Rise of the Defender (69 page)

     Christopher didn't say a word. Raising his
visor, he reached out and took her hand, bringing it sweetly to his lips.
Dustin blushed mightily as he gave her a wicked grin and, slamming his visor
shut, tore off across the arena. Dustin simply stood there, watching him ride
off as if he were God himself.

     “Charming,” John said dryly.

     The spell was broken. Dustin stiffened and
turned back to her seat, choosing not to dignify John's comment with a
response. Marcus eyed her as she lowered herself to the chair.

     “You see? There is nothing to worry over,”
he said.

     She tossed her hair over one smooth
shoulder. “There are more bouts to come though, aren't there? This was merely
the first.”

     Marcus shook his head. There was apparently
no convincing Lady de Lohr that a tournament could be fun and exciting. He
briefly wondered if she would show such concern for him if he were fighting.

     The field was raked smooth in preparation
for the second rounds and the combatants were paired against one another by the
high marshal. Everyone in the stands was milling about or buying food from one
of the numerous vendors, waiting for the next round to start.

     “Marcus, I am hungry,” Dustin said. “Can we
go and get something to eat?”

     Marcus glanced at the field. “It looks as
if it will be a few minutes yet before the games begin,” he stood up and held
out his arm. “What would you like?”

     Dustin wanted everything. Marcus ended up
buying her a fat tart with raspberries, chicken grilled on a stick, and a
pie-like concoction filled with beef, onions and cheese. She downed the chicken
in no time, chowed down the pie, and then started in on the tart. Marcus
watched her eat with enjoyment.

     “Has Chris been starving you?” he demanded
suspiciously.

     “Why do you ask?” her mouth was full of
custard.

     “Because I have never seen a lady eat so
much.” he said. “Yet there's not a bit of fat on you.”

     She shrugged, taking another bite. “I like
to eat.”

     He grinned, glancing out over the field to
where the different competitor’s camps were set up. He could barely make out
Christopher's quarters, isolated away from the others. He nudged Dustin.

     “Would you like to go see Chris?” he asked.

     Her face lit up. “Can we?”

     He took her arm in response, leading her
around the field and between various encampments. He had an ulterior motive for
bringing Dustin to see her husband, he wanted to confer with the baron
regarding Sir Dennis. In fact, if Chris would allow him, he would gladly fight
in the melee. He was highly uncomfortable with the Destroyer in the
competition, especially when John had put a price on Christopher's head.

     They passed by a tent bearing the colors of
the knight Sir Dennis had killed inside, they could hear a pathetic female
sobbing and Dustin instinctively stopped, her eyes welling with sympathetic
tears. Lord, it could so easily be her crying over her husband's body. She
still may be. She turned her wide gray eyes up to Marcus sadly and he did
nothing more but urge her onward, away from the grief.

     Her sadness faded when she caught sight of
Christopher's tent. David and Edward were outside, adjusting the tip on David's
joust pole. Dustin called out their names and gathered her skirts, hopping over
a puddle and skipping the rest of the way.

     She threw her arms around David happily
with a congratulatory hug, then gazing apologetically at Edward.

     “Oh, Edward, I am sorry,” she said. “But it
was a good fight. Did he hurt you?”

     Edward shook his head, though he had a ripe
bruise on his forehead. “Nay, my lady, he did not. I hit my head when I fell to
the ground. 'Twas my own clumsiness, really.”

     Christopher burst out of his tent, his eyes
riveted to his wife. “I thought I heard your voice,” he said. “What are you
doing here?”

     Marcus moved forward. “I brought her,” he
said, making note of Christopher's disapproving look.  “Well, I could not leave
her alone in the lists. Not with John and Ralph a few feet away. Besides, all
they want to do is brag about le Londe. Did you know he was here?”

     “Not until he killed one of Derby's men,”
he replied as Dustin ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
Marcus watched with cloaked envy as Christopher kissed the top of her head
before continuing. “I had no idea he was even in London, and I have been here
over a week. I wonder where John's been hiding him.”

     “Mayhap he wasn't,” Marcus said. “It is
entirely possible that le Londe was in France with Philip Augustus and just
yesterday sailed the channel. We know that John is in contact with the French
king and more than likely relayed his troubles about you, whereupon Philip sent
le Londe to champion the prince's cause.”

     Christopher nodded. “As logical an
explanation as any,” he agreed. “What remains now is what to do with him. 'Tis
without a doubt I will be facing him at one point.”

     Marcus eyed Dustin, silently relaying to
Christopher to be careful what he said. But Christopher was well aware of his
wife's fears, and he was also fully aware that she did not know of the price
John had put on him.

     “Your wife has been on an eating binge and
I have no money left,” Marcus changed the subject.

     Dustin grinned. “And I still did not get to
sample the cream pastries.”

     “Take Edward with you, then, and get your
pastry,” Christopher said. “I am sure Marcus would appreciate being free of you
for the moment.”

     Dustin gazed up at him, her face positively
glowing. “Do not joust until I return to my seat.”

     His gaze on her was equally warm. “I seem
to remember seeing my wife with her hand over her eyes as I took the field,” he
said with a raised brow. “Do you intend to actually watch me this time?”

     “I watched your second pass.” she insisted
weakly. “I saw you unseat the pompous fool.”

     He nodded reluctantly as if he didn't
believe her, then kissed her head once again. The show of affection from him
had been remarkable, considering he tried to be very private with his feelings
for her. But Dustin savored the affection, public or private.

     “Go with Edward, sweetheart,” he patted her
gently and yelled to his knight. “Edward, feed my wife and return her to the
stands.”

     Since Edward was not competing until the
melee in the afternoon, he readily agreed to escort Dustin. All blue silk and
silken blond hair, Dustin laughingly took Edward's arm and they disappeared
from view.

     The moment they were out of sight,
Christopher turned to Marcus. “Dennis will try his hardest to mortally wound
me,” he said in a low voice. “Ten marks of gold will inspire him to conquer me
any way he can.”

     “I know,'' Marcus replied. “Let me fight
with you in the melee, Chris. I can watch your back.”

     Chris looked at him, disbelievingly. “With
that arm? Forget about it, Marcus. You'd end up getting yourself killed.”

     “Chris, we've seen Dennis fight,” Marcus would
not be denied so easily. “We both know how ruthless he is. He shall stop at
nothing.”

     Christopher's sky-blue eyes grazed the
tents until he came to rest on John's encampment nearly a quarter mile away.
“He cannot best me, Marcus, but he can make my life miserable,” he replied. “I
am not worried about the melee so much as I am the joust. If he pulls a trick,
then there is virtually no time to react. And I worry for my brother and my
men, as well. Dennis does not play for fun, he plays to kill.”

     Marcus stared at the ground thoughtfully
for a few moments. “Do you want me to take Dustin back to the apartments?” he
asked softly. “She's terrified as it is, and seeing you or one of the others
injured will ruin her.”

     Christopher shook his head. “Nay, she would
worry more penned up in a room where there was nothing to do but imagine the
worst,” he said, then looked at Marcus with unguarded eyes. “Just....if
something does happen, even though it won't, take care of her as best you can.”

     “Then you are worried,” Marcus declared
softly.

     “Nay, not worried, but cautious,”
Christopher corrected him. “Dennis the Destroyer requires me to act in that
manner.”

     Somewhere back toward the lists, trumpets
sounded, informing the wandering crowd that the games were about to commence
again.

     “That's my call,” Christopher said,
adjusting his sword. “Take care of my wife, Marcus.”

     “She doesn't need me to take care of her,”
Marcus retorted lightly. “As long as I keep her supplied with food, she's happy
as a fool.”

     “No, Marcus,” Christopher's voice shocked
him with its intensity and he found himself staring into the sky blue orbs. “I
mean take
care
of her. If anything happens to me, I will depend on you.”

     Marcus had never known Christopher to be
wary, ever. The man was a perfect model of confidence and perfection, and he
found himself licked by apprehension. He wanted to dismiss Christopher's
caution, to insist that none could touch the Lion's Claw, but he bit his
tongue.

     “As you say, sire,” he replied softly,
turning for the stands.

     By the time he reached his seat, Dustin and
Edward were already there and filling their bellies with two great cream
pastries. He eyed the pastries with distaste, wondering aloud how they could
eat such sickly sweet confections. Dustin simply smiled.

     John and Ralph had been up walking the
grounds, acting God to the inhabitants of Windsor. They returned to their seats
shortly after Marcus' arrival, both men gazing haughtily at Edward.

     “So, de Wolfe, you are out of the
competition,” John said flatly. “A pity. Your father was a fine jouster, you
know.”

     “Aye, your grace, I am well aware of my
father's skills,” Edward replied in his rich, steady voice. “But he, like me,
found cheating beneath him. Obviously, not everyone has our scruples.”

     John laughed aloud. “Oh, de Wolfe, as
righteous as your father in every way. Thank God not every knight is as moral
as you two are or this country would be quite colorless.”

     Edward didn't reply, finishing his pastry
when in fact he had lost his appetite. Dustin licked her fingers with gusto,
frowning like a child when Marcus snatched her hands and wiped them off with a
kerchief.

     The joust competitions continued on for the
rest of the morning, the field of knights narrowing down little by little.
There were two more substantial injuries, but for the most part, the majority
of the combatants walked away unharmed. By midday, the list had been narrowed
down to only two men and, as expected, Christopher was to face-off against
Dennis the Destroyer.

     Dustin had actually enjoyed the rest of the
bouts and was even able to watch her husband dispose of his final three
challengers with nary a twinge of apprehension, but when it became apparent
that his final round would be against John's champion, her anxiety returned
worse than before.

     Sitting between Edward and Marcus, her
stomach was twisting into painful knots. Christopher was at the opposite end of
the field and she could see his spiral-decorated shaft pointing up to the sky
as he adjusted his shield over his left side. Sir Dennis was closer to her, his
horned helmet quite imposing as he sat stock still, watching Christopher settle
himself.

     Dustin found herself staring at the man,
her eyes shooting daggers and every inch of her body conveying pain and hatred.
She didn't even know him yet she hated him all the same; from what she had
heard, he was a disgrace to the brotherhood of knights and for the simple fact
he was competing against her husband, she hated him all the more.

     Sir Dennis reined his steed over to the
lists where John and Ralph were sitting. He raised his visor and Dustin was
able to catch a glimpse of the despised face.

     “Ten marks, did you say?” the knight said
in a heavy French accent. “Seems like a small amount for a man's life. He is
married,
n’est-ce pas
? Where is his wife?”

     Ralph jerked his head leisurely in Dustin's
direction. “The Lady Dustin de Lohr.”

     Dennis' bright, pale eyes immediately
focused on Dustin and she went rigid under his naked scrutiny. He was probably
as old as her husband, plain-faced, almost boyish-looking. She found it hard to
believe that this man had the nickname of ‘Destroyer.’ He smiled and she
quickly averted her gaze.

     “I want her, as well,” Dennis said to John.
“Ten marks and the
mademoiselle
.”

     As he reined his horse away, Dustin's
lovely face washed with shocked anger.

     “What is he talking about?” she demanded
hotly of John and Ralph, ignoring the titles completely.

     The prince glanced casually over his
shoulder at the sheriff, who shrugged lazily. “I wouldn't know,” he replied.
“Ralph? Do you know what he's talking about?”