Rise of the Defender (3 page)

     “David and I can take care of ourselves,”
Christopher glanced at his uncle. “I can assure you that we will be quite safe.”

     “Beware all the same, Chris,” Richard said,
rising slowly and stiffly. “Marcus Burton left yesterday for home, under direct
orders from me to search out those nobles loyal to the crown and report to you.
Expect him and use well the information.”

     “Aye, my lord.” Christopher and Marcus were
part of the same group of knights that Richard favored, and were the best of
friends.  He was as confident in the man’s abilities as he was his own.

     Richard sighed and pulled off his mail
hood, tossing it to the floor. “Go, now,” he said. “I would see you off in the
morning.”

     Christopher and Philip rose and left the
tent obediently. They walked together for several minutes in the waning
afternoon heat before Philip spoke.

     “’Tis an awesome responsibility you hold,
Chris,” Philip said softly, “As great as any.”

     Christopher gazed into the golden sands, wondering
if he would ever miss any of it. He didn’t think so. “It has been three years
since I have been home,” he said. “I truly wonder what I will find upon my
return.”

     Philip stopped, as did Christopher, the two
men studying each other under the brilliant blue sky.  Finally, Philip clapped
his nephew on the shoulder.

     “God be with you, Chris, and with David,”
he said. “I shall miss you both, and I shall pray for you.”

     He left him with that, and Christopher
watched him trudge off across the sand.  He often saw his father in Philip’s
actions and movements, remembering Myles de Lohr in faded memories.  He
wondered what his father would have thought about all of this, of his sons and
the directives straight into the heart of England’s politics.  It was a deadly
game they all played.  All thoughts of his forced marriage aside, the real
issue was John Lackland.

     “Pray for the prince, uncle,” he mumbled.  “When
I return, he will need all of your prayers.”

CHAPTER
ONE

Year of Our Lord 1192

The Month of September

Lioncross Abbey Castle

The Welsh Marches

     Lady Dustin Barringdon bit at her full
lower lip in concentration. Climbing trees was no easy feat, but climbing trees
in a skirt was near impossible.

     Her target was the nest of baby birds high
in the old oak tree. Her cat, Caesar, had killed the mama bird earlier that day
and now Dustin was determined to take the babies back to Lioncross and raise
them.  Her mother, of course, thought she was mad, but she still had to try.
After all, if she hadn't spoiled and pampered Caesar then this might never have
happened. Caesar had no discipline whatsoever.

     She pushed her blond hair back out of her
way for the tenth time; her hands kept snagging on it as she clutched the
branch. But as soon as she pushed it away, it was back again and hanging all
over her. She usually loved her buttock-length hair, reveled in it, but not
today. Long and thick and straight. It glistened and shimmered like a banner of
gold silk.

     Her big, almond-shaped eyes watched the
nest intently. But not just any eyes, they were of the most amazing shade of
gray, like sunlight behind storm clouds. Surrounded by thick dark-blond lashes,
they were stunning. With her full rosy lips set in a heart-shaped face, she was
an incredible beauty.

     Not that Dustin had any shortage of
suitors. The list was long of the young men waiting for a chance to speak with
her father upon his return. She truly didn't care one way or the other; men
were a nuisance and a bore and she got along very well without them. Nothing
was worse that a starry-eyed suitor who mooned over her like a love-sick pup.
She had punched many idiots right in the eye in answer to a wink or a
suggestive look.

     “Can you reach it yet?” her friend,
Rebecca, stood at the base of the tree, apprehensively watching.

     “Not yet,” Dustin called back, irritated at
the distraction. “Almost.”

     Just another couple of feet and she would
have it. Carefully, carefully, she crept along the branch, hoping it wouldn't
give way.

     “Dustin?” Rebecca called urgently.

     Dustin paused in her quest. “What now?”

     “Riders,” Rebecca said with some panic, “coming
this way.”

     Dustin lay down on the branch, straining to
see the object of her friend's fear. Indeed, up on the rise of the road that
led directly under the tree she was on, were incoming riders. A lot of them,
from what she could see.

     Her puzzlement grew. Who would be coming to
Lioncross this time of day, this lazy afternoon in a long succession of lazy
afternoons? The riders passed through a bank of trees and she could see them
better.

     She began to catch some of her friend’s
fear. There were soldiers, hundreds of them.

     “Rebecca.” she hissed. “Climb the tree.
Hurry up.”

     With a shriek, Rebecca clumsily climbed
onto the trunk and began slowly making her way up.

     “Who are they?” she gasped.

     Dustin shook her head. “I do not know,” she
replied. The only time I have ever seen that many soldiers was when my father….”
She suddenly sat up on the branch. “My
father!
Rebecca, climb down!”

     Rebecca didn’t share Dustin’s excitement. “Why?”
she exclaimed.

     Dustin was already scooting back down,
crashing into her friend. “It is my father, you ninny. He has returned!”

     Rebecca, reluctantly, began to back down
the scratchy oak branch. “How do you know that? Are they flying a banner?”

     Dustin hadn't even looked. She didn't have
to. “Who else would it be?” She was so excited she was beginning to shake.

     The army was quickly approaching the
ladies’ position. Thunder filled the air, blotting out everything else. Now,
they were upon them.  Rebecca was down from the tree but Dustin was still
descending.

     Dust from the road swirled about as several
large destriers kicked up grit with their massive hooves. They had come up
amazingly fast and Dustin found herself paying more attention to the chargers than
to what she was doing. As the knights reined their animals to a halt several
feet from Rebecca's terrified form, Dustin tried to get a better look at them.

     She was trying very hard to single out her
father but her distraction cost her as she lost her grip on the branch. With a
scream, she plummeted from the tree about ten feet overhead and landed heavily
on her right side.

     Rebecca gasped and dropped to Dustin’s aid.
“Dustin! My God, are you all right?”

     Dustin rolled to her back, now oblivious to
the knights and men that were watching her. All she knew was that she could not
catch her breath and her chest was so hot it would soon explode.  As Rebecca
tried to get a look at her, one of the knights dismounted his steed and knelt
beside her.

     “Breathe easy.” Came a deep, soothing
voice. “Where do you hurt?”

     Dustin could not talk. She could only
manage to lay there and gasp for air. The knight removed his gauntlets and
flipped up the faceplate on his helmet.

     “Take deep breaths,” he told her, putting
his plate-sized hand on her abdomen, just below her ribs. “Slowly, slowly. Come
now, slow down. That's right.”

     As Dustin’s shock wore off, tears of pain
and shock began to roll down her temples and, for the first time, she opened
her eyes and focused on the man with the kind voice. She was shocked to see how
big and frightening he was. He gazed back at her impassively.

     “Are you hurt?” he asked.

     She shook her head unsteadily. “I do not
think so,” she choked out. “I can breathe a little better.”

     He silently extended a hand, carefully
pulling her up to sit. The first thing Dustin noticed was how big his hands
were as they closed around her own.

     The knight continued to crouch next to her,
his gaze still unreadable. Shaking the leaves out of her hair, Dustin gave him
the once-over.

     “Who are you?” she demanded softly. “Where
is my father?”

     “Who is your father?” he returned, ignoring
her first question.

     Dustin had a bad habit of speaking first
and thinking later. If these men were her father’s vassals, then they would
have known her on sight.

     “Why, Lord Barringdon, of course,” she said,
grabbing the ends of her hair and shaking them hard.  “Where is he?”

     For the first time the man showed emotion.
His sky-blue eyes widened for a brief second and he abruptly stood up. She
tried to look up at him, but he was so tall she had to lay her head back
completely and she could not do that because her head was killing her. So she
cocked her head at an odd angle, still looking up at him, as she struggled to
her feet.

     The man didn’t help her rise, although he
probably should have. He just kept staring at her.

     “Lady Dustin Barringdon, I presume?” he
asked after a moment.

     His voice sounded queer. Dustin managed to
stand on her own, putting out a hand to steady herself as the earth beneath her
rocked. The knight reached out to balance her.

     “Aye,” she replied, pulling her hand away
cautiously and taking a step toward Rebecca, who clutched at her. She eyed the
man warily. “Who are you?”

     She had no idea why the man s eyes were
twinkling. His face held no expression, but she swore his eyes were twinkling.

     “I am a friend of you father's” he said. “My
name is Christopher de Lohr.”

     “Where is my father?” Dustin demanded yet
again, excited to hear this man was a friend.

     The knight hesitated. “Is your mother home,
my lady?” he asked. “I bring messages for her.”

     Dustin’s excitement took a turn for the
worst.  She had asked the same question three times without an answer. She was
coming to suspect why and her stomach lurched with anguish. 
God, no!

     “
Where
is my father?”

     “I will discuss that with your mother.”

     Dustin stared at him a long, long time. He
gazed back at her, studying every inch of that beautiful, sensuous face. The
gray orbs that met his blue suddenly went dark and stormy. She closed her eyes
and turned away from him, beginning to walk back down the road. Rebecca,
puzzled, yet not wanting to be left alone with a company of soldiers, ran after
her.

     Christopher watched her go, knowing she
must suspect at least part of the reason why he had come. When he began to hear
soft sobs, fading as she continued down the road, he knew that her fears were
confirmed. She knew her father was dead.

     He turned to his brother. “Get the men
moving,” he said, mounting his destrier, but his eyes were still on the lady.

     Christ, but he was still reeling with
surprise and pleasure at the discovery of Lady Dustin. She was beautiful.
Damnation, he hadn't known what to expect. The entire trip home had been filled
with dread and foreboding, but he could see his worries were for naught. Even
if she was as stupid as a tree and as disagreeable as a mule, she was still
beautiful. If he had to marry, she might as well be pleasant to look at. Any
other qualities were superfluous.

     Slowly, the army followed several paces
behind her. Dustin’s had never known grief before and discovered it to be the
most painful thing she had ever experienced. The knight wouldn’t tell her where
her father was and that in of itself was confirmation of the worst. She wasn’t
a fool. Sorrow overwhelmed her and she suddenly could not breathe again. Her sobs
grew into raspy puffs of air and the ground began to sway again. Dustin was
aware of a blissful, floating feeling as a strange blackness swallowed her up.

     Christopher saw her go down on the side of
the road and he spurred his destrier forward. The animal came to a halt in a
cloud of dust and he dismounted, pulling Lady Dustin’s hysterical friend away
from the crumpled form in the grass.

     “What’s the matter with her?” her friend cried.
“She's dying. The fall will kill her!”

     Christopher knelt down, noting the even
breathing, steady pulse, but pale color. Mayhap the fall did contribute to this.
He suddenly felt strangely protective, knowing that the woman was to be his
wife. Wasn't it right for a husband to feel protective? It was the most
peculiar sensation he'd ever experienced.

     “What’s your name, lass?” he asked the
panting redhead.

     “Rebecca,” she replied, “Rebecca Comlymn.”

     Christopher nodded, turning back to the
woman in the grass. “You will take us back to Lioncross, Mistress Rebecca. I
will take care of Lady Dustin.”