Rise of the Defender (64 page)

     Dustin took no time to pick and choose her
targets. With a yell that a Scot would have been proud of, she swung the mace
over her head a few times to gain momentum and plowed it into the first enemy
soldier she came to. The helmet caved in and smashed his skull into fragments.

     Dustin didn't even stop to see what her
handiwork had caused; she continued to swing the mace, killing two more
unsuspecting soldiers before one man actually turned on her, brandishing his
sword high. Dustin didn't back down in the least; she swung the mace again and
aimed well, but she ended up entangling the chain in the soldier’s sword. In a
panic, she tugged as hard as she could to release it, but the man's strength
was greater and he nearly tore her arm from her sockets yanking the mace from
her grip.

     He snapped his sword sideways, disentangling
the mace and bringing the sword to bear once again on Dustin. She was
momentarily stunned; all she could do was stare back at the soldier who held
her life in his hands.

     She could hear shouting going on and
suddenly there was a man standing beside the soldier in front of her. The visor
to the faceplate went up and she found herself face to face with Ralph Fitz
Walter. His bruised, circled eyes glittered evilly at her and Dustin knew she
was trapped.

     “My lady looks ravishing as always,” he said
as easily as if they were at a social gathering. “Accompany me and I shall
spare your husband's knights.”

     Dustin knew that if she went with Ralph,
she might never see the sun rise again. After what had happened this afternoon,
she knew he would seek revenge on Christopher. Panic surged in her chest and
she stumbled backwards, her mind completely blank except for the lone thought
of escaping the sheriff.

     “Nay!” Ralph screamed as she moved, unable
to grab hold of her. As Ralph pushed forward, the soldier, thinking Ralph had
just given him the order to kill the lady, brought the sword down and buried
five or six inches of the blade lengthwise in the top of Dustin's left thigh.

     Dustin screamed loudly with pain and shock,
twisting away with blood streaming all down her surcoat and spattering on the
floor. Marcus and Edward, the closest to her, saw what transpired and were
overcome with desperation to reach her. All Marcus could see was the blood and
his heart crashed to his heels in agony.

     Suddenly the hall was filled with a legion
of soldiers, crown soldiers, fighting off John's guard simply by sheer number.
Frightened residents of the wing had summoned the company when sounds of a
battle filled the corridor, it was a matter of honor to kill John's mercenary
bastard troops. The hate for the elite guard was great among the crown's
men-at-arms.

     The black and green soldiers retreated down
the hall, yet not without resistance, as Ralph hurled himself at Dustin and
snatched her by the arms.

     “You are coming with me,” he snarled into
her ear.

     Dustin tried to kick and fight him, but the
shock of her wound was rendering her weak and faint. She did manage to slug him
in his bruised face, and he dropped her with a loud curse. But when she
stumbled away from him, he hit her brutally across the back of her head and she
faltered, allowing him to get a grip on her waist. Gasping with triumph, he
hauled the dazed Dustin against him and attempted to find a way free of the
melee.

     “Ralph!” Came an unmistakable roar and the
sheriff looked over to see Marcus jostling toward him, his face deadly.

     Ralph ripped his dagger free of its sheath
and pointed it at the baron. “You are the prince's champion. You should be
assisting me, you traitor.”

     “I shall kill you, you bastard!” Marcus
bellowed furiously, shoving soldiers aside with his bad arm, oblivious to the
pain. “Let her go.”

     The dirk pointing at Marcus was suddenly at
Dustin's gut. “I shall kill her if you come any closer, Burton. Call back your
men or she dies.”

     Dustin heard the words through her stupor
and suddenly came around, twisting violently against Ralph and throwing her
hands up in the general direction of his face. As she hoped, her palm found
it's mark and Ralph yelled in pain as his nose was again struck. His hands on
his face, Dustin fell to the floor and scrambled on her hands and knees,
persevering with every ounce of strength she had as she tried to get away from
him. There was a heavy silk curtain several feet away; she pushed toward it,
thinking if mayhap she could hide in the folds, Ralph would leave her alone to
die. And with the amounts of blood she was losing, she was sure that heaven was
her next destination.

     Ralph was in his own world of pain. His
broken nose was moving loosely about his face and he forgot all else but
retreating before further damage could be dealt. Hollering in frustration and
anguish, he staggered back down the hall, yelling retreat to the elite guard.
Hearing the command, swords dropped and the stampede was on.

     Marcus raced to Dustin, propped up against
the far wall half-hidden behind the huge silk portiere. She was trying to wrap
her surcoat around her bleeding leg without much success and he pushed her
hands away, wiping at the blood as he tried to assess the wound.

     “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Oh, God,
Dustin, I am so sorry.”

     Through her weakness and pain, Dustin could
see how agonized he was as he ripped her surcoat away to get a better look at
her leg. She reached out and touched his thick black hair.

     “'Tis nothing compared to your hand,” she
said shakily. “Are you all right? Is everyone all right?”

     David was there, letting out a small cry of
panic when he saw all of the blood on his brother's wife. He dropped to his
knees, shoving Marcus aside as they both tried to get a better look at the
wound.

     Edward and Leeton rushed up, nicked and
breathing heavily as they gazed down on their liege's wife. Yet before they
could do or say anything, Dud stumbled up, blood all over him.

     “Marcus,” he croaked, “Trent is in a bad
way.”

     Edward pulled Marcus to his feet and the
two of them followed Dud back up the hall to where young Trent Burton lay in a
puddle of his own blood, having been lanced in the side of the neck. He was
bleeding volumes by the second. Edward and Leeton picked him up between them as
Marcus opened the door to Christopher's apartments.

     David was left alone with Dustin, having
seen the wound and was now wrapping her leg tightly in strips of her destroyed
surcoat. His handsome face was so very serious and Dustin watched him work, the
pain in her leg unbearable but she maintained her composure. 'Twould only upset
David more to see her tears, and he was doing the very best that he could.

     “There,” he said in a breathy voice when he
had finished tightening the cloth. “Let's get you back to your room.”

     He reached down and picked her up, holding
her against him as he rushed back down the hall and into the antechamber of
Christopher's apartments. Behind him, Leeton slammed the door and bolted it.

     Trent lay on the floor and Dustin caught
sight of him, twisting in David's arms. “What happened to Trent?”

     No one answered her, for they were more
concerned with stopping the flow of blood from the man's neck. David carried
Dustin into the bedchamber and laid her gently upon the bed.

     “David, where is Christopher?” she asked as
he pushed her down on the pillows.

     “I do not know, but I intend to find him,”
David said grimly, then turned to the open door. “Leeton! Get in here!”

     The tall, blond knight was immediately by
David’s side, his fair face glazed with distress.

     “Stay with her,” David instructed
breathlessly. “I am going for Chris and for a physician.”

     Leeton nodded shortly, removing his helmet
even as David raced for the door. Dustin pushed herself up on her elbows, her
face pale and her eyes unnaturally bright.

     “I am fine, really I am,” she insisted.

     David nodded once, glancing at Leeton
before quitting the room. As he moved past Marcus and Edward in the
antechamber, trying desperately to save young Trent's life, one look at the
mess told David that the efforts would be in vain. A major vessel had been
breached and the poor young man's life was slipping away. David paused a
moment, watching their attempts and gripped with utter contempt for Ralph and
John.

     “How's Dustin?” Edward managed to ask, up
to his elbows in blood.

     “It's long and fairly deep, but not too
serious,” he replied. “I am going for the physician and for Christopher now.
Bolt this damn door after I leave.”

     He didn't wait for an answer before he was
gone, tearing down the hall with the rage of the devil filling him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

     Christopher returned close to dawn, having
no idea that anything was amiss until he approached his apartments and saw the
bloodstains on the floor. Terror seized him, even as he raced the last several
yards and saw a dozen soldiers guarding his door. Without a word or a glance,
he shoved into his apartments, his eyes wide with fear.

     David was near the door, his sword drawn in
reaction to his brother's violent entry. When he saw who it was, the sword
clattered to the floor.

     “Chris!” he exclaimed. “Where in the hell
have you been? I have been looking....”

     “What happened?” Christopher only wanted
his questions answered. “Why is there blood in the hall?”

     “We were ambushed,” David said gravely.
“Ralph lay in wait with John's troops out in the hall and jumped us when we
returned from supper. They killed the six guards that were protecting your
apartments and stored the bodies in the maid's alcove at the other end of the
wing.”

     Christopher's face washed with a menacing
expression. “Bastards,” he hissed. “Where is Dustin? Is she well?”

     “She took a blow to the leg,” David said,
hoping his brother wouldn't tear him apart in his grief. “A decent cut that
bled a great deal, but the physician stitched her up and gave her something for
the pain. She is sleeping.”

     Christopher's face went from sheer anger to
chalky pale very rapidly. He stared at David a moment.

     “But she's all right?” he rasped. “'Twas
not a severe wound?”

     “Nay, not overly,” David replied. “The
doctor says there was no great damage, though she will have a scar.”

     Christopher could hardly catch his breath,
so great his shock and grief. His gaze wandered from his brother and traveled
to the closed bedchamber door, so incredibly furious at John and Ralph but
immensely grateful for Dustin's life. He took a moment to glance about the
room, noting the blood on the floor.

     “What is that?” he demanded, pointing. “Is
that my wife's blood?”

     “It is Trent's,” Marcus said from his chair
in the corner, his head resting on his hand wearily.

     “Trent? What happened? Where is he?”
Christopher asked insistently.

     “He is dead.” Marcus’ hand fell to his lap,
his face lined with fatigue. “He took a blow to the neck and bled to death,
right there on your floor. We tried to help him but there was nothing we could
do.”

     Christopher's eyes washed with sorrow for
the knight's death. Even though he had not truly fought with the boy, Marcus
thought a great deal of his cousin and, therefore, so did Christopher. He had
seen him in practice for the tourney and knew the lad to be an aggressive and
eager fighter.

     “I am sorry, Marcus,” he said softly. “I
did not know the boy very well, but he was your blood and I am truly sorry for
his death.”

     “As am I,” Marcus said hoarsely, averting
his gaze.

     Christopher looked about again, at his
bloodied and weary knights, and the blood on the floor, and was suddenly seized
with a ferocious rage. Damn John and Ralph; would the bastards stop at nothing
to destroy him? An attack against him was understandable, even welcomed, but to
ambush his knights and wife in the very halls of Windsor was inexcusable.
Christopher knew damn well that Ralph had convinced John the undertaking would
be a success, revenge for the pounding Christopher had dealt Ralph that
afternoon.

     Instead of going to the bedchamber as
expected, Christopher whirled and stormed to the front door. David, Edward and
Leeton leapt out to stop him.

     “Where are you going?” David demanded.

     “Where do you think, little brother?”
Christopher snapped. “This time they have gone too far. They have wounded my
wife and killed one of my knights, and I will avenge myself on them. They have
played with fire and now they shall be burned.”

     “Nay, Chris.” David grabbed him by the arms
as Edward wedged himself between his liege and the door. “Do not you see? That
is what they want. John is looking for an excuse to dispose of you and an
attack on the prince would sentence you to a life in the dungeons. Not even
Richard could release you.”