Rise of the Defender (49 page)

     Christopher and his men watched as Dustin
practically threw the girl from the room and then returned to the table as if
she done nothing more than have a pleasant conversation with the wench. Calmly,
she reclaimed her seat and picked up her spoon. Everyone exchanged stunned
glances as she, quite calmly, resumed eating.

     “Would you mind telling me what that was
all about?” Christopher asked her.

     She took a mouthful of vegetables. “I did
not like the way she was serving you.”

     He raised an eyebrow. “So you bodily
removed her from the room?”

     She fixed him with a hard gaze. “I did, and
I shall do the same thing to any other wench who tries to 'serve' you.”

     He did grin, then. “Dustin, I
am...flattered.”

     “Do not be,” she snapped. “I am your wife
and simply protecting my honor.”

     His smile vanished. With a heavy heart, he
resumed his meal.

     They were being served a course of venison
in a sweet sauce when Ralph suddenly appeared in front of them, his oily face
focused on Dustin. Dustin nearly choked when she looked up and saw him leering
down at her.

     “What do you want, Ralph?” Christopher
demanded coldly.

     “Me? Nothing,” he said. “But our glorious
prince has sent me to offer his hearty approval to Lady Dustin's bold action. A
protective wife is a wonderful thing, de Lohr. Yet if she is that aggressive
with a woman who had not even touched you, I wonder how you, baron, would deal
with a man who had indeed done more than lay a hand on your wife?”

     Christopher returned to his food. “I would
kill him, of course.”

     “Even Marcus Burton?” Ralph's gaze flicked
two chairs to Dustin's left.

     Dustin's head came up, her eyes wide. But
Christopher didn't flinch. “And what lies do you have to tell me about Marcus?”
he asked disinterestedly.

     Ralph smiled directly at Dustin. “Ask your
wife, de Lohr. She will tell you.”

     Dustin was close to exploding. With all of
the raging emotions she was feeling, they were begging for a release. She could
not believe what she was hearing and, before she realized what she was doing,
she stood up and slapped Ralph Fitz Walter across the face as hard as she
could.

     “You evil little bastard.” she hissed.

     The entire table shot to their feet,
Christopher with his hand to the hilt of his sword but making no move to stop
his wife. The front portion of the room that witnessed the action went silent
and the silence spread as the explanation went from person to person.

     She had hit him hard. Ralph's head snapped
sharply to his left with momentum and slowly, he brought it around to face
Dustin again. Her face was angry and flushed, but her gaze didn't waver. Ralph
knew he could not seek revenge now, in front of her husband, but he was deeply
humiliated. He forced himself to smile at her.

     “Too close to home, my lady?” he said
thinly. “Mayhap you should have used the same tactic on Marcus in the common
room at the inn.”

     Dustin was livid and unthinking. She bound
onto the table, skirts and all, and would have throttled Ralph had it not been
for Christopher grabbing her. He hauled his hissing, kicking wife against him
and had to yell at David and Marcus to keep them from charging Ralph in her
stead. Edward grabbed hold of Marcus to control the big man.

     “Dustin.” Christopher said harshly. “Stop
it. You are making a scene.”

     She stilled, aware that he was right and trying
desperately to control her fear and anger. But she was reeling with shock and
disbelief; how in God's name did Ralph find out about Marcus and her? More
importantly, what would Christopher think now? If Christopher wasn't sure he
loved her before, then surely this would kill any affection he had for her.

     Ralph, having accomplished what he had set
out to do, abandoned the table, leaving everyone in an uproar.

     Dustin simply wanted to die. She fell back
into her chair, her hands covering her face miserably, as Christopher and
Edward tried to calm the table and each other. She could not even look at
Marcus; she wondered if he were even still at the table. Surely he would turn
and run for his life. Mayhap she should go with him.

     There was a cup thrust at her, big hands
forcing hers around it. “Drink this, sweetheart,” Christopher murmured. “Be a
good lass and drink up.”

     Shaking, she took several large swallows. 
Christopher had one hand on her wrists, helping her drink, while a big arm
draped over her shoulders. Dustin thought that mayhap he would get her drunk to
lessen the pain when he killed her, but his expression looked deeply concerned,
and that puzzled her.

     “That's my good girl, take another drink,”
his voice was soft and rich, caring even. She gazed up at him, wondering when
he was going to take her head off, but he simply smiled at her. “Are you all
right?”

     She could not even answer him. She was
looking at him, but not really comprehending anything. His smile faded.
“Dustin, are you all right?” he asked again.

     She opened her mouth feebly but words
refused to come forth. She was suddenly quite warm.

     Christopher snatched the cup from her,
reaching down to pick her up. David was standing up on her other side, aiding
his brother as he collected the huge skirt.

     “I am taking her out,” Christopher told his
brother. “Stay here and enjoy the evening. Come and see me when the festivities
have ceased.”

     “What about Ralph?” David demanded.

     Christopher fixed him with a deadly glare.
“I shall deal with Ralph.” He swept Dustin from the room amidst the chaos.

     Marcus saw them go from the corner of his
eye, feeling sick and angered. He wished it could be he who comforted Dustin,
for God only knew how mad and ashamed she was. He should have sought her out
earlier, to explain what had happened and to tell her what he had told
Christopher. He hadn't exactly lied, but he hadn't exactly told the full truth.
He wondered if he would indeed be a dead man come the morn.

     Leaving the great hall in chaos,
Christopher carried Dustin to their apartments.  It was quiet and dark except
for the banked fire in the hearth. Christopher was as gentle as a mother as he
carried Dustin into their bed chamber and laid her upon their bed.

      Dustin lay there, curling up into a big
red and blond ball as if she could fold in on herself and hide. Christopher
removed his armor in silence, stripped off his shirt and pulled off his boots.
He then proceeded to bank the fire in the hearth before finally turning to his
catatonic wife.

     “Did Ralph's words upset you so?” he said
quietly.

     She closed her eyes and hot tears ran
across her face and onto the pillow. “Are you going to kill me?”

     He looked shocked. “Kill you? Why on earth
would I kill you? Do you actually think that for one moment I would believe
that snake's lies?”

     Her eyes opened after a moment. Then,
slowly, she turned to look at him. He looked like a great ethereal being with
the firelight silhouetting his massive frame. It took her several long moments
to grasp what he had just said.

     “You do not…you do not believe him?” she
whispered before she could stop herself.

     “Of course not, Dustin,” he said curtly. “I
know Marcus better than that, and I would hope that I would know you better,
too. Ralph and John will spare nothing to gain their ends and destroy me. Using
you and Marcus was nothing short of vile, even for them.”

     She sat up, her hair spilling over her. Her
relief was immense but she was afraid to say anything lest he suspect that her
relief was a bit
too
great. Yet there was one point in all of this that
bothered her tremendously; he obviously trusted her, and she had done naught to
earn it. She felt guilty all over again.

     “Thank you, my lord,” she said softly, for
she could think of naught else to say.

     “For what? For rejecting their lies?” he
said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

     Something occurred to her at that moment;
when she had heard the rumors about her husband having bed a serving wench, she
had confronted him and he had confessed. With the knowledge, she was able to
deal with it and move on. Yet here the same opportunity presented itself and
she took the coward's way out by omitting the truth. Mayhap if she placed the
blame on herself, where it truly lie, then he would not be so harsh with
Marcus. The thought of her living with this lie hanging over her head was
unbearable.

     Out of respect, out of guilt, mayhap to
hurt him as he had hurt her, she realized she was about to confess. Perhaps
there were many reasons for it. All she knew was that she had to. Her great
gray eyes turned to him and she could see that his expression was soft. She met
his gaze steadily.

     “Chris, Ralph spoke the truth,” she said
softly. “Marcus did indeed kiss me in the common room at the Inn. It was short
and went no further, but it happened. His guilt is as great as mine.”

     Christopher stared at her a long time. In
faith, he didn't trust himself to speak. He could see simply by her expression
that she was being open and honest with him, and that drove a knife into his
belly.  So it was true. Though he kept his gaze on her, something in his
expression changed. The warmth fled, replaced by shock and ice.

     Dustin could see the change come over him. 
She hadn’t expected anything different.  “You were truthful with me, once, when
I asked you about the serving wench you bedded,” she said softly. “I cannot lie
to you about this and I can only pray that you forgive me as I forgave you.”

     He bolted off the bed, pacing toward the
windows aimlessly. His hands began to work, great plate-sized hands, clenching
and unclenching, finally dragging through his hair. His body was tensing more
and more with each step he took.

     “Is that all that happened?” he asked, his
voice tight. “What about all of the time he spent with you in your room?”

     “He never touched me, I swear it,” she said
evenly. “He was never anything but perfectly courteous. He kissed me, once,
that was all.”

     “Did you like it?” he snapped, then
regained hold of himself. “I did not mean that. Christ, Dustin.…”

     She was incredibly calm, much more than she
thought possible. “Nay, I didn't,” she said quietly. “I was shocked and
angered. I can only tell you that it wasn't planned, that I do not hold
feelings for Marcus, and that it will never happen again.”

     His hands were still moving, tensing. “Then
he lied to me.”

     “If he did, it was only to protect me,” she
said. “He fears you, and he respects you, and he realized the gravity of the
mistake. We both do.”

     He looked at her then, and she saw anguish
in his eyes. Dustin was suddenly inflamed by the pain, for he had caused it in
her heart many a time and she was outraged that he should act as though he had
been hurt.  He wasn’t hurt; the only thing injured was his honor.

     “At least I didn't bed the man.” she
exclaimed, hurt and anger filling her. “You did not extend me any consideration
before you were pumping your seed into another woman. And do not act as if you
are wounded by this action, my lord, for the only thing that is damaged is your
pride.”

     She expected him to fly at her, but he
didn't.  He looked as if she had taken a dirk and stabbed him in the heart with
it. “How can you say that?”

     “Because it's true,” she fired back. “I am
your chattel, your wife whom you profess to be fond of, a pretty little chit
whom you subject to your commands and moods and politics. That is all there is
to Lady de Lohr in your eyes.”

     He clenched his teeth, trying so very hard
to maintain himself but not doing a very good job.  She had hurt him, perhaps
more than anyone ever had, and his primal need for satisfaction lashed out at
her.

     “What else are you good for?” he growled.

     He might as well have hit her. Her jaw
clamped shut and her eyes softened with agony, but she did not look away from
him. She maintained her gaze, her dignity, for all she was worth.

     “If nothing more,” she whispered, “of
giving you a fortress.”

     He stared at her, deeply remorseful for
what he had said. She was so easily crushed, but the truth was he was hurting,
too. As much as he tried to convince himself that it was merely his honor at
stake, he knew that his heart was gravely wounded. He was bleeding.

     With nothing more to say, Dustin turned
away from him and climbed off the bed. Her movements were lethargic and slow,
as if it was taking everything out of her simply to move.

     “I would sleep in the other bedchamber,”
she said quietly.

     When she moved past him, he called out to
her softly. “You will not,” he said. “'Tis not safe for you to sleep alone. You
will sleep in here, with me.”