Rise of the Defender (130 page)

     Richard’s gaze lingered on Christopher with
some concern before returning his focus to Marcus. The meeting wasn’t going at
all well and men who had once been like brothers were seething with hatred. It
was disheartening, on so many levels. Richard struggled to keep the meeting
from deteriorating even more.

     “May I see Lady Dustin?” Richard asked
after a moment.

     Marcus braced himself. “I would ask that
you not, sire.”

     “That is of no matter to me,” Richard said,
more firmly. If Marcus was going to be difficult, then so was he. “This is not
a request, baron.”

     Marcus ground his jaw, knowing he could not
deny his king. “I shall retrieve her for you, then,” he said with strained
politeness. “Would you come inside?”

     Richard tugged at Christopher but Marcus
put out a hand. “Not him,” he said pointedly. “Just you, sire.”

     Christopher turned to face Marcus. “I am
coming and nothing short of God can stop me.”

     “I can stop you,” Marcus said through
clenched teeth.

     Christopher flared and Richard found
himself caught in the middle, ordering both men to stand down. But it was like
trying to separate two raging bulls so he bellowed to one of the nearby
soldiers and sent the man back to the army for reinforcements.  Richard spent
his time pushing Christopher one way and literally kicking Marcus the other
until, thankfully, a pair of knights came charging into the dusty bailey and
leapt from their destriers.  Richard turned Christopher over to Edward and
Anthony, to keep the man calm, before turning his attention to Marcus.

     Richard was exhausted and edgy, frustrated
that Marcus was being so stubborn. More than that, it made him physically ill
to see how much hatred there was between the two former friends. His patience
was gone.    

     “You are making this most difficult,
Marcus,” he said in a low voice. “Stop being so bloody obstinate and gain us
entrance to your keep before we burn the damn thing down. Am I understood?”

     Marcus eyed Richard, resigning himself to
the inevitable. “As you say, sire.”

     Before he move to do the king’s bidding,
there was a clatter of footsteps on the great stone stoop and Dustin appeared
out of the keep. She gazed with excitement over the group, too caught up with
the arrival of an army to even look at the banners or at the men. She had been
out by the beehives with Iris in the kitchen yard, not even imaging the old
woman was purposely detaining her. But an errant soldier had told her of the
approaching army and she had run off before Iris could stop her.

     They all looked at her, including
Christopher. Had Edward not been holding onto him, he would have collapsed in a
heap. Never had he seen her look so beautiful, so incredibly healthy and sound
and whole. Dressed in a simple yellow surcoat that revealed her blossoming belly,
he was weak with the sight of her. His mind went blank and all he wanted to do
was run to her and take her in his arms, never to let her go. After months of
waiting and dreaming, it was almost too much for him to take in his weakened
state. Tears found their way onto his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them and didn’t
care.

     “Marcus?” Dustin gasped, her gray eyes
alight as she looked at him. “Who has arrived? Why did not you tell me? Oh!”
Her eyes suddenly fell on Richard and she curtsied, surprised. “Sire, I did not
know… oh, my goodness… I apologize I was not here to greet you.”

     Richard smiled weakly at the woman who was
tearing his kingdom apart. “Lady de...,” he caught himself, “Lady Dustin, you
look lovely, as always.”

     “Thank you, sire,” she said pleasantly,
amazingly, still not bothering to look at any of the knights that had
accompanied the king. “Truly, forgive me for not greeting you personally, as my
husband did not tell me you were arriving. To what do we owe the honor of your
visit?”

     Richard was at a loss for words. Dustin was
smiling expectantly at him and he honestly could not answer her. Marcus, too,
seemed momentarily stumped. Dustin passed an irritated eye to Marcus, waiting
for a reply. But no one spoke until a soft, deep voice suddenly filled the air.

     “Greetings, Dustin,” Christopher pushed
past Edward and Anthony, only a few feet away from her, his sky-blue eyes
drinking in her face. He wiped at his wet cheeks, smiling when she turned to
him.  Their eyes met, and it was magic. “You look wonderful, sweetheart. It is
so good to see you.”

     She heard the voice, and then she turned
and saw the face. After that, she remembered little. She remembered thinking
she was dreaming, seeing Christopher walk toward her as magnificent as she had
ever remembered him, and then thinking that she was losing her mind. Was it
possible that his ghost was haunting her, come to punish her for marrying
Marcus?

     She could only stare at him as he loomed
over her, seeing him yet not seeing him, and then her entire world went
blissfully, peacefully, welcomingly black.

***

     Dustin awoke with a hysterical gasp, tears
flooding from her eyes as she sat bolt up in the bed. Warm hands steadied her
and she could hear Iris’ soothing voice before she even focused her eyes.

     “I saw him!” she wept hysterically. “I saw
him, here. He was here and if I reached out, I would have touched him.”

     “I know, peapod,” Iris said soothingly.
“Lay down and calm yourself.”

     But Dustin was having fits. “Christopher
was here, at Somerhill. Why did I see him, Iris?
Why?
”

     “Because he
is
here,” Iris replied
steadily.

     She and Sara were the only people in the
room; the men were down in the grand hall screaming and yelling at each other.
Never had Iris seen so much hatred and anger and emotion, and she was
frightened. With King Richard in the middle of it, the situation was larger
than she could even comprehend. But Marcus had left it up to her to break the
news to Dustin because he was fully intending to rip Christopher's throat out.

     “He is…
what
?” Dustin breathed in
horror. “What are you saying?”

     Iris fixed her with a patient look. “I am
saying that Baron de Lohr is indeed here, in the grand hall. It seems that he
was not killed in battle after all, merely wounded. He has returned to claim
you and Marcus refuses to let you go.”

     Dustin was overwhelmed; stunned, shocked,
beyond comprehension were all too light a term. She was shaken to her soul, her
disbelief so great that she almost passed out again, but she controlled
herself. She began to breathe unevenly, clutching at her throat as the news
sunk in. He was alive and come for her?
Alive? Alive? Alive?

     Iris tried to stop her from leaving, but
Dustin's mind was too far gone with shock and anticipation. She only knew she
had to get to Christopher. With bare feet, she tore from the room with Iris and
Sara shrieking after her and raced down the corridor to the stairs. She took
the stairs much too quickly and nearly tripped on the bottom step, but she
recovered and kept going. All that mattered was seeing Christopher. She had to
see him or die trying.

     Dustin could hear the shouting in the hall,
the angry words and things banging about. She blew into the room like a
madwoman, her surcoat gathered around her knees and her hair wild as she
desperately sought out Christopher. She was terrified that she had been lied
to, that he really wasn't alive, and that she was simply going mad.

     But that wasn’t the case. Her knees went
weak when her gaze fell on him several feet away, standing near the hearth.
Their gazes locked and Dustin could feel the emotion pouring out of him, into
her, and vise verse. Without a word spoken, she knew everything that was in his
heart and it filled hers to the brim, exploding in a burst of gladness like she
had never experienced. She gasped at the sensation of joy, of adoration, but
she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw that Marcus was moving
toward her.  She bolted away from him, throwing out her hands to stop him, and
he indeed came to a halt. She didn’t want his intrusion. Dustin refocused on
Christopher, making her way haltingly towards him.

     “Is it truly you?” she breathed. “Or am I
dreaming again?”

     Christopher's goblet went clattering to the
floor and his arms opened up for her, his heart bursting with agony and
elation. She threw herself into his arms in a mass of hair and material and
pregnant belly, her hysteria returning ten-fold and he fell to his knees with
her in his arms, his face buried in her hair and the smell of it making him
faint. He simply could not believe he was holding her again, feeling her,
touching her. Good Christ, how long had he waited?
How long
?

     Christopher’s tears came and his deep sobs
joined her high-pitched weeping. Cries from the soul filled the room. He held
her so tightly that she could not breathe, but it was joyful suffocation. It
was a moment that Dustin thought would never come and if she smothered for it,
then she was glad to. His huge arms enveloped her, one plate-sized hand at the
back of her head, swallowing up her skull.

     Even though he was real and breathing in
her arms, Dustin still could scarcely believe it. If this was true insanity, if
she had indeed crossed the threshold, then she would be content to be a lunatic
the rest of her life.  There was such bliss in it.

     There wasn't a dry eye in the room.
Battle-hardened warriors dashed away tears, turning away from each other so no
one would know of their weakness. Richard stood a few feet away, his own throat
constricted with sobs as Christopher and Dustin wept together.

     Edward was sobbing openly with his hand
over his mouth, and Anthony, tears running down his ruddy cheeks, put his hand
on his friend's shoulder. Above, on the loft overlooking the great hall, Iris
and Sara were weeping in one another's arms, joined by several serving wenches
who had heard the yelling. One would have had to have been dead not to have
felt the very depths of the emotion involved.

     Time was stilled for just a moment, a warm
sliver in the span of ages opening just for them, allowing them a second chance
in life. Love had conquered, consumed, and persevered until Christopher and
Dustin were where each rightfully belonged - in one another's arms.

     Only Marcus wasn't weeping. He was so
consumed with anguish and jealously that he turned his back on the scene,
racing for his sword. Blackness clouded his vision, pure and simple, and he
would have it out with Christopher here and now. By tonight, Dustin would be a
widow either way.

     Dustin clung to Christopher as if she were
afraid he was going to disappear. They were both on their knees, clutching each
other fiercely, afraid to move or speak. Dustin finally pulled back after a few
minutes, running her hands all over his wet face, touching him to make sure he
was real. His stubble scratched her hand and he kissed her palm as she dragged
it over his mouth, closing his eyes to feel her again.

     “Oh my God, Chris,” she wept. “Are you
real? Are you true?”

     He kissed her fingers, her mouth. “As real
as rain, sweetheart. Christ, Dustin, I am so sorry. Please, my love, forgive me
for putting you through this.”

     She kissed him eagerly, feeling his
scratchy beard with delight and even laughing with the glee of it. Her emotions
were beyond description.

     “Do you still love me?” she begged
hoarsely.

     He focused on the face, the eyes. “More
than my own life, Dustin. I will love you in this life and beyond.”

     She put her hands on either side of his
massive head and he kissed her with sweet urgency until she put her hand over
his mouth. “Say the words, Christopher.”

     “I love you,” he whispered against her
cheek, closing his eyes with the bliss of it. “I love you, Dustin, with
everything I am. Know that I will always love you, no matter what.”

     She giggled, quickly returning to sobs as
he kissed her with all of the reverence they both felt. It was then he realized
they were both kneeling on the floor and in her condition, he wanted her off
the ground.

     “Get up, sweetheart,” he staggered to his
feet and pulled her with him. “You should not be on the floor.”

     Dustin
struggled up with him but immediately noticed the change in him. “You have lost
weight.” she cried softly. “Oh, Chris, what happened? Why did they tell me you
were dead?”

     He pulled her close, not ever wanting to
let her go. “Because they thought I was,” he murmured. “I was wounded in battle
and they mistook Leeton’s body for mine. But let's not get into that now. There
will be all the time in the world later. Just let me hold you. Where's Christin?”

     “In her nursery,” she told him, running her
hands over his face again. “She is looking like you more and more.  She is even
starting to walk.”

     He kissed her hands, his whole body shaking
with emotion and glee. “I have missed her terribly,” he murmured sincerely.
“She probably won't even remember me.”