Rise of the Defender (149 page)

     Yet it was not only David, but Edward, Dud,
Sir Stephen Marion and Sir Dalton le Crughnan as well. They had fought their
way through the hysteria of both wards in search of their lieges, knowing
instinctively that they could use the help. Even if they did not, every man in
the service of the Defender and the general knew the prime objective - to
rescue Lady Dustin. If one failed, there would be another to take his place
until the last man had died trying. They were not about to leave the place
without her.

     Christopher watched with satisfaction when
the swords of his loyal vassals met with the mercenary soldiers. The troops,
fighting now from two fronts, were a sight less confident. Especially when Sir
Dalton, as big as a bear, began grunting and yelling like a caveman and intimidated
the hell out of them. The fight was not long for the running.

     Christopher fell back, moving around the
squirming mass of men and picking up speed as he raced in the direction his
wife had been taken. Even as he rounded the corner at the far end of the hall,
he could hear her screaming and knew he was on the right track. Her screams
were distinctive, and he remembered when they had once, long ago, saved her
life.

     And they would save her life again. He
thanked God for her healthy lungs and pursued the sound with a vengeance.

     He met with a dead end at the extreme tip
of the hall. He could hear her yelling and cursing from the other side of a
locked door, a massive oaken panel that was movable. Marcus raced up beside
him.

     “She's in here,” Christopher breathed
heavily.

     Marcus thrust himself against the door in a
futile attempt to break it down. He turned to Christopher, his cobalt-blue eyes
wide with anxiety. “How are we going to get in there?”

     Christopher glanced around, searching for
anything that might help him bust the massive door into splinters. Other than
the swords they held, there was nothing of substance in the hall and
Christopher felt his panic rise. On the other side of the door, he heard Dustin
shrieking again and he threw himself against the door, his fingers digging into
the wood.

     “I am here, Dustin!” he bellowed, yet pain
was evident in his voice. “I am coming!”

     He could hear her screaming his name and he
was close to buckling, again searching the hall for anything that might assist
him in his venture. Immediately, his eyes fell on two things that rapidly
calmed him; an open, arch-shaped window and a torch. He ran to the torch,
snatching it off the wall and thrusting it at Marcus.

     “Burn the door down,” he barked, turning
for the window. “I shall try another way in.”

     “Jesus, Chris, we are fifty feet up,”
Marcus said earnestly. “You shall be killed if you fall.”

     Christopher jumped onto the windowsill with
the agility of a child, for all of his immense size. “I will not fall,” he
said, inspecting the six-inch ledge that ran along the outside of the wall.
“Get started on that damn door.”

     Marcus watched him sheath his sword and
snatch several silken cords from the massive curtains that lined the hall. He
tied the ends together and then secured the very end of the patch-work rope
around his waist. Marcus moved forward and secured the opposite end of the rope
to a heavy iron wall sconce directly beside the window.

     Christopher flashed him a grin, already
halfway out the window. “A bit of insurance never hurt,” he remarked.

     Marcus raised a quirky eyebrow. “So you
are
afraid of falling,” he said. “Even you cannot fly.”

     Christopher was out on the ledge. “Not last
time I checked. Get to work on the door.”

     He was gone, inching along the ledge like a
crab. His destination, he could see, was about twenty feet away and he
estimated he would have to untie the rope and go the last five feet on his own.
Dustin's yelling wafted through the open portal, just large enough for him to
slip through, and he had to keep himself in check. The urge to move quickly was
overwhelming, but he knew that he would not even be allowed one mistake. Even
if the rope held, he would have to start all over again and time was of the
essence. He had to get to his wife.

     Marcus set the door ablaze as ordered,
waiting impatiently for it to burn and rushing to the window every few seconds
to make sure Christopher was still there. He, too, could hear Dustin yelling
and his heart was twisting with anguish. Even if he rescued her first, it was
not him she wanted. Marcus thought he was being selfish by insisting he help
Christopher rescue his wife, simply to be near her. It never occurred to him
that he was doing a completely selfless thing by risking his own life.

     Inside, Dustin wasn't shrieking because she
was scared, at least not truly scared. She had seen Christopher and her courage
surged, knowing that he was indeed alive and coming for her. Ralph had brought
the women into the massive room, almost devoid of any furnishing, and was spending
most of his time trying to corral them. Gabrielle and Dustin scampered about,
throwing things at the sheriff as they tried to keep him away from them. It was
hysterical, chaotic, as Ralph tried to chase them down.

     He had brought them to the room for a
reason. Sir Bruce had told him that this room, having once served as a chapel,
had a secret exit by which the priests used to come and go. He saw no outward
signs of the exit, concentrating more on capturing Lady de Lohr and Lady de
Havilland. After the women were trussed up, then could he continue his search.
He was not apprehensive that de Lohr and Burton were going to be able to break
the door down, the door was like iron.

     Smoke suddenly started to billow underneath
the door and Ralph stopped chasing the women, looking at the smoke curiously.
It occurred to them that they were going to try and burn the door down, as they
had burned the gates of the keep down, and he felt his first twinge of
apprehension. His confidence waned and he sent out with determination to
capture the women.

     Gabrielle was the first one cornered by the
sheriff as Dustin yelled and threw things in their direction. She was true with
her aim and hit Ralph on the back of the head with a candle sconce, drawing a
curse and a promise that he would blister her hide. She continued to yell and
cause an uproar as Ralph tied Gabrielle to a chair. The only reason she did not
physically attack Ralph was because she was afraid he would capture her, too,
and decided to keep a safe distance from him for as long as possible.

     Smoke began to assault her nose and she,
briefly considered rushing to the door and trying to unbolt it, but the heat
from the fire had rendered the bolt scalding. Unable to do anything, Dustin
continued her verbal assault on Ralph and dashed across the room to one of the
large arch-shaped windows, squeezing back on the sill as if to hide from the
sheriff. He was almost finished with Gabrielle and she knew that she was next.
Her fear began to creep back.

     Ralph had tied Gabrielle particularly tight
with a strip of cord. Wearily, he turned about in search of Lady de Lohr and
immediately spied her huddled on the window sill. Dustin blanched, telling
Ralph to stay the hell away from her, but he was not listening. Slowly, he made
his way toward her, knowing there was naught she could do and no where she
could go.

     Dustin watched his advance, her back to the
open window, wondering if she should threaten to jump. Scared to death of
heights, she decided against it and was preparing to run amuck in the room
again when a massive arm suddenly went around her from behind.

     The Defender had arrived.

***

     Marcus stood with his sword in his hand,
watching the door go up in flames. Christopher had disappeared into the room
and he was desperate to assist his lord. He kept glancing behind him to make
sure no one was advancing on him, the heat of the door so intense he had to
step back.

     Piece by piece, the door began to buckle
and he knew that soon he would be able to kick it in. Yet, for now, Christopher
was on his own against Ralph. Not a difficult task, but the Defender had two
women to protect, making the job more complex.

     Marcus was standing several feet away
watching the door burn when he was hit from behind and a sharp, stabbing pain
radiated through his back. He knew immediately he had been gored and he let out
a grunt of surprise, spinning around to face his accoster. He fully expected to
see a horde of soldiers or the sneering face of John, but instead, was
confronted by an older, distinguished man he did not know.

     His face was a mask of pain and surprise as
he raised his sword against his attacker. The man's face was expressionless.

     “Richard's bastard within my walls,” he
mumbled. “You shall die here, then.”

     Marcus could feel his wound throbbing,
bleeding. Warm, sticky blood ran down his right leg. “Who in the hell are you?”

     “Lord of the keep.” the man informed him
with a boom. “This is my castle, you whoreskin. You have no right to be here.”

     “I have a right by decree of Richard,”
Marcus answered. “We shall take this fortress back in the name of the king and
you, sir, shall be executed for treason.”

     The man let out a growl and charged at
Marcus. Swords met and sparks sprayed, although Marcus knew immediately that
the man was no match for him. Even in his weakened state, he would have no
trouble dispatching the man who called himself lord of the keep. Within five
strokes of the broadsword, John's sympathizer lay in a pool of his own blood,
his head half-severed from his neck.

     Marcus stood back a moment, breathing
heavily and feeling the sharp pain of his wound. He put his hand to it, trying
to assess it as best he could. The man caught him between the joints of his
armor, in the flesh and muscle of his torso. It was a deep puncture, but it
could have been far worse and Marcus sighed with relief when he realized it was
not a life-threatening wound. Even so, he was bleeding moderately and his hands
were shaking, but he ignored it. Smoke was thick in the corridor and he turned
his attention back to the smoldering door.

***

     Dustin was so surprised when she was
grabbed from behind that she instinctively tried to pull away, swinging her
balled fists at her unseen molester. Christopher caught a punch on the jaw,
unbalancing him slightly as he tried to come in through the window and he
muttered a curse as his foot slipped out over nothingness.

     “Dustin!” he snapped gently. “It is me. It
is me, sweetheart.”

     She let out a cry, ceasing her struggles
and turning with the utmost shock to see Christopher's face not a foot from her
own.

     “Christopher!” she gasped, throwing her
arms around his neck with a great rush of relief and joy.

     He grabbed her with one arm, steadying
himself against the sill with the other; he still wasn't completely through the
window. As great as his relief was that he finally held Dustin in his arms, his
eyes immediately found Ralph on the opposite end of the smoke-hazed room and he
hastened to climb out of the window sill with his wife clinging to his neck.

     He kissed her face feverishly, as much as
he dared to allow his attention to be diverted for one sweet, heavenly moment.
But there was no time for anything else, and he released her with great
reluctance and gentleness, pushing her against the wall.

     “Are you all right?” he demanded with
tender harshness. His hand moved to her belly and she realized he was speaking
of her ‘attack’ outside of the outer gates. “I am fine, truly,” she gushed.

     He nodded stiffly, touching her face. “Then
stay here, sweetheart,” he told her, his eyes riveting to the sheriff.

     Ralph could not believe his eyes, yet in
same token, he wasn’t really surprised at all. He immediately unsheathed his
broadsword in a slow, deliberate move and took a few stalking steps forward.

     “So you have taken to climbing walls now,
have you?” Ralph remarked snidely. “Mayhap you truly are a phantom, de Lohr, in
league with the devil for restoring you your life.”

     Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Nay, Fitz
Walter, the devil has enough henchmen with you and John to do his bidding. In
fact, you shall be able to greet Great Satan personally in but a few moments.”

     Ralph raised his sword in front of his
face. “I do not think so. I have defeated you before, de Lohr. Do you not
remember?”

     “Aye, I remember,” Christopher's sword was
in his hand, though not raised, as he approached the sheriff. “As I recall, you
had one of your young friends trip me before you tried to kill me in practice.
I still bear the scar.”

     “No one tripped you, you simply stumbled
over your own feet,” Ralph said. “Not difficult for a boy of twelve.”

     Christopher shook his head. “You shall
never change, Ralph. You were a liar when I first met you and you are still a
liar,” he said, his voice turning cold.  “I have known you since you were nine
years old, Fitz Walter. You have never changed.”