Rise of the Defender (15 page)

     “Nay,” she replied. “I would rather give
them.”

     His eyes twinkled when he looked at her. “I
thought that of you,” he said. “See? I am getting to know you better already.
Mayhap we shall not be strangers too much longer.”

     “Mayhap,” she shrugged, watching Caesar
chase a piece of string.

     Christopher watched her play with the cat. “Jeffrey
tells me that you had hundreds of suitors,” he said. “Is this true?”

     She shrugged and made a wry face. “Who can
count? Men with honeyed words and soft eyes annoy me to death. I paid them no
heed.”

     “None of them?” he pressed, still amused.

     “None.” Her chin went up into the air
firmly. “Fools that only wish to talk of love and romance, and the color of my
hair. Pah.” She stuck out her tongue.

     He laughed then, a hearty booming laugh
that made her heart lump, although she did not know why.

     “Good girl.” he applauded. “I do not like
those fools, either.”

     She smiled in spite of herself. “There was
one man, a baron, who told me my eyes were the color of bruised clouds. I
showed him what a bruise was.”

     He laughed until tears came. “My lady, you
are a unique soul. I should like to hear more of your adventures.”

     She shrugged, somewhat embarrassed by all
of the attention. But she liked it, and she liked to hear him laugh. She
thought a moment. “There was a viscount, son of the Earl of Leeds. Now,
there
was a slobbery idiot if I ever saw one. He told me I had a spot of dirt on my
neck, and when he bent over and pretended to wipe it off, he kissed me.” When
Christopher feigned disbelief, she nodded vigorously. “Aye, he did. Right on
the mouth. And do you know what I did to him?”

     “What?” he stretched out his long legs and
crossed them at the ankles, thoroughly enjoying her.

     She held up her index and middle finger on
her right hand. “I put my fingers in his eyes, and when he was blinded, I
rammed my fist into his nose.” she was animated with her story, mimicking all
of her original movement. “Broke it clean through. He had bone chips coming
from his skin.”

     Christopher winced at the thought, though still
smiling broadly. “You are a terror,” he observed. “Although I must say the man
deserved worse for kissing you without your permission.”

     “Do you think so?” she suddenly went
serious. “Do you think I should have broken his….?”

     He waved her off quickly. “No, no, my lady,
simply a jest,” he said. “I believe your punishment fit the crime.”

     “Oh,” she blinked, wondering why she was
pleased that he approved her actions.

     He shook his head at her. “I must say I
feel most fortunate that I have not spoken honeyed words or tried to steal a
kiss from you,” he teased. “I would probably find myself missing fingers.”

     She lowered her lashes with a faint smirk,
paying attention to the cat. She should have agreed with him but could not seem
to bring herself to do.  “As it was, you still became acquainted with my fist,”
she looked up at him. “And I do apologize for that. I was tired and not
thinking clearly.”

     He nodded faintly, his smile fading. Would
she bring up Nottingham now, he wondered? Their conversation had been so
pleasant he was hoping not. Caesar, tired of the game, jumped off the bed and
she stood up, opening the door to let him out. Christopher watched her walk,
the sway of her hips and the way her hair moved against her back, thinking how
graceful she moved. But the peasant dress she wore, although it fit her
voluptuous figure perfectly, was sadly out of place on a woman of such beauty.
Dustin deserved silks and jewels, not linen and leather.

     “Your friend, Mistress Rebecca, told me you
went to town yesterday to purchase material for new surcoats,” he said. “I will
go and retrieve the fabric for you so that you may begin making them.”

     “Rebecca has the material, as she will sew
them for me,” Dustin replied.

     “I see,” he nodded, gazing out over the
bailey again.

     Dustin eyed him, wondering where that
subject came from. Yet it also brought another to mind.

     “My lord,” she began. “About Nottingham. I
had hoped to leave today, but obviously I shall not be. I hope that will not
create a problem for you.”

     He turned back to her. “Why would it?”

     She shrugged. “I had told you I would be gone,
and if you had made plans for my departure, then I apologize for disturbing
them.”

     “I made no such plans,” he told her.

     She cleared her throat, nodding, suddenly
self-conscious now that the conversation wasn’t flowing. Truth was, she wasn’t
at all sure she wanted to go to Nottingham anymore.  She was beginning to feel
at ease with her husband and, as they agreed, they were family. After what he
had told her about his own history, she almost felt needed. Yet she knew full
well he didn’t need her.

     She cleared her throat again. “To be honest
with you, my lord, I am not sure if I wish to go to Nottingham anymore,” she
said quickly, hoping he would not be mad that she wanted to stay. “Lioncross is
my home, after all. And I have only met my mother’s family once, so I would be
living with strangers anyway. At least if I stay at Lioncross, my surroundings
are familiar.”

     He nodded slowly, greatly relieved she had
made the decision herself to stay. “A wise decision, my lady.”

     She looked at him, studying him. “You are
not angry?”

     He stood up. “Why should I be? This is your
home, too.”

     “But,” she blinked. “But I will be in your
way.”

     “You will?” he asked, puzzled.

     “Aye.” she said quickly, then stopped
herself. “What I mean is, won’t I be in your way?”

     “Why would you ask me that?” he was moving
slowly toward her, his arms still crossed. “I never said that.

     “Nay, you didn’t, but you called me additional
baggage,” she reminded him. “I promise I shall make myself scarce. I won’t
bother you.”

     He scratched his head, standing in front of
her now. He looked down at her, her honest eyes gazing up at him. He found himself
responding to her emotionally. “You could not bother me if you tried, my lady.
I consider it a pleasure to have you remain.”

     She smiled with growing happiness. “Truly?
You do not mind?”

     He shook his head. “No.”

     She turned away happily, then suddenly
stopped and looked at him. “Will you make me serve you dinner every night?” she
demanded warily.

     He grinned.  “Nay, you do not have to serve
me dinner,” he said. “But I will insist that you sit by my left hand.”

     She smiled back, biting her lip. “I would
sit by your left hand, my lord.”

     He nodded, satisfied. The day outside was
advancing and he had much to do, although he was reluctant to leave Dustin. He
was enjoying this time very much.

     “I do apologize, my lady, but I have
pressing duties that I must attend to,” he said.

     She nodded quickly. “I understand, my lord.”

     With a final, perhaps warm, look, he moved
for the door. When he opened it, Caesar dashed in and bolted right for the bed.
He watched the cat for a moment, noticing that Dustin was cooing to the beast
as if it were a baby. Her profile was feminine and lovely, he thought.

     “Though you be my wife, it seems strange to
call you my lady”, he remarked, his hand on the door latch. “'Tis proper, of
course, but every man I ever knew called his wife by her name, or nickname,” he
gave a sort of shrug and began to close the door. “’My lady’ is so formal.”

     “My lord.” she called out after him and he
stopped, sticking his head into the room. She was almost smiling. “If….if you
were to call me by a nickname, what would it be?”

     He looked thoughtful. “Do you have one
already?”

     “Nay,” she replied. “My mother always
called me by my name, or dear Father always called me Dustin Mary Catherine.”

     He made a face. “Too long,” he said firmly,
then looked at her. A small smile played on his lips. “What would you have me call
you, should you ever give me permission to do so?”

     He swore she blushed when she looked away
and lifted her shoulders a little. “I have no preference, my lord,” she said.

     He smiled and started to close the door
again when he heard her make a little sound, and he put his head back into the
room again. “What is it?”

     She looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent
and shook her head. “Nothing, my lord.”

     The door swung open wide and he filled it with
his huge frame, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I do not believe you. You
were going to tell me something.”

     She blushed to the roots of her hair and
sat on the bed, not looking at him. He wasn't going to leave and she was
embarrassed, yet at the same time, she felt strangely brave and comfortable with
him. “Well,” he had asked, after all. Lord, her mouth was threatening to run
over with all sorts of crazy thoughts.

     “I….the night my mother died, you called me
by a name. Do you remember it?” she said very softly.

     He came into the room and sat next to her
on the bed, their thighs touching. He was so large and warm and she could feel
the heat he radiated.

     “I confess, I do not,” he said softly as
well. “What was it?”

     She took a deep breath for courage. “You
called me ‘sweetheart.’”

     He smiled vaguely. “Is that what you want
me to call you? It fits.”

     Very embarrassed at her forward nature, she
looked away from him. “I wasn’t saying that I wanted you to call me that, but I
remembered that you called me ‘sweetheart’ and well, no one had ever called me
that. I have never been called anything at all but my name.”

     He was touched by her honestly, her
naiveté. Through all of the screaming and pain that night, she remembered a
word of kindness and it had stayed with her.

     “Then I will ask you now,” he said.  “May I
have your permission to call you ‘sweetheart?’?”

     She nodded and he grinned wider, thinking
her embarrassment to be charming. “And then, may I also have your permission to
call you ‘Dustin?’”

     She nodded and whispered, “Yes,” and he
dipped his head down so he could see the side of her lowered face. “And may I
also have your permission to call you ‘Lady de Lohr?’”

     Her head snapped to him, thinking he was
teasing her but seeing he was entirely serious. “That is my name, is it not?”

     “Aye, it is, but David said you hated it,” he
replied. “If you do not want me to call you that, then I will not.”

     She shrugged, not really giving him and
answer and he did not pursue it. Instead, she turned the tables.

     “What may I call you?” she asked.

     They were sitting quite close together,
their faces not far from one another. He could smell her roses, and the faint
odor of the mint balm he had applied to her. Her skin was flawless.

     “When you feel comfortable enough, you may
call me ‘Christopher,’ or ‘Chris,’” he said quietly. “Call me whatever you
wish, Dustin. I will answer.”

     He saw color creeping back into her cheeks
again and she tore her gaze away from him. “Thank you, my lord.”

     With a faint chuckle at her restraint, he
rose from the bed and went to the door again. “I will see you at the nooning
meal, then,” he said.

     Recovering her badly dissolved composure,
she rose as well. “Very well, my lord,” she replied. “By the way, I will be
going into the village this morning to see how Rebecca is coming along on my
dresses.”

     “Not without an escort, my lady,” he said
firmly. “Do not leave before seeking myself or David out. Do I have your word
on that?”

     “Aye,” she answered, looking at him. “Will
you go with me?”

     “If my schedule allows,” he answered. “Until
then, my lady.”

     He closed the door and was gone, leaving
her standing in the middle of the room with the most peculiar warm sensation
she had ever experienced, a wonderful languid feeling she could not have
described if she had tried.

CHAPTER
 SIX

     Dustin bathed and changed her clothing
mid-morning. Neither was necessary, yet she did it anyway. She rationalized
that taking the bath was essential because she still stank of the poison
Christopher had rubbed on her, but the dress was fairly clean. For some reason,
she didn’t want to wear the dress anymore.

     She went across the hall to her mother’s
room and rummaged through the big wardrobe, inspecting each dress in turn. Her
mother had been a slight, frail thing, and Dustin barely fit into her clothes,
but they were very nice clothes and she suddenly felt a need to dress a bit
nicer than her usual. Strange, because she had never given much thought to her
appearance.