Chapter Forty-Nine
Day by day Christopher worked with his sword, repetition and drills constituting his regimen.
The dummies the boys had rigged for him worked well for the first week or so, but after that he simply wore them out.
Simon and his friends insisted on repairing the barriers, but Christopher gently turned them down.
’Twas easier to simply practice against a solid tree, and the clearing was surrounded by plenty of them.
Simon wanted to be a knight and Christopher knew the boy’s desires all too well.
But he was in no mood to teach the boy skills, for he was preoccupied with his own recovery.
But he almost felt obligated to take Simon under his wing, for if it hadn’t been for the boy’s parents, Christopher wouldn’t have survived at all.
So, with reluctance, he began training Simon.
It slowed his own progress down considerably to work with the boy, but much to his surprise, he found he actually enjoyed training the lad.
Not that his determination to return home had lessened in anyway, but he wasn’t so disturbed at his slow pace anymore. Simon was an eager, dedicated student.
But along with Simon came his friends, and soon Christopher found himself fostering fourteen boys between the ages of nine and fifteen.
Every morning, the boys would be waiting for him in the clearing to begin their daily drills and Christopher would instruct them fully before starting his own drills.
Rob and Jonathan, when they weren’t out on business, took to supervising.
Christopher should have been irritated that his focus was being diverted and his progress slowed, but he truly wasn’t.
He came to enjoy teaching the young boys, and they were so damned eager he had not the heart to deny them.
He remembered when he was their age and all he lived for was the feel of a sword in his hand, dreaming of the day when he would be the realm’s greatest knight.
He found it hard to believe how much he had changed since returning from the quest. The self-centered, arrogant man had grown a heart in the interim and he found himself doing and saying things that the Lion’s Claw would have never done or said.
His compassion, no longer suppressed, was allowed to express itself and his sense of humor had found an escape.
He was still the dedicated, controlled person he had always been, but he had matured.
He had become something quite wonderful, and he knew he owed everything to his wife. He would be nothing without her.
His heart yearned for her more every day and sometimes the impatience threatened to drive him insane, but he was wise in that he knew he could not make the trek before he was physically able to complete it.
His strength returned more and more each day and he had gained some of his weight he had lost, thanks to Marianne’s cooking and his rigorous training.
In fact, he thought his body looked and felt better than it had before, leaner and tighter.
But he still had time to go before he was perfect and he focused every morning on that one goal to be perfect again, to return to Dustin.
April was a beautiful month, even in the middle of Sherwood.
The cold weather began to warm a bit and the birds and animals were alive in the trees.
Christopher’s young knights were progressing very well and he was immensely proud of them, as if they were his own sons.
Rob even took to sparring with Simon, receiving a good nick on his arm one afternoon and congratulating his son for his prowess.
Christopher was practicing on horseback now, strengthening his legs and torso as he sparred with straw dummies atop poles.
The muscles where his wound was had been severed and badly damaged and he was stiff, but he worked hard to loosen his body and firm up the muscles that had been unused for months.
It was at this point in time that he decided he could indeed ride back to Lioncross.
Hell, he could do what he was doing here at home, and make love to his wife in his off time.
He felt strong and whole, mayhap not quite as strong as he had once felt, but he felt good just the same.
With a rush of excitement and relief, he decided it was time for him to leave.
Rob was not surprised to hear of his decision. “I knew you’d leave us someday,” he said. “The more I saw you work, the more I knew it would be soon. Do you truly feel up to it?”
“I do, my lord,” Christopher answered. “The sooner I get back to my wife and family, the more completely I shall recover.”
Rob nodded. “Simon will be crushed,” he said. “Who will continue their training?”
Christopher smiled sympathetically. “Send him to foster with me at Lioncross; send them all. I have many fine knights who will train them.”
Rob rubbed his chin slowly, “Do you know I have been thinking just that?” he looked around at his encampment. “Look at this place, baron. ’Tis no place to raise a son. I should like a better life for Simon, away from his father, the outlaw.”
Christopher could feel the man’s melancholy at the situation. “If I might ask, my lord, why was he not sent away when he was six or seven, as most boys are?
Rob shrugged. “His mother could not bear to be away from him,” he said frankly. “He is our only child. Marianne wanted to keep him as long as she could, although I have chided her on the subject many a time.”
Christopher nodded, noticing Lizabetha in conversation several yards away with a tall young man. She was animated and smiling, and Christopher found himself thanking God that her attentions to him had been brief.
“I shall consent to sponsor him if you wish, my lord,” he focused on Rob. “I would consider it an honor.”
“God’s Blood, baron, the honor would be ours,” Rob insisted. “Our son fostered by the great Lion’s Claw? What prestige.”
“Think on it, then,” Christopher said. “I shall be leaving on the morrow, with your permission.
“I shall speak with my wife,” Rob said, eyeing Christopher in the filtered sunlight. “I am sorry to see you go, baron. You have made our dingy world a little less gray.”
Christopher smiled, standing back to salute him formally. “And I, my lord, owe you my very life. Consider me always your humble servant.”
“All I ask is that you put in a good word for me to Richard,” Rob insisted. “I am not an outlaw or a bandit, baron. I am simply a man trying to make a life.”
“I know,” Christopher replied. “And I swear I shall do my very best.”
As Christopher went back to his tent to prepare for his departure, he could hardly believe the time had come.
He could picture Dustin in his mind, smell her hair, and feel her skin, and it nearly drove him insane.
But he was terrified for what he would find upon his return and with each passing second, his excitement and anxiety grew.
*
Marcus and Dustin were married in the small chapel of Somerhill.
It was a lovely little sanctuary and Dustin was married in a dress of ivory silk, with Christin all dressed up in rose and pink.
Marcus held the baby throughout the entire ceremony, and after he had placed a chaste kiss on his new wife’s lips, he kissed the baby on the head.
Christin had contentedly sucked her fingers, unaware of what had transpired.
Dustin wore the cross Christopher had given her and the wedding rings from him as her only adornment. Marcus saw the jewelry but said nothing until they were seated at the wedding feast.
“Why are you wearing those rings?” he said casually. “I had to put my ring on your right hand.”
Dustin glanced down at the gold band and diamond ring. “I…I do not know. I always wear them. I have never taken them off.”
“I would appreciate it if you would, at least, wear my ring on your left hand,” he said. “You can wear those rings on your right hand if it pleases you.”
Dustin could not bear to remove the rings.
She had bedded this man, and married him, yet she could not stand the thought of moving Christopher’s rings to her other hand.
To remove them would to be admitting that she was no longer Lady de Lohr, no longer Christopher’s wife.
She knew in her mind that she wasn’t married to him anymore, but her heart had yet to accept it.
The rings did not belong on her right hand and Marcus could not force her.
The minstrels began to sing a lovely ballad for the newlyweds as Dustin faced Marcus firmly.
“I do not want to move them, I want to wear them where they are,” she said. “I….I am not ready to move them yet.”
His face darkened. “That’s ridiculous. You just married me, Dustin. I shall not allow you to wear your dead husband’s wedding rings in lieu of mine.”
“Do not say that!” she screamed, shooting out of her chair. The musicians kept playing, but all eyes had turned to the newly-married couple.
“Sit down, Dustin, you are making a scene,” Marcus said in a low voice.
“I will not,” she snapped, turning to take Christin from Lady Emma. “I will return to my room now.”
He ground his jaw, pulling Christin out of Dustin’s arms and handling her back to Lady Emma. “Come with me.”
She took a swing at him but he ducked, throwing her over his shoulder and the small crowd in the hall went wild with approval. Dustin kicked and twisted, drawing even greater applause from the audience, as he carried her from the dining hall and up to his bedchamber.
Inside, he set her down roughly and she stumbled away from him, her pretty face flushed. Without a word, she tried to push past him and escape the room, but he grabbed her arm and flung her onto the bed. His huge body fell atop her, pinning her to the mattress.
“Get off me!” she yelled.
His voice was low. “You are my wife now and I may do anything I please. ’Tis time you accept that.”
She glared at him, knowing his words to be true. “God forgive me for what I was thinking when I consented to marry you. I must have been mad!”