Rise of the Defender (21 page)

     Her tears were wetting his naked chest, her
soft hands against his skin and it was a thoroughly wonderful experience, yet
he was aware that his heart was pounding as he realized what he could have done
to her. He held her back, trying to see her face in the darkness.

     “Answer me, sweetheart. What are you doing
here?” he demanded again.

     He could see her quiver. “I….I came looking
for Caesar.” she gasped. “I did not want to wake you.”

     He let out a heavy sigh and pulled her to
his chest again, feeling her tremble in his arms. Much to his surprise, she was
actually holding on to him as well. He sat back on the bed, pulling her onto
his lap and holding her close, scaring himself when he realized again that she
could be lying dead at his feet this very minute. He didn’t like being scared.

     Dustin had suffered the fright of her life
and she was quite shaken by it. Christopher had been so fast with the sword
that she had scarcely seen the dim flash of steel before she was sitting on her
bottom on the cold stone. Frightened, her arms were wound around his neck, and
her cheek lay against his warm shoulder as he comforted her and it was almost
worth the fright. He was so big and warm and gentle. She’d never needed the
comfort of a man before and had fought those who had tried, but at this time
she found his strength to be most reassuring and pleasant. Someday, she might
even like it.

     Christopher held her for the longest time,
neither one of them saying a word. It was as if they both realized what could
have happened and it brought the opinions of what they held for each other to
new heights. Christopher could not even think about it anymore, every time he
imagined the worst, he felt sick. Dustin, for her part, was feeling terribly
lucky to be alive. And very content sitting in Christopher’s lap.

     A loud purring invaded their clinch and
something warm and fuzzy bumped up against Dustin’s back and Christopher's arm.
They both turned to look at Caesar, purring wildly and meowing at the same
time.

     “Damnable beast,” Christopher muttered.

     Dustin turned in his lap, enough to reach
out and pet the cat. In the process, she had ended up facing Christopher
completely, face to face, chest to chest.  It was a provocative position. 
Christopher noticed but Dustin didn’t; she was more focused on the cat.

     “You are a traitor and a troublemaker,”
Dustin whispered to the cat, scratching his ears. “What did I ever do to make
you turn your back on me? Well?”

     Caesar licked her fingers and then went
over to Christopher’s pillow, kneading it with his claws.

     “Back away, rodent,” Christopher said as he
reached out a big hand and batted the cat away. Undeterred, Caesar jumped back
on the bed and resumed his kneading in the exact same spot.

     Christopher growled impatiently and Dustin
giggled. “Caesar, the baron does not want you there.”

     “I tried to put him out tonight, three
times,” he said. “I closed the door each time, but somehow he got in. Where
does he come from?”

     Dustin shook her head. “I do not know.
There must be a gap or a hole somewhere he can slip through,” she gazed at the
cat again. “He is a clever beast.”

     Christopher was looking at her as she
watched the cat, her face so close to his that if he had stuck out his tongue,
he would have licked her. He could smell roses, assaulting his senses until his
limbs tingled painfully. How could a woman who shunned the more feminine things
in life smell so damn sweet and womanly? Yet that was exactly what she was,
extremely feminine and completely unaware of it.

     The flames of desire licked at him and he
knew he was going to have a hell of a time dousing the fire if she didn’t leave
right away. Damnation, he wanted her, but she would have to want him first. She
would have to want him
first
.

     “You have found your pet,” he said, his
voice husky and soft. “I would appreciate you removing him so that I might get
back to sleep.”

     She turned her face and looked at him,
jolted with his close proximity and riveted to the intense sky-blue eyes. She
could feel his warm breath on her mouth and his masculine musk filling her
nostrils. Her breathing began to come faster and with her reaction, she startled
herself right off of his lap.

     “I apologize again for surprising you this
night,” she said, her eyes inexplicably glued to him as she retrieved Caesar. “Goodnight,
my lord.”

     She tore her eyes away and moved for the
door, clutching the cat. By the time she reached the archway, she was almost
running.

     Ten minutes later, the cat was back.

     Christopher appeared in Dustin's room,
holding the cat away from him as if it carried a disease. Dustin, almost
asleep, was startled to see him looming over her, his face grim.

     “I have a theory, my lady, I would like to
test,” he said frankly.

     She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “What?”

     He threw the cat on the bed. “Move over.”

     “What?” her eyes opened wide.

     He pushed his way into the bed, shoving her
over. “I am curious to know if Caesar is attached to me personally, or simply
the bed I am sleeping in.”

     Dustin tried to protest but the fact of the
matter was that she was curious, too. Somewhere in the process of allowing him
into her bed, she was caught next to him and his arm ended up around her.
Pulled up against his muscular chest, she suddenly didn’t feel much like
protesting anymore. She rather liked the feeling.

     “Now be still,” he admonished, his arm
squeezing her close.

     “Pretend to sleep and let's see what he
does.”

     Her cheek against the soft, smooth skin of
the crook of his shoulder, Dustin obeyed and closed her eyes. Christopher
feigned sleep as well, feeling the cat as it fidgeted and turned circles before
finally plopping down, half-on his legs. He heard the cat sigh contentedly,
purring up a storm.

     He lay there a long, long while, every so
often taking a peek at the cat where it lay. Caesar was sleeping soundly. This
fact worried him, for it proved that Dustin’s cat was indeed attached to him
and not to the bed upon which he had been sleeping.  He winced inwardly,
wondering how Dustin was going to react to this discovery. Hell, he didn’t want
the damn cat.

     He glanced over at the top of her blond
head. “Dustin,” he whispered. When he received no answer, he gave her a little
shake and tried again. “Dustin.”

     She responded by sighing raggedly and
flinging an arm across his chest, burying her face half into his shoulder and
giving another slow, languid sigh. He then realized she had fallen asleep and
cracked a smile into the darkness.

     With the cat draped across his legs and his
wife burrowed against him, Christopher should have felt trapped but, instead,
had the strangest feeling of satisfaction. He chucked ironically and found
himself stroking the top of Dustin's blond head.

     “If you two aren't a maddening pair,” he
whispered, feeling the silkiness of the strands. “What in the hell am I going
to do with you?” He didn’t know if he meant the cat, or his wife, or both.

     Unconsciously, Dustin’s fingers drifted
across his skin and he put his hand over them, pressing her soft hand against
his flesh.

     He lay staring at the ceiling for an indeterminate
amount of time, his mind a jumble of curious emotions. He didn’t even realize when
he finally drifted off, for the next thing he knew the dawn was breaking, the
cat was lying on his stomach, and both arms were wound protectively around his
wife.

     It was the best feeling in the world.

***

     Dustin wasn’t quite sure how to feel
anymore.

     She’d never needed anyone, much less a man,
and as fiercely independent as she was, she was desperately confused. Puzzled
because waking in Christopher’s arms had been a most wonderful experience and
she hated herself for thinking such betraying emotions.  She absolutely refused
to become attached to anyone, even her husband.

     Dressed in the new golden surcoat that made
her look like a goddess, she allowed Christopher, David and Edward to escort
her into town to Rebecca’s small hut. The peasants, who were well acquainted
with the rough-and-tumble mistress of Lioncross Abbey, pointed and waved and smiled
at her as she passed them by and Dustin was deeply embarrassed at the attention.
She felt as if she were making a spectacle of herself, pretending to be a fine
lady when the serfs knew very well that she was not.

     She was riding in front of her husband, who
had been inordinately quiet this morn. But, then again, so had she. She didn’t
know what to say to him, and when she donned the golden surcoat for their trip
to town, she tried to tell herself it wasn’t because she wanted to please her
husband. Her thoughts were completely foreign to her.

     David was the first to dismount when they
reached Rebecca’s cottage, lifting Dustin from Christopher’s saddle. She
thanked him when her feet hit the ground and tugged at her dress in a most
unladylike manner to straighten it. David and Edward grinned while Christopher
raised a reproving eyebrow. Dustin, still pulling at the neckline of her dress
and scratching her right breast, caught the smiles of the two knights and
realized what she was doing.

     “Well, it itches,” she declared and,
thrusting up her chin, approached the door and rapped loudly. She ignored the
knights laughing behind her.

     Rebecca opened the door after a moment, her
eyes widening at the sight of her friend. “Dustin. My God. You look gorgeous.”

     Dustin smiled broadly at her friend. “Thanks
to you. It fits perfectly.”

     The two women squealed in greeting,
babbling so quickly that the men could understand very little.

     “How’s your head? You had us so worried.”
Rebecca gushed.          

     “It’s fine.” Dustin pulled her hair back to
prove her point. “Christopher put a stitch in it and it is healing quickly.

     Rebecca glanced over her friend’s shoulder
at the three big men, suddenly a bit subdued with their presence. But Dustin wouldn’t
let the mood settle.

     “We brought more material.” she said,
grabbing her friend’s arm and dragging her inside. “The baron is taking me to
London.”

     After that, the knights were completely
forgotten. Even though they followed the women into the hut, bearing the material,
they might as well have not even been there. Dustin and Rebecca chattered like
magpies, about anything and everything, and ignoring all else.

     The men stood back against the wall like
huge silent sentries, listening with some amusement at all of the yakking going
on. Rebecca unrolled the material and exclaimed gleefully over the colors and
textures, holding them up to Dustin and telling her friend exactly how the
dress was going to be. Dustin, uneducated in fashions and styles, simply nodded
and went along with everything her friend said.

     Christopher’s eyes never left his wife, the
way her face would light up with a laugh or a smile, the silly little giggle
she had that could grow out of control so quickly. He noticed she had a thoroughly
charming habit of wrinkling her nose when she was delighted. He’d never seen
this side of her and he found he was utterly captivated.

     “Oh, Dustin, I envy you going to London.”
Rebecca sighed as she re-wrapped the material. “I have always wanted to go
there.”

     “I know,” Dustin helped her friend with the
fabric. “I wish you could go with us.”

     “What are you going to do there?” Rebecca asked.

     Dustin looked puzzled. “I do not know,
exactly,” she admitted. “I suppose we'll spend time with the prince.” She
turned to her husband for the first time since entering the hut. “Isn't that
right? We will be spending our time with Prince John?”

     He gazed steadily at her. Christ, if she
only knew how much more there was to it than that. “Some.”

     Dustin gave him a small smile, a brief
expression that unexpectedly warmed his heart, before turning back to her
friend. “And guess what else? Sir Christopher is a very important man in
England. King Richard himself gave him the title of ‘Defender of the Realm.’
Not even Prince John can give him orders.”

     She sounded suspiciously like she was
bragging and Christopher cleared his throat, shifting his weight on his massive
legs. “Dustin,” he admonished softly.

     Rebecca and Dustin both turned to him, and
the expression on Rebecca’s face was as if she was looking at God himself.

     “My lord, what an honor,” she said
earnestly. “Why, to simply have you in my home is something I can tell my
grandchildren about.” Before he could reply in any way, the redhead turned back
to Dustin. “You married a baron
and
the king’s Defender? Dustin, how did
you get to be so lucky? I can scarce believe it.”