Rise of the Defender (121 page)

     Sara quickly bustled over to Dustin and
deftly helped her remove her things. But Dustin refused the girl's offer to
help bathe her, preferring to do it alone. The only person she ever allowed to
bathe her was Christopher, and baths in general were a sore memory. He had so
loved to bathe her.

     Alone in her new surroundings, Dustin slid
into the great tub and washed her hair twice, soaping her skin until she was
sure she had scrubbed herself raw. The tub was so big it would have been
perfect for two people, and before she realized it, tears welled and fell,
mingling with the warm water.

     “Why, Christopher, why?” she whispered
painfully. “Why did you leave me? You promised you would return.”

     Soft sobs filled the room, not unheard by
young Sara in the alcove. She had slipped in through a servant's door to hang
Dustin's surcoats to rid them of wrinkles and had heard the heartfelt plea like
a stab to her romantic heart. Distressed, she silently exited the room and ran
immediately to find her mother. Iris sought out Marcus in mere minutes.

     There wasn't a person at Somerhill that did
not know of Dustin's plight by dinner. Dustin showed up on Marcus' arm for
dinner, dressed in an apricot-colored silk he had purchased for her. She looked
pale and tired, but was polite as she was introduced to the various occupants
of the keep and hearing the stories of those who had been at Somerhill some
length.

     Iris had been at Somerhill since she had
been a young girl. The baron that had occupied it before Marcus had been the
last of a long, distinguished line and when he passed away, he left no heirs
and the property reverted to the throne. But Iris and two of the old man's
knights had stayed on to run the keep before Marcus took it over, and he had
kept them.

      The knights that had come with the castle
were older, seasoned men who had served King Richard's father, King Henry, and
spoke favorably of the man. Sir Alan Armstrong and Sir Nels McCullogh each had
younger wives, Lady Margaret and Lady Emma, respectively, and five young children
between them. As for the other knights Marcus had brought with him, Sir
Stephen, Dud, and Sir Dalton le Crughnan, they were a respectful bunch and she
had appreciated their professional attitude toward her on the journey.

     Dud had fought with Christopher on the
quest and, she found herself engaged in a pleasant conversation with him,
listening to the exploits of her late husband with delight. At first, he had
been very reluctant to speak of Christopher, but she had persisted and he
obliged. Dud soon found himself telling Christopher's tales for the entire
table and they hung on every word. Dustin likened it to the days at Lioncross
with Christopher and his men seated around the meal table, listening to Anthony
or Max tell tall and wonderful tales. Those times would always have a special
place in her heart and she missed them terribly. The Cornwalis twins were
gifted story actors and had the ability to entertain greatly, even though Dud
did well on his own as he told of their exploits in Jerusalem, and his audience
enthralled.

     All except Marcus. He had been there, and
done it all, too. He found himself staring at Dustin's turned back as she
listened to Dud and the slow fire of jealousy crept surely into his veins. How
in the hell could he compete with a dead man? The way Dud was talking,
Christopher was an immortal god of war, not the mere mortal man Marcus knew him
personally to be. He knew winning Dustin over was going to be difficult, but if
tales of Christopher bombarded her ears every night, he'd never have her
attention. Aye, Marcus was jealous of a dead man.

     Dustin enjoyed hearing Christopher's legend
from Dud's point of view. She did not know why she wanted to hear talk of her
husband when all she did was feel a stab of pain at the mere mention of his
name, but suddenly she decided she wanted to hear Dud's tales. When he had
finished one particularly long story, he immediately begged off from anymore
and she had no idea it was because Marcus was giving him the evil eye over her
head. Still, she was satisfied, and she finished the remainder of her bread
with Christin sleeping in her arms. She hoped Dud would tell her daughter and
unborn son of their father's great adventures.

     Marcus slept in the chamber next to her.
There was an adjoining door which had made Dustin wary in the beginning, but
she purposely left it unlocked to prove to Marcus that she trusted him. She did
not think she'd be able to sleep in the great, strange bed, but the moment her
head hit the pillow, she was asleep. Marcus, on the other hand, spent most of
the night sitting in a chair staring at the adjoining door. Lord God, he wanted
her so badly he could hardly stand lt. To have her so close, yet untouchable,
was cruel torture at the very least.

     He slept in the final hour before dawn and
then was up again as the sun cleared the eastern horizon.

     The days were getting longer as spring bore
down on the north, and Dustin grew more and more comfortable with her new
surroundings. As lovely as the countryside was around Lioncross, she grew to
love the gently rolling hills of the north and truly loved the view of the
river from the turrets of the castle. Marcus would take her up there every
evening at sunset and they would speak of trivial things as they watched the
sky turn colors together, and it became an integral part of the process of
healing and contributed toward becoming intricately acquainted with one
another.

     True to his word, he did not pressure her
in the least. He let Dustin make her own timetable, as hard as it was for him,
but was rewarded at the end of the second week when she took his hand for the
first time without him touching her first. A small step, but one he lived on.
To have Dustin's affection was all he strove for.

     The people of his keep came to like Dustin
a great deal, and Christin was the most popular person there. She was a
crawling, sitting, gurgling bundle of joy and Marcus adored her as if she were
his own flesh. Even as much as he loved the baby, he could not help wishing for
a child of his own from Dustin. He wondered how long it would be before she
agreed to marry him and admit him to her bed.

     But he found the more time he spent with
her, alone, the more he wanted everything from her. At one time he would have
been satisfied with her companionship and fondness, but he was greedy now and
wanted more; he wanted her love. He wanted to see Dustin look at him the way
she had looked at Christopher. He wanted her devotion, her adoration,
everything.

     But he would have to be patient, and that
did not come easily to him. He hoped that time would prove to work in his
favor.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX

     By the sixth week, Christopher was able to
stand without assistance. But stand was all he could do; walking was painful
and still and it took both Rob and Jonathan to help him. But he was driven to
stand and walk alone, and almost exactly two months from the day of his injury,
he was able to stand and walk from the hut unassisted.

     He had gotten to know Rob's people bit by
bit over the past weeks, and was pleased when he was able to meet them standing
on his own feet. They, of course, knew exactly who he was and he found himself
the object of worship. The people knew that The Defender would help them regain
their stolen lands and possessions and they were as determined as he was to
help him regain his strength again. Christopher had no shortage of assistance.

     Rob and some of the other men had built
Christopher his own little hut and he was grateful. Also, he knew that Marianne
would be glad to have him out from under foot and he and Jonathan had laughed
about that. His hut complete and able to at least hold his own weight on his
legs, his attention turned to regaining his fighting form and he knew without a
doubt that he was in for the biggest challenge of his life.

     Christopher had lost a great deal of weight
during his infirmary. At six feet and six inches, he usually carried about two
hundred and seventy pounds on his big frame, but he was well below his fighting
weight. His muscles had atrophied a bit from sheer disuse and he set forth the
very day he could walk without shaking to get himself back in shape. He knew
that he would have to build up to swinging a sword again, so his first order of
business was to chop wood. It would help loosen the damaged muscles in his
torso and begin to strengthen him.

     Every day, he would chop enough wood for
the entire encampment. From dawn to dusk, he chopped and chopped. Rob and his
men would go out on “errands”, as they called them, and Christopher would watch
them go with envy, wishing he were strong enough to ride a horse all the way
home.

     His heart, his mind, his body ached for his
sweet wife and he had many sleepless nights wondering what had become of her.
Had David returned to marry her in his absence? What of Richard; had he married
her off to someone else? Or, his worst nightmare would come to light and he
would wonder with agony if she had taken her own life. God only knew what
Dustin had gone through over the past months and he shuddered to think of her
reaction when she saw that he was indeed alive. Would she hate him for being
such a cruel prankster?

     Christopher's injury had been so severe
that he wasn't surprised when his stamina did not return quickly. But it did,
eventually, show itself and within three weeks of starting his new regime, he
could already see a marked difference. His muscles were beginning to resume
their natural shape and grow, and he began taking long walks in the forest to
strengthen his big legs.

     The walks turned into runs, and every child
in the camp wanted to join him. He thought he looked rather like the Pied Piper
with dozens of children running after him on leaps and bounds through the
forest. He began to enjoy his runs a great deal, delighting in the innocence of
the children who accompanied him. He could not even remember his childhood, yet
these children somehow brought him closer in touch with it.

     Yet with every step, he drew closer to
Dustin and prayed to God that she hadn't forgotten him. He truly had no idea
what to expect. He hoped, of course, that nothing had happened and everything
remained as it was. But somehow he knew in his heart that the great Lion Claw's
wife would not be left alone. There was no one to blame, of course, so he tried
to prepare himself for any situation, yet he knew with deadly certainly one
particular fact. Dustin was his wife and his alone, and no man, nor king, would
keep them apart.

     He liked the nights in the camp best.
Christopher had mingled with kings and nobles, yet with the salt of the earth,
he found a likable peace. Their life was hard, no doubt, but they were a happy
bunch without the political turmoil he was so accustomed to. They had an
easiness about them, a simplicity that he found comforting. True enough, Rob
was the Earl of Longdon, but he did not act like it. He was much more in his
element with these outlaws than in the trappings of his title. Christopher
envied the man that he had the ability to relax and accept his situation,
waiting for the time to present itself to reclaim what was his, in the interim,
making life as miserable as possible for John and Ralph.

     Christopher would have liked nothing better
than to help Rob and his hoods antagonize the prince and the sheriff, but he
lacked the strength yet and was bent on focusing his entire attentions to his
recovery. And he furthermore had suspicions that if John and Ralph knew he was
alive, they would stop at nothing to get to him. He could be Rob's greatest
strength, or his deadliest weakness. He suspected Rob knew that, also.

     One morning, early, Christopher was
distracted by his wood chopping by Rob's young son, Simon. The boy was ten
years of age, impish and quick, and was a great admirer of the Defender. He'd
been fishing with the boy a couple of times and liked him.

     Simon was fairly shaking with excitement as
he watched Christopher rip apart a large stump, and even when Christopher
stopped chopping the boy continued to twitch. Finally, Christopher leaned
against his axe and eyed Simon.

     “What is it with you?” he asked, not
unkindly. “You are dancing around here like you have termites in your breeches.
What is it?”

     Simon flushed and kicked at the ground.
“Sire, I was….well, I mean, we were all….I was wondering when you were going to
practice with your sword?”

     Christopher fought off a grin, trying to
look stern. “Is that why you are as jumpy as a rabbit? Because you want to be
the first in line to fight me?”

     “Nay!” The boy looked terrified, but
recovered with a hard swallow. “I was wondering…if... well, if....”

     “Speak out, Simon, for Christ's sake,”
Christopher said. “I cannot understand you when you mumble. Knights of the
realm do not mumble.”

     Simon stiffened and he fixed Christopher in
the eye. “I want to see you practice with your sword, sire.”

     Christopher did smile then, and he put his
huge hand on Simon's shoulder and nearly swallowed up half the boy in his grip.

     “You do, do you?” he said. “Well, I was
thinking about working with my sword today, as a matter of fact. Do you suppose
that you read my mind?”