Rise of the Defender (61 page)

     Marcus waved with his good hand. “Good
morn.”

     Christopher pulled up the sagging dress at
her shoulders. “Are you hungry? We were just contemplating going down to
supper.”

     “Aye, I could eat,” she said. “I shall
change my surcoat.”

     She stumbled back into the bedchamber with
Christopher in tow. Marcus turned back to the fire, to his wine, darkly wishing
that it could be him in the bedchamber helping Dustin change her surcoat and
disgusted with himself in the same breath. Christopher had been right of one
thing during his earlier tirade; Marcus was guilty of breaking the tenth
commandment.

     Christopher came back out after a few
minutes, acknowledging Marcus' questioning glance. “She will be out in a
minute,” he said.

     Marcus noticed his liege wore a fresh tunic
and his hair was combed. Muscled legs bulged through dark breeches and
disappeared into black leather boots. Marcus felt quite ill-dressed in his
dirtied tunic and worn boots. But there was no time to change, for Dustin
emerged from the bedchamber a few moments later dressed in a wine-colored surcoat
of brocade with gold leafing that hung off her exquisite shoulders and molded
to her torso. It was exquisite and rather indecent.

     Christopher did a double-take at his wife.
“Is that one of your mother's surcoats?”

     She looked defiantly back at him, fussing
with a slipper. “Aye, it is, and you approved of it. And you just fastened the
stays not a minute ago and said nothing about it.”

     He raised an eyebrow. “I must have been
drunk. 'Tis too tight.”

     “It fits me well, thank you,” Dustin
insisted. “I am not going to change again. What do you think, Marcus?”

     Marcus glanced at Christopher before
forming a carefully-worded answer. “'Tis a lovely surcoat, my lady.”

     “You are no help,” Christopher muttered,
then looked at his wife again. “Well, then, I suppose it is a good thing you
have both Marcus and myself for escort, considering we will be beating the
entire male population of Windsor away from you.”

     She giggled and he held out his arm to her.
When Marcus stood beside her she instinctively reached out to take his arm, as
well, but clutched bandages instead. “Oh, Marcus, I am sorry.” She snatched her
arm away. “Did I hurt you?”

     “Nay, dear lady,” he said as he opened the
door. “You could not if you tried.”

     There were still over a dozen soldiers in
the hall and Christopher took half with them down to the great dining hall
where supper was already being served in high fashion. Leeton and Edward were
there, but David and the rest of the knights were attending to the final
details for the tournament as Christopher seated Dustin and then took the chair
next to her. He didn't bother to glance at the head table to see if Ralph was
there; he hoped the man had died of a hemorrhage.

     Dustin seemed to be in good spirits.
Mummers were moving about the room, making fun of the guests and doing
acrobatics. Dustin had seen mummers, once, when she had traveled with her
father to Bath as a young girl and was fascinated by their tricks and brightly
colored costumes. One fool wore lively bells on the end of his three-cornered hat
that jingled wildly.

     She devoured her meal of capon and venison
with a plum sauce, watching with bright eyes as the mummers danced, oblivious
to the conversation her husband was having with Marcus over the top of her
head. She was thoroughly enjoying herself until she glanced away from the fools
and caught sight of Lady Gabrielle sitting a few tables away with her husband
and sister-in-law.

     The smile of greeting that was forming on
her lips turned to horror when she saw that Lady Gabrielle's face was bruised
and her lip was swollen. The woman averted her eyes when she saw Dustin,
turning back to her trencher and Dustin went stiff with distress. She turned to
her husband.

     “Chris, look at Lady Gabrielle over there,”
she pointed as discreetly as she could manage. “Look at her face. She looks to
have been in an accident.”

     Christopher glanced nonchalantly at the
lady. It took him all of two seconds to see that the woman met with no
accident, unless she mistakenly threw herself on her husband's fists. He turned
back to his own food, disgusted at a man who could beat his wife.

     But Dustin wanted his opinion. “What do you
think happened? Can I at least speak with her for a moment?”

     “That would not be wise,” he said quietly,
suspecting that Lady de Havilland's husband disciplined his wife for consorting
with an enemy's wife. “Leave well enough alone, Dustin.”

     She looked at him curiously. “Leave what
alone?”

     “Lady Gabrielle,” he said quietly. “I
wouldn't even look at her if I were you.”

     She was thoroughly puzzled by now. “For
God’s sake, why not? What's the matter?”

     Christopher put down his spoon, wondering
how he could delicately phrase his answer so his wife wouldn't fly into a
frenzy.

     “I told you that her husband was
sympathetic to John,” he replied. “After what happened this afternoon with
Ralph, I can only deduce that the earl punished his wife for befriending you.
Anymore contact between you and she could result in more than a beating for
her.”

     Dustin's eyes widened and her mouth opened
slightly, but she didn't look back at the woman. Instead, she looked quickly
down at her trencher. “He hurt her?” she whispered. “But…she did nothing. Why
did he have to hurt her?”

     Christopher picked up his wife's hand and
kissed it, returning to his own food. “I do not know, sweetheart. Some men do
not think twice about beating a female.”

     Dustin was sick. She sat back in her chair,
trying desperately not to look at Lady Gabrielle but wanting to comfort the
woman somehow. She was such a nice lady and Dustin was quickly becoming
distraught on her behalf.

     Suddenly the mummers were in front of her,
two effeminate men in tight little costumes, dancing and cavorting in front of
her. They leap-frogged over each other a few times, singing some sort of crazy
song. Minutes earlier, Dustin would have been thrilled but at this moment she
wanted nothing to do with them.

     The first mummer, a little man with graying
hair, hopped up to the table and gave Dustin a wild-eyed look.

     “'Tis said the Lion's Claw married the most
beautiful woman in the realm.” he began. “The man who single-handedly tamed
Saladin finds himself tamed by a mere slip of a girl with enough hair to weave
a rug.”

     The two of them bounced around crazily as
the tables closest to them laughed at Christopher and Dustin's expense. Dustin
frowned impatiently as the second mummer bobbed forward.

     “Eyes like silver, hair like gold, will she
tarnish when she grows old?” he blurted in a silly fashion, rolling his eyes.
“The face of an angel and fists of steel, will she be the Claw's Achilles
heel?”

     Christopher sat quite calmly, his gaze
never wavering and his expression never changing. Dustin, however, wasn't so
adept at hiding her emotions.

     “Go away,” she snorted as the first mummer
rolled forward for his turn.

     His face fell exaggeratedly. “Oh, my lady
doesn't appreciate our humor. Should we use smaller words?”

     It was a blatant insult, unusual for
mummers. Christopher suspected the prince had paid these fools well for a
daring chance. Before he could stop his wife from reacting, she stood up and
smashed a half-eaten custard tart into the mummer's face.

     “Obviously you do not understand words at
all, otherwise you would have respected my wishes,” she snapped. “Get out of my
sight before I do more than rub custard in your face.”

     Surprisingly, the mummer didn't react
except to stand there with his mouth agape. Then, in a silly move, he licked
his lips and face, smacking loudly. “Mmmm. Tasty, tasty. As tasty as you,
Liontamer?”

     Marcus was half out of his chair before the
mummers frolicked away, their mood unspoiled.

     “Sit down,” Christopher tugged on her arm.

     “Are you going to let them get away with
that?” she demanded.

     “
Sit
” He pulled hard and she plopped
into her chair. Then, to Dustin's amazement, he put his big arm around her
shoulders and pulled her close to him, lips against her ear. “John sent them
over here to get a rise out of me. I shall not oblige him.”

     She looked up at him, her face so close she
could feel his heat. “And I did. I apologize.”

     He smiled softly. “I expect no less from
you, Lady de Lohr. Those mummers had better run for their lives.”

     She grinned, embarrassed. Knowing how he
felt about public displays of affection, she was feeling warm and giddy with
his nearness in front of a roomful of strangers.

     “You are very close,” she murmured.

     “Aye, I am.”

     “Are you going to kiss me in front of the
prince?”

     He did, tenderly and sweetly. To hell with
his restraint; John and Ralph already knew that he was smitten with her and
there was no use in pretending otherwise. He remembered the mummer's words,
thinking the term Achilles’ heel to be quite apt. She was his one and only
weakness, and the sooner he acknowledged that, the better to deal with it.  He
realized he was finished resisting her. There was no point. He was a much
happier man embracing the joy of emotion than denying it.  It made him feel
strong and empowered.

     He was going in for another kiss when a
figure stood in front of the table, interrupting. Christopher looked up to see
William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke. The tall, older man was Richard's marshal,
of greater rank than Christopher and more an administrator than warrior.
Christopher had had a long, arduous meeting with William the very day he
arrived in England, even before he had delivered Richard's message to John.
William was a man of good moral character who understood John's ambitions
better than anyone, and despised him greatly.

     “I have a need to speak with you, baron,”
he said quietly, barely acknowledging Dustin.

     Christopher took his arm off his wife and
rose steadily, concerned with the look in the marshal's eye. “Of course, my
lord.” He turned quickly to Marcus. “Entertain my wife until I return.”

     Marcus agreed, his eyes riveted to
Christopher and the marshal as they left the hall, knowing that something was
amiss from the stiff stance of the earl. He wondered darkly what fresh new hell
they were about to enter. William Marshal and a stiff stance could only convey
something very bad.

     Dustin's eyes followed her husband, hoping
he would return shortly and having no idea who the older man was. She also had
no idea that the eyes of John were on her, raking over her beauty and trying to
formulate a plan for getting the baron's wife alone again. Every time he saw
her, his lust for her grew. He hoped the tournament tomorrow would provide such
an opportunity. If truth be known, the only man in the realm he did fear other
than his brother was Christopher, yet he knew that the baron could not punish
him in any way should he lay hands on his nubile young wife. John had bedded
the wives of earls and dukes, and all were powerless to revenge him. But de
Lohr was different; the pure presence of the man intimidated and angered him at
the same time.

     He knew how to seek revenge for Ralph.
True, they had planned to abduct the woman anyway, but to seek true revenge
rather than use her for a pawn was never the original objective. The purpose
was now altered.

     As John plotted and schemed, William
Marshal took Christopher into a small antechamber, one of a hundred in Windsor.
Music from the great dining hall could still be heard even when William closed
the door and faced the expectant Defender. The mood was already grim.

     “Chris, we have just received word from
Palestine,” he said softly. “There is no easy way to tell you this, lad, so I
shall come out with it. Richard is missing.”

     Christopher's brow furrowed. “Missing? What
do you mean?”

     “He sailed from Acre to the coast of
Corsica and simply disappeared,” the earl replied. “His general believes him to
be traveling across the continent incognito, trying to reach his Duchy of
Normandy before crossing to England, but no one is certain.”

     “Damn,” Christopher hissed, relaxing
against a massive oaken table. “Why would he do that when he knows Duke Leopold
of Austria is out for his blood? Not to mention Emperor Henry, or Philip
Augustus. Christ, they are all out for his hide. Why would he chance such a
stupid action?”

     “Richard is a wise man, Chris,” William
replied, as perplexed as the baron was but trying to remain confident in
Richard's ability. “He must have damn good reasons whatever they might be. The
fact remains that John is going to run rampant with this knowledge.”

     Christopher's handsome face was grave, his
eyes dark. “What do you suspect?”