Rise of the Defender (80 page)

     “I won't upset her,” he whispered, gently
stroking her head, his gaze compassionate on her sleeping face.

     Dustin suddenly twitched and her eyes
fluttered open. Immediately, she let out a groan of pain and everyone put their
hands on her body to still her twisting.

     Christopher threw his huge arm across her
chest.  “Be still, my love, be still,” he whispered urgently. “I am here.”

     Her drugged eyes tried to focus on him and
the tears began to fall uncontrollably. She cried feebly, like a child, and he
buried his face against her head, murmuring words of comfort to her and
stroking her head sweetly.

     “The bleeding is growing darker,” the
midwife announced softly, throwing a saturated towel on the floor. “It will
lessen now.”

     Burwell let out a sigh, the evidence of his
relief. He had been positive the baron's wife was going to bleed to death in
front of him and he had no desire to confront the man with the news, for he
would most likely have been the recipient of a blade to the belly.

     Christopher heard the woman, too, and was
flooded with relief so great he went weak. His grip tightened on his sobbing
wife, so very, very grateful for her life.

     “You will be fine, sweetheart,” he kissed
her cheek, brushing his lips on her hair.

     “My baby.” she squeaked miserably.

     “I know,” he whispered. “I am so sorry.”

     She coughed and twisted with discomfort as
the midwife did something Christopher could not quite see.

     “Your son is gone,” she sobbed. “Oh,
Christopher, can you forgive me?”

     He didn't even realize there were tears in
his eyes. “There is nothing to forgive, Dustin, 'twas an accident.”

     The midwife closed Dustin's thighs and
pulled the coverlet over her. “Let her rest a bit, baron. I shall check her in
a few minutes.”

     Christopher nodded, his attention still on
his wife. Burwell leaned over him and lifted the bandage on her forehead,
checking on the huge bruise underneath.

     “Well, at least you did not crack your
skull open,” he commented. “Great Gods, it's amazing you survived at all.”

     Christopher turned to shoot the man an
angry look but the surgeon was already moving across the room, helping his
assistant with the dirtied instruments.

     Dustin's sobbing had lessened, sounding
more like weak whimpers and Christopher tried to hold her as close as he could
with the strange angle of the bed.

     “Do you hate me now?” she murmured.

     “Of course not, Dustin, I love you,” he
responded before he thought about what he was saying.

     He froze, and her crying stopped. Then, her
head moved a bit and her swollen gray eyes focused on him questioningly.

     “Tell me again,” she begged.

     He blinked at her, almost refusing, but he
didn't know why he should. He loved her, she knew he loved her, but the matter
of saying those three simple words had been the most difficult of tasks. To say
them was opening him up, laying himself vulnerable, and giving her power over
him.

     But she already had power over him. She was
his wife and he loved her like nothing else on earth. The time had come for him
to stop being such a coward and tell her over and over how much he loved her
until she grew tired of hearing it. He hated himself in that it took something
of this magnitude to bring him to his senses.

     “I love you,” he whispered, gazing into the
depths of the stormy gray eyes. “You are my reason for living, lady, and I love
with all my heart.”

     Her clammy hand came up to weakly caress
his cheek and her pale lips formed a wonderful smile. “Tell me again.”

     He grinned. “I just did, but I will say it
again if you wish it. I love you madly.”

     Her eyes closed but the smile was still
there, and her hand dropped limply to the bed. “I love you, husband,” she
sighed.

     He clutched her hand tightly, holding it
reverently to his lips. They stayed in that loving position the longest time.
The midwife continued to check Dustin periodically to make sure the
hemorrhaging had stopped, offering an encouraging smile to Christopher now and
again. Burwell and his assistant remained, seated quietly in the corner of the
bedchamber in case they were needed again. The afternoon passed into early
evening.

     Finally, the midwife was satisfied that the
bleeding was minimal and would stop in a few days. She instructed Christopher
to keep the head of the bed down for the night and in the morning she would
return to see how Dustin was faring. Burwell, too, was full of instructions as
to the care of Lady de Lohr and Christopher listened intently.

     When the man turned to leave, Christopher
stopped him.

     “Burwell,” he said in a scratchy voice.
“Is…..is there enough of the babe to bury?”

     Burwell looked thoughtful. “The babe was
about as big as my thumb. Intact, I might add.”

     Christopher swallowed at the distaste he
felt at even asking the question, then hearing the answer. It bordered on
disgust, but for some reason, he had to know. The fetus was his flesh and blood
and a part of him, a part of Dustin.

     “Was….what was it?” He hated himself for
asking, for sounding so petty.

     “A son,” Burwell's voice was hushed.

     Christopher's eyes stung and he lowered his
head. “I would appreciate a Christian burial for my son,” he said, his voice
choked with emotion as he gazed on Dustin's sleeping face.

     Burwell merely nodded, closing the door
softly behind him.

     In the darkness of the room, with his wife
sleeping and the world around him silent but for the crackling of the logs in
the hearth, Christopher allowed himself the luxury of tears.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

     Dustin’s recovery was terribly slow. With
the loss of the babe, she seemed to have lost her spirit. She sat in the
antechamber day after day, eating little and working on pieces of needlepoint. 
There were several of them, as she would become bored with one and move on to
another.  It was her only form of entertainment because she absolutely refused
any visitors, including the knights and Deborah.

     Christopher was miserable watching his wife
waste away.  Her beautiful hair had lost its luster and her lovely face was a
constant pale shade, lacking any color whatsoever. The wide gray eyes were
circled and lifeless. Even after the midwife said she was nearly physically
recovered, Dustin refused to leave the apartments.

     Christopher was in a very difficult
position. John and Ralph were beginning to create a stir again, most notably
with the party they held on the eve following Dustin's accident for their
closest friends. Rumor had it that it was a celebration for Christopher's loss,
and the knowledge drove him beyond rage. If Dustin were to hear of it, he knew
she would lose her sanity for sure.

     Missives had been coming from the continent
regarding Richard's whereabouts and the justices were positive the man was
alive, but they had no way of knowing where their king was. That portion of
Christopher's responsibilities began heating up, only adding to the tremendous
burden of Dustin's infirmary. He found his attention focused solely on her, and
his concerns with Richard, although grand, paled in comparison. His one desire
was to return his wife to her former, wonderful self and for the first time in
his life, he was completely dedicated to something other than Richard.

     A week or so after Dustin’s accident, Christopher
cornered the midwife in the hallway outside his apartments. He was greatly
concerned for his wife’s mental health and wanted the old woman’s opinion.

     “My wife has not been the same since her
mishap,” he said in a lowered voice. “Is this a normal occurrence with women
when they lose children?”

     “Aye, sire, ‘tis perfectly natural,” the
woman replied. “She feels unworthy and a failure, even though it was an
accident. Give her time, my lord. She shall come around.”

     He looked at the woman doubtfully, he so
desperately needed reassurance. “But she mopes about and refuses to eat or
leave the apartments. Her body is sound, is it not?”

     The woman nodded. “She is a very healthy
lass and her recovery has been remarkable.”

     He crossed his arms with frustration,
finally nodding. “Very well. Thank you for your advice, madam.”

     The old woman's eyes twinkled at him. “Do
you want more advice, sire? Give her a few months or so, and then beget her
with child as quickly as possible. Sometimes that helps ease the ache.”

     “But will that be safe?” he wanted to know.
“Christ, the woman nearly bled to death from the womb.”

     “She will have healed completely by then, I
assure you,” the midwife said. “Your wife is young and strong, my lord. She
will bear you many children to come.”

     Christopher nodded shortly, satisfied with
the woman's knowledge. “Thank you again, madam.”

     The midwife curtsied and scurried several
feet down the hall before pausing a moment and turning back to Christopher, who
was just about to enter his apartments.

     “My lord?” she called out to him. When he
turned, she retraced her steps quickly. “There is but one more thing you can do
to help your wife recover physically, though this task may prove to be
unbearable to you.”

     “What is it?” he asked.

     “Rubbing her breasts will help her womb
contract and heal faster,” she said, motioning over her own breast with a
circular pattern. “I recommend it to all of my patients.”

     He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Rubbing her
breasts? Now why would I find that unbearable?”

     The woman grinned. “Because you cannot bed
her for another six or seven weeks, and some men find the duty, shall I say,
painful.”

     He nodded, a faint smirk on his face as she
left him again. When he turned back to the door, he noticed a half dozen guards
with smirks on their faces. Eyeing them all dangerously, he entered his
apartments.

     Dustin was sitting in her usual chair by
the windows, playing with George. The monkey was dancing and doing flips in her
lap and she watched the little beast without much enthusiasm. Christopher
meandered up to her, watching the monkey's tricks.

     “The sun is out this day,” he said
casually. “Would you accompany me on a walk?”

     She shook her head. “I do not feel like
walking.”

     He knelt beside the chair, his eyes going
to her pale face. “I miss you walking beside me,” he said. “You used to go
everywhere with me.”

     She didn’t look at him but continued to
play with the monkey. “I do not want to go anywhere.”

     He studied her features, so incredibly
beautiful. The bruise on her forehead was fading. His heart was wrenching to
see her so. “Please, sweetheart, come walk with me. How would you like to go
into town?”

     Abruptly, she stood up and the monkey fell
from her lap. “Nay,” she snapped. “I told you I do not want to go anywhere and I
would appreciate it if you would stop asking.”

     He rose on his massive legs, trying to
maintain a calm manner with her. “I am only thinking of you, Dustin. You have
been holed up in these rooms for over a week and it would do you good to get
out and move around.”

     She swung her great mane of hair angrily
and bolted past him into the bedchamber. “I do not want to move around,” she
said angrily. “I do not want to walk.”

     He followed her, his irritation growing.
“Why are you being like this?”

     She flopped on the bed. “Go away.”

     “I will not.” he said with annoyance. “What
is the matter with you?”

     “What is the
matter
with me?” she
repeated, incredulous. “In case you have not realized it, I killed your son.
How can you ask me that question?”

     He sighed heavily, trying to bank his anger
once again. “You did not kill the babe, Dustin,” he said softly. “We have been
over this a thousand times. You tripped, and you fell, and I am extremely
grateful for your very life. We can always have another child, but there will
never be another you.”

     “No more children.” she frowned,
frustrated. “No more. I do not want anymore.”

     “Why?” he asked.

     She simply shook her head hard, wallowing
in self-loathing and self-pity. He approached the bed.

     “Why not?”

     “Because….no more dying.” Her voice was
reduced to a whisper. “They die; everything I love dies. My mother, my father,
Rebecca, my child… I cannot love anything else and watch it die.”

     “You love me and I am not dead,” he said
softly, sitting carefully on the bed beside her. “I shall never leave you,
Dustin. I swear it.”