Rise of the Defender (79 page)

     “Then tell me what is bothering you,
Marcus,” she said quietly. “Let me help.”

     The statement struck him as sad and ironic.
He gave her a wry smile and released her hand.

     “You cannot, unless you are planning to
leave Chris and marry me,” he said. “I apologize for my actions for I never
meant to upset you or infer that I was angry. It's…it is sometimes difficult
for me to realize that I have fallen in love with my liege's wife, as horrific
as it is.”

     Her face went slack. “You have fallen in
love
with me?” she gasped. “Marcus, how could you? You know I can never… Marcus, I
love Christopher.”

     His face hardened. “I know you do and I
know he would probably kill me if he knew I was telling you this, but tell you
I must for my own sanity.” He was growing agitated. “Call me mad if you will,
but I cannot help what I feel. I kissed you once, Dustin, and I haven't kissed
another woman since. I do not know if I ever will.”

     Dustin felt as if the entire weight of the
world had just been laid on her shoulders. She stepped back from him, denial
all over her face. “And you blame me? I have done nothing to encourage you.”

     “Nothing except what comes naturally, and I
cannot blame you for it,” he shot back passionately. He stopped to compose
himself, running his hand over his cropped black hair. “I am sorry, Dustin. For
everything, I am sorry. I have tried to put you away in my mind, but I have
been unsuccessful as of yet. I suppose I need time to suppress my feelings and
I apologize if I am distant or cold in the process. But what I feel for you,
Dustin...it scares me.”

     She gazed back at him, feeling so badly
that she was the cause of his distress. “Christopher said the same thing to me,
once,” she whispered. “He said I frightened him. Why do I scare the two of you
so? I am a simply woman, for God's sake, not Lucifer in a disguise.”

     Marcus let out a strangled chuckle. “You
are simply the most remarkable woman either of us has ever met. Unfortunately
for me, Christopher was the lucky one. Yet I know that you would have loved me
had I met you first, and that is my foremost regret in life,” he sighed and
slapped his thigh in defeat. “Ah, well, there is no use in dwelling over what
could have been.”

     She looked back at him a moment, studying
him, before sighing softly. “I think I could have easily loved you, but I
married Christopher and I love him dearly,” she said. “I am sorry to cause your
pain, Marcus, I would never hurt you knowingly.”

     “I know,” he said with a weak smile. “And I
am sorry to have been such a bear. I shall try harder to return to my sweet,
charming self.”

     She grinned. “Do not fret over it,” she
said. “If you are gruff, ‘twill give me an excuse to slug you and it will be
the most exercise I have had in weeks. Christopher practically talks for me so
that I will not strain myself.”

     Marcus laughed softly. “He is driving you
insane, isn't he? The child is all he can talk about.”

     “I know,” she nodded. “He talks to it every
night, puts his mouth right against my belly and tells the babe what he expects
of him.”

     Marcus could just see Christopher talking
to Dustin’s naked belly and he chuckled. She giggled in return, pleased to see
that the 'old' Marcus was on the mend. Without warning, she went over to him
and put her arms around him, squeezing him affectionately. She probably
shouldn't have, but she hated to see him upset. He responded stiffly, and she
stepped back with a bashful grin on her face.

     “I am glad you are not angry with me,” she
said.

     “Never,” he insisted, glancing over his
shoulder to the steep stairwell behind him, partially shadowed in the darkness.
“Well, I am expected on the field. Go back to your rooms before Christopher
sends out a search party.”

     He turned for the stairs and was most of
the way down the flight when he heard Dustin calling him from above. He turned
to see her standing in the doorway, the light from the corridor behind her
silhouetting her figure. She was saying something he could not quite hear and
he asked her to repeat herself. Confused, she did not hear his response and
started to descend the steep, narrow stairs.

     Marcus was two or three steps from the
bottom, looking up at her and thinking it was not such a good idea for her to
be descending the flight. It was too steep and angled. He took another step
toward her and called out to her to return to the top. Dustin took her eyes off
the stairs for a moment because she hadn't caught his words, and when she did,
she inevitably stepped on the long hem of her surcoat.

     Marcus saw it coming and there was
absolutely nothing he could do to prevent the fall. He saw her pitch forward,
heard his own hoarse shout, and then she was tumbling down, down, down in a
mass of wool and hair. He tried to run to catch her but he was simply too far
away and by the time she crashed into him, she had fallen nearly the whole
flight of stairs.

     Marcus caught Dustin in his arms as she
tumbled into him, her body limp with unconsciousness. Her head was cut and
blood was coming from her nose, and Marcus filled with complete and utter
horror. He tried to force his legs to move, to run up the stairs with her
cradled in his arms, but he could not seem to function. His whole body was
shaking, running hot and cold with disbelief and panic.

     But move he had to; Dustin's life depended
on it. With a shout of agony, he propelled himself back up the steps and ran as
fast as his legs could carry him.

***

     By the time Christopher barreled back to
his apartments, the entire corridor was lined with soldiers and various
knights, all parting out of his way like the Red Sea to Moses. David was with
him, for it was he who went to find Christopher after Marcus had stumbled into
the apartments with Dustin squeezed against him, her arms flopping about
loosely and her neck hung over his arm.

     Christopher could not even think. His mind
was a black bog of terror and anguish, only knowing that his wife had been
injured in some way but not much else. Marcus had been nearly incoherent in his
explanation to David and the others.  All they knew was that she was badly
injured and a surgeon had been summoned.

     All of his knights were in the antechamber,
their eyes wide with concern as Christopher and his brother bolted into the
room. Christopher’s eyes immediately found Marcus, standing near the bedchamber
door. Marcus knew what had happened and Christopher would tear the man apart if
the explanation was not clear and forthcoming.

     “What in the hell happened?” he roared at
Marcus.

     Marcus was coming apart, desperately trying
to control himself. “She fell down a flight of stairs, Chris. I tried to save
her, but I was too far away.”

     Christopher let out a strangled cry and put
two huge hands over his mouth to prevent any more sounds from escaping. He was
breathing so hard and so fast he was nearly hyperventilating.

     “What stairs?” he asked through his hands.

     “The flight at the end of the hall; the
servant's well,” Marcus whispered in reply, closing his eyes and turning away
in agony.

     Christopher could only stand there and
stare at his friend's dark head. He was incapable of moving or speaking while
his frenzied mind sorted out the information.

     “Who's with her?” he choked.

     “Burwell and his assistant,” Leeton
supplied. Marcus was too devastated to speak. “They have been in with her for a
while now.”

     As if on cue, Burwell came bursting out of
the room and dashed to the front door, completely ignoring the occupants of the
antechamber. He yelled to a few of his men out in the hall to retrieve a
midwife and slammed the door shut again, only then noticing Christopher and the
others.

     His ruddy face was intense to the point of
anger, but it softened when his eyes fell on the baron.

     “How is she?” Christopher demanded.

     “She is injured, my lord, injured,” he
said. Burwell was not the great communicator, but he was an extremely competent
surgeon.

     “
How
injured?” Christopher could
hardly bring himself to ask.

     Burwell approached him, his gruff manner
easing as he reluctantly met Christopher's eye. “No broken bones, I think, but
she bruised and battered.” Then, much to everyone's concern, put a beefy hand
on Christopher's shoulder. “There will be other babes, my lord, for she is
young and strong. But my biggest concern at this moment is stopping her
hemorrhaging, for she is losing too much blood for my taste.”

     His assistant said something to him and
Burwell turned into the gruff and crusty physician again. He dropped his hand
from Christopher and began ranting about something or another, storming back
into the bedchamber and slamming the door, leaving Christopher standing in the
middle of the room in shock.

     After an eternal minute, he sank slowly
into a chair. Gripped with grief, he hung his head.

     No one knew quite what to say to him. David
moved over to the chair but his tongue caught in his mouth and he could think
of nothing that would be remotely comforting.

     “I am sorry, Chris,” he said quietly. “But
there will be more children and….”

     Christopher shot out of his chair, his face
red and his body as tight as a spring.

      “Goddammit, I do not care about the baby.
My wife is in there bleeding to death and that is all I am concerned with.” He
staggered about aimlessly, dragging his hands over his face. “Christ, why did
this happen? Why did this have to happen to the only good thing that has ever
come into my life? What have I ever done to deserve this grief?”

     His speech was as passionate and moving as
any of them had ever seen hm. The silence that met with his plea was deafening,
for he wanted answers to questions no one was able to give.

     “God is wise and merciful, Chris,” Marcus
said in a strange, hoarse voice. “You must trust that He will pull Dustin
through.”

     “To hell with God!” Christopher snapped
with fury and force, whirling on Marcus. “And to hell with you, too. This is
all
your
fault, Burton. What was she doing on the stairs? And why were
you
there? Why are you always around my wife?”

     “Because you ask it of me,” Marcus pushed
himself off the wall, glaring at Christopher. “You ask me to protect her,
remember? And I didn't push her down those stairs; she tripped. It was a
goddamn accident!”

     Edward was up, pushing Marcus away from
Christopher as the two men came dangerously close to one another.

     “Sit down, Marcus,” he said with quiet
firmness. “David, pour your brother a cup of wine and set him down.”

     David gripped Christopher's arm to steer
him toward a chair but he pulled away roughly. “I do not need wine,” he barked.
“I need to see my wife.”

     The door to the apartments opened and a
small, old woman came through, escorted in by one of Christopher's soldiers.
She curtsied to the roomful of agitated men.

     “My lords, I am Gricelda Warwick, the
midwife,” she said. “Burwell sent for me.”

     Christopher moved forward and grasped the
woman by the arm. “In here,” he told her.

     He pulled her toward the bedchamber and
opened the door. It became apparent that he intended to follow the woman in,
and Edward reached out to grab him.

     “Where are you going?” he asked with
concern. “Leave them to work on your wife alone. You shall do no good in there.”

     Christopher glared at Edward and yanked his
arm away. To Edward, it almost looked as if the baron was about to cry for his
eyes took on a most unfamiliar haze. Without a word, he lowered his gaze and
pushed forward into the bedchamber, closing the door behind him.

     The room was dim. The midwife rushed over
to the bed where Burwell and his assistant were administering to Dustin,
swathed in a disarray of linen sheets and other bedclothes. Her legs were up
and her thighs parted, just as they parted for him when she drew him down into
her. His eyes immediately went to her face; she was as white as the sheets and
there was a bandage on her forehead, misshapen and crude.

     Christopher’s breath caught in his throat
at the sight. Never in his life had he felt more helpless or anguished over
anything. His chest twisted painfully, making it difficult to breathe as he
took halting steps toward her.

     “Get out,” Burwell spat at him, moving
aside to give the midwife better access.

     Christopher ignored him, moving to the head
of the bed and falling to his knees beside his wife's head. The bed had been
lowered at the head and the foot of it raised high with chairs. He noted the
angle of the bed as he raised a shaking hand and touched Dustin's forehead
tenderly.

     Burwell stood there and alternately glared
at Christopher and paid close attention to what the midwife was doing. “I gave
her something for the pain, baron. She is asleep and I do not want you
upsetting her.