Rise of the Defender (148 page)

     Marcus stepped away from Christopher
slowly, sword raised and his eyes never leaving the menacing group. “I shall
take the ugly one.”

     “Which ugly one? Be specific,” Christopher
snapped, although there was no mistaking the mirth in his voice.

     It was as it had been for three years in
the Holy Land, two men, the best of friends, fighting side by side and knowing
each other as well as they knew themselves. It was the familiar feelings of
camaraderie that they never thought to feel again.

     “The ugly one on the right,” Marcus snapped
back lightly. “In fact, I shall take both of the bastards on the right.”

     “You bloody coward, leaving me with the
rest,” Christopher grumbled.

     Marcus grinned. “You are the one with the
reputation - earn it.”

     They looked at each other for a split
second, silent words passing between them, knowing exactly what was to come
next. They had done it together a thousand times before.

     At the same time, they raised their swords
and let out a spine-chilling yell, charging at their opponents like crazed men.
It rarely failed; the enemy soldiers were startled just enough to give
Christopher and Marcus the advantage, and they cut down two men before ever
engaging in a sword fight. Yet even the broadsword battles were short-lived;
Marcus disposing of his man a split second later than Christopher.

     “You are getting slow in your old age,”
Christopher commented.

     Marcus opened his mouth in feigned outrage.
“You only had one. I had two.”

     “Cease your complaining,” Christopher said,
looking around to make sure there were no more soldiers waiting to ambush them.
“You always did like to complain.”

     Marcus shrugged and motioned to the
corridor. “After you, sire.''

     Christopher eyed him arrogantly. “As it
should be.”

     Marcus chuckled, following Christopher's
lead down the hall. It was so strange, yet so completely natural for them to be
fighting together, jesting their way through it as they had done for three
years in Richard's service. The fighting between them, the anger and hatred,
seemed like a god-awful far away dream. As it was now was as it should be, as
it has always been. It was as if the Christopher and Marcus that had fought
over Dustin were two completely alien people.

     Now, things were normal again. And they
were two men on a mission.

CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

     Ralph had a plan. He would destroy de Lohr
once and for all. When it was apparent that the gate was going down, he had
vacated his post and raced into the castle, moving immediately for the prince's
rooms.

     John was dressed in travelling clothes and
surrounded by his elite guard. He knew that Richard was coming to kill him and
he was terrified. De Lohr, Burton, and Lady Dustin were completely forgotten as
he struggled to keep himself from falling into fits over the swing in luck.
Everything had happened so bloody fast that his head was still spinning, yet he
knew that he must leave this place if he were going to survive.

     He had hoped to use Lady Dustin as a
bargaining tool to keep Nottingham, but those plans were long forgotten. John
was fabulous at making big plans but terrible at following through. At this
very moment, all he was concerned with was his own hide. Nothing had worked out
to his advantage, not one damn thing.

     Ralph found his liege chomping at the bit
and he personally escorted the prince down the winding staircases to the cavernous
underground of Nottingham. There was an escape route through one of the dug-out
tunnels that led to a shielded exit in the wall. John was adamant that Ralph go
with him, but Ralph was firm. He had unfinished business to attend to.
Promising to meet up with Ralph at Tickhill, Prince John was ushered out of the
fortress covertly by his elite mercenary guard.

     With John being skirted to safety, Ralph
could better concentrate on the de Lohr's. His plan was to confiscate Dustin
and her babe, taking them the same route as the prince and leaving Nottingham.
He still felt firmly that they had the advantage keeping Lady de Lohr as
hostage, although the siege on the castle was in direct conflict with that
reasoning. Mayhap it wasn't a wise idea after all, and mayhap Lady de Lohr
served no purpose other than a nuisance, but Ralph knew one thing for certain;
Christopher de Lohr loved his wife desperately, and Ralph was determined to
wreak misery on the man.

     Dustin sat in Ralph's bower wringing her
hands nervously. She could hear the sounds of battle far below, tears of fear
still in her eyes for her husband. She refused to believe she had seen him
killed. Surely he was on his way to rescue her even now. She was shaking with
terror and fatigue, her mind inventing terrible scenarios of what was
transpiring outside, around her.

     Thank God Christin was to safety. If her
daughter were still in Nottingham, surely she would be mad with grief right
now. As worried as she was for herself and for Christopher, she was also
terribly worried for Gabrielle. She hadn't seen her friend since Ralph had so
cruelly separated them and she worried for the woman's safety.

     The door to the bedchamber jolted and
Dustin was seized with panic; she knew it to be either John or Ralph come for
her. But in the same breath she remembered that she had feigned illness for
Ralph's benefit and, hoping they would have some pity on her, she threw herself
back on the bed and grabbed her stomach, moaning softly.

     After a jerk and a pop, the old door flew
open and in came Ralph, his thin face flushed. Dustin eyed him through slitted
eyelids, moaning loudly this time. Ralph marched up on her and snatched her
wrist barbarically.

     “Get up,” he wheezed.

     Dustin yelped in surprise as he yanked her
off the bed and pulled her toward the open door. Forgetting about her ploy, she
began to twist and fight, beating his arm with her free fist.

     “Let go of me!” she demanded.

     Ralph was in no mood to fool with her.
Hauling off, he hit her across the face with a mailed glove, leaving a huge
scrape already oozing blood. Dustin's hand flew to her face, stunned.

     “Do not resist me,” he seethed, spittle
forming on his lips. “I have had enough of you and enough of your bastard
husband. Where is your daughter?”

     Tears stung her eyes, but her anger
superseded her pain. “Go to hell,” she spat. “I will not tell you anything!”

     With a grunt of frustration, he exited the
room and yanked her so hard after him that he nearly dislocated her shoulder.
Dustin grunted and almost tripped, but she caught herself and started to fight
Ralph with everything she had.

     Dustin’s shrieks and grunts filled the
deserted hall as Ralph literally dragged her after him. For his wiry build, he
was amazingly strong and Dustin was having a hell of a time against him. She
tried grabbing onto chairs, portieres, anything that would anchor against the
force of the sheriff. But Ralph would simply pull with all of his might and
dislodge her, and she would trail after him cursing and fighting.

     He pulled her down a small spiral staircase
to the second floor of the castle and she tripped on purpose, crashing into the
man and nearly sending both of them to the bottom in a heap. Angered, he cursed
and took another swing at her, but she ducked and kicked him in the thigh.
Nothing against his armor, but the gesture satisfied her just the same.
Undeterred, Ralph persevered onward with his fighting prisoner, determined to
reach her rooms and collect the babe de Lohr.

     He reached her chamber, tossing her inside
viciously. Dustin flew with the momentum and crashed against the bed,
fortunately, not hard enough to hurt her. Her eyes were spitting venom as Ralph
raced to the small crib where Christin had slept.

     “Where is she?” he demanded, his jaw
ticking and his face sweaty. “Where is the damn baby?”

     Dustin's chin went up defiantly. “Not here,
you loathsome bastard.”

     “I can see that.” he yelled, rushing to
her. “Where's the goddamn baby?”

     Dustin opened her mouth when suddenly there
was a figure in the doorway. Gabrielle entered the room, quite calmly for all
of the yelling that was going on. She fixed Ralph in the eye.

     “The babe is gone,” she said frankly. “Le
Londe came here before you and took her. I know not where they went.”

     “Le Londe?” Ralph’s eyes widened with
surprise. “He was here? Where did he go?”

     “I do not know, my lord,” Gabrielle said,
as cool as rain. “He snatched the babe and fled mere minutes ago.”

     Dustin, shaking with shock, still retained
sense enough to see what Gabrielle was doing. Weak with emotion and grateful
for her friend's assistance, she decided to play along. “And you let him? You
bitch! Why did not you stop him?”

     Gabrielle's head jerked to Dustin, an
amazing look of devilment filling the soft hazel eyes. “She is not my child.
Besides, had I tried to stop him, he probably would have killed me.”

     Dustin shrieked and moaned, throwing Ralph
into fits of indecision and confusion.

     “Shut up!” he screamed at her. “Shut up
before I slit your throat.”

     Dustin quieted, but not entirely. She
pretended to cry weakly, overacting a bit, but Ralph did not notice. His mind
was soaring with le Londe's sighting.

     “I must find him.” he said absently,
looking to Gabrielle again. “Which way did he go?”

     Gabrielle was a brilliant actress. She
lowered her gaze demurely and stepped away from the door, pointing out into the
hall. “I saw him take the stairs toward the grand hall.”

     Ralph was seized with a sense of purpose
again. He grabbed Dustin once again, jerking her past Gabrielle. Gabrielle
looked at Dustin with such indifference that Dustin almost believed she truly
did not care what was happening. Ralph, however, knew better than to leave her
behind. He did not know why he should take her, only that he should.

     With his free hand, he seized Gabrielle by
the hair. “You are coming too.”

     With his quarry, Ralph awkwardly raced down
the hall. Dustin was still shrieking and struggling and Gabrielle had begun to
fight back, adding to Ralph's woes. He seriously considered throwing Gabrielle
down the stairs just to be rid of her, but thought differently of it. He was so
confused and anxiety-ridden he simply could not think straight any longer.

     They reached the top of the stairs and
Dustin could see soldiers dashing about below, the beginning of full-scale
chaos. She grabbed at the banister to throw Ralph off-balance while Gabrielle,
seeing what Dustin was doing, moved to do the same and Ralph began to bellow
and yank at them unmercifully. From below, it was actually quite comical to see
the Sheriff of Nottingham struggling with two women, listening to him ranting
and cursing. But to the participants, it was anything but comical.

     Dustin had a death grip on the railing,
anything to prevent Ralph from dragging her down below. She glanced at
Gabrielle, fearful for her safety because she was closer to the stairs. As she
looked at her friend, something caught in her peripheral vision and she looked
back to look down the second floor corridor, positive soldiers were coming to
Ralph's aid and terrified that she and Gabrielle would be hurt in the struggle.

     She was therefore astonished to see
Christopher and Marcus at the very end of the hall. They were hundreds of feet
away, but even at that distance she could read the surprise on their faces. It
took her less than a second to react instinctively.

     “
Christopher!”
she screamed.

     He heard her; Christ, he heard her and was
moving even as she cried his name. But Ralph saw him, too, and was screaming to
the soldiers down below to aid him.

     The distance closing between Christopher
and his wife was never ending. The more he ran, the farther away she was until
he felt as if he were gaining no headway at all. Panic filled his veins and
anguish filled his throat, threatening to choke him to death. He could see
Ralph dislodging her grip and yanking her away from the stairs, retreating down
the opposite direction of the hall even as a dozen soldiers mounted the second
story landing and separated the sheriff and the approaching Defender. Cut off
from Dustin, Christopher tore into the soldiers like a man possessed.

     Marcus and Christopher fought valiantly,
yet it was two against twelve and they were not gaining much ground. But they
fought with renewed vigor, now knowing where Dustin was and desperately intent
to reach her. The grunts of effort sounded every time broadswords came in
contact with each other with bone-jarring force. Within a minute or so, they
had cut down four men and were moving furiously on the rest. Yet with every
passing second, Christopher's anxiety was growing.

     Suddenly, from the second story landing,
they heard a rebel yell that made their hair stand on end. Christopher could
not help but grin; without even looking, he knew it to be David. Only his
brother howled like a wild man in the heat of battle.