Rise of the Defender (11 page)

CHAPTER
FIVE

     Dustin's first cognizant impression was one
of pain. Her head hurt, her neck hurt, her shoulders hurt. Everything hurt. She
had no idea why she was in so much pain, but she tried to move a bit and was
met with sharp jabs and aches everywhere. In a rush, the attack came back to
her and she found that she could lift her sore arms, with effort, just enough
to put her hand to her spinning head. She only remembered being beat, and then
darkness. She could only assume the worst had happened and with that horrible
thought, she began to cry.

     “Are you in pain?” She recognized
Christopher’s voice. Immediately and her eyes flew open, dazed and stunned.

     “My lord.” she gasped. “What? Where am I?”

     “Home, my lady, at Lioncross,” he said. “Tell
me, do you hurt?”

     She stared back at him, her mouth agape. How
did she get back here? Lord, she didn’t remember a thing.

     “Aye,” she whispered, letting her arm fall
back to her side.

     “Tell me where,” he instructed.

     She noticed that he was dressed in a pair
of soft leather breeches and a white tunic that, for the first time, revealed
the magnificence of his build to her. His shoulders were extremely broad and
his waist was very slender and it made her head hurt to think him pleasantly
formed; she didn’t want to think him pleasant in any way. Especially in lieu of
the tongue-lashing she was about to receive from him. And she deserved it - she
had not told anyone where she was going a-purpose.

     “My head,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
“And nearly everywhere else.”

     She felt his hand about her head and was
surprised that for the huge size of them, they were as gentle as butterfly
wings.

     “I cleaned the cut on your temple, but I am
afraid I had to put a stitch in it. However, your hair should cover the tiny
scar,” his hands were moving down her neck to her shoulders. “I didn’t feel any
broken bones. Do you have any sharp pains?”

     “No,” her voice was feeble. “Just aches.”

     He didn’t reply and took his hand from her.
Dustin had yet to hear him move away from the bed and could only assume he was
still standing there, looking at her, waiting for her to open her eyes so he
could yell at her.

     Then, she heard a joint pop as he turned
and walked away, heading across the floor. Secretly, she cracked an eye open to
see what he was doing. She saw that he was over near the door, pouring himself
a goblet of wine from her pretty pewter decanter.

     As he stood there, she began to notice just
how well-formed the man was, in spite of the fact that she didn’t want to notice.
His legs were long and as big around as small trees, and the hand that held the
goblet swallowed it up. That had been nearly the first thing she noticed about
him - how big his hands were. Yet when he had touched her, he was as gentle as
a lamb. It was a confusing paradox, she thought, distressing her all the more.
But she would rather die than admit she found her new husband… attractive.

     “Would you like some wine?” he was still
over by the door, facing away from her.

     So he knew she was watching him. No use
pretending otherwise. She rolled over onto her side with a great deal of
effort, watching him as he turned around to look at her.

     “You are grunting like an old man,” he
commented, coming toward her.

     “I feel like an old man,” she answered. “I
feel like I am dying.”

     “Nay, my lady, you are very much alive,” he
said.

     Her head suddenly came up. “And Rebecca? Is
she…”

     “Your companion is well, as is her family,”
he answered her. “You seemed to have borne the brunt of the assault.”

     She lay her head back down slowly, relieved.
“I was the only one who ran. I suppose they did not want me to escape.”

     “What they wanted was your soft white
flesh,” he replied.

     She closed her eyes and big, fat tears
spilled over, running down onto the pillow beneath her. Her lower lip trembled
until she bit it, forcing it still. Christopher watched her struggle with her
fear.

     “No need for tears, my lady,” he said after
a moment. “You are safe and will recover.”

     Her eyes few open and riveted on him. “But
I will never recover what that damnable bastard took from me.”

     “What did he take from you?” Christopher
demanded. “Did he steal something?”

     She wondered how Christopher fit into all
of this, closing her eyes against his angry face. Had Rebecca and her family
brought her back to the keep, leaving the explaining up to her? She remembered
so little that she was close to admitting she was going to have to ask
Christopher how much he knew and what had happened. She was terrified of what
he might do to her if he found out she had been raped.

     “How did I get back here?” she hoped she
could find out what she wanted to know without damaging her pride. She hated
admitting she was dependent on him for answers.

     “I brought you back here,” he said. “Yet
you did not answer me. What did he steal?”

     “
You
brought me back here?” she
lifted her head curiously. “But how did you know? I mean, how did you find me? Did
you ride out with the soldiers to intercept the raiders?”

     “I did not ride out with my men,” he came
over to the bed. “Jeffrey told me you had gone into the village and I went
looking for you. When the raiders attacked the outskirts, I then moved to
defend the village and only by chance heard your screams.” He stood at the foot
of the bed with a reproving glare. “I found you by pure luck alone, Dustin,
nothing more. Had I not been within earshot, that marauder might have taken
more than your innocence, he might have taken your life. As it was, you received
a nice gash to the scalp for your troubles and you were lucky for only that.”

     She blinked up at him, his words slowly
registering. Then she was not violated? Relief swept through her, making her
limp and weak. But along with the same thought she realized that Christopher
had saved her life, and the lives of her friend and her family. She was
indebted to him whether or not she wanted to be and she found the thought
distasteful. She did not want to be obligated to him for any reason.

     “You should have let him kill me,” she said
bitterly, turning away. “Then Lioncross would be yours and you have no wife to
burden you.”

     He slowly cocked an eyebrow. “I save your
life and this is how you thank me?”

     “How would you have me thank you?” she shot
back in a rage, thought better of it, and cooled. “I am your wife, my lord. If
simple words of thanks do not suffice, you may simply take what pleases you to
even the debt.”

     “Your self-pity grows tiresome,” he said,
moving around the side of the bed. “I will not take anything from you, wife.
You will give it or I will not have it. And simple words will suffice, though I
expect none for I was simply doing my duty. You are my wife and I would protect
you.”

     She met his gaze for several long moments.
It was an expectant silence, waiting for her reply to determine if this
conversation would end as the others had, with anger and bitterness. Surprisingly,
her eyes softened just a bit and she licked her rosy lips.

     “Thank you for doing your duty, my lord.”

     She had swallowed her pride, he knew that.
He felt no need to rub her nose in it. “You are welcome,” he said.

     She looked at him for a moment longer
before twisting around and trying to arrange her pillows so that she might sit
up. The pressure on her shoulders when she lay on her back was painful.
Christopher saw what she was trying to accomplish, however weakly, and moved to
help her. When the pillows were stacked and she struggled to sit up, he put his
hands under her arms and lifted her up, moving her back against the pillows.

     “My thanks again, my lord,” she said
softly. It was becoming easier the more she practiced.

     “Are you comfortable now?” he stood back.

     She winced as she tried to adjust her sore
body. “As much as possible, I suppose. The fiend did do a complete lob of
beating me.”

     Christopher s face fell a bit. “He beat
you?”

     She nodded, glancing up at him and
wondering why he looked so disturbed. Surely he knew that.

     “Where? Show me,” he demanded.

     She sat forward a bit, pulling back the
collar of her dress. “My shoulders and back,” she told him as he pulled the
material even further to observe her injuries. “I grabbed hold of a table leg
and would not go, and he took a stick to me.”

     Her dress had covered up all of this, he
thought grimly as he studied the purple and blue bruises. And there were
several ugly welts, not enough to bleed though the material, but severe enough
to hurt. Certainly he had checked her for broken bones, but he had not seen the
bruises she bore.

     He stood back and she noticed his jaw was
ticking, knowing that he found her repulsive. Absently, she tugged at the
collar of her dress, trying to cover her horrible bruises.

     “Nay, do not,” he told her curtly. “Remove
that dress. I will return.”

     With that, he spun on his heel and quit the
room, slamming the door behind him.

     Dustin was bewildered. She had no idea what
he had in mind, only knowing that the man frightened and confused her. Lord,
she was so weary and sore that all she wanted to do was soak her beaten body in
a tub of hot water. Tossing off the covers, she stiffly rose from the bed and
summoned a serving wench for a bath.

     He said he would return. She knew he would,
but she didn’t care. He would probably be gone hours and she didn’t care if he
ever returned; only wanting to sit up to her neck in rose-scented water and forget
this horrible, horrible day ever happened. She brightened a little to remember
that most likely, on the morrow, she would be traveling to Nottingham and there
she could start fresh, away from her husband and away from the home that no
longer welcomed her.

     Christopher re-entered his wife’s room to
discover that she had only partially obeyed him. True, she had taken off the
dress, but she had not donned a robe, instead, choosing to take a bath, of all
things. She was busy singing away with her back to him, lathering a bar a soap
between her hands.

     He stood by the door for several minutes,
watching her run soapy hands over her arms and legs, the firelight glistening
off of her slick skin. He knew she had not heard him enter with all of the
noise she was making and wondered if he should announce himself or if he should
continue to stand there, stealing glances at the woman he married.

     But he was not a voyeur and cleared his
throat loudly, telling her he had returned. Dustin shrieked and covered her nakedness
with her arms, sinking up to her mouth in the warm water.

     Christopher walked slowly and deliberately
around the tub, his hands on his hips as he gazed down at her. She was watching
him with huge eyes, obviously quite shocked and outraged at his boldness.

     “I do not recall telling you to take a
bath,” he said.

     “The warm water makes my aches feel better,
my lord,” she replied, water in her mouth.

     “I told you I would return,” he pointed
out.

     “But you did not say when,” she insisted.

     He had to admit she was, technically,
correct. He gave her another reproachful glance as to not admit her accuracy
and went to put a vial of some kind over on the table. She eyed the container
curiously.

     “What is that?” she asked suspiciously.

     “Get out of that tub,” he told her.

     She sat a little straighter, eyeing him and
the vial. “I would know what that is.”

     He frowned. “It is not poison, for Christ’s
sake. Get out of the bath.”

     “But…but I have not washed my hair,” she said,
wondering if she was going to have to drink the potion in the glass and
absolutely not wanting to.

     He looked at her irritably for a moment
before beginning to roll up his sleeves. “Very well. I will do it and you will
be done with this.”

     “I am quite capable of washing my own hair,”
she protested, thinking his hands on her while she was in the tub were entirely
too intimate and disturbing.

     “Why? Do not you have maids to do it for
you?” he was still rolling up his sleeves.

     “I bathe alone, my lord,” she said stiffly.

     He frowned again and moved towards her. “Why
in the hell would you do that with a house full of servants to help you?” he
asked. “’Tis most strange that you would.”