Rise of the Defender (48 page)

     Christopher's heart sank when he saw her.
She had heard it, all of it, and he could only curse himself for being stupid
enough not to control his mouth. But as soon as he saw her, he also realized
one thing; she was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair
was incredible, and the surcoat flattered her in every way. He wanted to take
her in his arms but she threw another cup at him and he dodged it.

     “Get out of here, Christopher de Lohr,” she
cried. “I hate you. I told you I hated you before, but I mean it now. Go away
and I do not ever want to see you again!”

     “Dustin,” he began feebly, moving toward
her.

     She screamed at him “You bastard! All the
time you were being kind, you were thinking hateful things about me all along!”
she bolted into the bedchamber and slammed the door, crying hysterically.

     Christopher sighed and looked helplessly at
Edward, who didn't feel the least bit sorry for him. He sought to offer the man
advice before he quit the room.

     “Chris,” he said pointedly, making sure the
man was looking at him. “If you ever thought to tell your wife that you love
her, now would be a good time.”

     He left, leaving Christopher listening to
Dustin's miserable wailing and feeling enough guilt to flood a moat.

***

     He could not fold to her. He
would not
fold to her. Christopher dressed for supper, his armor having been polished by
his squire until it gleamed like crystal. He listened to Dustin's cries fade
until there was complete silence, but even then he didn't go to her. His heart
was screaming for her forgiveness, his body ached to hold her, but his damnable
pride prevented everything from being as it should. He would not show weakness.

     His knights joined him an hour later,
having been informed by Edward that Lady Dustin would most likely not be
attending supper with them. Hesitant to ask why, they congregated in the
antechamber and eyed each other with uncertainty as Christopher finished
dressing. Their liege had yet to look at them and tension was evident.

     Finished fussing with his armor, he went to
the bedchamber door and rapped softly. “Dustin? Are you ready?”

     “Go to hell!” Dustin spat from behind the
door.

     The knights had to look away, but not
before broad smiles crossed their lips. They could not even look at each other
for fear of bursting into laughter. Only Marcus and Edward didn't smile.

     Christopher sighed slowly. “Open the door,
sweetheart. 'Tis time to go.”

     The door seemed to explode with pounding
and kicking on the other side of it. “I said go to hell!” she screamed,
louder. 

     He wouldn't acknowledge her profanity.
“Open the door, Dustin, or I shall open it from this side.”

     “You do and I shall...I shall jump out the
window!” she hollered, kicking the door one last time for good measure. “Go
away. Go eat your supper and I hope you choke to death!”

     They began to hear things breaking and a
huge crash that shook the entire room Christopher's brow furrowed.

     “Dustin?” he called, standing next to the
door. “Are you all right?”

     “What do you care?” she yelled, dissolving
into sobs. “You do not like me, anyway. What do you care if I die? Then your
knights will not be divided and you can continue your mission for your all
precious and powerful Richard. You can sleep with him from now on, because you
won't be in my bed!”

     He sighed heavily, looking at his knights
for the first time.

     “Go ahead without me. I shall be down….in a
minute.”

     They turned to go, except Edward.
Christopher nodded to him, silently telling him that all would be well. Edward
closed the door softly behind him.

     When the men were gone and the room empty,
Christopher ran his hands through his hair, a weary, defeated gesture. As much
as he vowed he would not bend to her, he could not leave her like this.

     “Open the door, Dustin,” he sounded
curiously as if he were begging. “I just want to talk to you, I promise.”

     “Nay!” she wept.

     “Please?” Now he was begging. “I swear, I
only want to speak with you.  Please open the door.”

     He thought he was going to have to break
the door down and was amazed when it swung open quietly. He waited a moment
before pushing it all the way open just to make sure she wasn't lying in wait
for him with a club or broken chair leg.  He spied her sitting quite calmly on
the bed, her tears dried and her hair in place. In fact, she looked stunning
and he was completely off-guard.

     He stood by the door, eyeing the
destruction of the room. He was hard pressed to admit that her anger mattered
to him, that he didn't want her to be angry with him.

     “I am sorry you heard,” he offered finally.
“I did not mean to upset you so.”

     “You blame me,” she said in a scratchy
voice. “You blame me for everything, do not you? For Marcus, for David, for
everything.”

     “Nay, Dustin, I do not blame you,” he said
softly. “You have no control over your beauty or your charms, and being men,
they naturally succumb.”

     “But you do not,” she whispered.

     “That is not true,” he said firmly. “I am
very, very fond of you. You are my wife.”

     Her head came up, her eyes dark with hurt.
Oh, why did she have to be so tormented by his words? She was stupid, foolish
and completely out of control….and she didn‘t care. Her pride was already
damaged. She could not suffer much greater shame.

     “My father and mother loved each other,”
she whispered. “If I ever had a husband, I hoped that someday we would grow to
love each other, too. You love David, and Edward, and the others. You even love
Richard. But you cannot love me, and it pains me. I should not care, but I do.”

     Her words reached into his chest and
grabbed hold of his heart, twisting and squeezing until it was bled dry.

     “Do you love me?” he whispered.

     Her fierce pride was badly wounded. “I do
not know... I think so. Otherwise, why would I hurt so?”

     He could not stop himself from reaching out
and pulling her soft hand to his lips, kissing her fingers until she started to
cry again, softly.  It was a painful and tender moment for them both.

     “All things take time, Dustin,” he
murmured. “Especially love. 'Tis the most difficult of emotions to achieve and
the most difficult to be rid of. The kind of love I feel for my brother and for
my knights is nothing compared to the love I would feel for my wife. For you.
But I never expected to marry, much less love the woman I married.”

     “You are speaking in riddles,” she sobbed.

     He was. Damnation, he was. Christ, he knew
he loved her. He could not remember when he hadn’t and the revelation of it
nearly blew his mind to cinder. But he simply could not bring himself to spit
it out. No one, not even Dustin, must ever know his weakness.

     He was suddenly on her, his mouth sucking
her lips with blinding ferocity. She cried harder, responding to him, aching
with her need and her confusion. Why did he kiss her so when he didn’t even
love her? Mayhap he sought to comfort her, or to comfort himself, but all he
was succeeding in doing was confusing her even more and she suddenly tore away
from him, flailing off the bed until she stood unsteadily several feet away.

     “Don’t,” she said, her whole body shaking
violently. “Don’t kiss me like that.”

     He sat on the bed, gazing at her with a
look she had seen before, always before he made love to her. It was an
expression that usually weakened her, but not now.

     “Why?” he pleaded. “Dustin, what do you
want me to say that will make things well between us again? Is it that you want
to hear me tell you that I love you? Would that make things right again?”

     She shook her head. “Even if you were to tell
me that, I'd know you were lying.” She put her shaking hand to her lips. “I
have been so stupid; stupid enough to believe that I could be happy in this
marriage. But it appears that our marriage will go the way of so many others
whereon we will simply tolerate each other. Even so, I seem to have driven a
wedge between you and your men, and mayhap for that you will grow to hate me.”

     “Dustin, Dustin,” he sighed softly. “I told
you I care for you deeply, and I do. I thought you were happy. I know I have never
been happier, yet in the same thought I have never been more confused. If you
are not happy, what is it you want from me?”

     “Nothing,” she said shortly, moving to the
dressing table and smoothing at her hair. “They are expecting us downstairs.”

     Her back was stiff, her manner reminiscent
of the first day he had met her. Cold. Hard. Distant. His stomach twisted with
regret and sorrow.

     “Do not do this,” he said softly.  “Please…
don’t.”

     “Do what?” She turned to him, her look
innocent. “I am Lady de Lohr in name and body, and I will act the part. That is
all you want from me, anyway, isn't it? What did you call me once ‘additional
baggage’?”

     He let out a hissing curse. “And I also
told you that I was sorry I said that.” he snapped. “You are not additional
baggage, Dustin. Damnation, woman, I'd take you over that bloody keep any day
of the week.”

     Her eyes widened but she controlled her
reaction. She knew how much Lioncross meant to him and for him to make that
declaration astonished her. She should have been deeply flattered, but she
wasn't. She was still stinging from his words to Edward and they were the only
thing that filled her mind.

     She lowered her gaze. “I am hungry. Let us
go downstairs.”

     He stared at her a moment, knowing that
would be the only reaction he would get from her. She was deeply hurt and he
had only himself to thank for that. He could right it if he were strong enough,
but he wasn't. He simply wasn't strong enough to open his heart fully to her
and risk the destruction of his soul.

***

     Christopher and Dustin entered the
cathedral-sized great hall of Windsor Castle with great flourish. As
Christopher knew it would be, every man in the room turned to stare at his wife
as they passed by on their way to the head table. Everyone knew Christopher and
had heard he had married, but this was the very first anyone had seen of lovely
Lady Dustin de Lohr.

     Dustin was awed by the spectacle before her
but tried not to show it. She tried to be as expressionless and aloof as
possible, but it was difficult not to let her eyes wander over the magnificent
trappings of the hall. And the people lord, the people were dressed finer than
any she had ever seen and she thought that surely even Heaven could not be this
resplendent.

     Christopher didn't say a word to her as he
led her to the table and seated her between David and himself. The knights had
all risen respectfully as she entered the hall, their gazes never wandering
from her or their liege. They were, in fact, surprised to see her at all.

     Dustin actually smiled at them as
Christopher pulled out her chair, noticing that several seats down were Prince
John and Sir Ralph, and they both smiled seedily at her. She quickly averted
her gaze and took her seat.

     The room was abuzz with conversation as the
servants brought out the first of several courses. Various boiled vegetables
were set in front of Dustin and, her stomach being twisted in knots, made no
move to eat them. Christopher and the other men dove into their food with
gusto, but Dustin found her attention still drawn to the entire room and its
occupants.

     “Aren't you going to eat?” Christopher
asked softly.

     “Later,” she said, not looking at him.

     He continued with his food and Dustin
continued to ignore him, noticing how the women were variously dressed and
thinking that she did fit in, at least somewhat. She was so caught up in her
observations of women with sleeve cuffs that trailed so long that they went all
the way to the floor that it took her several minutes to notice a particularly
solicitous serving wench on the other side of her husband.

     The woman, a bit older than herself, had
been hovering over Christopher since the meal began, refilling his goblet and
offering him her apron to wipe his beard with. He was ignoring her for the most
part, but Dustin flared with jealousy. Hurt or no, angry or no, no serving
wench was going to lust after her husband.

     She shot out of her chair, her face flushed
with fury, and grabbed the unfortunate woman by the hair. Christopher was hit
in the back of the head by the struggling women, astonished to hear his wife's
calm, low voice as she called the wench every insulting name she could ever
think of as she led her away from the table and towards one of the exit doors. 
There was no mistaking her meaning.