Rise of the Defender (32 page)

     His arms went about her, their faces close.
“Would you have truly exposed yourself to that potential hell simply to escape
me?”

     She shrugged. “I did not know you then, my
lord,” she said. “I reasoned that what awaited me in Nottingham could be no
worse than what awaited me at Lioncross.”

     “Then you reasoned incorrectly, lady,” he
said softly, yet sternly. “You will never go near Nottingham, and if your
mother were still alive, I would beg her for the privilege of championing her.”

     He was so close and she found him very
strong and virile and powerful as he spoke of championing her mother. Her
cheeks felt warm again. In fact, her whole body was on fire. She was gradually
aware that she had been watching his mouth as he spoke, noticing his dark blond
mustache and beard. It was very attractive. Before she realized it, she reached
up and ran her fingers along his stubble.

     He froze, watching her face as she played
with his beard. The scratchy hair tickled her fingers and she smiled.

     “I like your beard,” she said.

     He pulled her closer, rubbing it against her
cheek skin and she giggled, trying to push him away. “Do you like it still?” he
was still rubbing at her cheek.

     She squealed, her hands shoving against his
chest. “It scratches like briars.”

     He stopped and grinned at her as she rubbed
her cheek. “A pity you will have to suffer through the winter with it,” he
said. “I will scratch you at every opportunity.”

     She rubbed the sides of his face roughly with
both hands and then hopped from his knee playfully. “Not if I am in my bed and you
are in yours.”

     He raised an eyebrow. “Think not, lady,
that I am going through the entire winter sleeping alone. Or through this marriage
for that matter.”

     “So you intend to sleep with me always and
forever?” she asked, still smiling.

     “Aye, I do, and no argument,” he stood up,
facing her with his hands on his hips. “We will sleep in the same bed from this
night on. When we return from London, I will see that all of your personal
effects are brought to my chamber.”

     She was surprised that she didn’t care in
the least. She liked sleeping in the same bed with him, for he was soft and
warm and comforting. “As you say, husband.”

     He expected an argument and was surprised
when he didn’t get one. Dustin continued to smile at him, her hands clasped
behind her back. He braced his legs apart, clasping his own hands behind his
back.

      “I am pleased that you are learning well
to obey my wishes,” he said. “As much as I enjoy a good battle, I do not enjoy
them with my wife.”

     “Why not?” she asked innocently. “I think
we fight well together, do not you?”

     “You are indeed a test for my formidable
skills, but I would rather we act toward each other as we are now,” he said. “I
would rather talk to you than yell at you.”

     She was warmed by his words, feeling a
sense of connection with him as she had never felt in her life. But smells from
the grand hall were wafting into the room, reminding them both of how hungry
they were, and they were both distracted.

     “Lady de Lohr, I believe dinner awaits,” he
said after a moment, offering her his arm. Together, they proceeded to the
meal.

     All of the knights save Jeffrey and Leeton
were at the table, already stuffing their faces with food. Christopher seated
his wife next to his brother and took his own chair at the head of the table.
Their trenchers were filled to overflowing and their cups topped.

     The storm outside continued to vent its
fury as the occupants inside Lioncross ate and drank and carried on a fine
meal. Dustin's attention was riveted to Max and Anthony, again telling hysterical
stories that had her in stitches. Christopher, silent as usual, was perfectly
content to finish his meal listening to his wife’s loud laughter.

     They ate and drank, laughed and talked,
until there was nothing left.  It had been a fine evening. As the remains were
being cleared from the table, three soldiers entered the front door of the
castle, dripping wet from the terrible elements outside. They sought out their
liege.

     The soldier in the lead bowed quickly. “My
lord, the captive wishes to speak with you.”

     Christopher glanced at David. “Well and
good for him that he does,” he muttered, then looked to his soldiers. “I shall come
shortly.”

     The knights, all of them, quit the hall as
the soldiers exited back out into the vicious weather. Dustin, alone at the
table, looked after them and felt a bit lost all of a sudden. The abrupt
silence was disorienting. She watched as David ordered Christopher’s armor
brought forth once more, and personally helped his brother don the metal plating. 
As they had been doing it all their lives, they worked as a team to adeptly
dress in their protection.  When Christopher finished strapping on a piece of
plate armor over his forearm, he turned, almost as an afterthought, to his wife
still at the table.

     “I will not be long,” he said confidently.

     She nodded in response, watching as he and
his men quit the castle. Beyond the door, the lightning flashed and the rain
came down in buckets, yet it was eerily quiet in the grand hall.

     Dustin sighed. When it had just been she
and her mother, the grand hall was always this quiet and she was very aware of the
difference before and after Christopher had come. She had come to enjoy the
company of he and his men very much, and alone in the hall, she found the loneliness
oppressive. As much as she had loved her mother, she felt it almost a sacrilege
to admit that she liked life at Lioncross better now since the baron had arrived.

     Even with everything that had happened, the
deaths and fights and incidents, Christopher had somehow breathed life into the
dying keep. Dustin was glad she hadn’t gone to Nottingham, glad circumstances
had prevented her from leaving. Had she gone, she would have never come to know
her husband and would have probably spent a good deal of time resenting him for
marrying her and taking her keep.

     Another clap of thunder sounded loud
overhead and Dustin glanced up as if she could see it. With another sigh, she
left the hall and went to her mother’s small solar. There was a small fire in
the hearth and Dustin moved for the windows, paneled with rare and expensive
glass, for they provided protection and an excellent view of the bailey where
she could watch the goings-on between her husband and his prisoner. She was
curious, for her father never kept prisoners, and she wanted to see what they
were going to do with the fool who almost killed David.

***

     The bailey had turned into a mucky, slippery
lake as Christopher and his knights crossed it, heading for the wet, naked man
near the eastern wall. Leeton and Jeffrey were already standing on either side
of the man and Christopher could hear his wails as he approached.

     He planted himself in front of the prisoner,
spitting out the rainwater that had run into his mouth.

     “I am here,” he said coldly. “What is it
that you wish to tell me?”

     The captive was truly miserable, his entire
body was blue and his teeth were chattering violently. “Ev-v-v-erything, my
lord. I only ask shelter and clothing.”

     Christopher didn’t react for a moment.
Then, he leaned close to the man s face. “You had better be truthful, fool, or
I will gut you on the spot.”

     “I am, I a-a-a-am.” he insisted loudly. “I
s-swear it on the bible.”

     Christopher motioned for him to be
released, stepping back as Leeton and Jeffrey untied the man and handed him
over to David and Max. He preceded his knights and the prisoner back into a side
entrance of the castle that led into a row of small cubicles that were once
used for confessionals as part of the original abbey structure. It was a seldom
used place, full of ghosts, with a dim and musty smell. Although it wasn’t
warm, it was dry and the man was given a rough woolen blanket to dry off with.

     Christopher waited impatiently for the man to
speak until he could stand it no longer. “Well?” he demanded.

     The prisoner wiped his face dry, letting
out a heavy sigh. “'Tis true what you have said, my lord, all of it,” he said
quietly. “Sir Ralph sent us here to spy on you.”

     “What were his orders?” Christopher asked
calmly.

     “To find out what we could and report back
to him,” he answered.

     Christopher studied the man a moment. “But
you tried to kill me.”

     “Aye, we did, but it was Roy's idea,” the
prisoner replied. “Sir Ralph never ordered us to kill you.”

     As Christopher interrogated the prisoner, a
small access door at the far end of the room quietly opened, avoiding
detection. A small silhouette stood still as stone, listening to the voices
echo in the bowels of the old abbey. But Christopher didn’t notice; he was too
focused on gaining information.

     He remained emotionless, standing with his
legs braced firmly apart and his arms crossed. “Then what did you find out
about me?”

     The prisoner faltered a bit, eyeing
Christopher. “Nothing much at all, my lord,” he replied. “It seems no one
around here knows you very well. Not even your whore would tell us anything.”

     Christopher showed a flash of puzzlement. “Whore?
What whore?”

     “The redhead.” Came the quiet reply.

     Christopher was horrified. He snapped,
grabbing the man by the hair and pulling him up off the seat, slamming him
heavily against the wall. “You
killed
her?”

     The captive screamed and twisted. “I
didn’t, Roy did!” he gasped. “He said she was your whore and we should kill her
to keep her quiet.”

     Christopher’s face reddened and he released
the man, stepping back a moment to regain his composure. He was mad enough to
kill but in a flash of reason, he knew if he killed the man, he might not know
all of it.  Gratification would have to wait.

      “Bastards,” he hissed as he turned away.
“You goddamn bastards.”

     David, his handsome face tensed, stepped in
because his brother seemed close to snapping.

      “Who raped her?” he demanded. “And who killed
her mother?”

     The prisoner was scared, rubbing at his
scalp where Christopher had yanked the hair right out of his head. “I killed
her mother because I had to. Roy took care of the whore.”

     “What do you mean you
had
to?” David
demanded.

     Christopher turned around and the man met
his eyes, fear glazing his face. “Because she interrupted us as we were trying
to get information from the whore,” he muttered. “She was going to run and
tell, so I had to kill her.”

     Christopher glared at the man. “If you call
her a whore one more time, I will cut your throat,” he growled. “Now, answer
his question. Who in the hell raped her?”

     The captive wrapped the blanket about him tightly,
cringing from the big knight. “Roy did,” he said fearfully. “She said she was
untouched, but he took her anyway. Even when she screamed… I think he violated
her in many ways.  He took his dirk and did… things to her.”

     Christopher’s nostrils flared a spilt-second,
disgusted and sickened by the admission. He would take the information with him
to his grave. Dustin would never, ever know the details. Almost beyond rage, he
shook his head slowly.

     “You stupid bastard,” he muttered. “She
wasn’t a whore - she was a friend of my wife's. Whatever possessed you to
commit such a heinous crime against her?”

     “We saw you leaving her house, my lord,
alone,” he answered. “We thought she was your mistress.”

     Christopher could see right through the
fool’s simple train of thought. “And you thought to gain knowledge of me.” He
shook his head at the irony, the stupidity, of it. “Tell me, then; have you
sent any messages back to Sir Ralph?”

     The fat man shook his head. “Nay, my lord.
We have been here only a day or so.”

     Christopher nodded at the answer, mulling
over what he was going to do with the man now. He felt a good deal of both
relief and sorrow at having caught Rebecca’s killer and he knew that, somehow
and some way, there had to be justice served.  Rebecca deserved that much and
for her, for Dustin, he would make sure of it.

      “What is your name?” he asked after a
moment.

     “Virgil,” the prisoner replied without hesitation.

     As Christopher drilled the man for any more
useful information he could come up with, they collection of knights had yet to
notice the shadow far down the narrow hall. The shadow had disappeared after
the confession of Rebecca’s murder and was now back, moving like a wraith,
silently and swiftly, and suddenly, it was in their midst. Yelling at the top
of her lungs and wielding a heavy pick axe she had retrieved inside the keep,
Dustin nearly clipped David as she swung the battle-axe with all her might straight
at Virgin’s head.