Rise of the Defender (135 page)

     “We shall never get to her if we kill our
horses,” he said calmly.

     Marcus flushed and Richard jumped in. “You
are right, of course. We must pray that my brother's soldiers show mercy on an
expectant mother and her babe and do naught to harm either of them.” He eyed
the two men, so powerful and large, yet so helpless at the moment. “I
furthermore suspect that John would kill any man who touched her before he has
a chance to. I would not worry about her until she reaches Nottingham.”

     “Jesus Christ,” Marcus muttered, turning
away with disgust.

     “Calm yourself,” Richard snapped.

     Christopher was far calmer than he should
have been. He was trying so hard to keep everything inside that he came across
looking callous. But, God help him, his insides were tearing themselves apart.

     “Edward, send riders back to Somerhill. Tell
the sergeant in charge to send the remaining troops to Nottingham,” he said
steadily, focusing at Marcus full-on. “We're going into battle.”

     Marcus straightened, feeling the familiar
smell of a fight in the air. But this time, he would be fighting for something
that meant more to him than all of the battles in the Holy Land combined.

     Richard bowed his head a moment, in silent
prayer. “I shall send back to London, then. I have fifteen hundred men armed
and waiting at Windsor. Not an excessive amount, considering how fortified
Nottingham is.”

     “I'd say that the six hundred men from
Somerhill plus the fifteen hundred men from Windsor is a bit much, sire,”
Christopher said softly. “We can take the castle with a thousand at the most.”

     Richard pulled his gauntlets back on. “John
holds fourteen of my properties. I intend to regain all of them, and I might as
well start with Nottingham. We not only ride to retrieve the Lady Dustin, but
we ride to secure my holding.” He eyed Marcus and Christopher sternly. “I ride
with my Defender and my premier general, and I have no doubt that victory will
be ours.”

     Strains of sand and heat began to flow
about them, the air faint with the smells of myrrh and the sounds of Muslims as
the faithful were called to prayer. They began to feel the familiar taste of
the quest, even though they were in the heart of England.

     Suddenly, the fighting, the dissension, the
hatred, were foolish and misplaced. They were warriors, soldiers, the men that
they were before they had ever heard of Lady Dustin Barringdon.

     But heard of her they had and,
unfortunately, both men loved her deeply. Yet when it was all over and she was
safe, only one would be the victor. And neither man was used to defeat.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

     Clutching Christin, Dustin was hustled from
the huge bailey of Nottingham and ushered into the cool interior of the keep.
The castle was larger and darker than anything she had ever seen, short of
Windsor, and the cold fear she felt consumed her and the open doors swallowed
her up.

     The same soldier who had found her
continued to be her shadow, never letting her stray more than an arm's length.
Rather than feeling protective, he was pleased with his capture and wanted John
to know exactly how loyal he was to the prince. He hoped for a promotion at the
very least.

     Soldiers, people, were everywhere as Dustin
was rushed down corridors and up a flight of stairs. She was extremely tired
and nauseous and struggled to keep herself in check. She mustn't lose control,
for she had no idea what would become of her daughter should she lose
consciousness, and her fierce desire to protect Christin overrode her own
illness.

     John and Ralph had no idea what gift was to
be deposited in their laps. They were together, as was usual, in John's great
audience hall when the doors flew open and soldiers filled the doorway.

     “What is the meaning of this?” Ralph
screamed at his soldiers, cuffing the first man he came to. “Since when do you
come barging in unannounced?”

     “Forgive, my lord sheriff,” a soldier said
respectfully. “But we have brought you a prize.”

     “Prize? What goddamn prize...?” Ralph's
eyes fell on Dustin in the center of the mailed men. His eyes nearly bugged
from his skull and he pointed a helpless finger at her.  “You? It is
you!
”

     Dustin was on the verge of tears but she
met his gaze without a word. Ralph stumbled and pushed through the soldiers
until he reached her. He could scarce believe what his eyes were telling him,
but believe he did. As if to make sure he was not dreaming, he reached out and
fingered the material of her cloak.

     “Where on God's earth did you find her?”
John's eyes were dancing with surprise and glee.

     “Riding to the north, through Sherwood,”
the soldier that had found her replied. “She was quite alone, my lord.”

     “Alone?” Both John and Ralph looked at her
with shock. “Why were you alone, Lady Dustin?” John asked.

     His voice was kind but she knew what he was
capable of. “I...I was going home, to Lioncross.”

     “But where was your husband? Oh, excuse me,
husbands
,” Ralph deliberately drew the word out.

     Dustin flushed, tired and angry and scared.
“Dead, I suppose. When I last saw them, they were dueling to the death.” Her
chin came up bravely. “It no longer matters, sire. But what matters is that I
would like to continue my journey. Will you allow me to pass?”

     John looked taken aback by her question.
“Certainly not,” he said. “A lovely lady such as yourself will ride no-where
unescorted, and especially not before you have had time to rest and enjoy the
hospitality of Nottingham.”

     Dustin eyed him warily. “Then I am not a
prisoner?”

     John shook his head and took her arm.
“Absolutely not, my lady. You are an honored guest.”

     Christin, underneath the cloak, let out a
squeal and Dustin pulled the heavy cloth back. A little head covered with curly
dark hair popped up, the gray eyes focusing on John. The prince was deeply
shocked. The child was the image of her mother and he swore he could see
Christopher's features, but the black hair was surprising. He had not heard that
Lady Dustin had bore the Defender a child.

     “Another de Lohr, I presume?” he asked.

     “Aye,” Dustin shifted Christin's weight and
patted her rounded belly. “And another.”

     John was stunned. It was almost too good to
ask for, too unbelievable to imagine. The Defender's expectant wife and child
right in his very own lap. And with Richard preparing to take back the holdings
John had confiscated, the luck was beyond believing.

     He relaxed, a benevolent smile crossing his
face. It would seem that God and fortune was to be on his side.

     “Come, my lady,” he pulled her along. “You
must be exhausted.”

***

     Later, after Dustin and Christin were
safely tucked away, Ralph met John on his usual walk around the compound. The
gray-stoned castle cast long shadows in the early afternoon as the men
converged in the inner bailey.

     “Well?” Ralph asked his liege.

     “Well
what
?” John answered.

     Ralph sighed impatiently. “Lady de Lohr,
sire. What are you planning for her?”

     John picked at his teeth. “Nothing, for the
moment. I have already prepared a missive to London informing my brother of our
'guest'. The rest will be up to him and up to de Lohr - whether or not I am
allowed to keep my holdings and whether or not Lady Dustin and the children
live.”

     “You would kill them?” Ralph asked.

     John shrugged. “Mayhap not. Lady Dustin
would make a fine concubine, do not you think? But I have no use for children,
especially de Lohr's children. Mayhap I would sell them off.”

     Ralph raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Sell them
to Marcus Burton.”

     They both giggled. “Oh, what I wouldn't
give to see de Lohr and Burton battling to the death. I'd place my money on de
Lohr, of course, all though Burton is nothing to trifle with,” John said.

     Ralph agreed. “Richard has one more problem
on his hands with his two best knights fighting over a woman,” he said. “Do you
suppose he himself started the rumor of de Lohr's death to throw us off the
track?”

     “No,” John snapped. “You forget, Ralph,
that la Londe saw de Lohr go down. 'Twas no rumor, although I am most curious
to know how he survived.”

     “The man has God on his side, most
assuredly,” Ralph commented. “Three years in Jerusalem could not kill him.”

     John stopped at a small vendor's shack,
inspecting the copper bracelets. “This would look lovely on Gabrielle, do not
you think? And Dustin, too.”

     “Do you plan on sharing Dustin with la
Londe and my Uncle Bruce as you have Gabrielle?” Ralph asked, a bit snidely.

     John took the bracelets that pleased him
and did not bother to pay for them. “I will not,” he said frankly. “La Londe
was most insistent about Gabrielle, but he will not touch Dustin. At least, not
until I have had my fill of her. And I doubt her grandfather will want that
sort of relationship with his own granddaughter, although I would not be terribly
surprised to be wrong.”

     Ralph gave a crooked smile. “My lord, you
have the most beautiful harem in all of England.”

     John grinned lewdly. “I have never bedded a
pregnant woman before. I wonder what it will be like?”

     Ralph shrugged carelessly. “Start a new
fad, my lord. Make it the rage of the palace.”

     John snickered, “Bedding pregnant woman? It
could prove to be messy.”

     They smiled, snickered, and continued on
their walk, feeling more light-hearted than they had in months.

***

     Dustin awoke from a deep sleep to a soft,
female voice in her bedchamber. She opened her eyes slowly, looking around and
suddenly remembering where she was. She lay in the middle of an opulent bed,
surrounded by finery on the top floor of Nottingham castle. The voice that she
heard was coming from the opposite side of the room. Slowly, she sat up and
focused on the source.

     Lady Gabrielle de Havilland sat on the
floor with Christin, playing with the babe. Christin was cooing and standing up
with assistance, trying to take off walking, much to Gabrielle’s delight.
Dustin propped herself up on one elbow, watching the two of them and pleased to
see her old acquaintance. She looked as lovely as she always had, in spite of
the life she had been forced to lead.

     “Greetings,” she said softly.

     Gabrielle's head snapped up. “I am sorry,
my lady. I did not mean to wake you.”

     Dustin shook her head. “That's all right,”
she smiled. “Christin needs to be fed soon. ‘Tis good to see you again; have
you been well?”

     Gabrielle lowered her gaze, focusing on the
babe. “Well as can be expected, my lady. How have you fared since we last met?”

     Dustin rolled out of the bed. “Well, I
suppose, in spite of everything. And do not call me ‘my lady’. Please call me
‘Dustin.’”

     “And you will call me Gabrielle,” her
friend responded with a smile. “Truly, Dustin, there is so much that has
happened and so much that should be said. I do not know where to begin.”

     Dustin rubbed her belly. “You heard of your
husband's death?”

     “Aye,” Gabrielle said without emotion. “I
was told it was your husband who killed him.”

     Dustin eyed her apprehensively as she sank
into a chair. “He did, but only after the earl killed Lady Isobelle and
threatened my life as well. I am sorry, Gabrielle.”

     “Why?” Gabrielle asked seriously. “He was
an evil, vile man and I am glad he is dead. I do not have to worry if he's
going to beat me, or starve me, or lock me in a room to rot. Your husband did
me a great favor, Dustin.”

     Dustin swallowed, looking at her hands.
Gabrielle glanced at her friend as she rolled a little ball to Christin.

     “How did you come here?” she finally asked.

     Dustin's eyes came up, filling with tears.
She struggled with herself for a moment. “Oh, Gabrielle, everything is so
awful.”

     “Tell me.” Gabrielle insisted gently.

     Dustin sniffled, trying to find a starting
point for her horrible story. “I suppose it started when I first met Chris,”
she said. “I drove his men apart until they hated each other. After I was told
Chris was dead, I married Marcus Burton because it seemed the right thing to
do, but then Chris returned and he and Marcus had a battle to the death.”

     Christin had crawled off. Gabrielle stood
up, making sure Christin wasn't anywhere near the hearth, and went to her
friend. “There, now, Dustin,” she said soothing, patting her on the arm. “Who
won?”