Rise of the Defender (68 page)

     “Good Christ,” he muttered.

     Before Dustin could ask him what he meant,
John glanced over at the two of them, looking rather pleased with himself. “His
name is Sir Dennis le Londe.”

     “Dennis the Destroyer,” Marcus hissed. “The
man is no champion, sire, he's a butcher.”

     “And he's worth every penny.” John shot
back. “Although I paid him far less what I paid you, Burton. He and two of his
men, along with three of my elite knights, will be competing for my glory.”

    
Mercenaries
. Marcus felt his chest
swell with disgust and anxiety. Dustin, her eyes wary, tugged at his arm.

     “Who is that man?” she asked.

     Marcus controlled himself, for Dustin had
only recently quelled her fears and anything he said could send her off on
another fit of terror. “A mercenary, Dustin,” he said quietly. “He fought with
the French in Palestine a year or so back and was known for his....aggressive
fighting.”

     What he didn't tell her is that the man
single-handedly destroyed two Muslim settlements, mostly women and children,
under the guise of peace. He was a completely brutal, unscrupulous man and
Marcus wished to God he was fighting in these games for the simple pleasure of
humiliating the bastard.

     He didn't know if Christopher was aware of
Dennis’ presence, but one thing was certain; Christopher was going to have his
hands full. If the baron believed these games to be an easy victory, the stakes
had suddenly changed.

     “Is he good?” Dustin's voice broke into his
train of thought. “He cannot beat Christopher, can he?”

     Marcus' jaw ticked. “No.”

     Ralph came alongside of John, taking a seat
to the left of the prince and placing himself nearly next to Dustin. “What did
you expect, Burton? The prince must have a champion, and a fine one can be
bought for the right price,” he said. “And after Lord Christopher rendered me
quite unable to compete yesterday, I was forced to make other arrangements.”

     Marcus bit back several harsh retorts,
cursing himself for ever becoming involved with these two jackals. “So you hire
three blood-thirsty mercenaries to compete in a field of honorable knights.

     “Exactly,” Ralph said with a fake smile. “I
would wager to say that de Lohr will have to fight for his trophy, do not you
think? ‘Twill not be the easy ride he would have believed it to be.”

     Marcus' big body tensed and he fought down
the urge to rant and yell and destroy everything within his reach. Dustin,
however, had not caught on to his concern as she continued to watch the
prince's champion prepare.

     “Look at his helmet, Marcus,” she said,
leaning into him. “It has horns on it. And his horse's armor has spikes all the
way around.”

     Marcus ' cobalt blue eyes were as dark as
midnight. “I know.”

     He glanced at Dustin after a minute, her
beautiful face openly surveying the field. He was so thankful that his fears
had not rubbed off on her, but he found himself more and more apprehensive by
the moment. Jesus, what if Christopher was indeed killed in front of her? As
ruthless and conniving as le Londe was, anything was possible. Christopher had
told him, in jest, to be the highest bidder should he in fact perish and Dustin
was put on the block. He knew now that if anything did happen, Somerhill be
damned. He would take Dustin and flee the country.

     The marshals were taking the field and the
stands were filled to overflowing. The air fairly bristled with excitement now
as the knights were beginning to form two lines in anticipation of the pageant
of colors that would begin the tournament. Dustin could see her husband's
knights but she did not see him.

     “Where’s Chris?” she asked Marcus, pointing
to the knights.

     Marcus, still under a cloud of doom and
gloom, managed an ironic chuckle. “He doesn't like the pageantry or the pomp,
so he lets David and the others soak up the adoration,” he said, then turned to
Dustin. “But just you wait; it has been over three years since the population
has seen Chris in a tournament and they will welcome him back with open arms;
they love him.”

     Dustin, with a look of surprise, looked
back over the stands at the hundreds of people waving then hands and kerchiefs
and yelling for their favorite champion.

     “Truly?” she faced front again. “I didn't
realize he was so popular.”

     “Oh, Dustin, there is none more so,” Marcus
said fervently.   “Chris has been the reigning champion of the joust and
hand-to-hand since he was twenty-two. Only in his absence have there been
others, but the king has returned to regain his crown and the crowd will go mad
for him.”

     Dustin smiled faintly, a prideful smile.
“What about you? How well do you do?”

     He shrugged and looked over the field
again. “I have fought Chris seven times on the field,” he said. “I have beat
him twice in the joust and thrice with my sword. I am the only one who's ever
come close.”

     “And you are very good,” she said
agreeably, eyeing his bandaged arm underneath the mall. “I am sorry you will
not have a chance to improve your record.”

     “If I improved my record, it would be at
your husband's expense,” Marcus reminded her with a smile.

     She brushed a stray bit of hair off her
face, openly studying his arm again. “Will you ever be able to use it again?”

     “Only God can say for sure,” he replied.
“The feeling is there and the bones will heal. 'Twill be up to me to work it
back to strength.”

     She shook her head, her hand lingering on
his arm for a moment longer before she folded it in her lap and turned her
attention back to the field. Marcus stared at her until the trumpets heralded
the start of the games and the crowd roared with enthusiasm.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

     The joust was first and the knights drew
lots to see who would compete against each other for the first round. After the
opening bout, Dustin had already had enough. One young knight nearly lost an
arm and her fear for Christopher returned full measure. He was not scheduled to
go until almost the end of the rounds and her anxiety was making her mouth dry
and her hands tingle painfully.

     Marcus, cool and calm, sat impassively as
he watched, commenting on every right or every wrong move. By the third bout, she
was ready to throttle him if he spewed forth one more gem of criticism.

     David's turn was up and he neatly disposed
of his opponent on the first run. Dustin cheered wildly for him, yelling like a
roughhouse wench until Marcus yanked her back into her seat. She shut up, but
she continued to grin and wave at David until he waved back.

     Edward was up two bouts later, taking on
one of John's mercenary knights. Two passes and two hard hits later, Edward
ended up on his arse and was automatically disqualified. Shaken, he made his
way from the field under his own power and the crowd acknowledged him politely.
Leeton came immediately after him, taking down the Earl of Warkworth's captain
with one powerful blow. He was quite triumphant until he learned he had caved
the man's chest in and, an hour later, the man died.

     Dud won his bout as well, up against the
formidable Earl of Norwich. It took four passes to take the earl down, and even
Marcus roared his approval when the earl clattered to the ground in a thump of armor.

     As long as Christopher’s men were winning
and unharmed, Dustin was ecstatic. She screamed and hollered, much to the
disapproval of John and Ralph. Ralph even went so far as to admonish her to be
neutral since she was awarding trophies, but a deadly look from Marcus shut him
up.

     John's champion, Sir Dennis, broke the neck
of the man he was jousting against by bringing his pole up at an angle in the
very last seconds before they clashed and caught the man in the neck.

     Everyone in the stands heard the snap and
the knight was dead before he hit the ground. The entire crowd shot to their
feet in horror and Dustin gasped aloud, her hand to her mouth in disbelief.

     Sir Dennis pranced around the ring,
gloating in complete disrespect of the dead knight even as his comrades hurried
out to the field to take the body away. Dustin was sickened, for all she could
see was Christopher laying there, dead. Marcus gently sat her down once again
and she found herself turning to him for comfort. She was terrified.

     “Well, well, accidents will happen,” John
said carelessly.

     Dustin looked at him with scorn, preparing
a sharp reply, but Marcus whispered in her ear and she bit her tongue.

     Christopher's bout was next. Dustin's
attention was riveted to his imposing form as he rode out onto the field on his
great white destrier. At the very moment the animal's hooves hit the brown dirt
of the arena, the crowd knew their champion had arrived and went absolutely
mad.

     Even though Marcus had forewarned her,
Dustin was still startled when the roar went up. Beyond excitement or any other
rational feeling, she could do naught but stare at him as he accepted his pole
from his squire and moved it to a comfortable position.

     “Oh, lord,” she moaned. “Marcus, I cannot
watch this.”

     He grinned at her; she was as white as a
sheet. “Be brave, Dustin. There is none better at this than your husband.”

     She stared at Christopher for a moment
longer before turning away and shutting her eyes tightly. “I cannot look. Who
is his opponent?”

     “Sir Stephen Marion,” Marcus answered.

     “Him?” She jerked her head around to look
again and then just as quickly looked away. ”Christopher said he was a pompous
fool.”

     “He is,” Marcus agreed. “But he is an
excellent knight. This should be an exciting bout.”

     “Cease,” she snapped, covering her eyes
with her right hand.

     Marcus laughed softly, enjoying her terror.
“Here comes the marshal,” he commented.

     “Do not tell me anymore,” she ordered,
pressing her hand tighter against her eyes.

     He leaned closer to her. “He's holding up
his flag and the knights are preparing their poles.”

     “Marcus!” she yelled softly. “Shut up or I
will kill you myself. I cannot watch this.”

     “You are not,” he reminded her. “So I will
be your eyes.”

     “Nay, do not!” she shook her head, terror
and excitement and apprehension filling her full to overflowing.

     “There goes the flag.” Marcus announced.

     Dustin was seized with dread. She could
hear the destriers charging, their hooves thundering loudly as the two knights
approached one another with their poles aloft. She began to whimper softly with
mounting fear as the rumble grew louder and louder and she could hear Marcus
laughing quietly.

     There was a deafening crash and the crowd
cheered uproariously. Dustin's hand flew from her eyes and she whipped her head
around to see her husband, still mounted, reining his horse to a halt at the
opposite end of the arena. Sir Stephen, also still mounted, was fumbling with
his pole as a young squire ran out onto the field to retrieve his shield.

     Dustin sagged into her chair, her hand to
her forehead. She was absolutely drained.

     “You see? He's fine,” Marcus said. “Watch
the next pass.”

     She eyed him, too weak with emotion to
respond. The marshal was again on the field with his little yellow flag. Dustin
watched the flag fall and in spite of her great apprehension, found herself
unable to cover her eyes the second time.

     Christopher spurred his steed forward, the
horse digging deep holes with the power of his leap. Man and beast became one
as they charged forward, aiming for the opposition's shield, waiting for the
correct moment to lower the joust pole. The seconds that passed were both
elongated and shortened; it seemed to take forever to reach one another, yet
suddenly, they were clashing with cataclysmic force.

     Dustin jumped with shock when Sir Stephen
went sailing to the ground in a crash of metal. The crowd roared their approval
and ladies favors filled the air like rain, falling softly to the dirt of the
arena for Christopher as he swung his destrier around and made a pass in front
of the stands in a rare display of acknowledgment. Mayhap it was because he was
sentimental for his first bout since returning home, yet for whatever the
reason, he drew strength from the roar of the crowd.

     Dustin's heart surged with pride as he
thundered past her, not realizing she had the most amazing smile on her lips.
As he had promised, he was uninjured and her doubts were quelled for the
moment.

     He brought the horse around again and came
to an unsteady halt directly in front of her. Dustin, oblivious to the cheering
crowd, jumped to her feet and rushed forward.