Rise of the Defender (84 page)

     He was already beyond the limits of safety,
for Dustin's sake. She thought he was Christopher and would be entirely
innocent of her husband's wrath, but wrath she would receive. The hardest thing
Marcus ever had to do in his young life was let her go.

     He dressed quietly, watching Dustin sleep
peacefully, wondering if she would ever realize what had happened this night.
He hoped that one day she would, and he furthermore hoped she wouldn't hate him
for his weakness. But he had done more than taste her, he had feasted and for
that, he would go to his grave satisfied.

     He would never be rid of her now and it
would slowly kill him to see her living her life with Christopher. There was
only one way to be clear of her beautiful, face forever, as much, as the
thought pained him. Yet for his sanity, he knew he must. But his moment in time
with her would linger on him forever.

     With a long glance, Marcus Burton quit the
room.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

     Christopher paced the floor of John's
audience chamber calmly enough, but inside he was as cagey as a cat. He was
almost frantic to know why John had called an audience of Richard's loyalists,
he and the justices and a few close advisors of the absent king. Yet even as he
wondered, he knew the reason and his stomach tightened in response, word must
have come about Richard. He didn't know why his instincts told him that, but he
knew it just the same. All of the justices sat or stood in relative silence,
waiting in the chill of the ornate audience hall, their minds riveted to the
same thought, they knew why they were here, too.

     William Marshal watched Christopher pace,
his aged face creased with fatigue and worry this night. Whatever the reason
they had been summoned, it could not be a good one and he would not let his
concern to show.

     “Would you sit down, Chris? You are going
to wear a hole in the damn floor,” he said quietly.

     Christopher eyed William, slowing his
movement but not sitting. William raised an eyebrow at him.

     “I realize that you believe sitting in
John's presence is a sign of submission, but force yourself,” he said with
suppressed sarcasm, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “You are making me
nervous.”

     Christopher continued to eye him doubtfully
but did as the elder man asked and took a seat next to him. William relaxed
back into his chair, eyeing Christopher's stiff body with faint amusement. He
shook his head and smiled; Christopher hated John more than any of them, and
for good reason, and was preparing to shoot to his feet the moment the prince
entered the room. He might as well still be standing for all of the relaxing he
was doing on his arse.

     “Tell me, how is your wife?” William asked.

     “Well, sire,” Christopher replied. “Her
appetite and vigor have returned, thankfully.”

     William nodded. “Well and good,” he eyed
Christopher. “Any thoughts on returning her to Lioncross?”

     Christopher shrugged vaguely. “Thoughts, of
course, but no action.”

     William nudged the big man with an elbow.
“You'd miss her too much, wouldn't you?”

     Christopher lifted his shoulders again, not
meeting William's knowing gaze. “I'd rather have her here with me.”

     William laughed softly; Christopher was not
a man to admit attachment to anything or anyone other than Richard, even though
it was painfully obvious his wife had usurped their king in the Defender's
heart. Yet before William could goad him further, a small door behind the throne
swung open and Ralph marched through. He hadn't taken two steps when
Christopher was on his feet, his huge body coiled with anticipation.

     Everyone rose out of pure protocol when
John entered the room, waving benevolently at the group of men and followed by
his closest advisors. Christopher eyed the small group of seedy, shady
characters, even if they were some of England's most noble blood. Bringing up
the rear was none other than Sir Dennis le Londe.

     He spied Christopher and gave him a wolfish
sort of smile. Christopher met the expression with an unreadable face, wishing
he could get the man alone just long enough to snap his neck like kindling.
They never had gotten along, merely tolerated one another because they were
fighting for a common cause. Dennis was a devotee of Philip Augustus, as
passionate about his king as Christopher was for Richard. Since Richard and
Philip Augustus despised each other, it was only natural for Christopher and
Dennis to feel the same way. What had happened in the tournament had not
increased Christopher's loathing, but simply reinforced it.

     John took his seat, adjusting his robes as
a woman would fuss over her surcoat. The justices sat and waited patiently
while John deliberately stalled, conferring with various men around him before
finally clearing his throat and facing the expectant throng.

     “Loyal vassals of Richard,” he began. “I am
afraid 'tis bad news I must give you. I received word from the continent today
regarding Richard's whereabouts and well-being and, I am sorry to say, the
information is most disturbing.”

     Christopher braced himself mentally, not
daring to glance at William Marshal but so wanting to. John continued.

     “On December 12, Richard was captured by
forces of Duke Leopold. He and Emperor Henry are holding our king hostage and
the inclination seems to be that they will demand a ransom for him, a ransom I
am sure we as a country cannot meet.” He was relishing the open reaction of
some of the justices. “As Richard's heir, 'twould seem that England would be
mine in that case.”

     William rose beside Christopher, eyeing
John with disbelief. “Is Richard well?”

     “He is healthy and whole, as far as we are
told,” John replied without a hint of distress.

     “Then ransom or not, sire, Richard is King
of England until his demise,” William said evenly.

     “But England needs a king who is not being
held prisoner,” John said, trying to control the temper that threatened to
flare.

     “Richard cannot rule from a cell.”

     “Richard is king,” William repeated. “The
throne of England is his. And it is quite possible that we may deliver the
requested ransom; has any amount been discussed yet?”

     John’s jaw ticked. “Nay, not yet,” he
replied quietly. “But surely it will be overwhelming and the royal coffers are
already near to bone dry. There will be no way to pay it.”

     “Begging you pardon, sire, but how do you
know?” William said. “Richard has many loyal, wealthy vassals and it is quite
possible that the booty will be raised. Mayhap we should wait and see what
Leopold and Henry demand before we draw any conclusions.

     John was thoroughly agitated. Already the
meeting was not favorable in his behalf, as he had hoped. William Longchamp,
Richard's chancellor, suddenly bolted from his seat, wringing his hands behind
his back.

     “How dare they take Richard prisoner as if
he were a common thief.” he raged. “By what right do they possess the power to
take our sovereign hostage?”

     “They consider Richard a criminal, my lord,
as you well know,” William said steadily, hoping Longchamp would calm down and
realize now was not the place for dissension amongst Richard's ranks. “We have
known that for a long while now, yet it changes nothing. Leopold and Henry the
Lion hold Richard and we must deal with them.”

     Christopher was surprisingly collected. He crossed
his massive arms over his chest, listening to Marshal's voice of reason.

     “Would an armed incursion be possible, my
lord, were we to find out where they are holding him?” he asked William
quietly.

     “I will not allow it.” John shot out of his
chair, shaking his fist at Christopher. “You will not take an army into the
empire to free my brother. Such acts could be deemed provocative and before we
would realize it, we would be at war with the entire empire.”

     Christopher gaze was cool on John. “We are
already at war with Henry, so to speak,” he said. “He has captured our king.
Would you not consider that act the least bit provocative?”

     John's mouth worked furiously. “No armed
excursion, de Lohr. I forbid it.”

     “You cannot,” Christopher responded flatly.
“You have not the power. Only the justices can deny me.”

     The veins on John's neck bulged. “But I am
the bloody prince and heir to the throne. 'Tis well within my royal right to
approve or deny the use of crown monies and power.”

     “The troops are mine, as pursuant Richard's
decree,” Christopher reminded him, wondering how long it was going to be before
John was having seizures on the floor. “Your use of them is limited.”

     “They are crown property and I am the
crown.” John shot back. “But you are not king,” how Christopher loved to say
that.

     “They are Richard's troops and he has given
the responsibility to me in his absence. Why must we go over this, sire? You
read the missive and know full well the royal appointment. 'Tis not up for
discussion, and certainly not with me. I am simply following Richard's orders.”

     John was bordering on another fit and Ralph
leaned closed to his liege, whispering in his ear until John visibly relaxed.
All in the room watched as he regained his seat with mounting control over himself.
He seemed to calm with amazing speed and Christopher wondered what in the hell
Ralph said to him, but not really wanting to know.

     “My brother will never leave captivity
alive, you know,” he said finally. “Philip is akin to this kidnapping, and he and
Henry want him dead almost as badly as they want money. Mayhap they will decide
that his death is more important to the good of the free world after all.
'Twill be interesting to see if there is a ransom demand at all.”

     A rapid change of attitude, no doubt to
throw the justices off-guard. Christopher raised an eyebrow at the prince, but
William remained impassive.

     “Mayhap, sire,” he replied. “I suppose we
will find out in due time. Was that all you wished to speak with us about?”

     John stared back at William, mulling over
the question, before letting out an ironic snort. “I should think it would be
enough, yet you do not seem overly concerned. It is possible you care not what
happens to your king or that you have become accustomed to running the country
in his absence?”

     William smiled wryly. “I both care what
happens to our king and look forward to his return, sire. As do you.”

     They all knew the final three words to be a
flat-out lie. John merely turned away, this meeting had not gone favorably in
the least and he was eager to be done with it. He had expected outrage,
pleading and cursing at the very least, but the seams of Richard's governing
body were strong and showed no signs of deficiency. Informed of their lord's
fate, they were now sure of his whereabouts and grimly determined to resolve
it. John was not at all pleased with the show of strength, yet it did not mar
his plans. He had an army waiting for him in Nottingham, he had hoped Richard's
captivity would allow him a fairly bloodless route to the throne, but he could
see that it was not going to happen.

     So be it, then. He would take what was
rightfully his by force. There would be no better opportunity.

     He rose, signaling dismissal to the
vassals. Christopher stood back and allowed the justices to file from the room,
almost as if protecting their retreat from John's horde. Marshal was the last
man from the room, and Christopher fell in behind him as a broad human shield.
He wanted no surprises from the rear, and as unpredictable as John was, that
was always a possibility.

     “De Lohr!” came a heavily-accented call.

     Christopher instantly knew who hailed him,
turning with a stone stare to Sir Dennis. The man smiled amiably, but there was
no mistaking the deadly glitter to his eyes.

     “Your wife...is she well?” he asked, laced
with venom.

     Christopher felt his control slipping. “She
is none of your concern, le Londe.”

     “Of course not, but my concern is genuine
after her most unfortunate accident,” the Frenchman said.

     Christopher could not help the look of
contempt that crossed his face. Without answering, he turned for the door once
again and attempted to leave, but Sir Dennis was on his heels.

     “What will happen to her, I wonder, if you
take an army to rescue Richard?” he pondered thoughtfully. “If you were not to
survive, I mean. She is most beautiful and….”

     Christopher whirled around and grabbed Sir
Dennis by the neck, slamming him with all of his power into the nearest wall. A
framed tapestry crashed to the floor as William and a few other justices raced
back into the room to control the Defender.

     But Christopher was out of control; le
Londe was a big man, but he was no match for the provoked husband.
Christopher's face was red and his veins bulged as he held Sir Dennis like a
cornered mouse.