Chapter Thirty
When Christopher returned to his apartments, he was satisfied to see that the soldiers he had positioned in the hall were making a good show of strength.
When they heard Christopher’s bootfalls approach, without seeing his face first in the darkness, they made a calculating and intimidating show of force.
But once they realized the intruder was their liege, they resumed their posts in the dimness of the corridor.
Feeling confident in the protection he had lodged in the corridor, Christopher entered his apartments.
The antechamber was dark when he entered, smelling of smoke and rushes. Dud was sitting near the fire, half asleep, as Christopher shut the door and bolted it. Startled, Dud bolted to his feet with his hand on the hilt of his weapon.
“Easy,” Christopher admonished, holding up a quieting hand. “ ’Tis only me. But it could have been a swarm of cutthroats. You know better than to sleep on duty.”
Dud was embarrassed. “Too much wine this evening,” he offered weakly. “Truly, I was not asleep but I wish I were.”
Christopher fought off a grin, motioning to the door. “Go, then, you old woman,” he said. “I will… wait a moment; where is Marcus? I left him here with you.”
Dud was already heading to the door. “Aye, you did,” he said, “but he disappeared about an hour ago. I went to use the privy and when I returned, he was gone.”
Christopher’s brow furrowed. “Gone?” he repeated. “He left?”
“Aye, my lord.”
Christopher went from puzzled to annoyed. “He left Dustin alone?”
Dud didn’t want to incriminate Marcus and he shrugged weakly. “He must have had a very good reason, my lord,” he said. “He would not have simply left without one.”
Christopher was angry. He went to the bedchamber door, opening it quietly and peering in. It was so dark that he had to step into the chamber and lean over the bed in order to see his wife sleeping soundly. Satisfied she was whole, he went back out into the antechamber and quietly shut the door.
“Go and find Marcus,” he snapped softly. “Tell him that I want to see him.”
“Now, my lord?”
Christopher was gruff. “Tomorrow at sunrise he had better be on my doorstep,” he said. “And tell him if I have to go hunting for him, he will be in a greater mess than he already is.”
Dud knew that Marcus was in for a row from the look on Christopher’s face. He also knew better than to argue. Nodding smartly, he quit the antechamber and shut the door behind him.
Christopher bolted the door behind the man, wondering what in the hell Marcus was thinking to have left Dustin unprotected. Retreating to the bedchamber, he went inside and softly shut the door.
It was so dark that he stumbled into the bedframe and stubbed his toe, biting off a curse as he quietly removed his clothing.
Or, at least, he thought he was doing it quietly; he ended up hitting his elbow on the wardrobe and muffling a groan.
He took his boots off and was removing his breeches when he heard Dustin stir.
“You are loud enough to wake the dead,” she said sleepily. “Hurry and get into bed before you end up breaking something.”
He grinned in the darkness although she couldn’t see it. “I think I broke my arm against the wardrobe.”
“That is not an illustrious injury for a man of your stature,” she giggled. “Tell people you broke it fighting off one hundred angry men.”
He snorted and felt his way to the bed. “I will make up a good story, have no doubt,” he said as he fell onto the mattress and pulled the covers up. “I am sincerely sorry to have awoken you.”
Dustin snuggled against him as he settled in. “Twice in one night,” she murmured. “At least it was worth it the first time. I wonder if it will be worth it again.”
He pulled her up against his chest, settling down for sleep. “Twice?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”
Dustin’s eyes were closed, already half-asleep. “Do not tell me you have forgotten already,” she muttered. “How could you?”
“Forget what?”
His chest was next to her face and she kissed him softly. “Now do you remember?”
“Remember what?”
She put her hand on his thigh, moving across it seductively until she came to his flaccid manhood. She gripped it, gently but firmly, and began to stroke him.
“This,” she whispered, kissing him again. “Shall we go a second time tonight?”
Her hand to his manhood instantly inflamed him but he put his hand on hers, stopping her from working him into a frenzy.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head, “but you know as well as I do that we cannot do anything for six more weeks. The midwife said so.”
She laughed softly. “That is not what you said earlier.”
“I was not here earlier,” he said, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, whatever you think we may or may not have done, you must have been dreaming. Pity; I would have liked to have joined you.”
Dustin’s eyes opened, staring out into the darkness. Her head came up. “You do not have to deny it,” she said. “I will not tell the midwife, I promise.”
He could barely see her silhouette against the backdrop of the dying fire. “Sweetheart, I swear that you were dreaming.”
“I was not!”
“Aye, you were,” he said, reaching up to pull her down against him. “There is no shame in a vividly erotic dream. It happens all of the time.”
“It does not happen to me,” she insisted, although she let him pull her down to him again. “Chris, you were here. We made love. Do you truly not remember any of it?”
Christopher was growing amused. His wife was having hot and sexual dreams and refused to admit it. He hugged her tightly.
“If I said I remembered, will you go back to sleep?” he asked.
Dustin could sense that he was laughing at her and she was not humored in the least. “Why are you laughing?” she demanded. “ ’Tis not funny at all.”
He started chuckling, then. “I am flattered,” he purred, his hands moving down to caress her naked buttocks but just as quickly pulling away. “I thought men were the only ones who dreamed of sex.”
“I did not dream of sex.”
“Admit it. You did.”
She was pouting now, torn between knowing what happened but now perhaps thinking it did not happen at all.
More than that, she was confused. Was it really possible to have such dreams?
Shifting against her husband, she could smell his familiar musky scent mingled with the faint smell of sandalwood.
Christopher had soap that smelled of sandalwood that he had brought back from the Holy Land, and the scent reminded her strongly of him.
It was soothing and comforting, and she began to calm down.
Perhaps he was right, after all. Perhaps she had only dreamt it.
As she settled against him and sighed with contentment, her nose itched and she brought up a hand to scratch it.
As she did so, she caught a whiff of pine.
It was strong and distinctive, unexpected in this safe haven of their bed chamber for one very good reason; Marcus smelled of pine.
Dustin’s eyes flew open and her heart began to thump against her ribs.
She sniffed her hand again, discreetly, and was again assaulted by the smell of pine.
Growing increasingly confused, perhaps frightened, she carefully rolled over, away from Christopher, so that they were spooning.
It also gave her a chance to smell her arms, which also seemed to have the faint scent of pine on them.
A distinct sense of foreboding swept her.
“Chris?” she whispered.
He was nearly asleep. “Aye?”
“Where…,” she began, stammered, and then started again. “Where were you tonight?”
He yawned. “Attending business,” he said vaguely. “Why do you ask?”
She didn’t want to tell him. Not in a million years did she want to tell him, but she had to know something first. She struggled to be clever about it.
“Was David here as my protection?” she wanted to know.
He sighed faintly, sleepily. “He was not,” he replied. “Dud and Marcus were left to protect you.”
So Marcus had been here. Dustin felt sick all over, thinking about what Christopher had referred to as her dream, remembering it in such detail that she knew it had not, in fact, been a dream.
She remembered every touch, every sensation, and every move and, in hindsight, she should have realized something was different about it.
The more she remembered, the sicker she became.
It had been so very dark in the room when he had appeared.
He had whispered and she had naturally assumed it to be Christopher.
Who else would have come into their bedchamber?
She had been half asleep and happy to see him, and had pulled him into bed with her.
Christopher, or more correctly, Marcus had never said a word.
He had simply ripped his clothes off and made wild and passionate love to her.
His touch had been electric, almost brutal, but she had loved every minute of it.
It had been exciting beyond words. It was as if…
as if there had been no love involved whatsoever and they were acting on animal instincts.
When he had mounted her, it had been with power and brutality and when he had climaxed, it had been with the instincts of a rutting bull.
No real emotion, but simply blind and crazed attraction.
Oh, Lord, she thought with horror. She could smell the pine on her body, reminding her every second of the horror of her unknowing infidelity.
Her stomach lurched and the tears came, and she threw herself out of bed and slammed around in the darkness, searching for the water basin.
She could hear Christopher behind her, wanting to know what the matter was, as she found the basin purely by touch and vomited into it.
Dustin continued to vomit even as Christopher climbed out of bed and put his hands on her soothingly, pulling her hair out of the way so it would not get soiled.
His soft words and gentle hands threw her into hysterics that she could not explain away.
All Christopher knew was that she was ill and he wanted to send for a physic but she would not let him.
She allowed him to help her back into bed and cover her up, where she quickly fell into a fitful sleep.
It wasn’t a dream, was her last coherent thought. Oh, God, it wasn’t a dream!
Dustin remained in bed, sick and distraught, for nearly a week.