Rise of the Defender (31 page)

     “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 make sure
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.

     They returned to his chamber and he sat on
a chair, holding out his massive leg while she removed his boots one at a time.
He watched her lovely face as she concentrated on removing his wet things,
careful not to get herself wet. She was dressed in a soft knit woolen dress
with a snug girdle that made the material drape over her breasts most
invitingly. In fact, he’d never seen her look lovelier.

     “Is your prisoner still out in the rain?”
she asked as she hung his tunic up to dry.

     “Aye,” he replied, unfastening his breeches
and they fell to the ground, rendering him nude.

     Dustin had her back turned to him as she
hung the tunic up. When she turned around to face him, she let out a gasp and quickly
turned around again in shock. He grinned, picking up his breeches and walking
over to her.

     “You can hang these up,” he said softly,
hanging them over her shoulder and in front of her face.

     She snatched them away and stiffly hung
them up next to the tunic. “Where are your clothes so that I might get them for
you,” she asked primly, still not turning to look at him.

     He was genuinely amused by her prudish
stance. For a woman who melted under his hands like none other, he found it
somewhat surprising.

     “Do I make you uncomfortable like this?” he
asked. “I am told I am quite exquisite.”

     She fidgeted. “’Tis not
that…well…indeed…’tis just…” She stamped her foot in frustration. “Would you
please
put some clothes on?”

     He continued to grin. “I have seen you
nude.”

     She closed her eyes for a brief second at
the memory, remembering how embarrassed she had been the first time, and how
she had not even noticed the second. She was ashamed that the second time had
been so easy for her.

     “Aye, you have,” she conceded.

     He studied her stiff backside, the way her
hair fell so softly down her back like an impossible cascade. “There is no
shame in seeing your husband naked.”

     She didn’t know what to say. He was right,
of course, but she was still embarrassed. She’d never seen a naked man in her
life and the mere thought brought heat to her cheeks. Christopher, seeing how
miserable she was, retrieved his breeches from the wardrobe and put them on.

     “You can turn around now,” he told her,
feigning insult. “I have no desire to parade around nude for a woman who is
appalled by it.”

     She turned around, slowly, her eyes falling
to the leather breeches he now wore. She almost looked sad and he wondered why.

     “What's wrong with you now? Do not you
approve of these, either?” he demanded, half in jest.

     She opened her mouth to say something, then
reconsidered. Instead she bit her lip. “They are fine. ‘Tis time for supper, I
am sure.”

     He drew out his spare pair of leather
boots, well-worn, and put them on. “What were you going to say?”

     “Nothing,” she insisted, moving to his
wardrobe. “What tunic would you wear?”

     “The woolen tunic with the snug neck, the
color of eggshell,” he said.

     She pulled it free and helped him put it
on. He straightened the tunic, smoothing it over his glorious chest as she
watched. She fought off a disturbing urge to push his hands away and do it
herself. When she moved away from the chair, he suddenly reached out and
snatched her arm, pulling her to him.

     Their eyes met, clear gray to pure blue. “Be
honest with me, Dustin,” he said in a low voice. “All I will ever ask of you in
this marriage is that you be honest. Now tell me, what were you going to say?”

     She met his gaze evenly. “You have asked a
great deal more than that already.”

     He could have taken that statement as a
challenge, but instead, the hand that gripped her trailed down her arm until he
found her hand. He pulled her palm to his lips and kissed it.

     “Tell me.”

     Her gaze continued to hold even, although
he could nearly read the emotions in the pure depths. He thought he might have
to ask her again, firmer this time, but after a moment he saw her relax as if
she had considered her options and had decided to give in to him.

     “I was going to say that I know I should
not be embarrassed to see you without clothing, yet I am just the same,” she
said quietly. “I have never seen a naked man before.”

     “Not even a soldier? Or your father?” he
asked.

     She shook her head. “Nay, mother was quite
strict about that. She believed flesh was a gateway to sin, and the less seen,
the better,” her gaze left him. “My mother’s father was a deviant man, Chris.
He used my mother for his own pleasure before my father married her. Mother was
terrified of physical contact, even with my father. ‘Tis why she insisted on
separate bedchambers. You occupy his former rooms.”

     He was coming to feel remorseful that he
had baited her. He let out a disgusted hiss. “There is no greater atrocity than
incest,” he muttered. “Arthur knew of this and still he married your mother?”

     “Aye,” she replied, meeting his eyes once
again. “His father and my mother’s father were friends, and my parents were
betrothed as babes. Everyone knew what my grandsire did to my mother, yet they
all feigned ignorance. Even on the wedding night, when guests demanded the stained
sheets, my father cut his own hand and smeared blood on the linens.”

     Christopher was sickened on Dustin’s
behalf, yet he knew that sort of occurrence was all too common. He felt a good
deal of sorrow for his young wife as she had come to hear of the worst life had
to offer.

     “Did your mother tell you this?” he asked
softly.

     “Aye, she did,” she nodded. “One night
right after father left with Richard. She was feeling sorry for herself, I
suppose, and had too much wine. Father never knew she told me.”

     “Is your grandsire still alive?” he asked.

     “Aye, he is,” she answered.

     His eyes suddenly narrowed. “Does he reside
in Nottingham?”

     She could see where this was leading and
she timidly sat on his knee, putting her arms around his neck shyly. “I am not
going there anymore, remember?” she reminded him. “‘Twould seem you would
rather have me in London.”