Rise of the Defender (60 page)

     Dustin screamed and turned away sharply,
burying her face in the first available body which happened to be Marcus.
Christopher bound up onto the platform and had Ralph by the throat, his huge
fist driving into the man’s face like a hammer into soft metal. The prince
yelped at being jostled and dropped Alexander, and the two women next to him
screamed horrifically and covered their eyes.

     All of Christopher's knights, save Marcus,
jumped onto the stands but no one attempted to stop Christopher from beating
Ralph's brains in. In fact, there were several dozen soldiers witnessing the
entire brawl and no one made a move to intervene. John, seeing that his cohort
was receiving a heavy thrashing, began spouting off to any soldier he made eye
contact with to restrain the baron, but he was blatantly disobeyed. Frustrated,
he took to jumping Christopher himself and found himself bridled by David and
Leeton.

     Christopher had reached his limit with
Ralph. He didn't kill him when he took his wife the day she arrived, although
he should have, and he didn't kill him when he pressured and threatened Marcus,
but he should have done something. Every blow had Dustin's or Marcus' or name
on it and after pounding the man senseless, he threw him over the side of the
lists to the cold earth below.

     Ralph wallowed around aimlessly, trying to
stand but not knowing which way was up. Christopher descended the short flight
of wooden stairs, stalking the sheriff like a lion for a kill. Ralph saw him
coming and struggled to his feet, throwing an off-balance punch that
Christopher easily subdued before driving his fist into the Ralphs' gut and the
man collapsed on the dirt.

     “And that,” Christopher said in a strange
raspy voice, “was for the puppy.”

     Ralph vomited the contents of his stomach
into the dust, breathing loudly. “You bastard.” he heaved. “I should have
killed your wife when I had the chance.”

     Christopher's features stiffened and he
moved for him once more, but David stopped him.

     “No more,” he said quietly. “You shall kill
him if you do.”

     Christopher looked at David, who nodded his
head slightly in Dustin's direction. He looked to her, crying against Marcus,
and knew it would not be a good thing to commit murder in front of his wife. As
it was, she had to witness a sound beating on top of seeing her puppy
dismembered. He forgot all about Ralph.

     “De Lohr!” John came rushing down the
stairs. “Leave him alone, I say. How dare you lay a hand on someone of higher
ranking!”

     Christopher swung on the prince. “I
wouldn't have had to lay a hand on him if you disciplined him once in a while.
Unfortunately, your lack of control has forced Ralph to learn a very hard
lesson, one I will repeat gladly, if needed.”

     John began to shake and twist and all
present could see a fit coming on. His face grew quite red and he began to
froth at the mouth. From that point on the man was incoherent, and Christopher
turned his back on him as he fell to the ground in great convulsions of rage.

     “Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently,
taking her from Marcus. “Let's go back to the apartments.”

     She was sobbing pitifully, like a child,
clutching Harold to her chest. “Alex,” she managed to choke out.

     “Where's the other one?” Christopher looked
around, as did Marcus and David.

     “He's here, sire,” Lady Gabrielle stood on
the edge of the platform, handing Alexander down to David.

     Christopher looked up at the woman, her
pretty face pale and tear-streaked. “Thank you,” he mumbled, eyeing her for a
moment. “Where is your husband, my lady? Do you have an escort back to your
rooms?”

     “Aye, sire,” she nodded, pointing to the
older man several feet away from her.

     Christopher recognized the earl and,
nodding shortly, handed the other puppy to his wife and led her away gently.
His knights followed in a group, Marcus bringing up the rear. He had been
watching John throw a fit next to Ralph's limp body, disgusted to the bone that
his greed and envy had caused him an alliance with the man. Again, he could
only pray that Richard was in a forgiving mood when he informed him of his
treasonous act.

     Practice was over for the day.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

     Dustin was exhausted and ill by the time
they reached their apartment. She gently set the puppies down on the floor and
wandered into their bedchamber, too distraught to do anything more than throw
herself on the bed and curl up into a ball.

     Christopher threw a few table scraps on the
floor to keep the pups occupied and followed his wife into the bedchamber,
unlatching what remained of his armor and letting it clatter to the floor by
the door. All the while, his eyes were riveted to his wife as she lay in a
shaking heap upon the bed, and he silently cursed Ralph again for his dastardly
act.

     He tore off his tunic and went over to the
bed, lying carefully on the bed next to Dustin. Although her hysterical crying
had ceased, she continued to hiccup and sob and chewed her nails absently. His
heart ached for her and he found himself stroking her head gently, pulling her
hair back away from her face and tucking it behind her ear, watching the colors
in the dim light. He didn't say anything because he knew what she needed at the
moment was simply to be comforted, and he hoped his soft touch and warm body
pressed against her back at least offered some.

     He watched her pale face, her eyes becoming
heavy-lidded as she lay there. She was such a strong and independent woman that
it was moments like these where her true vulnerability came through, and she
was as fragile as a flower. This was the Dustin that needed him the very most.

     The monkey suddenly appeared on the pillow
above her head. Christopher continued to stroke her hair as he watched the
monkey, blinking rapidly and moving its little beard crazily. The little monkey
inched forward, resting on its haunches, then inched forward again. He
continued to watch it, wondering what it was going to do, until it was
practically sitting on top of Dustin's head. He found himself tensing, waiting
for the beast to go crazy again, when a tiny little hand shot out and began
rubbing Dustin’s hair rapidly, mimicking Christopher's much longer strokes.

     He smiled broadly at the monkey. “That's
right, George. Be sweet to my lady, she has had a difficult day.”

     “What's he doing?” Dustin whispered, a
finger between her teeth.

     “Comforting you,” Christopher replied,
leaning over and kissing her cheek softly.

     Dustin sighed ragged, closing her eyes.
Christopher began to rub her shoulders and arms therapeutically as George
progressed beyond stroking her hair to picking it apart, inspecting her scalp
for vermin. Christopher laughed softly at the monkey, undoing the stays on his
wife's surcoat and loosening it to allow his caressing hands better access. Her
muscles were tight and her whole body tensed, but she was gradually relaxing
under his expert hands. After several long minutes, she fell into a fatigued
sleep.

     He continued to touch her even though he
knew she could not feel him simply for the pleasure and comfort it brought him.
George, finding nothing of interest on Dustin's scalp, took to playing with her
hair.

     Christopher pulled the coverlet up over his
wife and quietly admonishing the monkey to be silent, gathered his armor and
moved into the antechamber. The puppies had curled up on one of the rugs and
had fallen asleep, exhausted after their busy day. He walked past the sleeping
dogs and opened the front door, ordering one of the soldiers in the hall to
summon his squire.

     Dustin slept through the afternoon.
Christopher checked on her every few minutes, keeping himself busy in the
antechamber with various things in preparation for the tournament on the
morrow. David came up to sit with him, lounging about like a gentleman of
leisure when they both knew he could be out in the arena practicing. Edward and
Leeton, Dud and Trent all came by at various times with various excuses for
their visit, but Christopher knew they had come to see how Dustin was and he
told them frankly that she was exhaustedly sleeping. Since it seemed his
knights could not practice without him hanging over their shoulders,
Christopher sent each man about on a particular errand for the morrow.

     Late in the afternoon, Marcus called. His
handsome face was grim as he pulled Christopher into a private corner.

     “John is out for blood, Chris,” he said
quietly. “He is spreading the word that any man mortally wounds you in the
tourney tomorrow will be awarded ten pieces of gold.”

     Christopher shrugged. “So?”

     Marcus looked hard at him. “And I have
heard from reliable sources that if you are killed, John intends to auction
Dustin off to the highest bidder.”

     Christopher met his gaze for a moment
before raising his eyebrows in an unconcerned gesture. “Then make sure you or
David are the highest bidder.”

     “You are not upset?” Marcus asked,
surprised. “Hell, I was livid.”

     Christopher crossed his arms confidently.
“Marcus, legions of Saladin’s men could not kill me. There is no possible way
in the world that an English knight, no matter how good, is going to kill me.
However, were you competing against me tomorrow the odds would be considerably
higher. Quit worrying.”

     “I am not, I am simply informing you of the
latest from the den of jackals,” Marcus said. Then he shifted the subject. 
“How is Dustin?”

     “Sleeping,” Christopher replied, moving
back into the room.

     Marcus sat in a chair, trying to move his
right arm to a comfortable position. “I saw Edward working with the jousting
poles down by the arena,” he said. “He's mounting the new crow's foot tips on
them instead of the spears.”

     “I know, I told him to,” Christopher
replied. “'Tis too easy to kill someone with those spear tips; I simply want to
unseat them. Most everyone is mounting their poles with crow's foot.”

     “So I have seen,” Marcus replied. “But
'twill be easy to pick out the men who have in mind to kill you tomorrow; I
suspect they will be the ones that still bear the spear tips.”

     Christopher smiled flatly. “I shall bear
that in mind.”

     The sun was low in the sky and it was just
the two of them, sitting comfortably before a glowing hearth. The events of
yesterday, of the morning, seemed years away. The silence was comfortable,
thoughtful.

     “There will be civil war,” Marcus said
softly, staring at the dying embers.

     Christopher rubbed his beard. “'Tis hard to
say,” he replied. “I have been back in England for over a month and have yet to
feel the true pulse of favor. You seem to think England divided from your trip
to the north. I simply do not know yet.”

     “Do you intend to send word to Richard
soon?” Marcus inquired.

     “And tell him what?” Christopher gestured
with his hand. “Nay, Marcus, I will not waste Richard's time with gossip and
rumors. I must have more solid evidence before I send him a missive.”

     Marcus leaned on his good arm, letting out
a heavy sigh. “John will start a civil war, you know. He's already amassing a
mercenary army he thinks is a secret.”

     “And he has already bled the coffers dry so
I cannot imagine what he expects to pay the army with,” Christopher replied.

     “But they are amassing nonetheless and when
he strikes, 'twill be your duty to quell him in the name of Richard,” Marcus
reminded hm. “That, my friend, constitutes civil war.”

     Christopher sat, deep in thought. Marcus
was right, although Christopher refused to be an alarmist. Civil war was a long
way off, in his opinion. But he, too, felt it was inevitable and the thought depressed
him.

     “Tell me,” he said, changing subjects.
“When do you intend to inspect this great fortress of Somerhill?”

     “Whenever circumstances allow me to leave,”
Marcus replied. Then, he grinned. “John is really furious about that, isn't
he?  He wasted a perfectly good baronetcy on a crippled knight.”

     Christopher snorted humorously. “Score
another victory for Richard's cause.”

     They snickered and insulted John, sharing a
carafe of wine between them as the sun sank lower in the fall sky. Days were
growing shorter and colder, signaling the onset of winter’s approach.

     As the conversation faded, Christopher
noticed a swaying figure in the doorway to the bedchamber. Dustin was standing
there, her loosened surcoat all but falling off as she rubbed her eyes sleepily.
Christopher set down his goblet and rose.

     “So you decided to wake?” he teased gently.
“Did you sleep well?”

     She nodded, yawning. “George is still
asleep on your pillow,” she said. “Hello, Marcus.”