Rise of the Defender (12 page)

     He had come too close and she suddenly
plunged her head underneath the water, as if trying to hide her whole body from
him. He fought off a grin, trying to remain severe as he stood over the tub and
waited patiently for her to run out of air. She came back up several moments
later, sputtering and coughing. He did grin then.

     “Are you finished?” he asked, picking up her
soap. “Can we get through, please?”

     She started to protest and again attempted
to dive under the water but he grabbed her by the hair, rubbing soap into her
scalp until it frothed up a rich white. Roses filled the air, permeated the
skin of his hands and he knew he would be smelling the scent for the rest of
the night. Not an entirely bad prospect, he had had to admit. The scent was
growing on him.

     Dustin was initially appalled at his
actions. She didn't want the man near her, much less helping her to bathe. But
the very moment his big, gentle hands started massaging her scalp, she quickly
reconsidered. The maids could be rough, which was why she liked to do it
herself. But not Christopher; his hands were actually tender as he scrubbed her
scalp, lathered her hair, and worked his way down to the very ends.

     She felt herself relaxing, closing her eyes
at his touch and hating herself for it, yet it was so wonderful she could not
help it. There were moments when she would remember that she didn’t like him and
she would stiffen again, but a mere few seconds later she would go as limp as a
wet rag. It was a strange condition that struck in wave after wave until she
finally relented completely and allowed herself to enjoy the attention. It was
so new to her, so completely foreign, but she knew she liked it very much.

     Christopher liked it, too. It was certainly
one of the most pleasant experiences he had ever had and he soaped her hair
much longer than was necessary simply because he loved the feeling of her hair
in his hands and was growing to like the smell of roses. She had stopped
fighting him and that pleased him strangely, too.

     But the water was growing cool and it would
not do for her to take a chill. Taking an empty pitcher left by the side of the
tub, he filled it from the bath and poured it over her hair, again and again
until the water ran clear.

     Neither one of them had said a word the
entire time. It was as if both of them were reconsidering their harsh stances,
wondering if indeed the other was not as bad as was originally thought. It was
a curious time for wondering and reasoning and thinking, trying to sort out
insane ideals as to what marriage was truly about. They were married, the
holiest and most intimate of unions, yet they were strangers to one another.

     Mayhap under different circumstances they
might have felt differently toward one another, but their beginning had been so
rough that it was difficult to feel any other way.

     Christopher twisted her hair, wringing the
water from it. Then he moved for the large square of linen and held it up for
her.

     Dustin looked back at him, stunned at what
he was suggesting. Yet his expression was completely devoid of any emotion
whatsoever as he held it up patiently; even so, she was extremely hesitant to
climb out of the tub. After all, they were strangers. Surely he did not expect
her to forget all of her modesty simply because he was labeled her husband.

     But the fact was that he
was
husband. He had every moral and legal right to see his wife unclothed. She
could hear her mother’s words.

    
Duty, Dustin, duty!

     Swallowing her embarrassment and humility,
and knowing she was surely going to die from shame, she rose quickly from the
tub as the water coursed off her body. Avoiding his eyes, she jumped over the
side and threw herself into the linen towel, pushing herself against him in the
process. Much to her surprise, his massive arms went around her and began to
dry her briskly.

     Dustin was buffeted back and forth by the
force of his invigorating drying. She remembered how her mother used to dry her
like this when she was young, and it almost made her smile. He was rapid yet
thorough, starting at her shoulders and moving all the way down to her feet. As
rough as he was, it was actually rather pleasant and she was so relaxed by the
time he finished that she almost fell forward onto the floor when he stopped.

     He caught her before she could fall and
mumbled something she didn’t catch, then threw the towel over her head and
rubbed her hair vigorously until it was wild and askew and hanging in front of
her eyes.

     “Do you have a dressing gown?” he asked.

     She was standing naked before him and had
completely forgotten her state. The way he had bathed her and dried her left
her feeling so comfortable and familiar with him that when he asked her the
question, she simply pointed to the wardrobe and he retrieved an old robe that
her mother had given her.

     He held the robe out and she put her arms
in the sleeves, tossing her hair out of her eyes as he pulled the sash tight.
He pulled it so taut she grunted and he took her hand and led her back over to
the bed.   

     “Now, to take care of your shoulders,” he
murmured, pulling the top of the robe down to reveal her delicate shoulders and
neck.

     Truth was, he was so caught up in tending
her that he hadn’t even stopped to realize that this was the same vicious woman
who had slapped him earlier, who had screamed disrespectfully in her rage. The
woman before him was calm and obedient and completely, entirely beautiful.

     He didn’t know why he had held up the towel
to her. True, he was intensely curious about her body and was not disappointed
with his observations. She was perfectly formed, even for her small size, and
her ripe breasts were the most beautiful he had ever seen. Aye, she was damn
pleasing and he had been a fool to cover up all of that beauty with the robe.

     It was so strange, this relationship they
had developed since he had washed her hair. He hadn't spoken but a handful of
words to her, and she had yet to utter a sound, yet they moved together and
responded to one another with alarming comfort. The male part of him liked it
very much, but the rational part did not. To have a wife that was distant and
cold was safe for him, someone who could not affect him in any way. But this
woman in front of him now, this vulnerable lass, was dangerous. This was a wife
who could get under his skin.

     “Wait,” she put up her hand as he picked up
the glass vial. “My hair. I would brush it before it dries into a bird’s nest.”

     “I shall do it.”

     He said so fast that he startled himself. Why
in the hell should he want to brush her hair? It was a maid’s duty. Yet he was
brushing it all the same, watching the light from the fire play off of the
silver and gold highlights. It began to occur to him that he wanted to do these
things because his wife was now an acquired possession and, like most
possessions, it was natural to want to inspect what was now his. He had been
married to her for nearly an entire day and was not ashamed to admit he was
pleased with this fancy piece of property.

     Her hair combed out and braided to keep it
under control, he once again pushed down the collar of the robe and picked up
the vial. He had seen the extent of the damage when he had bathed her, and he
rubbed the mint-smelling balm between his hands before massaging it gently into
her bruised flesh, unconsciously wincing as he did so.

     Dustin gasped as he touched her sore
shoulders, trying to squirm away from him.

     “Nay, my lady, I promise you that this will
help your pains,” he said firmly, not letting her escape his touch.

     “But it hurts so,” she moaned. “And that
poison smells fiercely.”

     He smiled faintly. “It does indeed, but
trust me when I tell you that it will help you.”

     She bravely allowed him to rub more of the
stuff into her shoulders, flinching when he hit a particularly sensitive spot.
But his hands were expert as they touched her and she gradually relaxed,
beginning to trust him somewhat. And as she grew to trust him, she also
realized her curiosity about the man was growing, too. She could see no harm in
asking him a few simple questions.

     “Where do you come from?” she asked softly.

     “My home is in Derbyshire,” he replied. “The
keep where I was born is called Lohrham Forest.”

     “Is David your only brother?” she asked,
her eyes closing drowsily as his warm hands moved over her skin.

     “Aye,” he replied. “And I have a sister, too,
although I have not seen her in some time. She is fostering in Bath.”

     “How old is she?” Dustin inquired.

     “Almost seventeen,” he said. “Her name is
Deborah.”

     Dustin's eyes opened. “A Biblical name, and
very pretty. Is she fair as you and David are?”

     “Aye, more so,” he put some more ointment
on his hands and began to rub between her shoulder blades. “Yet not nearly as
fair as you are. You have got the whitest skin I have ever seen.”

     She snorted ironically. “And I am sure it
is beautiful shades of purple and green by now. I always did bruise easily.”

     His lips twitched. “Your back and shoulders
are striking shades of blue.”

     She sighed heavily, hanging her head and he
was able to rub the smelly stuff into her neck. “How did you come to acquire
your unusual name?” he asked after a few silent moments.

     She sighed, feeling contentment and comfort
as he rubbed away. “My grandmother’s ancestral keep is called Dustinley,” she
replied. “My mother always sore that she would name her firstborn Dustin, for
she was confidant her first child would be a boy. When I was born, she would
not go back on her word and named me Dustin after all. Father added Mary
Catherine.”

     “Your father was a level-headed man,” Christopher
nodded in agreement.

     She twisted her head back to look at him,
her wide gray eyes latching onto him like a vise. He was mesmerized by the
beauty, the color, the emotion he saw in the depths. “How did my father die?”
she asked softly.

     He lowered his gaze, concentrating on his
task. After a pause, he spoke. “An arrow to the chest.”

     “Did he die immediately?” she asked quietly.

     Nay, he did not, he lingered while his body
rotted in the heat until it finally killed him. But he would not tell her that.
“Aye, he did,” he lied.

     Under his hands, he felt her sigh. “Well
and good,” she said. “I should not have wished him to suffer.”

     It took Christopher a few moments to realize
that they had shared an entirely civil, entirely pleasant conversation. The ointment
he had applied was well rubbed in, but for some reason he continued massaging
her shoulders and back. Her skin was like silk, and God only knew how long it
had been since he had tasted female flesh.        But if he caressed her any
longer he knew there would be trouble, so he removed his hands and she primly
pulled the collar of the robe tight about her neck.

     “This poison feels warm on my skin,” she
said.

     “Good,” he replied, washing his hands in
the basin. “’Twill lessen your aches.”

     “What is it?” she asked, turning to look at
him.

     He dried his hands, gazing back at her and
noticing the way the firelight played off her hair, turning it the color of
downy fluff. “Something I discovered on the quest,” he replied. “The Turks used
it for nearly every ailment, but we Christians discovered that it works best on
aches and strains.”

     She nodded, wondering what exotic oils were
warming her flesh. She knew, at least she hoped, that he would not put anything
on her that would harm her, but it was the strange smell reminding her of the
alien medicament.

     “Now,” he put his hands on his hips as he
faced her. “You will sleep this night and I do not want to hear from you again until
the morning.”

     “Aye, my lord,” she nodded, watching him as
he acknowledged her with a sharp nod and turned for the door.

     “My lord?” she called.

     “Aye, what is it?” he turned with his hand
on the latch.

     She studied his face, noticing for the
first time that it was rather pleasing and masculine, just like the rest of
him. “Thank you.”

     He looked back at her and she felt a
peculiar sort of tingle in her arms and chest, wondering if the foreign
ointment was beginning to make her sick.

     “My pleasure, my lady,” he replied, closing
the door behind him.

     He was gone and she tried to make herself
comfortable under the covers, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell about her.
She would have to wash the stuff off her come the morrow. Suddenly, something
heavy hit the bed and she knew without looking Caesar had decided to come out from
his hiding place and join her. She smiled, petting the cat as he got
comfortable next to her.

     Dustin thought the smell might keep her up,
but as soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep
with dreams of a handsome blond husband filling her mind.