Rise of the Defender (153 page)

     “Thank you,” he whispered.

     Griselda watched the baron lumber down the
hall, his gait slow and tired, wondering what in the world was wrong with the
man. But her puzzlement did not prevent a faint blush from creeping into the
aged cheeks. 

     Dustin was lying down when he entered the bedchamber.
She had only meant to rest a moment, but the minute her head hit the pillow,
she was asleep. Christin was snoring baby-soft in the little cradle next to the
bed and he smiled at his daughter.
His
daughter.

     Dustin stirred the moment he touched the
bed. “You are here,” she murmured. “I am sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep.”

     He put his hands on her as she tried to
rise. “Nay, sweetheart, lay down. You are tired.”

     “But I have a house full of guests.” she
protested softly.

     “Gowen and Deborah can handle the masses,”
he said gently, moving to pull her shoes off. “You need to rest.”

     Dustin watched him, his movements slow and
unenergetic. “You are exhausted, too. We both need to rest.”

     He smiled wanly. “I am all right.”

     She reached out and tugged on his mail.
“Lie with me.”

     He eyed her, instantly half-aroused with
her tone. Christ, it had been months since he had touched her, but now was not
the time.

     “Nay, my love, I shall not,” he said with
gentle firmness. “We would most definitely not get any rest if I did.”

     She sat up, her beautiful face rosy and
glazed with love. “It has been months, Chris. Will you truly deny me? After
everything we have been through?”

     He felt his composure evaporating. “Of
course not, Dustin, but look at us. I am still recovering from a near-fatal
injury, and you are exhausted and pregnant.”

     “Then neither one of us will tax the
other,” she said softly. “Lie with me, husband. I need to feel you.”

     He lost it. His armor and mail came off and
he was next to her within seconds, pulling her most fiercely to him and burying
his face in his hair. The scent of roses filled him.

     Dustin sighed with utter contentment, her
eyes closed at the pureness of his touch, the absolute reverence she felt in
it. Tears of such joy stung her eyes that she did not bother to dash them away.
The tears were well earned.

     The Defender of the Realm made love to his
wife that afternoon, every touch and every kiss a song of love unto itself. He
loved her with the endless devotion of time, always and forever would he love
her. And she responded to him with the blind worship she had always felt for
him; she could not remember when she hadn’t loved him.

     God had given them a second chance and they
would not be so foolish as to waste it.

     The Defender had come home.

EPILOGUE

     “They are here!” Dustin was running as fast
as her shapely legs could carry her. She dashed out of her bedchamber and hit
the stairs like a runaway horse, almost crashing into her daughters at the base
of the stairs.

     “Mama, they are here!” Christin announced
with excitement.

     Dustin grabbed Christin's hand. “Come
along,” she said as she snatched her other daughter's hand. “Come, Brielle.”

     The three ladies raced outside, excitement
filling their veins. Dustin was near to bursting with anticipation; it had been
so long since she had seen her sons. Fostering was a cruel thing, she thought
bitterly as the great gates of Lioncross swung open. To separate a family for
the sake of training was inexcusable to her, although her husband thought
differently.

     Christopher was crossing the bailey with
his youngest son in tow. Five-year-old Myles was the spitting image of his
Uncle David, whom he would soon be greeting. He stopped a moment and shielded
his blue eyes from the sun as he watched the gates lurch to a halt, eager to
catch a glimpse of the incoming party but being foiled as his father hoisted
him onto his shoulder.

     “But I want to see!” Myles protested with a
grin, gripping his father's neck.

     “You can see better from up here,”
Christopher told him. “Down on the ground, someone might run over you.”

     Myles strained to look over his shoulder as
his father made his way to the front steps of the keep, watching with
excitement as the large party entered the gates with a great noise and fanfare.

     “Do you see them?” Dustin demanded of her
husband before he even reached her.

     Christopher fought off a grin, stopping at
the base of the steps turning around to face the party. “Nay; not yet. They are
probably riding with Emilie and the girls.”

     Dustin was so excited she could hardly
contain herself and her daughters were catching on. “Do you think they have
changed much, Mama?” Christin asked.

     “Christin, they have only been gone six
months,” Christopher said. “I doubt they have changed to the point where you
wouldn't recognize them.”

     “But six months is a long time, Dada,”
Brielle chimed in. “Curtis and Richard are bound to have grown some.”

     “They have not grown beards,” he turned and
winked at his ten-year-old daughter. “You are starting to sound like your
mother with your worrying.”

     Dustin lifted an impatient eyebrow at her
husband. “And you are callous in your treatment of your sons. Who ever heard of
sending a six-year-old boy to foster?”

     “Richard was two months shy of his seventh
birthday,” Christopher re-explained for the hundredth time. “’Twas better to
send him with Curtis to begin their training together. He wanted to send them
to Marcus.”

     “Marcus already has Peter.” Dustin shot
back. “I did not want to send him so far north, as you well know. We haven't
seen Peter in almost a year.”

     Christopher shook his head. “Peter is a
fully trained squire and Marcus says he fights better than most of his knights.
You should be very proud of your son.”

     “I
am
,” Dustin insisted, avoiding
her husband's gaze. “But he is so far away and I miss him terribly.”

     “Christ, Dustin, he's almost eighteen years
old and as big as I am,” Christopher said. “He's not a child any longer and you
would do well to remind yourself of that.”

     Dustin made a face. “He is still a child of
six to me. For a man with four sons, your attitude is most heartless.”

     Christopher shook his head again, after
seven children, they still could not agree on the proper form of child-rearing.
Dustin would keep them to her bosom until they were thirty if she had her way,
while he was quite convinced that early fostering was necessary.

     “I am not heartless, sweetheart, I am
simply more practical than you,” he said, stroking Brielle's long, blond hair
affectionately. But Myles goes to Marcus.”

     “He does not.” she said firmly. “He goes to
Canterbury when he is eight and no earlier. I am sure David is doing a fine job
with our sons. They do not need to go to Marcus.”

     “Of course he is doing a fine job, he's my
brother,” Christopher said, watching as his brother dismounted his warhorse and
shook hands with Jeffrey. “But Marcus had done an outstanding job with Peter. 
I feel David may be too soft on Curtis and Richard because he is their uncle.”

     Dustin caught sight of David too, and her
face lit up. “There's David. But where are my boys?”

     Christopher chuckled, patting Myles on the
leg. “You shall go to Somerhill, won’t you? You want to foster with Peter and
Uncle Marcus?”

     “Aye, Dada,” Myles nodded solemnly,
although he did not realize the entire concept of fostering. All he knew was
that his brothers had been gone a long time, living with their Uncle David. He
was too young to remember Peter. It was just he and his three sisters, one of
which was a baby. He had been lonely without Curtis and Richard to play with,
although his father had done a fine job of filling in.

     “There they are!” Dustin screeched, rushing
down the steps. From behind the wall of horses and men, a lovely woman and
several children appeared, walking toward them.

     Christopher put his hand on his wife. “Do
not hug them. Treat them like young men.”

     She scowled at him. “They are my sons and I
shall hug them if I want to.”

     “Nay, Dustin, you shall embarrass them in
front of the soldiers,” Christopher admonished. “Let them bow to you here in
public. Hug them later in private, if you would.”

     She furrowed her brow impatiently, knowing
his words to be true but, Lord, how she had missed her children.

     She resumed her place between Christin and
Brielle, waiting impatiently for Emilie and the brood of children to reach
them. When finally they were upon them, Dustin could not take her eyes from her
two blond-headed boys.

     “Greetings, my lord,” Emilie politely
kissed Christopher on both cheeks. “Thank you for having us for Christmas. The
children could hardly wait.”

     Christopher smiled. “You look lovely,
Emilie,” he acknowledged the three girls standing next to her. “And I am
pleased to see your children look like you and not my dastardly brother. Good
Christmas to you, ladies.”

     The girls curtsied prettily for their Uncle
Christopher. Christina, Colleen and Caroline were polite, sweet girls with
their mother's disposition and their father's spirit. And they always, always
chattered, driving David to the brink of madness, yet at this moment, they were
uncharacteristically quiet. They knew their Uncle Christopher to be an
important man and he always struck awe into their little hearts every time they
met, although he had been nothing but kind and gentle with them. Somehow, his presence
enough was imposing.

     “Christin, Brielle, take your cousins
inside,” he instructed his daughters. “Show them where they are to sleep.”
Giggling, Christin and Brielle eagerly took hold of their cousins and whisked
them up the stairs. Christopher watched the girls with pride, never thinking
that one day his children and David's would be walking hand-in-hand.

     “Where is your son, my lady?” he asked
Emilie.

     “In the wagon with his nurse,” she replied.
“At six months, he weighs eighteen pounds. David is most pleased.”

     “No doubt,” Christopher remarked. “'Tis
about time he gave you a son. There are too many women at Canterbury.”

     Emilie raised her brows in feigned outrage.
“And what about Lioncross? You have three daughters of your own, sire, in
addition to your wife, your sister, and her two daughters.”

     Christopher waved at her. “Rebecca is only
three months old, but already her temperament is as mine. She is a calm,
even-tempered baby of which I am greatly pleased. Christin and Brielle are too
much like their mother and I fear I am losing control over them already,” he
shifted his grip on Myles. “As for Deborah's daughters, they are angels. My
daughters could learn lessons on obedience from them.”

     Emilie laughed, seeking out Dustin. “Is
this true?”

     Dustin shrugged and gave Emilie a hug. “He
thinks any woman who speaks her mind and has half a wit is disobedient. Now,
where is your new son? I am anxious to see him.”

     “David is probably retrieving him himself,”
Emilie glanced back to the huge caravan disassembling in the bailey. “He cannot
stay away from Daniel.”

     Dustin nodded in agreement, her gaze
falling on her two sons standing a few feet behind Emilie. Emilie, for her
part, made up a discreet excuse and left the family alone.

     “Hello,” Dustin greeted her sons,
repressing a huge urge to gather them against her. Curtis de Lohr and his
brother, Richard, displayed a very practiced bow.

     “Hello, Mother,” Curtis said formally.

     Dustin's heart sank. They were so grown up,
so stiff with her, that she felt tears sting her eyes. Christopher put Myles
down and approached his sons.

     “Gentlemen,” he put his hands on his hips.
“How has the baron been treating you? Well, I hope?”

     “Well, Father,” Curtis said evenly. “We eat
at his table every night and sleep in our own bedchamber.”

     Christopher's eyes narrowed. This was
exactly what he did not want. “Then you do not sleep with the other pages?”

     “Nay, Father,” Curtis shook his head.
“Richie…uh, Richard I and I have our own room.

     “Hmm, I see,” Christopher said, his voice
low.