Rise of the Defender (143 page)

     “Oh, my God,” he whispered. “Look at her;
she is beautiful.”

     Marcus could only stare at Christin, his
heart breaking into a million pieces. The hardest thing he had ever had to do
was not reach out, instinctively, for the babe and he felt as if the weight of
the world was pressing on his chest.

     David, his face soft and smiling, flipped
up his visor to get a better look at her. “By damn, if she isn't starting to
look more and more like you,” he told his brother. “Poor child.”

     Christopher smiled at his brother's
comment, not taking his eyes off the baby. Warm, fluid emotion rippled through
him and he was in love all over again.

     “Hello, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Do you
remember me?”

     Marcus flipped up his own visor, mayhap in
challenge. He wanted to see if Christin would react to him instead of to Christopher.
He had promised he wouldn't fight anymore, but his aching heart demanded one
last bit of satisfaction. He loved Christin more than anything; almost more
than Dustin.

     Christin looked at Christopher, chewing her
fingers. Then, she looked at David disinterested and finally to Marcus. He got
a reaction; she smiled broadly and crowed, but then she abruptly turned back to
Christopher and slapped at his face with wet fingers.

     Christopher melted. He kissed her little
fingers and her face, careful not to bump her with his visor. The more he
kissed, the more she giggled and slapped.

     “Just like her mother,” David remarked
warmly. “She thinks it funny to punch you in the face.”

     Christopher's throat was tight, too tight
to speak. He did not trust himself not to break. Marcus could not take anymore,
his heart was ripping in two and he reined his horse away, back to his position
in the column. David was aware of the pain in the man's eyes but did little
more than watch him trot back along the line before turning his attention back
to his brother and niece. He was saddened, though, at Marcus' pain; even with
all of the hatred and fighting that had gone on between them, David wasn't
cruel. He did not wish sorrow on anyone.

     “What are we going to do with her?” Richard
rode up, watching the touching reunion.

     Christopher held the babe close to his
chest, watching her as she banged on his armor and nibbled the little fingers
she put in his mouth.

     “Keep her back in the wagons,” Christopher
replied, his voice filled with incredible gentleness. “Christ, I cannot believe
how beautiful she is.”

     “Your wife was wise to send her to safety,”
Richard said.

     “Absolutely,” Christopher agreed, taking
his eyes off his daughter for the first time and focusing on Darren. “How is
Dustin?”

     “As well as can be expected, my lord,” he
replied, his expression hesitant. “I saw her only once, this morning, when she
was out walking with John's hounds in tow. Her friend, a Lady Gabrielle,
delivered me the baby for safe-keeping. I was told Lady Dustin was with John
and Ralph.”

     Christopher's face hardened like stone and
he took a deep, calming breath. Richard was again amazed to watch him transform
from doting father back to hardened warrior.

     “We ride,” Christopher growled. “David, get
the column moving while I deliver my daughter to Burwell.”

     Richard scratched his cheek. “He should be
thrilled with the prospect of child-watching,” he said with a smirk.

     The army moving, Darren took up a place of
honor beside Christopher as they rode. It was a reward for a job well done, and
Christopher furthermore had more questions to ask of the young man. A young man
who had so recently seen his precious wife.

     “Was Dustin looking well?” he asked his
squire.

     “Aye, she was, my lord,” Darren answered.
“I have never seen her look better.”

     There was something in his voice that
caused Christopher to turn and look at him. “What is it that you are not
telling me?”

     Darren looked uncomfortable, his eyes on
the road ahead. “Nothing, truly, sire. 'Tis just that I saw your wife only
once, and I had to keep in the shadows when that bastard le Londe approached
her. He was less than gentle with your wife, sire, and it was extremely
difficult for me not to intervene. But I had no choice if I was to bring your
daughter out of Nottingham. I could not risk being caught.”

     Christopher's face was impassive, but his
hands underneath his mailed gloves gripped the reins with white-knuckled
intensity. “How was he rough with her? Did he strike her?”

     Darren shook his head. “Nay, sire, he did
not, but he grabbed her by her arms,” he told him. “He was less than respectful
and she gave him an earful. And she mentioned something I found strange - she
said her grandfather was the lord of Nottingham.”

     “Indeed he is,” Christopher said evenly,
thinking what a vile, disgusting man Lord Bruce was. He could only pray that he
hadn't taken to Dustin the same way he had taken to Dustin's mother. Whether or
not he had, he was a dead man. They were all dead men. Even John was, whether
or not Richard knew it.

     Richard knew it, but he had said nothing.
John was his brother, hated or not, and he would not allow his Defender to kill
him. If he had touched Lady Dustin, then the fight would be a grand one for
Richard intended to defend his brother himself. Bloodlines dictated it. But if
John had kept his hands off the Defender's wife, then mayhap reasoning would
prevail over might. His conflict was tremendous; he did not want to lose his
Defender, but he could not allow the man to kill his brother, no matter what he
had done. It would seem their goals, for once, were not the same. Richard only
wanted his property returned; Christopher only wanted his wife.

     “Chris,” Marcus rode up, tipping his head
in the direction of the castle. “Nottingham on the horizon.”

     Christopher strained his eyes to see that,
indeed, the tiny dots that represented peasants were scattering like flax in
the wind and up on the massive wall, they could see a flurry of activity.

     “Prepare the men, Marcus,” Christopher said
and he could hear orders being barked almost simultaneously. “Darren, fall back
with the other squires.”

     Darren obeyed, a bit disappointed. He was
hoping to ride into battle at the front of the column. He wasn’t wearing any
body armor but he could don his scant pieces when time allowed. Hell, he was
almost a damn knight. In fact, he had seen more action than men who called
themselves knights.

     Doing as he was told, Darren reined his
animal about and returned to the rear of the army. Like any good knight, his
adrenalin began to flow and he was eager to fight the battle alongside his
liege and King Richard. Already a battle veteran at his young age, Darren
looked forward to seeing Lady Dustin again. And he had no doubt that he would.
Surely God himself could not have raised a mightier army, with mightier
leaders.

     The army rode toward Nottingham, the first
of fourteen keeps that Richard planned to re-take from his brother. The summer
sun sank in the sky and the heat of the day stagnated, and the hawks high above
riding the warm drafts screamed to their mates. Below them, knights in armor
slung their shields over their left knees and adjusted their swords, preparing
for the coming battle; the clash between the brothers Plantagenet.

     Christopher's determination was unmovable,
unwavering. His shield slung and his broadsword at the ready, his eyes were
focused on the looming gray shape coming into view, assessing the structure
tactically.

     His heart sank a little; Nottingham was
mayhap one of the best fortified castles in England. The thirty foot walls were
nearly impenetrable and he let out a small sigh. He wasn't disheartened in the
least, but considered it a challenge to his considerable skills.

     He would get his wife back, walls or no
walls. Prince or no prince. King or no king

***

     Dustin had not seen Gabrielle or Christin
since she left them to attend John, and that had been nearly two hours ago. She
sat by the hearth, listening to the noise of the bailey, so wild with worry
that she could do naught but sit and stare. And movement or any words would be
like removing the plug from the dam; everything would go and she would lose her
careful control. So she sat and waited for any word of what had transpired.

     There was a knock on the door and she
jumped, flying to open the panel. But her excitement quickly turned to
apprehension when she saw that Sir Dennis stood in the hall, grinning
suggestively at her.

     “Ah,
chèrie!
You are so eager!” he
said gleefully. “I am flattered.”

     Her blood ran cold. “What do you want?”

     He gave her a look of mock hurt. “Tsk, tsk,
mon petite
. Why are you so unfriendly? I have simply come to keep you
company.”

     “I do not want your company,” Dustin tried
to shove the door close, but he blocked it firmly.

     His eyes glittered dangerously as he pushed
into her bedchamber, the smile on his lips becoming something more sinister.
“Do not ever shut me out,
chèrie
. I do not like it.”

     Dustin backed away, although she wasn't
particularly frightened. She had seen the way John had ordered his men not to
touch her and was confident that Sir Dennis would obey the order. But she was
perturbed and angry; she had been confronted by Lord Bruce, Ralph, John and now
Sir Dennis and she was frankly sick of the games they seemed to like to play.
She had tried to play their game, but it had backfired in her face and she was
wary. But she had not lost her fighting spirit, bolstered in the knowledge that
her plight would soon be over.

     “I do not give a damn what you like,” she
growled. “Get out of here or I shall tell John you tried to force yourself upon
me.”

     Dennis pushed in so hard that Dustin
stumbled back, almost tripping in her attempt to get away from him. When she
recovered, she could see that he was indeed moving for her and she dashed away,
scampering for the hearth and the fire poker she could see within her reach.
She reached the poker a second before Dennis closed in on her and she swung it
around with all her might, catching Dennis across the chest. The sharp tip left
a long, thin gash on his flesh and he stopped instinctively, his hand flying to
the wound.

     Dennis' eyes widened as he drew his hand
back, covered with blood. “You little bitch.” he hissed with surprise. “Why did
you do that?”

     Dustin held the poker between them, fully
preparing to use it again. “Get out.”

     He looked at her, perplexed and angered.
“But why? I have done nothing. You,
mademoiselle
, attacked me without
provocation.”

     “Without provocation?” Dustin repeated
incredulously. “You entered my bedchamber uninvited, sir. I'd call that a most
provocative move. Now, get out before I drive this poker through your heart.”

     Dennis' face lost its confusion and he
charged her, snatching at the poker. Dustin swung hard and hit him twice, once
across the arm and once on the face before he dislodged the poker and sent it
sailing. Panicked, Dustin tried to flee but in her lethargic state, Dennis was
faster and grabbed hold of her arms.

     He yanked her, twisting and fighting, to
the bed and slammed her down hard. Stunned momentarily, she attempted to roll
away, but he flopped his body atop her and effectively stopped her escape.

     Dustin was near hysteria, fighting and
struggling for all she was worth. Dennis had her arms trapped and threw his big
leg across her thighs to pin her down, leaving his sword hand free to assault
her. She could feel his hand moving up her leg, skimming her hips and moving
across the roundness of her belly.

     “What joy Burton must have had planting his
seed in this exquisite body,” he breathed heavily.

     Dustin jumped and shrieked, twisting violently,
anything to get away from his offensive hand. Tears were close to the surface,
but she refused to give in. Once spilled, Dennis would have a great advantage
and she could not allow that. She had to fight.

     His hand caressed her stomach, moving upward
and she realized with horror that he was moving for her breasts. His big hands
cupped her fullness, fondling her roughly and she bit off a scream, trying with
all of her might to dislodge him.

     “Do not fight me,
chèrie
,” he
panted. “I can give you much pleasure or much pain. Yours is the choice.”

     Dustin was growing quite weary with her
struggles. Her body was not in prime condition and she realized reluctantly
that she would not be able to beat this man in a physical sense. The only thing
to do would be to defeat him on a mental level. Dustin wasn't very good with
mind games, but she would have to try in order to save herself. Forcing herself
to calm, she desperately cleared her mind of its panic and set forth rapidly to
formulate another plan.