Rise of the Defender (72 page)

     Ralph found himself quivering at her
closeness, wondering if she were going to strike him again, but her face was
calm, even passionate. The gray eyes belied nothing as she looked him over and
then came to rest on his.

     “To hell with you,” she spit so
deliberately that there was absolutely no mistaking the meaning.

     Ralph actually swayed back as if her words
had a physical effect on his person. Without another glance, Dustin stood
straight and proud, and preceded David and Marcus from the lists.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

     Burwell was not gentle when he wrapped
Christopher’s ribs. In fact, Christopher insisted his wife leave the room
before the surgeon even started so that she wouldn't hear his grunts or see his
agony. Reluctantly, but without tears, she did as she was told and returned to
the antechamber with Marcus and Dud. The surgeon required David and Leeton’s
strength, as they remained behind with their liege.

     Someone closed the door to the bedchamber
and Dustin wandered absently to the windows that overlooked the fading garden
below. She didn't know how long she stood there, picking at the lattice work
that covered the windows and staring out at the sky, the trees, and the birds.
George jumped onto the sill at one point and kept vigil with her and Dustin
passed the time playing with him and feeding him grapes.

     Alex and Harold, who had been sleeping
underneath the wardrobe, wriggled out from underneath and happily lumped all
over Dustin’s legs vying for her affection. She would pet them and croon to the
pups, but George was still deathly afraid of them so she didn't pick them up.
Instead, she tried to convince George that the little dogs weren't trying to
make a meal out of him.

     Marcus sat by the hearth, watching every
move she made and hearing every word she said. He was trying so hard to fight
down his feelings for her, but when he saw her like this, it was impossible.
Every time she laughed at George, he was smitten anew and he began to realize
with mounting horror that his infatuation had deepened to the point where it
had grown into love. God help him, he was in love with her. With all of the
women he had been with and had been courted by, the one woman he did fall for
was a married one and he found it bitterly ironic.

     Somewhere in his train of thought he
glanced up and caught her looking at him. She smiled when their eyes met.

     “What are you thinking, Marcus? You are a
thousand miles away,” she said.

     He forced a smile. “Not really,” he said.
“I was thinking on le Londe and wondering how he fared.”

     Dustin’s smile vanished. “Dead, I hope.
What did he mean when he said he would take me and ten marks?”

     “I don t know,” Marcus lied. “Mayhap he was
stating his price for beating your husband.”

     She turned back to George as he climbed
onto her arm and toyed with her hair. “John could not give me to him, could he?
I mean, if Christopher was killed?”

     “Nay,” Marcus said through clenched teeth. “Sir
Dennis would never have you, I swear it.”

     She mulled over his statement seriously
until George crawled onto her neck and she began giggling uncontrollably. She
jumped up and began dancing about strangely, much to Marcus and Dud's
amusement.

     “What is the matter with you?” Marcus
demanded.

     “He tickles,” she giggled, scrunching up
her neck in an attempt to dislodge the monkey. “He likes my neck.”

     “Come here and let me remove him,” Marcus
motioned to her, still seated.

     She twisted her way over to him and leaned
over. Marcus unwound the uncooperative monkey from her hair and gently pulled
him free. Dustin straightened and took the screaming monkey from his hands.

     “Thank you,” she said, petting George and
setting him down on the table. He immediately scampered over to a bowl full of
apples and began gorging himself.

     There was a knock at the door and Dud rose
to answer it. Lady Deborah, her lovely pale face even paler, was in the archway
with terror in her eyes. Dustin rushed to her.

     “Come in, Deborah.” she bade eagerly.

     Deborah hugged Dustin tightly. “Oh, Dustin,
I saw everything. Is Christopher all right? Are you well?”

     “The surgeon is wrapping his ribs,” Dustin
told her as Dud closed the door behind them.

     Deborah closed her eyes tightly for a brief
moment and crossed herself. “God be praised he was not killed,” she said. “I
have never been more terrified in my entire life.”

     Dustin nodded; she knew exactly how she
felt. “Come and sit down.”

     Deborah smiled and bobbed a curtsy for
Marcus, who acknowledged her with a vague nod. She and Dustin sat next to one
another, yet neither woman said a word for a moment. Dustin felt a great deal
of comfort from Deborah’s presence.

     “I did so want to go to you when
Christopher was felled,” Deborah said. “But the countess would not allow it.
She said it was better that I wait until the situation calmed.

     “And she was correct,” Marcus said, eyeing
Dustin. “We had our hands full with the injured baron and his unruly wife.”

     Dustin’s eyes narrowed at him. “Quiet, baron,
or I shall break your other arm.” She turned back to Deborah. “Deborah, I do
not want you to return to Bath. I want you to return to Lioncross, with me.
Would you consider it?”

     Deborah's face regained some color. “Truly,
Dustin?” she asked, thrilled. “I would like nothing better. To be with my
brothers and my new sister-in-law would be wonderful.”

     “Honestly?” Dustin was surprised she gave
in so easily. “I know you grew up in Bath, but I want you to come home with me.
You do not object?”

     “Nay,” Deborah insisted. “'Twould be a
wonderful dream.”

     Dustin smiled broadly, a bright spot in an
otherwise hellish day. “Then I will speak to Christopher on it. How can he say
no?”

     They hugged and smiled at one another, the
conversation turning to other subjects and time passed by. Marcus sat and
listened to them talk like geese in a gaggle, wondering how two women who had
just met could find so much to talk about. It was amazing how well Deborah and
Dustin got along, almost too good, he thought, but didn’t dwell on it. Deborah
was a de Lohr and, in his mind, beyond any ulterior motive.

     Almost an hour later, the surgeon came from
the room, eyeing Dustin critically as he rolled his sleeves down. She, as well
as the two knights and Deborah, were on their feet anxiously.

     “Your husband has at least five broken
ribs, my lady, as well as a shoulder that was gored and popped out of socket,”
he said sternly. “I treated the wound on the shoulder and replaced it, but the
ribs will take time to heal. I understand you are the only one who can control
this man, am I correct?”

     Dustin looked as if she didn't understand
the question. “I... I can only try.”

     “Then try hard,” Burwell said. “The man
must stay abed for a few days to allow those bones to soft-heal. After that, only
light movement and plenty of food and rest. Will you do this?”

     Dustin nodded firmly. “Aye, my lord, I
will.”

     “Good.” The surgeon stood away from the
door. “Well, get in there to see him before he comes out here to find you.”

     She scurried past the doctor and nearly
collided with David and Leeton as they were exiting the room. They moved out of
her way and she proceeded into the room. Behind her, the door closed softly.

     Christopher was laying back on the pillows,
his arm and ribs bound tightly together. His face was pale, but he smiled
weakly at her as she approached the bed. She returned his smile with pure
relief.

     “So you have five broken ribs?” she
repeated softly.

     “Aye,” he replied, his voice weary. “But at
least the shoulder wasn't broken. I heard the surgeon. Just how are you
planning to keep me abed for days on end?”

     Without intention, warm, passion thoughts
filled her mind and erotic heat seared her veins. Even when she realized what
she was feeling, she could not stop herself. Her eyebrow rose slowly and a
seductive smile molded to her lips.

     “Anyway I can, baron,” she said
provocatively.

     He caught her tone with a good deal of
surprise and pleasure. He laughed low in his throat. “I have but one good arm,
my lady. You would take advantage of me in my state?”

     She crept onto the bed, her face glazed
with desire and hunger, a direct result of the relief she was feeling that he
was alive and on the road to recovery. Like a cat, she stalked toward him until
both arms were braced on either side of his head and her soft body was hovering
over him. Their gazes locked, a thousand soundless words of pleasure and
thankfulness filling the silence as their eyes devoured one another.

     “I would take advantage of you, baron,” she
whispered. “I would do anything I had to do to make sure you recover fully from
this injury, and if that means making love to you all day and night, then so be
it.”

     She could feel his hand moving up her back.
“I look forward to my infirmary, then,” he said.

     Her lips came down on his with infinite
softness, licking at his lips the same way he licked at hers. Their tongues met
and engaged, tasting the sweetness that they had to offer and taking pure
pleasure in life itself. Dustin felt his hand in her hair, holding her head
down to him as he sampled his fill of her. When she did pull back, his huge
hand was on her face, savoring her.

     “My sweet little love,” he whispered,
kissing her again. “I am sorry for what happened. This is the first time I have
ever been injured in a tourney.”

     She looked at his bandages, her hand
running lightly over them. “’Tis not your fault, but that diabolical Sir
Dennis. Do you know that he wanted ten marks and me to dispose of you? I was
sitting there when he told Prince John.”

     Christopher’s eyes went from softly
passionate to deep blue with fury. “He said that?”

     She nodded, putting her face in the crook
of his neck. Christopher grabbed her head and pulled her back up to look at
him.

     “He said that?” he pressed. “Exactly?”

     His expression frightened her. She hadn’t
meant to anger him, only tell him what the man had said. “Aye, he said that
exactly,” she said. “When he rode up to the prince before your bout, Dennis
asked John if you were married. John pointed to me and then Sir Dennis said
that he wanted me and ten marks.”

     Christopher's hand went from gripping her
head firmly to caressing her, as if he were forcibly trying to calm himself.
His gaze lingered on her and she could see the fire in his eyes banking. She
took to stroking his face tenderly, hoping he would calm down. In his present
condition, there was nothing he could do about what was said.  At least, not at
the moment.

     Finally, he cracked a smile. “Would you do
me a favor?”

     “Anything, husband,” she replied.

     His grin widened. “Would you shave this
bloody beard? It itched something terrible today and nearly drove me mad.”

     She nodded. “If you wish it, of course.”

     He kissed her once, twice.  “Go get my
razor and soap.”

     She bound off the bed, being careful not to
jostle him too much. He noticed as she went to the cabinet that she was still
limping a bit. “How's your leg?”

     She shrugged, drawing out the necessary
utensils. “Sore, but not overly. The wound wasn't all that deep, but I fear I
shall have an ugly scar on the top of my thigh.”

     “Your thigh could never be ugly, Dustin,”
he said. “You could not be ugly if you tried.”

     She poured some water in a bowl and began
to lather up the soap. “Do you know that I like you better with your beard?”

     “You do?” he asked, frowning. “But you said
I looked handsome either way.”

     “You do.” She turned to him with the items
in her hand. “I love you either way. But I like your beard best.”

     He smirked and shook his head as she sat
down and proceeded to shave off his dark blond beard. She was careful and
thorough and he wanted to know where, and on whom, she had practiced. She
laughed at him, ignoring his questions playfully, until his entire face and
neck was as smooth as new skin. When she was done, she wiped him off and handed
him the polished hand mirror.

     He eyed himself critically.  “Hmmm,” he
said critically.  “I look like a fresh-faced squire.”

     “You look wonderful,” she said. “How old
are you, anyway?”

     His eyes crinkled as he handed her back the
mirror. “You do not know? No one has told you?”

     “No,” she set the mirror down. “I never
thought to ask, and you never told me. How old are you?”