Rise of the Defender (122 page)

     Simon smiled eagerly. “Shall I go fetch
it?”

     “Wait,” Christopher admonished him as he
tried to dash away. “We need to prepare the field if I am going to practice. It
will take time between the two of us to accomplish this, for I need a thick
log, and preferably a quilt or some batting, and….”

     “We all will help,” Simon announced and, on
cue, there were suddenly a dozen boys coming out of the trees toward them, all
smiling like fools.

     Christopher grinned at the boys. “Why am I
not surprised?” He tousled Simon's hair. “Very well, Simon. Retrieve my sword
and send your knaves to find me suitable dummies to practice against.”

     “How about my Dada?” One boy called, and
they all screamed with laughter.

     Christopher shook his head. “Nay, not
that
kind of dummy,” he snorted. “Two or three logs, about my height, if you can
find them. Waste no time, lads.
Go
.”

     By the time Simon returned with
Christopher's sword, the entire camp was made aware that the Defender was
preparing to bear arms again. When Simon returned to the clearing, he did not
return alone.

     Christopher was a little embarrassed at all
of the people who had turned out to see him practice for the first time. He
wasn't sure just how good he would be and he wished Simon had kept his
excitement to himself, but he could understand the thrill.

     Lugging thirty-odd pounds of broadsword,
Simon could barely lift it to Christopher's outstretched hand. But the moment
Christopher took hold of the hilt, he felt the familiar magic and raised it as
if it were made of feathers.

     Rob and Jonathan turned out to see
Christopher, smiling broadly and commending themselves on doing a fine job of
healing. The day was surprisingly warm and Christopher stripped off the rough
linen tunic he had been wearing, revealing his magnificent body. His skin was
faintly tan and smooth, his muscles well-formed even if they weren't quite as
bulky as they once had been. He was sweating lightly and the newly-warm sun
glistened on his skin. The only flaw in an otherwise perfect form was the
puckered, purplish scar just underneath his ribcage on the left side of his
torso. It was the size of an apple, and even then it had shrunk considerably.

     “Sir Christopher, do you intend to show us
ignorant wretches what true swordplay should be?” Jonathan quipped.

     Christopher rubbed the blade with a rag.
“Can you swing a sword, man? If so, you will be my sparring partner.”

     Jonathan guffawed loudly. “Me? Go against
the Defender of the Realm, the Lion's Claw? Never!”

     Christopher snickered, rubbing out a few
faint marks on his blade. He needed a rougher polishing cloth for the others,
but this would do for now. Christ, he hadn't realized how much he has missed
having his sword in his hand until now. Standing underneath the warm sun
preparing for a practice bout made him realize just how lucky he was to be
alive.

     “And you, my lord?” he addressed Rob.
“Surely you are skilled with such an instrument?”

     Rob shrugged. “Of course. But I won't fight
you, either.”

     Christopher raised his eyebrow at the two
of them. “Well, somebody should or else you will have a camp full of
disappointed people. They are expecting a battle.”

     Jonathan turned away as if he had better
things to do. “They will not get it from me. No, sir; not me.”

     Rob chuckled, watching as Christopher
became reacquainted with the grip on the sword. “Jonathan said that when he
found you, you had that sword clutched to your chest as if you were fearful
someone would take it. It is a beautiful piece, indeed.”

     “It was my father's,” Christopher said,
inspecting a nick closely. “And it survived three years on the quest with me.
It means a great deal to me.” He lowered the sword and focused on Rob with a
twinkle in his eye. “Are you still going to play the coward, my lord? Even in
front of your son?”

     Rob glanced over at Simon, eagerly helping
his friends steady one of the logs Christopher had asked for. “Are you trying
to provoke me, sir knight?” he cocked an eyebrow.

     Christopher snorted. “Not at all,” he said.
“By the way, I am a baron by title. Not as great as an earl, but I consider it
an accomplishment beyond a mere knight.”

     Rob looked stricken. “God's Bones,” he
said. “We have been sorely insulting you all this time by calling you 'sir'
instead of 'lord'. I must certainly practice with you to make up for our lack
of manners.”

     Christopher smiled and lowered his blade.
“A pleasure, my lord.”

     Rob shot him a fearful glance, knowing
Christopher was going to take advantage of the situation. Leaving the clearing,
Rob returned shortly bearing a blade. It was a magnificent piece of work with a
gilded pommel and jewels set into the hilt. Even Christopher was impressed.

     “Where did you get this?” he said,
carefully examining the sword.

     “Stole it from one of John’s elite troops
after I killed him,” Rob replied, not particularly proud of the fact. “I lost
my own sword in his chest, so I took his.”

     “A fair trade,” Christopher handed it back
to hm. “Sire, if you are ready, I believe your son is waiting most
impatiently.”

     Rob blew out his cheeks as if to summon
courage and followed Christopher into the clearing.

     “Be easy on me, my lord,” Rob pleaded with
a smile. “I do most of my fighting these days with a crossbow.”

     “If you aggravate his wound, I shall take a
switch to you.” Marianne yelled from the edge of the trees.

     “Do not listen to her, Rob,” Jonathan hollered
in response. “Cut a few inches off those tall legs.”

     Rob, who had just assumed a defensive
posture, suddenly stood up straight and glared back into the crowd. “Will you
kindly shut up? How do you expect me to survive this bout if you distract me like
that?”

     The group tittered and Rob returned to his
defensive position. He grinned at Christopher.  “Whenever you are ready.”

     “After you, sire,” Christopher replied
lightly.

     They were both out of practice, but it was
obvious in the first minute or so why Christopher had earned his considerable
reputation. He was toying with Rob, but in truth he was glad he was not going
against anyone more seasoned. To start slowly was the best thing he could do
and he could feel seldom-used muscles coming back to life again.

     Rob concluded the match before any more
harm was done to his pride and Christopher thanked him graciously for demeaning
himself. But already establishment had been made that, indeed, he was who he
said he was.

     The Defender was on the road to recovery.

CHAPTER
FORTY SEVEN

     Dustin was bent over the basin when there
was a loud rapping at her door. She told whoever it was to go away, but Marcus
announced himself and she had no choice but to respond. She did not want him to
see the contents of her stomach on display in the basin, so she put it in the
wardrobe to hide it from him. Quickly brushing her hair, she straightened her
surcoat and went to open the door.

     Marcus raised an eyebrow at her. “What? Are
you hiding a lover in here?”

     She stood back as he entered the room,
trying not to look suspect. “Can I at least put a surcoat on before you come
barging in here?” she snapped.

     He looked at her, ignoring her tone.
“What's wrong with you?”

     “What do you mean?” she lowered her gaze
and moved away from him.

     “I mean, Iris says you have been sick ever
since you got here,” he said, concerned. “What's wrong, honey? Isn't the food
settling on your stomach?”

     Dustin pursed her lips with frustration.
“And what else does Iris tell you about me? Damnation, that woman knows
everything that happens to me two seconds after it happens. This castle is a
damn rumor mill. I hate it.”

     “Calm, lady.” He put up his hands
soothingly. “They do not mean to be that way, but it is a close knit group.
They are not trying to be malicious, just concerned.”

     “I do not need their concern,” she shot
back. “I do not need them nosing into my business, or going through my trunks,
or worrying about me in any way.”

     “Going through your trunks?” he repeated.
“What are you talking about?”

     She waved irritably at him. “Just that.
Someone went through the belongings I left in my trunks. Marcus, I swear I am
ready to take my fist to these people.”

     “Did they steal anything?” he asked.

     “No,” she said. “But that is not the point.
They seem determined to allow me no privacy, and with everything that happens,
they go running to you.”

     He was calm as he watched her pace. “It is
because they know I care about you and I want to know when something is wrong.”

     “I shall tell you myself if something is
wrong.” she said forcefully. “I do not need the tattlers to do it for me.”

     He sighed and went over to the bed, sitting
heavily on the pretty coverlets. “Come here.”

     “Nay,” she spat, pacing in front of him.

     He reached out and grabbed her, pulling her
onto his lap. She struggled for a moment, but relaxed when she realized how
comforting it was to have him close. With these weeks she had spent with him,
her wall had come further and further down and it was becoming easier to
respond to his affections. And she so desperately craved affection at times it
made her cry. She reasoned that if she could not have Christopher, then Marcus
was the next best.

     His dark blue eyes met her gray orbs
tenderly. “Would you please tell me what's wrong?” he asked softly. “Are you
ill?”

     She shook her head. “Nay,” she replied, not
wanting to tell him of her secret,  increasingly concerned as to how he was
going to react to know she carried her dead husband's child. She knew Marcus
loved her, but every man had his limit. What would the people of his keep think
if they learned Marcus was in love with a woman pregnant with the child of a
dead man? It would make him to look like a fool. She did not want to do that to
him.  To save his honor, to do him this one favor when he done so many for her,
she knew what she had to do.

     Dustin remembered the time long ago when
they had made love. She remembered it had been powerful and lusty, but she felt
as if she were betraying Christopher all over again by contemplating taking
Marcus into her bed.  Still, her pregnancy was early enough that she would be
able to tell Marcus the child was his. But they would have to consummate their
relationship soon.

     Christopher was gone and she was being
faithful to a memory. She loved him so much that she could not help lt. Yet
Marcus was here and he was real and she had grown to become very fond of him
over the past several weeks. As hard as it was for her, she knew for her best
interests, she needed to do what was necessary to perhaps save them both.

     Marcus jolted her out of her train of
thought. “Then what, Dustin?” he pressed gently. “What is it?”

     She looked at him and felt the pull again.
It wasn't love, but more a sheer animal magnetism. For once in her life, she
gave into the pull.

     “I….Oh, Marcus!” She threw her arms around
his neck in resignation. After a moment, she kissed his ear hotly. “I am glad
you brought me here.” Half lie, half-truth.

     Marcus was pleasantly surprised. Dustin's
hot breath sent chills up his spine and the fire of desire kindling in his
loins, but he banked himself. He was becoming used to banking himself where she
was concerned.

     “As I am, honey,” he replied. “Do you feel
like going downstairs? Dud told me of a whole field of wildflowers in bloom. We
can bring Christin and....”

     She cut him off, pulling back to look at
him with a seductive smile that made his heart leap into his throat.

     “I do not want to go anywhere,” she used a
tone he had never heard before. “I want to stay here. With you.”

     His eyes widened and she caught the look of
utter surprise. “And?” he wanted to know.

     She focused on his lower lip, a masculine,
sensuous thing. “I need you. I need you now.”

     His jaw hung. “What?”

     She ran her finger along his lower lip,
feeling the desire in her veins build. What had started out as a fine job of
acting was quickly becoming the real thing.  He was so astonished that he
wasn’t reacting to her, so she stopped her onslaught and suddenly stood up.

      “Very well,” she said, rather primly. “I
can see that I hold no interest to you.”