Rise of the Defender (52 page)

     He found himself wandering the royal wing,
padding along the fine woolen rugs. He stopped and turned himself around, not
wanting to be anywhere near John, but there was a body behind him, blocking his
path.

     Ralph's lip curled in a sneer. “Take a
wrong turn, Burton?”

     Marcus wasn’t in the mood for the man.
“Move aside, Fitz Walter.”

     Ralph, amazingly, did as he was asked and
Marcus brushed past him.

     “'Twould be a shame if anything happened to
Lady Dustin, don’t you think?” Ralph said leadingly.

     Marcus froze, turning around with slow
restraint. “What are you babbling about?”

     Ralph shrugged and it just occurred to
Marcus that there were no other soldiers in the hall. Ralph had confronted him
alone, a rare happening, but it put him all the more on guard.

     “Just that,” the sheriff said lightly,
leaning against the wall. “Lady Dustin is a beautiful woman, obviously loved by
a great many men. 'Twould be a pity if an accident were to befall her.”

     He had Marcus' full attention. “Ralph, let
me make this as plain as I may. If Lady Dustin so much as stubs her toe, I will
come looking for you and I will kill you. Is that understood?”

     “Perfectly,” Ralph said. “But I am sure you
will have to stand in line for that honor behind her husband. Unless…unless, of
course, you
were
her husband.”

     Marcus' steely facade was invaded by a hint
of annoyance. “That again? I told you once that I would not consider being
John's champion.”

     Ralph stared Marcus down for a brief
moment, then examined his nails. “Baron Marcus Burton has a certain ring to
it,” he said. “And I understand there is a lovely baronetcy in Somerhill simply
waiting for a deserving man. You are from York, are you not? Surely Somerhill
is of your acquaintance. A perfect place to raise a family with a beautiful
woman, far from London and Lioncross.”

     Marcus was actually listening to him. He
was alternately appalled and interested. Ralph looked up, catching the gleam in
Marcus' eye for a split second.  He knew when to strike.

     “All you have to do is champion John at the
tournament,” he insisted. “Burton, you can joust in your sleep. Surely I am not
asking too much.”

     Marcus fought off the urge to agree with
him, closing his eyes and turning away. Yet, for the sake of argument only, he
pictured what Ralph was suggesting; with Christopher gone, he could marry
Dustin and take her away to the north. Alone, he could champion Richard's cause
and rally the northern barons for their support. And Christopher's knights
could pledge their loyalty to him, with Lioncross falling into the ward of the
crown.

     But Christopher had to be out of the
picture. He tried hard to imagine his friend gone and he simply could not. Tens
of thousands of Saracens had tried to kill the Lion's Claw - what made him
think that he could do it, legally, at a tournament?

     Marcus shook himself from those thoughts,
shocked and disgusted for plotting Christopher's demise. He could no more kill
Christopher than kill himself. How in hell could a simple woman cause him to
rethink his morals, his devotions, his entire life? He wasn't even sure what he
felt for her, but whatever it was, he had never experienced it before and it
was making him crazy.

     Nay, he could not and
would
not kill
Christopher, no matter how angry he was with him. But he could compete against
him.

     There was nothing wrong with that, except
it was too late to seek a sponsor… except for John. If Marcus won, mayhap
regardless if he won, he would have his title and his lands. And, mayhap as
well, he would have a bit of revenge.

     Slowly, he turned to Ralph, surprised the
man was still there looking questioningly at him.

     “I will hear more of this,” he mumbled,
hating himself even as he said it.

***

     Dustin had been asleep for hours. Lying on
the huge bed, alone, she looked like a small child.  She lay on her back, one
arm over her head and the other resting on her stomach and the firelight
reflecting softly on her pale face.

     Christopher hadn't slept at all. He didn't
even enter the bedchamber until he was positive she had fallen asleep, and even
then he did nothing more that stare at her.

     His mind was still cold with shock and anger,
but he was beginning to come around. His anger with Marcus had not abated and
standing at the foot of the bed watching his wife sleep somehow intensified his
feelings.

     Yet it was more than anger, because the
bitter twinge of jealousy filled his mouth - jealousy because he knew Marcus to
be a fine man and Dustin, being so naïve in ways of the heart, could have just
as easily fallen for Marcus.

     Mayhap that is why he sent Marcus away.
With the man out of his hair, he could better deal with his own feelings toward
his wife. With Marcus around, he went out-of-control so easily and it scared
him.

     Gazing down at Dustin’s beautiful face, he
knew in his heart that he loved her dearly. He always would, no matter what
happened. Damn, she could have slept with Marcus and he would have forgiven her
simply because he could not stand the thought of being without her.

     He meandered around the side of the bed and
reached down, stroking a wayward strand of hair from her forehead. She sighed
raggedly, turning in the direction of his hand and he felt the heat of desire
lick at him. His hand lingered on her forehead, touching her face for a moment
before he sat beside her. His fingers combed through her incredible mane,
feeling its silkiness against his rough skin and lifting it to his nostrils to
inhale the faint rose scent.

     The same hand left her hair and traced ever
so delicately down her neck, tracing her breasts through her shift. He was
aware of his engorged shaft straining against his breeches but he was content
to touch her for the time-being, knowing she would spurn any sort of advance
once she awoke. He would steal this time, then, to worship her.

     He didn't know how long she had been awake,
watching him, for when he happened to glance up from delicately tracing her
nipples, her wide gray eyes were on him. Startled, he stopped his exploration
and stared back at her, wondering if he should say something. He opened his
mouth to tell her he was sorry for waking her when he could not seem to
remember the words and before he could stop himself, his mouth and body
descended on her.

     Dustin should have fought him, but she
could not seem to find the strength or the desire. Once his great hands scalded
her and his expert tongue licked her lips into a frenzy, she turned herself
over completely, forgetting about the anger and fear and hurt that had
constituted her day.  All that matter was Christopher, on her, in her, touching
her. Even if he didn't love her, his touch said otherwise and it was easier to
pretend.

     Her shift was torn down the middle in one
swift move and his clothes came off hurriedly as they bit and sucked at each
other hungrily. His hands found her breasts, his lips found her nipples, and
Dustin's cries of ecstasy filled the room. He was moving furiously, almost
roughly, but she loved all of it and encouraged him onward.

     He was absolutely consumed with her. His
fingers stoked her most delicate center, coaxing forth her juices that told him
without words how badly she wanted him. She was soaking before he could insert
a finger into her, and he forewent the finger in lieu of his throbbing manhood.

     They came together in a cataclysmic clash
of pure desire. He thrust into her in one long, powerful movement and she
moaned loudly, biting her lip to keep from screaming. He drove into her, again
and again, watching her nipples harden in response to his force, watching her
breasts shake with the power of his thrusts. She was so tight and slick that in
no time at all he was convulsively spilling himself into her. Dustin, feeling
him throbbing and pulsing within her, could not help but answer in volcanic triumph.

     When the tempest passed and they were
basking in the warm musk of their lovemaking,   Christopher felt her stiffen in
his arms and he knew that her guard had gone back up.

     “Dustin,” he said softly. “I am…I am sorry
that you had to witness my exchange with Marcus. But you must understand that I
had to do what I felt best for you. For us.”

     “As you say, my lord,” she said, aloof.

     He sighed into her hair. “Do not be angry
with me, sweetheart.”

     “What does it matter? You have made it
obvious that I am good for naught much else but bedding and appearance,” she
said. “As you have just proven, you can easily take what you want from me no
matter how I feel.”

     He pushed himself up, away from her. “Do
not place the blame on me, lady. You responded quite easily.”

     She didn't look at him. “That is because
sex is all we have between us, my lord. You respond to my body, I respond to
you, and soon we will beget an heir. Do you think it possible that you could
love your child even if you do not love the child's mother?”

     He rolled off the bed, angrily pulling on
his breeches and boots. “Go back to sleep, Dustin.”

     She closed her eyes obediently. Angry and
bitter, he pulled his tunic on and moved for the door, but not before gazing
back at her face, preparing for one final retort. But the words died in his
throat when he noticed two wet trails leading from her eyes to the pillow.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

     “I still do not believe it,” David growled.

     It was a bright and lovely morning. The
knights, all of them, and Christopher were marching purposefully for Prince
John's audience chamber. They had been summoned by a triumphant steward,
requesting their presence by order of the prince. The purpose of the meeting
was to announce that John had finally selected a champion.

     They were met in the halls by several other
competitors, all summoned for the same purpose. There was talk of who had been
foolish enough to accept John's offer, but no one was positive as to who it
might be. David and Leeton kept pestering Christopher as to where Marcus was,
but Christopher would only shake his head and change the subject. Edward
already guessed what might have happened, and furthermore suspected just who
the new champion was.  Christopher suspected, too.

     As the doors to the audience chamber opened
and the knights and men began to file in, Edward made sure he walked in beside
his liege.

     “It's Marcus, you know,” he murmured.

     Christopher's face hardened. “If it is,
then I pity him. He is a bigger fool than I thought.”

     “You two had words last night,” Edward
remarked, a statement and not a question.

     Christopher didn't answer, making sure he
found a place as close to the door as possible. He didn't want to be in the
very front for John's scrutiny.

     “Marcus no longer serves me, and if he is
John's champion, then he no longer serves Richard and is considered the enemy,”
Christopher finally said, quietly.

     Edward shook his head regretfully. “Marcus
isn't the enemy any more than I am,” he said. “If he is John's champion, then
he must have a damn good reason.”

     “He does,” Christopher snapped. “We are
sworn enemies and he wishes to defeat me.”

     “Sworn ene…?” Edward’s brow furrowed. “What
in the hell are you talking about?”

     Christopher shook his head harshly, not
wanting to answer and noticing that the prince and Ralph were entering the
room. Edward continued to eye him even as the crier announced the prince and
the man graciously acknowledged his subjects.

     “Thank you for coming, loyal vassals,” John
said with a sappy overture. “I know that your day is busy, yet I found this
announcement too important to wait until tomorrow, so I will make it short and
to the point. A new baron has joined your ranks, a man entirely worthy of the
title I have bestowed upon him. A man who served our king and my brother in the
Holy Land, and whose reputation for fairness and righteousness is
unparalleled.”

     David and the other knights eyed each
other, Christopher. He refused to look at any of them.

     “This new baron will be my champion
tomorrow in the games, and I expect to win,” John laughed at his jest, though
it was not a jest. “I know that you are extremely curious to know just who this
man is, so with no further delay, I will introduce you to the realm's mightiest
warrior, Marcus Burton, Baron Somerhill.”

     Christopher's knights were beyond shocked.
Their eyes bugged out as Marcus took his place beside John, in full armor and
draped in John's colors. Christopher gave no reaction, but inside, he was
sickened. Was Marcus so angry with him that he would cast Richard aside and carry
on with John? Marcus was like a brother to him and regardless of their falling
out, he was disgusted by the treason the man had committed. But he did not
react outwardly in any way.  He knew he was being watched.