Rise of the Defender (139 page)

     Gabrielle looked at the piles of surcoats.
“I ordered you three coats and paid for them myself. They are the ones on the
chair, I think. The pale silks,” she stood up, holding Christin. “But
truthfully, Dustin, I do not know where the rest came from.”

     Dustin eyed her treasures. “They came from
someone who doesn't know me very well,” she picked up a luscious sapphire and
diamond necklace carelessly. “Now, what am I going to do with this? Caesar
would love to play with it.”

     “Caesar? Who's Caesar?” Gabrielle asked.

     “My cat,” Dustin replied, letting the
necklace fall to the table with a clank.  “My old, fat, spoiled cat who keeps
to himself these days. I took him with me to Somerhill, but he made himself
scarce. He did not take to Marcus very well.”

     Dustin sat in a chair, her pregnant belly
looking as if she were harboring a pumpkin underneath her surcoat. Her
beautiful face was rested and rosy with her condition, not looking like a woman
who had spent a night and day traveling alone.

     “When is your baby due, Dustin?” Gabrielle
asked as Christin chewed on her fingers.

     “October,” Dustin replied. “I have still
got a good deal of tune to go.”

     “It is nearly July now,” Gabrielle said.
“You do not have that much longer.”

     Dustin sat back in the chair and stroked
her belly. “Believe me, Gabrielle, come the heat of August, October will seem
like an eternity.”

     Gabrielle smiled. “And you know it to be a
son?”

     Dustin nodded firmly. “A son for
Christopher,” her face suddenly went distant and mournful. “I wonder if he will
ever know his son.”

     “What will you name him?” Gabrielle asked
softly.

     “Curtis,” Dustin murmured. “Curtis Arthur.”

     “But what if it is another girl?” Gabrielle
asked with a twinkle in her eye. “Then what?”

     Dustin shrugged. “One girl is all I need,”
she smiled at her daughter. “But if it is, then I do not know. I cannot think
of any female names.”

     “My mother's name was Arianna,” Gabrielle
said. “I have always liked that name.”

     “My mother's name was Mary,” Dustin said.
“Too plain and too common. Nay, I must think of a wonderful name such as
Christin's is.”

     They took the nooning meal in Dustin's
room. In fact, it was sent up without even being ordered and Dustin suspected
that she was not such a guest after all. Either that, or John did not want to
see her face at his table and spoil his appetite. Whatever the reason, she ate
nearly all of the food on the table and then demanded hot water to bathe her
daughter. Gabrielle was right; little Christin could use it.

     She dressed Christin in one of the little
garments she had brought for her and tied a strip of cloth around her head to
keep the curly dark hair from getting in her eyes. Already, the babe had a
considerable amount of hair. Bathed and fed and happy, Christin crawled about
and stuck the rushes in her mouth as her mother tried to discourage her.

     Gabrielle seemed determined to spend all of
her time with Dustin and Christin. Not that Dustin minded, but the woman seemed
desperate for companionship. She was a sweet, funny girl and even in the short
time they had spent together, Dustin had come to know her well. She was
extremely comfortable with her, but she was still wary about trusting her.
Dustin had no idea what her relationship was with the prince and wasn't sure if
anything she said wouldn't be immediately repeated.

     But, lord, if she wasn't a beautiful,
elegant creature. Everything about Gabrielle reeked of breeding and nobility,
from the top of her light brown hair to the bottom of those long, long legs.
She was several inches taller than Dustin, of which Dustin was highly envious,
and she had a silly, squeaky laugh Dustin found hysterical. In some ways, she
reminded her a lot of Rebecca. She was sad when she thought of those days with
Rebecca that seemed so very long ago.

     They were passing away the afternoon
chatting about nonsensical things when there was a sharp rap at the door.
Gabrielle set Christin down to open it, bowing immediately to the tall, graying
man in the archway.

     “Lord Bruce,” she said formally, assuming
he was looking for her. “I apologize that I have not been in my room, but ...”

     He waved her off. “Not you. I have come to
see my granddaughter.”

     Gabrielle blinked in confusion as Dustin
rose slowly from her chair, her eyes fixed on the man whose features were
remotely familiar. Frightened and curious at the same time, she openly studied
the tall, distinguished looking man.

     He smiled at her. “Lady Dustin, of course,”
he stepped into the room, shoving Gabrielle aside. “Great Lucifer, you look
like Arthur. I see nothing of my dear Mary in you.”

     Dustin was nervous. “My lord,” she greeted.

     “None of that.” he snapped. “I am your
grandfather and will be addressed as such. You were probably three of four the
last time I saw you and surely you do not remember, but you called me Poppa.”

     “Poppa?” Dustin barely remembered the tall,
dark man who had been her mother's father. “I am sorry, sire, I do not
remember. But I shall…address you as “Poppa” if it pleases you.”

     “It does,” he said firmly. “And where is my
great-granddaughter?”

     They all turned to Christin, playing with a
comb on the floor. She smiled innocently up at her great-grandfather and he
went wild with delight.

     “At last! A child who looks like a Fitz
Walter,” he crowed. “Look at that hair. Only my side of the family has such
pleasingly dark hair. All of Arthur's people were colorless.”

     Dustin was uncomfortable with the loud,
tall man and scooped Christin up into her arms protectively. Lord Bruce
continued to smile and announce his pleasure with Christin's dark looks.

     “She looks nothing like her bastard father,
I am pleased to see,” he went on. “God help me, harboring a de Lohr. Well, I am
pleased to see that at least my great-granddaughter is indeed a Fitz Walter.”

     Dustin was appalled by his words and
lowered her gaze, lest he see her angry tears. Lord Bruce, having no idea he
had upset his granddaughter, turned to the room laden with expensive items.

     “I see you received my gifts,” he said with
approval, then looked at her. “Why do you not wear them? I demand to see you in
one of the surcoats I selected for you.”

     Dustin, shaken and unnerved, nodded. “Aye,
mi….Poppa. I shall put one on immediately.”

     He nodded curtly. “And jewels. Lots of
jewels. My granddaughter will be the best dressed in the keep.”

     Dustin nodded, keeping her eyes averted.
With a final approving glance, he turned for the door. Gabrielle, still
standing with her hand on the door latch, curtsied.

     “I would have you service me in my rooms
before the hour is up,” he tapped her on the chin. “Do not be late.”

     He left with a slam of the door, leaving
both women in stunned, embarrassed silence.

     Dustin had no idea what to say. She was
afraid that Gabrielle would never speak to her again for not divulging the fact
that she was Lord Bruce Fitz Walter's granddaughter, yet she was deeply
humiliated for her friend with regard to her grandfather's last orders.
Summoning her courage, she turned slowly to her friend.

     Gabrielle was staring at the floor, her
lovely face glazed with shame and shock. Sensing Dustin was looking at her, she
met her gaze.

     “You are his granddaughter?” she whispered.

     Dustin nodded feebly. Gabrielle stared at
her a moment longer before letting out a painful sigh. “And you did not tell
me? Why not?”

     “I was afraid of what you would think,”
Dustin said honestly.

     “What
I
would think?” Gabrielle
repeated. “My God, Dustin, you just heard the man order me to his bed like a
common whore. What must
you
think?”

     “I think that your situation is beyond your
control and that you are not to blame,” Dustin replied firmly. “I could never
think badly of you, Gabrielle.”

     Gabrielle looked dazed as she sat on the
edge of the bed. “I hate Lord Bruce,” she murmured. “He likes to make love to
me in my arse. 'Tis painful and degrading.”

     Dustin sat down beside her. “Marcus liked
to do it that way, too, but I found it enjoyable. He never hurt me.”

     Gabrielle looked at her, surprise. “'Tis a
deviant way to make love, I say. What about Lord Christopher?”

     Dustin shook her head. “Never like that. He
never even suggested it.”

     Gabrielle looked back at her hands and
sighed. “Well, I had better go, then. I shall see you later?”

     Dustin could not help it, she impulsively
threw her arms around Gabrielle and they hugged each other fiercely.

     “Be strong,” Dustin whispered.

     Gabrielle rose and went to the door,
turning to pause. “Oh, Dustin, do not ever let them treat you as they treat
me.”

     “I won't,” Dustin insisted firmly.

     With a weak smile, Gabrielle was gone and
Dustin dissolved into a flood of tears.

***

     John had plans for Dustin. He intended to
have her that eve, but he knew it would not be that simple. He knew she would
fight him every step of the way and as much as that excited him, he did not
want her to injure herself before he had a chance to feast on her amazing body.
The most logical and convenient solution he could think of was Christin.

     He had no intention of harming the babe,
but he could hold her somewhere where her frantic mother would never find her.
At least, not until she had pleased him. Cruel and simple was the ploy and he
looked forward to it with glee.

     As he sat in his solar, watching the
temperature rise in the bailey, he was as happy as a child with Christmas candy
but he wondered seriously what had become of de Lohr and Burton. Surely at least
one man had survived their mortal bout, and surely he would lay search for his
wife. Since John had sent word to Richard regarding Dustin's presence, he
expected some sort of contact within the week. And he waited with relish, fully
intending to play his advantage for all it was worth. Meanwhile, he intended to
play Lady Dustin, pregnant or not.

     Later that afternoon, Gabrielle took Dustin
and Christin into the baileys that were Nottingham. They were huge and a
village unto themselves, and Dustin studied everything with interest. Soldiers
followed the three of them a short distance behind and she knew it was for
spying as well as protection, so she kept her manner neutral and tried to not
let them see when she was searching the walls for any doors or gates. There had
to be a way out of this damnable place.

     More peasants than she had ever seen
populated Nottingham, happy round people who genuinely interested her. They
would fawn from a distance over Christin and two of the ladies gave the babe a
type of root to chew on to help her teething. Christin, happy as always, chewed
contentedly on the dried root and drooled all over her new surcoat. Dustin
thought the people to be remarkably open and friendly despite the dastardly men
who ruled from the castle.

     Dressed in a lovely blue linen surcoat, she
broke away from Gabrielle and Christin to admire a particularly fine pair of
doeskin boots hanging on the cobbler's shed. People were milling about and
around everywhere, business going on and she thought nothing of the figure who
had brushed by her and leaned against the wall of the shed. Finished appraising
the boots, she started to turn around when she heard her name.

     “Lady Dustin!” Came the urgent whisper. “Do
not turn around, my lady, lest you give me away.”

     Startled, her first reaction was to indeed
turn around to the source of the voice, but she caught herself instead, she
forced herself to calm and feigned interest in another pair of shoes, hoping
her shaking did not show.

     “Who is it?” she whispered as casually as
she could manage.

     “'Tis Darren, my lady, your husband's
squire,” Darren whispered. “He has sent me with a message.”

     Dustin was overwhelmed in that moment with
relief and joy.
He was alive!
Christopher had survived. But in the same
instant she knew he was alive only because Marcus had met his death and grief
flooded her. But her happiness overcame all other emotions and she suppressed
an urge to scream her elation.

     “He lives, Darren?” she hissed.

     “Indeed, my lady,” Darren replied. “He
wants you to know that Richard and his army are riding to your aid. They will
be here on the morrow.”

     “The king?” Dustin was stunned, her mind
spinning. “What...what of Marcus? Is he dead?”

     “Nay, my lady, he rides with the king,”
Darren whispered. “They have put off their duel in order to save you.”