Rise of the Defender (55 page)

     ''We came to see how you are faring,”
Dustin offered, feeling the tension rise. “I am so sorry you had an accident.
Is it bad?”

     Marcus looked at her a moment before opening
the door wide and allowing them entrance.

     “Bad enough, my lady, that I will not be
fighting in the tournament tomorrow,” he replied politely.

     “What did the physician say?” Christopher
asked.

     Marcus didn't look at him as he pulled up a
chair for Dustin. “That it is broken.”

     “How bad?” Dustin asked, concerned, her
lovely face upturned to him.

     Marcus sat on his bed. “Bad,” he said with
a nod of his head. “Very bad.”

     Dustin glanced at Christopher, who was
looking at his friend. As Christopher gazed at the man, the waste and the
selflessness of Marcus' actions gripped him like a vise and he felt his pride,
his rigidness abate.

     “
How
bad, Marcus?” he pressed
quietly.

     Marcus looked at the bandage, touched it.
“Most of the bones in my hand are broken, as well as my elbow,” he said. “The
physician seems to think that my arm, when it heals, will be virtually
useless.”

     Dustin gasped, a hand flying to her mouth.
“Oh, Marcus, that's terrible,” she exclaimed softly. “But surely the physician
is wrong. Why, once your hand is healed, 'twill only be a matter of building
your strength again.”

     “Or learning to fight with my left hand,”
Marcus smiled at her, his eyes dulled.

     Dustin returned his smile sympathetically.
“Marcus, I am truly sorry for you. You are the greatest fighter I have ever
seen, next to Christopher, of course. You will be again, someday, I know it.”
She reached out and gingerly touched the stiff bandage. “How did it happen?”

     Marcus didn't even look at Christopher,
keeping his eyes focused on Dustin's blond head. “It's not even worth
mentioning, my lady, truly. What's done is done, and I move on.”

     Dustin didn't press anymore. Christopher
wouldn't tell her how it happened, and neither would Marcus, and she suspected
that one had to do with the other.

     “I hear that you are now a great and
powerful baron,” she said, trying to shift the subject to something less
morose. “Congratulations, Marcus. Richard will be most pleased.”

     He nodded. “I hope so, as I am eager to see
my holding,” he said. “The winters are hell that far north, though.”

     She grinned, her eyes alive. “They cannot
be worse than winters on the Welsh border. We freeze sometimes for six straight
months.”

     “Do you hear that, Chris?” Marcus actually
looked at him. “You have six months of the deep freeze to look forward to.”

     Christopher cracked a half-smile. “Then I
am pleased to have you to commiserate with.”

     Marcus snorted. “I am not entirely sure I
am equipped to handle a cold winter any longer,” he said. “Winters in the Holy
Land were beautiful and mild. I fear I have been spoiled.”

     Christopher nodded. “As have I,” he said.
“I am ashamed to admit it.”

     Dustin, happy that they were at least
talking civilly, took the opportunity to slip from the room. She rose from her
chair and put her hand on Marcus' shoulder.

     “My husband wishes to speak with you,
Marcus, so I will leave you two alone.” She patted his shoulder before moving
for the door. Christopher, standing in front of her like a huge movable wall,
crossed his arms.

     “And where do you plan to go?” he asked
pointedly. “I will not have you wandering the halls of the knight's quarters
alone.”

     “That is true, my lady,” Marcus rose. “I am
sure your husband doesn't mind if you hear what he has to say.”

     Christopher looked over her head to Marcus.
“Nay,” he said after a moment. “I simply….Marcus, I know that whatever I say is
grossly inadequate considering what has happened, but all the same I wanted you
to know that….well, that I am so very sorry for the way I acted, and for what I
said. I cannot explain myself except to say that I was foolish. Whether or not
you forgive me is your privilege, but I wanted you to know my feelings just the
same.”

     Marcus gazed back at him, his cobalt blue
eyes unreadable. Christopher, positive the man was going to throw him bodily
from the room then and there, cleared his throat and continued.

     “Dustin will be awarding prizes at the
tournament tomorrow,” he said. “I would consider it an honor and a personal
favor if you would act as her protector.”

     Marcus knew how hard that request must have
been for Christopher. Truth was, he would like nothing better. He was almost as
good with a sword in his left hand as in his right, although most people didn't
know it. But Christopher knew it, else he would not have asked.

     Marcus didn't blame Christopher for
anything, for all of the events stemmed from his blunder. If the situation had
been reversed, he doubted he would have acted with as much control as
Christopher had, in spite of everything that had happened.

     “'Twould be my pleasure, my lord,” he said
after a moment, his heart melted by Dustin's huge smile.

     Christopher nodded shortly. “My thanks,” he
said. “What did John say of your injury?”

     That seemed to bring some humor to Marcus’
lips. “He was only just here moments before your arrival,” he replied. “His
personal physician tended me, you know. To say the prince is furious is an
understatement, especially in light of the fact that I had all of my conditions
put in writing and he cannot do a damn thing about it. I am a baron by his hand
whether or not he likes it, and he has no champion at the tournament tomorrow.”

     Dustin, feeling the tension of the room
drain away, was happier than she had been in a few days. She leaned into
Christopher, feeling his arm go about her waist.

     “We are going to the Street of the
Jewelers, Marcus,” she said. “Please accompany us.”

     Marcus waved her off. “Nay, my lady, as
much as I would like to, I have been ordered to rest and I must say that my arm
throbs.”

     “Of course,” Dustin nodded. “Then mayhap we
will see you at supper?”

     “I would not miss it,” he replied. “That
is, if the baron is gracious enough to allow me the company of his knights and
wife.”

     “You are my vassal, it is expected that you
are with me at all times,” Christopher said firmly, rescinding his order of
dismissal he had issued the night before and hoping to make it sound firm
enough that Marcus would not dare back down. But the man was a baron now, too,
and was no longer subject to Christopher’s orders. “If that is agreeable,” he
added.

     Marcus grinned at the addition of the last
sentence. “It is,” he replied. “Did you know that John granted me five hundred
troops to take with me to Somerhill? As big as your force, I might add. The
task at hand is selecting my knights. If you have no objection, I will be
taking Dud and Trent with me.”

     “None at all, as they are your men,”
Christopher replied. “There are many fine knights at Windsor because of the
tournament and tomorrow should provide you with a great opportunity to view their
skills.”

     Marcus nodded. “I already have at least two
men in mind.”

     “Who?” Christopher was suddenly all talk,
all business.

     Dustin listened to her husband and his
vassal, almost weak with relief. Once again they were talking as they had when
she had first met Marcus, before all of the ugly scenes and words. Therefore,
she was perfectly content to stand there patiently whereas before, she would
have whined to leave.

     They left Marcus to rest almost an hour
later. Dustin by then was truly bored, twitching restlessly until Christopher
finally excused himself. They left the knight's housing and proceeded back
across the grounds, their pace unhurried and their talk light. She could scarce
believe that this morn she had been desperately angry at him, unsure of any
feelings she had. Strange how everything became abundantly clear in a matter of
minutes.

     “To the Street of the Jewelers, then?”
Christopher asked as they left the knight’s quarters, taking her hand and all
but forgetting about the practice rounds going on in the arena down the slope.

     She nodded. “I would buy you that massive
ring now.”

     He was grinning, scratching at his beard
underneath his mail hood. “This beard itches something fierce when I perspire.
What say you were I to shave it off?”

     She was amazed that he had asked her
opinion and took the question seriously. “You are most handsome with it off or
on,” she said. “If it irritates you, then shave it off.”

     “But I will no longer be able to scratch
you when I kiss you,” he teased, grabbing her and rubbing her cheek with his
beard until she screamed.

     “Shave the bloody thing off!” she yelled,
smiling, as he released her. “You like to use it to torture me.”

     “True,” he agreed. “Then mayhap I shall
keep it.”

     They laughed together and continued to the
stables.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

     From where Ralph stood, he had a perfect
view of Baron de Lohr and his wife as they wandered leisurely down to the
stables. He watched them hug and laugh until they disappeared from view before
turning to John, seated several feet away and sitting in front of a chess set.

     “Well?” John asked, considering his next
move.

     “De Lohr and his wife,” Ralph told him.
“Looks as if he will be taking her out for a ride.”

     “I'd like to take her for a ride,” John
mumbled suggestively, moving a piece. Ralph pushed himself away from the window
and sat back down.

     “What do we do now with Burton
non-functional?” he asked, moving his knight.

     John chewed his lip as he thought. “The
bastard probably broke his hand himself,” he said. “He gave me some lame excuse
about a horse stepping on it. Why does this always happen to me? Just as I seem
to gain the upper hand, disaster strikes. Waste of a perfectly good baronetcy
for nothing. Well, now, de Lohr continues to be a problem.”

     Ralph watched the prince make another move
and began contemplating his own. “I am a firm believer in destroying the man at
the source,” he said. “'Tis obvious that we can trust no one else for this
task. He is quite fond of his wife, my lord. I suggest we start there.”

     “What? Kill her? You used that threat on
Burton but I did not believe you to be serious,” John replied. “She's far too
lovely to kill, Ralph, and I have not yet had a chance with her.”

     “Nay, not kill her,” Ralph said. “But it
would not be impossible to abduct her and spirit her far away. How could de
Lohr focus on your destruction if he was consumed with worry for his wife?”

     “De Lohr is out to destroy me, isn't he?”
John murmured, moving another piece. “Why else would he be here as Richard's
eyes and ears,” suddenly, he stopped in mid-movement and looked at Ralph. “Do
you believe it possible that Richard sent him here to kill me?”

     “An assassin? 'Tis possible, I suppose, but
knights as righteous as de Lohr are not keen on premeditated murder,” Ralph countered
the prince's move. “Nay, de Lohr is here to spy on you and report back to your
brother. With him distracted in the search for his wife, 'twill be much harder
for him to spy on you.”

     “Sweet Jesus, what would we do without
lovely little Lady de Lohr?” John murmured, moving his queen. “My brother
unknowingly undermined his own mission by ordering de Lohr to marry the woman.
Who would have known that he would have fallen in love with her.”

     “How could he not?” Ralph moved his knight,
“check.” “A thoroughly delectable piece of meat, not unnoticed by Burton or any
other man who sees her.”

     John sat forward, studying the board.
“Which one of our loyalists holds the most fortified castle?”

     Ralph thought a moment. “There are several,
my lord,” he said. “The trouble is de Lohr commands all of the crown's troops,
which total thousands of men. Were he to use the force and attack the hold
where his wife was being held, he could easily destroy the fortress and our
vassal with it. Nay, sire, if we abduct her, we must hide her until the time is
right to use our leverage.”

     “Hide her where?” John, irritated he was
losing, demanded.

     Ralph sat back in his chair, drumming his
fingertips against each other as his elbows rested on the arms of the chair.
“Wales, Ireland, Scotland, France. Anywhere but England.”

     John looked thoughtful for several moments.
He may have lost the game, but he had not lost the fight. “I have a holding in
South Glamorgan, in Wales. I saw it once; a Godforsaken, miserable piece of
dung. St. Donat's Castle sits on the coast among sharp cliffs and sheer
mountains, a gloomy depressing place that is said to be haunted. The caretaker
is a member of the family that built the place and I obtained the castle.
'Twould be a perfect place to keep Lady de Lohr while her husband frantically
scours England in search of her. He'd never think to look in Wales, do not you
agree?”