, angrily pulling on his breeches and boots. “Go back to sleep, Dustin.”
She closed her eyes obediently. Angry and bitter, he pulled his tunic on and moved for the door, but not before gazing back at her face, preparing for one final retort. But the words died in his throat when he noticed two wet trails leading from her eyes to the pillow.