Rise of the Defender (59 page)

     “Truly?” Gabrielle put Alex down, for the
puppy was wriggling endlessly. “This is only my second, but they are most
exciting. “Who is your husband?”

     “Christopher de Lohr,” Dustin replied.

     Gabrielle's eyes widened a bit. “The Lion's
Claw? You are his wife?”

     Dustin nodded, self-conscious with the
star-struck acknowledgement, but Gabrielle smiled broadly.

     “My husband speaks very highly of him,” she
said. “My husband is Lord de Havilland, Earl of Fenwark. He is jousting
tomorrow, although the mere thought of it scares the wits from me. I begged him
not to, but he insisted.”

     “Why would you not want him to compete?
'Tis an honor,” Dustin said, scooping Alex up as he ran past.

     Gabrielle shrugged, averting her open gaze
for the first time. “Charles is….well, he is not as young as the other
competitors. I am afraid he is going to be seriously injured.”

     “If he is older than the others, then that
should mean that he is more skillful because of his years of experience,”
Dustin said. “Do not worry about him overly.”

     Gabrielle smiled. “Mayhap,” she said.
“Would you like to sit with me and my sister-in-law? We would enjoy your
company.”

     Dustin glanced back at her guard, preparing
to decline, but not wanting to because she instantly liked Gabrielle. Why
shouldn't she have someone to talk to?

     “Aye, I'd like that,” she replied, turning
back to her guard. “Go and get the other puppies. I am going to sit with Lady
de Havilland.”

     The guard didn't leave her until she was
back up in the stands and seated beside Gabrielle and her sister-in-law, the
earl's sister, Isobelle. The older woman was homely and fat, but nice enough,
and Dustin relaxed with Gabrielle's easy manner. She was talking so much that
she missed Edward, Dud, and Trent's match. The next time she looked up,
Christopher was taking the field opposite a man in beautifully sculptured
armor. Her expression went soft.

     “That's Christopher,” she pointed him out
to her friend.

     Gabrielle nodded. “I know, I have seen
him,” she said.  “He is exquisitely handsome, don’t you think?” They all
giggled and Gabrielle flushed pink. “Of course you think he is handsome because
he is your husband. You are so lucky, Dustin. He is gorgeous.”

     Dustin was alternately peacock-proud and
jealous-green, but she smiled anyway. “I think so,” she said as she glanced
over the field. “Point Charles out to me so that I might see what a handsome
husband you have also.”

     Gabrielle found her husband's camp, flying
green and white banners, and pointed. “He's there, in the bright armor, the
shorter one. See? He is inspecting a pole.”

     Dustin squinted and nodded. “Aye, I see
him, but I cannot see his face. You will have to introduce me to him later.”

     “As you will have to introduce me to the
great Lion’s Claw,” Gabrielle said.

     In faith, Dustin never thought of
Christopher in that context, but she nodded in agreement, turning her attention
back to the field as the marshal started the match.

     “Who is he fighting?” Dustin asked.

     Gabrielle leaned toward her, studying the
other knight. “That's Lord Darby, I believe. This ought to be an interesting
fight; the earl believes himself to be the best fighter in the realm.”

     Dustin snorted. “Mayhap behind my husband
and Marcus Burton he is, but that will remain to be seen.”

     “I understand Marcus Burton is going to
champion the prince tomorrow,” Gabrielle said.

     Dustin shrugged. “He had an accident and
will not be fighting. See him beyond the fence, with the bandage around his
arm?”

     Gabrielle did indeed. “Oh, the poor man.
What happened?”

     “I do not know,” Dustin replied truthfully.

     The bout below was beginning. Lord Darby, a
small man, believed himself to be quite clever and skilled and darted about the
field in a frenzy. Christopher, a temperate man on the battlefield, paced
himself and easily fought off the onslaught of blows. But it was like watching
a large cat toy with a mouse; eventually the patient cat was going to win. The
earl may have been faster, but Christopher was by far superior and Dustin
watched with awe.

     Gabrielle watched the expression on the
face of her new friend and in spite of her sweet nature, was deeply envious.
She wished that she cared for her husband they way Lady Dustin obviously cared
for hers. The light in the gray eyes spoke volumes of untold words and
emotions. Although she had yet to see the baron with his wife, rumor had it
that the feeling was mutual and gazing at Lady Dustin's obvious beauty, she could
see why a man among man had broken down and married her.

     The earl believed himself to be doing quite
well when, in fact, he was barely holding his own. He would not acknowledge
that he was getting tired and when he reached his threshold, he resorted to tricks
to bring the baron down. He threw a heavy strike and feigned movement to the
right, instead, rolling quickly to the left and landing a heavy blow on
Christopher's shoulder and neck.

     Dustin gasped and shot to her feet just as
Christopher brought his broadsword around as fast as lightening and caught the
earl on the side of the torso. The diminutive man went hurtling to the damp,
dark earth.

     “Let him have it, Chris.” Dustin hollered
like a rowdy.             “Take his bloody head off.”

     As soon as she said it she remembered just
who she was keeping company with and, chagrinned, she turned around to see
their reaction. One look at Dustin's sheepish face and Gabrielle and Isobelle
broke into gales of laughter.

     “Oh, Lady Dustin, you are a prize,”
Gabrielle wiped her eyes. “I should like to yell like that, too, but I haven’t
the nerve. I admire your spirit.”

     Dustin didn't know what to say. She
grinned, embarrassed, and averted her gaze, seeking out her puppies who were
rough-housing a few feet away.

     Christopher had knocked the wind from the
earl and the bout was declared over. Instead of returning to his camp, he
turned for the lists and Dustin stood up, followed by Gabrielle and Lady
Isobelle. When Christopher reached the platform, he beckoned his wife with a
crooked finger.

     “Who was it that was yelling at me like a
serving wench at a cockfight?” he asked, unlatching his helmet and pulling it
free of his sticky head.

     “Who do you think?” Dustin grinned down at
him. From where she was standing, his head was level with her thighs.

     Broadsword and helmet in one hand,
Christopher pulled his wife off the dais, hugging her around the knees as he
carried her one-armed across the arena. Dustin squealed with delight, bracing
her arms on his broad shoulders and waving good-bye to her new friends. He set
her down when they had reached the safety of his camp.

     “My puppies.” she insisted. “They are still
over there.”

     “They will be well-watched,” he told her,
glancing at the soldiers that were still under the awning. “Who were you
talking to?”

     He held out his arms to her and she removed
his hauberk, glancing at the squire when he whisked it away.

     “Lady Gabrielle de Havilland,” she said.
“Her husband is the Earl of Fenwark. The other woman is the earl's sister, the
Lady Isobelle.”

     “You will not speak with her anymore,” he
said, holding up his arms while his squire unstrapped his sword.

     “But why?” Dustin demanded earnestly. “I
like her.”

     Christopher didn't reply until the sword
and gauntlets were off. Then, he pulled his wife aside, under a young oak where
they were allowed some privacy.

     “Because her husband is very loyal to the
prince,” he said quietly. “Did she ask you anything? What did you speak of?”

     “Nay, she didn't ask me anything in
particular,” Dustin replied. “And we spoke of little things, really. The only
thing she said in regard to the prince was that she heard Marcus would be
championing him in the tournament tomorrow.”

     “What did you say?” he pressed.

     “That he was injured,” she answered, eyeing
him. “We were having such a nice talk and she never pressed me for any
information. Why cannot I be her friend? I do not have any friends in London.”

     “There are plenty of other women you could
become acquainted with,” he said. “But not her. You will stay away from Lady Gabrielle.”

     Dustin crossed her arms stiffly and pouted.
“I do not want to become acquainted with any other women. I like Lady Gabrielle
and I do not care if her husband is bloody Lucifer himself. Why must you think
that everyone is so subversive?”

     “Because they are,” he said flatly. “Do not
argue the point with me, Dustin.”

     She frowned and leaned against the tree,
ignoring him. He watched her for a moment before resting a big arm on an
overhead branch and bending down to kiss his wife on the nose.

     “Do not scowl like that,” he said softly,
with a smile.

     She stuck her tongue out at him for an
answer and he laughed deep in his throat. “Careful, lady,” he cautioned. “One
might consider that to be a proposition.”

     She smiled faintly in spite of herself, but
she was still frustrated. “I promised Lady Gabrielle that I would introduce her
to you.”

     “Out of the question,” he said without
missing a beat, his gaze still soft on her.

     Dustin felt herself melting with his look
and decided to use it to her advantage, she knew she could not keep up the
stiff front for much longer. Her arms wound around his neck and he hugged her
close, although she pulled back when he tried to kiss her.

     “Oh, why cannot we be friends? Why do not
you at least meet her before you pass judgment,” she said, making sure she was
very close but dodging his lips every time he moved for her. “She said you were
handsome and gorgeous.”

     “And she is correct,” he said, finally
capturing her lower lip between his own. “But I will not meet her.”

     “You are not fair, Chris,” she whispered as
his lips suckled hers.

     “Fair?” he whispered back, kissing her
chin. “Fair is not having to watch over my wife every moment for fear that
someone will harm her. Fair is trying my damnedest to keep you safe when others
would see you come to tragedy. Not much in this life is fair, lady.”

     “Lady Gabrielle would not harm me.” She was
having a difficult time keeping her train of thought as his lips moved to her
neck.

     “Not another word, Dustin.” He said it so
seductively she didn't know if he meant Lady Gabrielle or just in general. To
be safe, she shut up and let his mouth devour her throat and shoulders.

     Behind them, someone cleared his throat
loudly and Christopher's head came up from the swell of her bosom, his expression
less than tolerant. David's expression was unwavering.

     “John's in the stands,” he said.

     “What's he doing?” Christopher asked.

     “Sitting with that woman Dustin was sitting
with and fondling the puppies,” his brother replied.

     “My puppies!” Dustin cried softly.

     Christopher shushed her. “We shall go and
get them,” he said evenly before returning his attention to his brother.
“Where's Marcus?”

     “Talking to John,” David answered.

     “Damn,” Christopher hissed.

     Dustin followed her husband around the group
of trees and back across the arena where the prince and Sir Ralph were indeed
sitting with Lady Gabrielle and Lady Isobelle. Ralph had one of the puppies by
the scruff of the neck, inspecting it carelessly, and Dustin had to bite her
tongue to keep from yelling at the man. Even as they approached, she could see
Marcus grabbing onto the remaining wandering pup and holding onto it for
safe-keeping.

     “I shall thank you to hand over my wife’s
pets,” Christopher said coolly, taking Harold from Marcus and handing him to
Dustin.

     The prince gazed disinterestedly at
Christopher, still clutching Alex as he continued his conversation with the two
ladies. Ralph, however, extended Cabal as if the animal were contaminated
somehow.

     “Common gutter beasts the pets of a
noblewoman?” he said haughtily. “How distasteful.”

     “Coming from another gutter beast, I am
sure the pups are not offended,” Dustin snapped, her gray eyes glittering.
“Give me my dog.”

     Ralph smiled narrowly, still holding the
crying pup away from him. “You know, baron, I am considering competing in the
games tomorrow,” he said casually. “I have not yet practiced. Do you think I
have lost my competitive edge lounging around the castle for the past several
months? I sincerely hope not, but I wonder just the same. Mayhap I should find
out.”

     With that, he suddenly tossed the little
pup into the air and withdrew his sword in the blink of an eye. Before anyone
could stop him, the sword arced upward in a flash of blinding metal and sliced
the puppy in two clean halves, blood splattering on the floor and onto the
sheriff. The two puppy parts thudded like wet balls onto the wooden floor of
the lists.