Rise of the Defender (114 page)

     The courtyard was full of men in full armor
and regalia, and even then the party still spilled out of the gates and down
the road. The men-at-arms were astonished at the show of support for their
liege; they, of course, had always known the baron to be a great man. But they
could not imagine that the whole of Richard and his court respected him as much
as they did. It was an awesome sight to behold.

     Dustin saw the men from her bedchamber
window, her hate and agitation fleeing when she saw all of the knights that had
accompanied the king. Without even being told she knew that they had come to
pay their respects to her for the loss of her husband, and all of her fortitude
and mental stability returned in one fell swoop. Out of their love and respect
for her husband, they had come to pay him homage and she would not disappoint.
They wanted to see the Lion Claw's wife, and see her they would. She could feel
the reverence radiating from the army, the very deep admiration they held for
Christopher evident and she was deeply touched. They would not see the crazy,
dirty woman who had run mad with grief for weeks on end, nay; they would see
regal, composed Lady de Lohr as befitting the baron's wife.

     Dashing from the window, she bellowed for
rosewater and a towel.

***

     Richard, his tunic of scarlet with three
fierce lions as clean as anyone had ever seen it, held up a hand in greeting to
Edward and to Marcus.

     “Marcus, I thought you might be here,” he
said. “Ever the faithful vassal to Chris, aren't you?”

     Marcus nodded slowly. “Sire, our prayers
were answered with your safe return.”

     Richard raised a heavy eyebrow and
dismounted stiffly. “Indeed. Yet I come home to discord and chaos, even amongst
my own ranks.” He removed his gauntlets and passed an eye over Edward. “De
Wolfe, you are looking well. I understand you have been taking care of Lady de
Lohr.”

     “In a sense, sire,” Edward bowed. “I am
making sure Lioncross is running smoothly.”

     Richard nodded shortly then glanced over
his shoulder at David. “Are you going to sit there forever?”

     David dismounted, his eyes guarded against
Edward and outright hostile on Marcus. Richard was no fool; he could plainly
read the distrust and animosity between his men. All of his joviality and good
feelings fled.

     “Enough of this,” he snarled. “When we were
together in the Holy Land, you men were inseparable. There were no stronger
bonds anywhere in my ranks, and I return home to find everyone at odds. I shall
not stand for it any longer. I heard rumor that Dustin Barringdon is the root
of this problem, but I refused to believe it. Since when does a mere woman come
between my knights of the realm?”

     The three men looked decidedly uncomfortable
and Edward cleared his throat. “'Tis not that simple, sire, truly,” he said
softly.

     Richard was impatient. “Then we shall
discuss it later, but for now, I wish to see this woman on whom my kingdom
hinges. Where is she?”

     “Inside, sire,” Marcus replied. “I shall
retrieve her for you.”

     “No need,” Philip walked up on the small
group, his faded blue eyes gazing over their heads at the front door to the
keep.  “She has come.”

     All eyes turned to see Dustin emerging from
the door, and not a man who laid eyes upon her beauty dared to breathe. She was
dressed in royal blue silk, Christopher's color, the color that enhanced her
gray eyes like nothing else. Her hair had been brushed within an inch of its
life and pulled softly back from her face, revealing her true loveliness.
Around her neck hung the huge cross Christopher had given her and those closest
to her noticed color to her lips. She looked as beautiful as ever, her head
held high as she paused at the top of the steps.

     Without introduction, the host of knights
knew who she was. It was as if she possessed an aura about her that
distinguished her for another mere lady. When she paused at the top of the
stone stairs, waiting to be summoned forward to meet Richard, every man in
armor dismounted and dropped to their knees, driving their swords into the dirt
before them. It was a unified show of support and respect, a sea of mighty
knights in armor displaying their undying devotion to the wife of their fallen
Defender.

     Dustin was stunned at the swift, decisive
movement of the collective group. There were so many of them that it was a
truly awesome sight to behold, and her eyes widened in astonishment. Every man
was on his knees before her, some with their faces turned toward her, some with
their heads bowed reverently in prayer. Dustin's chest swelled with pride,
wishing Christopher could be here to see the show of force.

     A smile crept onto her lips, a smile of
pleasure and genuine hope. She could feel the respect coming forth and touching
her, silently enveloping her weary body and helping to heal the gaping hole in
her heart left by her husband's passing. Strange that it took no words, no
magic, no medicine to start the healing process. A simple gesture, mighty as it
was, became the catalyst.

     It was completely silent, the only sounds
being the nighthawk that was riding a draft somewhere high above. The sun sunk
lower in the sky and a faint breeze had picked up, but Dustin stood frozen to
the spot as the knights of Richard's realm paid mute homage to her fallen
husband. Behind her, she heard sniffles and she recognized the source.

     “Gowen,” she said softly without turning
around. “Get Christin.
Hurry
.”

     Frozen for a moment in time, she was
entranced by the overwhelming support and continued to gaze back at the men
until Gowen finally appeared at her side, holding Christin. Dustin took her
daughter into her arms, murmuring softly and pointing to the bailey below,
filled with hundreds of silent, powerful knights.

     The baby chewed her fingers, wide-eyed.
Dustin took the steps, coming upon Edward and Marcus, who had kneeled with the
rest of them. In fact, they had all kneeled, even Richard, and when she came
upon him, he took her hand and kissed it genteelly.

     “Lady de Lohr,” he said hoarsely. “Am I to
assume this is Chris' daughter?”

     “Her name is Christin, sire,” Dustin
answered.

     Richard rose unsteadily to his feet,
alternately eyeing her and the baby. Finally, he held out his hands. “May I?”

     She handed the baby to him and the first
thing Christin did was stick her finger in his eye. Richard laughed loudly and
kissed the tiny fingers.

     “She is beautiful,” he responded, handing
her back to Dustin. “I can see Chris in her face most definitely. Arthur would
be proud, my lady.”

     Dustin nodded graciously, deeply pleased
and in awe of the king's presence. Richard's gaze was open on her.  “I came to
meet you, Lady Dustin, and to extend my condolences on the passing of your
husband.”

     “Thank you, sire,” Dustin answered softly.

     Behind him, Sir Philip rose from his crouch
and smiled faintly at her, and Dustin instantly saw the family resemblance.

     “You must be Sir Philip,” she said. “Chris
told me so much of you, I feel as if I have known you a lifetime.”

     “An honor to meet you, my lady,” Philip
replied.

     Dustin glanced down at Philip's side and
saw David's bowed head. Forgiveness filled her and she knew now that whatever
had happened in the past, it had been foolish and ridiculous. She and David had
always liked each other a great deal and the tiff had been a freakish event.
She realized that now, for suddenly she realized everything with a clear, solid
mind. Christopher was dead and she was forever altered, but life would continue
and she was somehow stronger for it. Her strength was in the love they had once
shared and for the character he had built in her through his devotion.  She
understood that now.

     She moved past Richard and Philip and
touched the top of David's head.

     “David,” she said softly. “Get up and greet
your niece. It has been a long time since she saw you last.”

     He raised his head his entire face was wet
with tears. Dustin shushed him softly, encouraging him to his feet and then
falling into his embrace. Against her, David let loose with his sobs as she
whispered comfortingly to him. Forgiveness was more, and better, than he had
ever hoped for.

     Not releasing David, she turned back to
Richard. “Sire, we have refreshments for you and your party. Would you please
come in?”

     Richard smiled at her and cupped her chin
gently between his fingers. She gazed up at him, watching his face ripple with
emotion. At thirty-seven years old, he looked much older and haggard from his
tumultuous life.

     “I understand Chris found love with you, my
lady,” he said softly. “I can see why.”

     She flushed, the first color to her cheeks
in weeks. Passing Christin to Marcus, she took Richard's arm and escorted him
inside.

     As Richard and Dustin headed for the keep,
David didn’t move. His gaze was on Marcus, as hostile and confrontational as
ever.  Marcus met his gaze, steadily, feeling the tension between them explode.

     “How long have you been here?” David
finally asked.

     “Over a week,” Marcus replied steadily.

     David's jaw ticked. “You couldn’t even wait
until my brother was cold in his grave, could you?”

     Marcus didn’t want a fight on his hands,
not with Christin in his arms, so he kept his manner calm. “It is not like
that, David. Give me more credit than that.”

     David wouldn’t back down. “Then you can
leave - now.”

     Marcus' jaw ticked. “Not without Dustin.
She is returning with me to Somerhill.

     David’s nostrils flared but he kept his
cool because of Christin. “No,” he said flatly. “She is staying here.”

     Marcus did not reply, knowing that if
anymore were said it could result in raised voices and frighten the baby. He
simply turned away from David and started back toward the house when a knight
nearby called out to him.

     “Lord Marcus?” The man stood up, taking a
step forward. “I am Sir John de Monfort. I served with you and Lord Christopher
during the siege of Arce.”

     Marcus nodded coolly. “I remember you. A
fine knight.”

     The man nodded. “Thank you, my lord. I was
wondering…the babe. She is Lord Christopher's, is she not?”

     Marcus looked at the baby in his arms, who
was still chewing furiously on her fingers. “The Lady Christin de Lohr.”

     The knight nodded faintly. Without another
word, he approached Christin and fell to one knee, touching her little foot and
bowing his head in a silent prayer. Abruptly, he rose and wandered off, but
immediately behind him was another man to take his place. Marcus soon realized
that the entire group of knights was falling into line to pay their respects to
Lady Christin.

     David stood behind him as the knights filed
past, some touching her foot, some gently touching her head, and simply others
making the sign of the cross before her and murmuring a prayer. And still
others placed small medallions in her little hands, bright objects for her to
play with yet undoubtedly expensive. Marcus was silent, protective, and deeply
touched on Christopher's behalf.

     Christin, being the good-natured baby that
she was, thought all of it was great fun and cooed and babbled the entire time.
She would grab hair of the men who bowed before her or reach out and snag a
piece of tunic. More than once Marcus had to pry her hands free of someone, to
which she would scream baby talk and wave her wet hands angrily at him. More
than once, she batted him in the face with her wet fingers, leaving damp
streaks. But Marcus didn’t flinch.

     David, watching his niece with her
developing personality, could not help thinking just how much like her mother
she was. The more he watched her, the more he realized how very wrong he had
been; except for the hair color, she looked nothing like Marcus and he, too,
was beginning to see Christopher in her features. He only wished his brother
was alive so he could tell him so.

     The knights camped in and around Lioncross
that night, their bonfires sending eerie blobs of fire glowing into the
blackness of the March night and each man feeling closer to the Defender,
walking the very earth that Baron de Lohr had come to love so well.

CHAPTER
FORTY TWO

     The first thing Christopher was aware of
was dull, aching pain. And, Christ, he was so damn hot he could barely stand
it. His mind was groggy and muddy but he gradually became aware of voices
around him and he was immediately concerned he had fallen into enemy hands. He
thrashed a bit but he was far too weak to do anything more and gentle, strong
hands were holding him steady.