Rise of the Defender (10 page)

     Rebecca’s smile faded. “Nottingham. ‘Tis so
far away, Dustin. Do you truly have to go?”

     Dustin watched the ground as they walked. “Aye,
I do. I will not stay here longer than I have to.”

     “But he did not seem so cruel,” Rebecca
offered hesitantly. “Mayhap he is a kind man if you will only give him a
chance.”

     “I do not want to give him a chance,”
Dustin snipped.

     “He is your husband for life, Dustin,”
Rebecca reminded her. “Will you go through your whole life avoiding and hating
him?”

     “Mayhap,” Dustin lifted her chin defiantly.
“He does not want me, either, Rebecca. He told me so. He doesn’t even know
where I am at this moment because he does not care.”

     “Every man wants you, Dustin,” her friend
said wryly. “And mayhap he could care if you would just be a bit more.…”

     “Stop,” Dustin told her curtly. “I do not
want to speak of this anymore. What kind of dresses are you to make me?”

     The women chatted and stopped at the bakers
for sticky honey bread with currants in it, being careful not to get any on the
fabric. The next stop was the cobblers, and before Dustin realized it, the entire
afternoon had passed her by.

     She felt better than she had earlier.
Rebecca always lifted her spirits. She tried hard to forget this was the day
she buried her mother. But as the day began to wane, she knew she had to return
to Lioncross. She wondered if her husband would expect her to serve him dinner
tonight. She would, as a show of thanks for allowing her to travel to
Nottingham. But in the deep recesses of her mind she wondered if he would
expect more this night.

     He was, after all, her husband. It was her
duty as a wife to couple with him to produce heirs. It was a frightening
thought, for she knew little of coupling, and it was all the more terrifying to
think that her husband's cold demeanor would carry over into the bedchamber. She
had heard from some of the serving wenches that knights could be most rough in
bed, even abusive. She wondered if he was the abusive type.

     “Why are you so quiet?” Rebecca broke into
her thoughts.

     Dustin shrugged, gazing up at Lioncross as
it loomed over the village like a huge sentinel. “Just thinking, I suppose.
Rebecca, what do you know about coupling?”

     Rebecca looked thoughtful. “I know it keeps
my mother in business,” she laughed. “I know that it can be painful the first
time, for the woman, but some say they gain pleasure from it. Why? What was it
like?”

     “I do not know,” Dustin admitted. “He
hasn’t… that is to say, we slept apart last night. Mayhap I can avoid him until
I leave for Nottingham. I do not wish to do
that
with him.”

     Rebecca nodded. “He is a big brute, the
biggest man I have ever seen,” she agreed. “I do not blame you for being
frightened.”

     “I am not frightened,” Dustin insisted. “I
simply do not want him to touch me.”

     Rebecca shook her head. Dustin had a great
amount of dislike for her new husband, yet she could hardly blame her.

     The sun was low in the sky but just as intense
as the two women made their way back to Rebecca’s tidy little hut. Rebecca’s mother
had a huge pot of lamb stew bubbling over the hearth and the rich smells made
Dustin’s stomach rumble. Knowing she would most likely lose her appetite
tonight when she was forced to serve her husband, she heartily agreed to the
older woman’s offer of food and ate two bowls of the thick soup.

     It was a pleasant meal as they ate and
discussed the dresses Rebecca would make. Dustin had purchased dark gold
brocade, a lavender silk, and a heavier wine-colored silk. Rebecca had some
grand ideas about sleeves and bustlines, and Dustin agreed to everything she
suggested. Knowing nothing about fashion or clothes herself, she would agree to
anything.

     Dustin was comforted by the two familiar
women, her grief easing somewhat with the hominess of the hut and the pleasant
conversation. She had always liked it here, and Rebecca's mother, Eve, had
always been very kind to her. The older woman was most distressed to hear of
the events from the previous day and took to brewing Dustin a concoction of chamomile,
rosehips and honey to soothe her mind and stomach.

     It was just before dusk when Rebecca’s
father entered the hut, his ruddy face glazed with concern. His fears were
doubled when he saw that the mistress of Lioncross sat at his hearth.

     “Oh lord, my lady.” he exclaimed.

     Dustin and the other two women rose swiftly.
“What is it, Jacob?” Eve demanded.

     “Welsh raiders,” the man said. Being on the
edge of the village like they were, they were always more vulnerable than anyone
else. “We must hide.”

     Rebecca gave a little shriek and knocked
over her stool. “Under the beds!”

     “How close, Jacob?” Eve was breathless.

     “Close,” her husband replied, hustling the
women toward the beds. “I barely beat them out of the fields.”

     Panic rose in Dustin’s veins. She had lived
here all of her life and had seen what Welsh raiders could do. But never in
that time had she been caught outside the protective walls of Lioncross, and
she was terrified.

     “Are the soldiers riding to meet them?” her
voice was shaking.

     “I do not know, my lady. I can only assume
so,” the man replied, practically shoving his wife under the bigger of the two
beds.

     Of course they were riding to intercept
them. Her soldiers were alert, that is to say, her husband’s soldiers were
alert. And, after all, her husband was a baron and had fought with Richard, hadn’t
he? Surely he was riding out, too. He would protect them.

     Just as Rebecca was sliding under the
smaller bed, the door of the hut crashed in with a deafening noise. Dustin
shrieked, startled and panicked to see three swarthy Welsh bandits storm into the
room, the faces bent on nothing short of murder. She ran cold with terror, she
knew what was going to happen to her and there was no way to stop it.

     But she bolted away just the same, only to
be caught by one of the bastards, who laughed gleefully. At that point Dustin
could only think of what was going to happen to her. She was filled with a
panic and knew that her only hope was to fight like the devil, and fight she did.

     The raider had her around the waist,
holding her up against him and babbling in the harsh Welsh native tongue. She
was twisting wildly, swinging her fists and putting every ounce of strength she
had in her legs to kick him painfully. But he was laughing, spewing Welsh and
snorting, and she knew it would not end well for her.

     He was carrying her though the main room
and back into a smaller all-purpose room. Dustin put her hands out as they
passed through the doorway, making it impossible for him to move her through it
until he removed her wedged arms. He would succeed in removing one only to have
the other grab hold of the jamb and cling for dear life. It took the raider
four tries to get her to release her hold so he could move her though the
archway.

     There was a table in the small room. Dustin
threw herself forward and grabbed a hold of it, struggling fiercely enough that
the man lost his grip for a moment, and it was enough of a chance for her to
grab hold of the leg of the table, winding her arms around it in a death-grip.
She could not, would not, let her anchor go, for she knew if she did, then her
fight was lost.

     The raider was angry now. He grabbed Dustin
by the hair and pulled hard, drawing screams from her but she did not release
her hold. He tugged and tugged, finally grabbing hold of her arms and pulling
with a grunt of effort. He managed to pull Dustin and the table several feet
across the floor, but little else.

     By now the man was thoroughly frustrated
and resorted to smacking Dustin across he head and shoulders, trying to daze
her enough to force her to relinquish her hold. She screamed loudly with the
shock and pain, but bore down and tried to protect her head as much as she
could. But, truth was, she was becoming light-headed and she was scared to
death. Mayhap she was to see her mother and father sooner than she had expected.

     The man grabbed a big iron spoon and hit
Dustin across the temple with it, stunning her. Her grip relaxed and she fell
heavily to the floor, her temple bloodied.

     Pleased with the result and a bit weary
from the effort, the dirty man rolled Dustin over onto her back and tore at her
bodice, his filthy hands roving greedily over her breasts. She moaned and made
a feeble attempt to claw at him, but he laughed and began to push her skirts
up, running his hands along her shapely legs, murmuring in Welsh the entire
time. Spittle hung from his lips; he was going to enjoy this one.

     But he never had the chance. He heard his
cohorts yelling, only to be immediately silenced. Panicked, he rose from his
crouch but never made it completely to his feet as a shadow fell across the
room.  Before he could defend himself, the Welshman’s body collapsed on the
floor as his head rolled to the opposite wall in a bright spray of blood and
flesh.

     Christopher’s sword was still in his hand
and he moved to Dustin. He could see that she was injured and he sheathed his sword
with a hissed curse. The strangest feeling welled up in his chest but he chased
it off angrily, too busy to deal with it at that moment. All he knew was that
he felt a sense of both grief and relief.  It was the oddest sensation he had
ever known.

     He tore off his gauntlets, running his
hands gently over her head, probing the gash along her hairline. Her beautiful
hair was sticky with blood and he found himself stroking it aside gently.
Satisfied her skull wasn’t fractured, he proceeded to assess the rest of her
body and his concern was lessened to find that she had no broken bones. With
his examination complete, he gathered Dustin into his arms and carried her into
the greater room.

     But his tight chest still plagued him and
he was greatly angered by it.
Damn foolish woman.
She was more trouble
than she was worth. Christ, how could he let her go to Nottingham when all she
ever did was get into trouble? He would not be near to save her if she left.
Disgusted with himself for feeling a sense of duty to his wife, he found it
easier to deal with if he focused his anger on the foolishness of her actions.

     Rebecca and her family were huddling by the
hearth, all of them gasping when they saw Dustin, unconscious, with blood
coating her head. Christopher passed them a disinterested gaze.

     “She suffers no broken bones,” he said coolly.
“She will live.”

     “She fought him like a banshee, my lord,”
Rebecca said bravely, her pale face streaked with tears. “She was very
courageous.”

     He raised a brow. “And very foolish. What
was she doing here?”

     “We went shopping, my lord,” Rebecca said. She
bought material for new dresses. To please you,” she added, although it was an
out-and-out lie. The baron looked so angry that she felt she had to say
something to ease his fury toward her friend.

     A flicker of an expression crossed his face
but was quickly gone. He dared a small glance at Dustin s pale face, surprised
by her friend's words.

     “Be that as it may, you were all lucky I
found you in time, or the remains of Lady Dustin would now be coating your
floor,” he said sternly. “Mistress Rebecca, you and my wife are never to leave
the safety of Lioncross unescorted again. Is that clear?”

     “Perfectly, my lord,” Rebecca replied,
seeing his coldness but also noticing just how handsome the man really was.  It
was an odd combination.

     Christopher studied the young woman for a
brief second before turning for the door. Two other huge, fierce-looking
knights were there waiting for him.

     “My lord,” Rebecca called out to him,
taking a few brave steps forward. “How
did
you find us? There are so
many other huts, and you did not know where Dustin had gone.”

     “Did she tell you that I did not know she
was gone?” he asked.

     Rebecca nodded. “Aye, my lord, she did and
she said you did not care.”

     He looked back at the young woman with the
red hair for a few long moments.  He could feel himself relenting somehow,
easing. He cared where she went; he forced himself to admit it.

     “Her screams,” he finally said. “I
recognized her screams.”

     Rebecca’s eyebrows furrowed. “I do not
understand, my lord.”

     He sighed sharply and averted his gaze. “You
asked me how I found her. It was because I recognized her screams. She carries
a distance.”

     He was gone, leaving Rebecca and her family
to clean up a grisly mess in the smaller room but considering it a small price
for their lives.