Rise of the Defender (41 page)

     David was gone without a word. Christopher
glanced at Marcus. “I fear our conversation is ended, for the moment,” he said quietly.

     Marcus nodded, his serious gaze on Dustin. “She
cannot travel, Chris,” he murmured. “She is too ill.”

     Christopher did not like the idea of
leaving his wife behind, even if it be for only a day or two. He glanced down
at her blond head.

     “We shall see how she fares on the morrow,”
he replied.

     Marcus shook his head. “Look at her, Chris.
She will not be well enough to travel by dawn.”

     Christopher's head snapped to his friend,
banking the surge of emotion he felt. “What would you suggest, then?” he
demanded quietly. “I must be in London by the end of the week and I will not
leave her here.”

     Marcus could see how agitated he was
becoming. “I do not have to be in London by the end of the week,” he said. “I
can stay behind and tend her until she is well enough to travel. I do not think
you have much of a choice.”

     Christopher looked at him for a long moment
before gazing back at his wife. Dustin’s bright eyes were turned to him.

     “You would leave me here?” she whispered.

     He sighed, stroking her damp head. “You are
sick, sweetheart. I can’t let you travel in this foul weather until you are
well enough.”

     Her eyes welled up. “I do not want you to
leave me.”

     Marcus discreetly vacated the room.
Christopher stood his weeping wife on her feet and pulled off her shift before
bundling her back up in the blanket and carrying her to bed. He removed his tunic
and crawled in next to her, cradling her shaking body next to his.

     “I do not want to leave you, but I have no choice,”
he whispered against her hair. “I have to be in London tomorrow.”

     She pulled her arms free from the blanket
and wound them tightly around his neck. “Please do not leave me, Chris.”

     He kissed her. “I do not want to, Dustin,
you know I do not. Now go to sleep, my love. I shall watch over you 'til morning.”

     She calmed down a bit, snuggling against
him and coughing. He held her tightly, yet his mind was reeling.

     He had called her ‘
my love
.’ Christ,
what had he vowed just this evening? That love was a weakness and that he could
not allow himself to love his wife, no matter what. He could care for her, like
her, be fond of her, but he could not,
would
not, love her.  It would
kill him if he did.

     Dustin sighed raggedly, shivering and
coughing. His heart ached to see her ill. It was his fault; he should not have
allowed her to get so wet and he felt terribly guilty. But he could not allow
his concerns for her to override the more pressing concerns that were facing him
in London. And after his conversation with Marcus, there were problems aplenty.

     He never did manage to sleep that night.

***

     Christopher was up before dawn, dressed in
full armor. The innkeeper’s wife brought Dustin a brew of wine and herbs, and
Christopher patiently coaxed an entire cupful down. Her fever was minimal, but
she was coughing and sneezing and generally miserable, and he was deeply sorry
that she would not be able to go with him that day. Dustin felt so rotten that
in spite of her crying the night before, she didn’t care one way or the other.

     Christopher called a meeting with his
knights in the common room, seven huge imposing men sitting around a rough oak
table. The entire purpose of the meeting was to see who would stay behind with
his wife until she was able to travel.

     “I plan to leave twenty-five men-at-arms
behind to serve as escort when my wife is well enough to travel,” Christopher
told his men. “Marcus has graciously volunteered to stay with her and I will
accept his offer. However, I would like at least two more men to stay in
addition.”

     “Did you have any one in mind?” David
asked.

     “Not you, little brother,” he replied. “I
want you with me. I would like to leave Dud and Edward, if that is acceptable.”

     Sir Thomas Dudley and Edward glanced at
each other, nodding. “It is,” said Edward.

     Young Trent Burton, newly knighted last
year, was honored and thrilled at the prospect of accompanying the Lion’s Claw
to London. According to Marcus, Christopher was the greatest knight who had
ever held a sword. He looked forward to the opportunity to prove himself,
suspecting that he had not been asked to guard the baron’s wife because he was
not yet trusted. That was fine with him, for he would rather serve the baron
personally.

     Christopher stood up. “It is decided,” he
said. “Edward, I do not want Dustin on the road unless the fever is completely
gone and her symptoms have subsided, and do not let her convince you otherwise.
Her powers of persuasion are great.”

     Edward had already seen much evidence of
that. “Understood, my lord.”

     Christopher moved away from the group,
confident that his wife’s safety would be well tended in his absence. “See to
your duties,” he told his men as he headed for the stairs. “I will say farewell
to my wife and join you shortly. “

     The knights disbursed as Christopher took
the stairs. He entered the bedchamber quietly, noting the innkeeper's wife as
she sat beside the bed, watching Dustin sleep fitfully, and the two maids sat
in the far corner with the soiled red woolen surcoat between them. All he did
was motion to them and the room was cleared and the door, closed. He went over
to his wife, gazing down at her pale face and watching her labored breathing He
was so very sorry to be leaving her, but he trusted Marcus and Edward to take
care of her.

     He bent over and kissed her forehead, twice,
and smoothed errant bits of hair away. Dustin sighed deeply and her eyes fluttered
open.

     “Greetings, husband,” she stretched and
coughed. “Are we leaving?”

     He kissed her forehead again. “I am
leaving, sweetheart, you are staying. Remember?” he said quietly. “But I shall
see you in London in a few days.”

     She nodded sleepily and he wondered if she
even understood what he was telling her. She seemed very groggy with the potion
the innkeeper’s wife had given her. “I am leaving Edward and Marcus here with
you, and you will obey them implicitly. Do you understand me?”

     “Obey, aye,” she murmured, her eyes closing
as sleep tried to reclaim her. “Chris?”

     “What is it?” he whispered.

     “I think I shall miss you,” she muttered.
“Will you miss me?”

     She was speaking like a drunkard and he
smiled faintly; it was rather humorous. “I will.”

     She smiled, eyes closed. “Do you know what
else?”

     “Nay,” he whispered. “what else?”

     “I think that I shall tell you I love you,”
she whispered, so softly he hardly heard it. “I love Caesar, I love my rabbits,
I love my mother and father, and I love you, too. Did you know that?””

     He was stunned.  He didn’t even know what
to say so he simply shook his head. “Nay,” he breathed. “I did not know that.”

     “Now you know.”

     He stared back at her, overwhelmed. Christ,
did she even realize what she had said? She was sick and tired and filled with
a good amount of wine, but did she even understand what those three little
words meant?

     He took a step back and stumbled, trying to
get a grip on himself. Did she love him or was she simply running off at the
mouth? He didn’t know, but by God, he had to get the hell out of there and
clear his mind. If she did indeed love him then it would be too easy for him to….he
bolted from the room like his arse was on fire.

     By the time he had reached the common room,
he was in control again, at least outwardly. David was waiting for him.

     “Are we ready?” Christopher demanded,
slamming on his helmet.

     “Aye, we are,” his brother replied, then lowered
his voice. “Chris, do you think it is such a good idea to leave Marcus in
charge of Dustin? You saw how the man looked at her.”

     Christopher cocked an eyebrow. “I see how
you look at her, and how every man in my command looks at her,” he replied steadily.
“I trust Marcus, David, as much as I trust you. He would never do anything so
stupid as to forfeit his life.”

     David didn’t reply. He was not keen on the
idea of Marcus Burton protecting the lovely Lady Dustin, but any more words on
the subject would make him appear
too
concerned. Christopher had already
accused him of having feelings for her once and he would not do anything to
further justify those suspicions.

     Slamming down his visor, he followed his
brother out into the rain.

***

     Three days later Dustin was fit to be tied.

     Her fever had dissipated the first day, and
the cough and running nose were practically gone. Her guard dogs, Edward and
Marcus and Dud, never let her from their sight and she was not even allowed to
go outside into the new sunshine.

     She wondered how Christopher was faring. She
was angry at him for not even saying good-bye to her and she would tell him
that when given half a chance. But to do that, she had to get to London, and
she decided on the morning of the fourth day that they would leave that morn.
She was the baroness, wasn’t she? And they were her vassals. Well, her
husband's vassals, but nevertheless, they would do her bidding.

     She dressed carefully in a burnished gold surcoat,
one Rebecca had made, with a plunging neckline and long sleeves. She pulled the
front of her long hair back and secured it at the back of her head with her
ivory clip, and made sure the two maids packed everything into her trunks except
the pretty brown cloak with the rabbit lining. She would wear it because even
though the sun was shining and the birds were singing, it was still quite nippy
outside. Winter was in full swing.

     She found Marcus and Edward downstairs in
the common room, playing some sort of card game. Squaring her shoulders, she
marched down the stairs and made her way purposely to their table.

     The two knights rose when she approached,
then eyes grazing her appreciatively. “Lady de Lohr, a pleasure,” Marcus said
fondly.

     She raised a dark brown eyebrow at him. “Marcus,
I wish to go to London today. I am well and can travel, and I am sick of this
little hovel. Can we go? Please?” She added the ‘please’ purely for courtesy’s
sake so she didn’t sound like a tyrant.

     Marcus glanced at Edward, who was glad she
had not focused her willfulness on him for once.

     “Mayhap, my lady,” he replied. “Are you
sure you are feeling well? No more cough?”

     She shook her head hard. “No more cough. I
am as healthy as a fat baby.”

     Marcus sighed dubiously, glancing again at
Edward for moral support, but being ignored. He cleared his throat. “Very well,
my lady. If you say you are well, then I shall take a lady’s word. We will
leave whenever you are ready.”

     She was fully prepared to argue with him,
but his gracious acquiescence had her smiling. “I am ready now. Can we leave
now?”

     Marcus and Edward chuckled. “I suppose so,”
Marcus said. “Can Edward and I gather our things at least?”

     She nodded happily. The knights put away
their cards and Edward threw open the door of the inn.

     “Dud,” he called to the knight standing
watch outside. “We leave within the hour. Move the men.”

     The innkeeper, hearing that his most loyal
customers were preparing to leave, rushed to the kitchen. When he returned, he
brought a plateful of delightful apricot and apple pastries, some glazed with
honey. Dustin’s eyes widened with delight and she downed the first gooey
confection with glee. When she started on her second, Edward admonished her
gently.

     “Not too much, my lady,” he said. “A full
stomach and travel do not go well together oft times.”

     She made a face at him and shoved another
bite in her mouth. “What you mean to say is that if I eat too many, I shall
become as fat as a pig.”

     Both Marcus and Edward glanced at her
voluptuous figure. She was neither thin nor plump, but in the perfect state in-between.
Her waist was pleasingly narrow, her hips generous and her breasts large and firm
and round. Aye, she was a flawless handful for any man. Much better than those
reed-thin, high-bred noble wenches. Dustin reeked of health and life and
sensuality.

     “I would doubt you could ever become fat,”
Marcus said diplomatically.

     Dustin shrugged, eating the last of the
apricot pastry. “I suppose Chris would divorce me if I did become fat, or lock
me away somewhere.”

     Marcus laughed. “Nay, he would not. I'd
take you even then. I rather like round women.”