Rise of the Defender (71 page)

     As he hoped, she stopped struggling and
instead strained around Edward to get a better look at what was happening.

     “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, seeing only seas
of mailed legs. “Is the horse dead?”

     “Aye,” he replied quietly. “The spear went
right into his chest.”

     “Is Christopher alright?” She turned her
brimming gray eyes up to him. “Please tell me, Edward.”

     Edward could see her anguish. He loosened
his grip and put his arm around her waist. “Come with me,” he said softly.

     He led her around the crowd and soon
Christopher and his horse came into view. Dustin’s hands flew to her mouth to
stop the sobs as she viewed the scene closely; the destrier, mortally wounded,
fell sidelong into the dirt and trapped her husband's right leg underneath
thousands of pounds of horseflesh and armor. Christopher, helmetless, was
supported by David and Leeton as dozens of knights and soldiers and grooms
tried to truss the horse up with rope, enough so they could lift him off
Christopher.

     Dud was near the animal's head and Marcus,
his brow sweaty from exertion, was controlling the entire operation as he
shouted orders loud enough for the king of Scotland to hear. Seeing her husband
so helpless nearly drove Dustin over the edge.

     She was standing yards away from
Christopher, watching the urgent actions of the men working furiously to free
her husband. Had Edward not been holding her firmly, she was sure she would
have slipped to the ground from sheer grief. She found herself leaning against
him, her head against his armored chest. As long as she could see Christopher
and see that he was alive, she could keep herself calm.

     “So this is where you went.” The Earl of
Canterbury strolled up casually, a handkerchief to his nose. “I thought as
much.”

     Edward glanced over at the earl. “What
happened to your nose, sire?”

     The earl snickered.  “Lady de Lohr and I
were introduced,” he said, studying her lovely profile as she watched the
rescue effort on her husband.

     Edward raised his eyebrows in horror but
the earl waved him off, still chuckling. Together, the three of them watched
the last of the rigging go around the destrier’s body. The task had been
difficult and time-consuming due to the angle the horse had landed and also for
the fact that the men had to dig trenches underneath the animal to run the rope
through.

     Marcus tested the ropes himself and when he
was satisfied, ordered the men to ready. Dustin tensed as the ropes were pulled
taut, moving the beast inch by inch as David and Leeton grasped Christopher’s
arms and tugged. In synchronization the men would pull at the horse as
Christopher's men attempted to slide him out from underneath the animal.

     It took several tries until finally, after
a lifetime of torturous waiting, Christopher slipped free. Dustin let out a cry
of relief and Christopher heard her, twisting around to see his wife.

     “Dustin!” he called urgently.

     She tore free of Edward and raced to him,
collapsing in the dirt beside him and covering her good silk surcoat with
filth. Even as David and Leeton and Dud were steadying him into a sitting
position, Dustin was throwing her arms around his neck and weeping
hysterically.

     Christopher’s armored arms went about her
stiffly, distracted with the pain and disorientation he was feeling. Marcus was
kneeling beside him, demanding to know where he hurt. He waved Marcus off,
focusing instead on his crying wife.

     “Sweetheart, I am all right,” he whispered
softly into her ear. “Stop your weeping.”

     Naturally, she disobeyed. He so wanted to
comfort her more, but his ribs were absolutely killing him and he was in agony.
He turned his head to David slightly.

     “Help me with her,” his voice was raspy.

     David reached down to pull her free but she
responded by tightening her grip on Christopher. Pained and exhausted, he
patted her gently.

     “Go with David, sweet,” he said softly. “Be
a good girl.”

     Dustin pulled her tear-stained face back,
looking him deeply in the eyes, so incredibly grateful he was whole. He kissed
her, his beard scratching her face, and smiled faintly. “Stand up,” he
whispered.

     She kissed him anxiously three or four
times, kisses soft and quick and sweet, before doing as she was asked. Her legs
were shaking so that David found himself literally supporting her as Marcus
knelt beside Christopher.

     “Where are you injured, Chris?” he asked.

     Christopher took a deep breath. “I am well
enough, except for my ribs and shoulder.”

     “What about the leg?” Marcus asked.

     “It does not hurt,” Christopher replied,
bending it at the knee slowly. “Amazing. I thought he damn near tore it off
when he went down.”

     “Can you stand?” Marcus inquired
insistently.

     Christopher nodded and his men reached
down, carefully lifting him to his feet. Immediately his head began to swim and
his knees went weak, but he fought it. After a fall as brutal as the one he
took, 'twas a natural reaction and he was grateful for Leeton and Dud’s strong
arms to lean on.

     The crowd of knights applauded loudly when
they saw the champion on his feet. Christopher nodded vaguely to acknowledge
the cheers, reserving a worn smile for his ashen-faced wife.

     “Can you walk?” Marcus asked him, wondering
who was paler - the baron or his wife.

     “Aye,” Christopher replied, shifting a bit
as if something inside his armor was itching him. “Christ, I can hear my ribs
grinding.”

     The castle surgeon who tended the knights
was a big, burly man with wild red hair. He appeared beside Christopher as the
men tried to steady him, eyeing the man critically.

     “I came as soon as I could,” he said. “I
was off tending the Earl of Norwich. What’s this? I hear a horse fell on you?
Why are you walking, man? You should be on a gurney.”

     In faith, Christopher was feeling fairly
weak but knew he had to keep up the strong front if only for Dustin s sake. She
looked as if she were about to faint. He flicked a hand at the surgeon.

      “’Tis nothing, really,” he grunted. “A bit
of rest and I shall be fine.”

     “He broke some ribs,” Marcus told the
doctor flatly. “And his shoulder is injured.”

     The surgeon nodded curtly. “To your
apartments then, baron. We waste no time with broken ribs. One could steer
loose and puncture your liver and you will bleed to death in minutes.”

     Dustin gasped in horror and Christopher
eyed her with concern. “I assure you, it’s not that severe,” he told the
doctor, wishing the uncouth man would keep his mouth shut.

     But the surgeon wasn't finished, he glared
at Marcus. “And what are you doing running about here with that crushed arm? I
told you to keep it immobile and to rest a great deal. If it turns gangrenous,
we have to cut it off and no one wants a one-armed knight.”

     Dustin let out another strangled cry and
looked at Marcus with fear. Marcus echoed Christopher's thoughts, he wished the
fool would shut up before he had Dustin swooning.

     “My arm is healing nicely, Burwell,” he
said evenly “Let’s focus on the baron, shall we?”

     The group of knights and men were
dispersing and the field marshals were conferring in the center of the arena as
Christopher and his group passed slowly by. The crowd, seeing their champion up
and walking, albeit with help, began to stomp and cheer wildly. In no time the
lists were literally quaking with the excitement and appreciation of the crowd
as Christopher crossed the field.

     Two of the marshals approached Christopher.
“My lord,” the head marshal bowed quickly. “The officials have conferred and we
all agree that you are the winner of the event.”

     Christopher’s guts were hurting him the
longer he stood. He leaned heavily on Leeton. “And just how did you come to
that decision?”

     “Sir Dennis hit the ground first, my lord,”
the man replied. “You unseated him without question. Had he not gored your
destrier, you would not have met with the dirt.”

     Christopher glanced over his shoulder as a
couple dozen grooms and stable servants were towing his horse from the field.
He was deeply saddened; Boron was nearly seventeen years old and the two of
them had seen through every campaign and tournament since he had been a squire.
With Boron beneath him, there was never a worry for the animal could read his
mind and he knew he would miss him greatly.

     “Very well,” he replied wearily.

     The marshal turned to Dustin, behind her
husband and clinging to David. “My lady, will you award your husband his just
reward?”

     Dustin was so drained she could barely
walk, but she nodded unsteadily. Christopher looked over his shoulder at her.

     “You do not have to, sweetheart,” he said
softly.

     “We need to wrap those ribs, my lord.” Burwell
boomed.

     Christopher shot the man a withering look.
“I have won the joust and will accept what is mine.” His eye caught the horse
as it cleared the arena and headed for the outlying area. “Considering the cost
of victory, I would say the prince better award me the whole bloody treasury.”

     “I shall do it,” Dustin said hoarsely,
letting go of David and brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face.

     The marshals went to the lists and, after a
brief discussion with John and Ralph, waved Dustin and Christopher over. David
and Marcus escorted Dustin up the stairs to the dais as Christopher made his
way slowly toward the foot of the platform. John and Ralph were on their feet,
scowling contemptuously at Christopher as he approached.

     Dustin watched her husband as he made his
way toward the royal box and disengaged himself from Leeton and Dud. The crowd
went mad as he walked the last few feet under his own power and halted, as tall
and proud as he could manage, in front of John. Dustin found herself drawing
comfort and strength from the cheers of the people as they showed their respect
for the man they called the Lion's Claw.

     Even with his battered body, his spirit
soared to conquer the pain and the agony was not readable on face. He was, in
every sense of the word, the champion and Defender of the Realm.

     Dustin moved beyond her shock and weakness.
Before she realized it, tears were filling her eyes and spilling in hot streams
down her cheeks. She wiped them away, but they kept reappearing and the more she
wiped, the faster they seemed to fall. Marcus saw her quaking and leaned next
to her ear to whisper words of encouragement. She sniffled and nodded quickly
in response, stepping forward as a steward ushered her to John’s side.

     John was not in the least bit happy. Sir
Dennis was fine after his vicious fall, but he had lost the bout nonetheless.
The prince eyed Christopher, lifting his hands irritably to silence the
screaming crowd.

     “It seems that the champion has returned
from the quest as skilled as if he had never left,” the prince said with mock
sincerity. “He has bested the finest England had to offer and for that, he will
be duly rewarded.”

     The steward handed Dustin a ribbon made
from red brocade, embroidered with gold thread into fantastic patterns. It was
a beautiful ribbon, though hardly worthy of the pain and effort expended for
such a tourney. She accepted it graciously and moved forward when John motioned
to her. The tears were falling faster than ever, dripping off her chin and onto
the top of her breasts, and the sobs began to rise as the prince lamely
indicated that she pin her husband with the ribbon.

     Christopher’s heart was breaking. Dustin
was trying so hard to be brave, to award him the prize, but she was quickly
crumbling. He took a few stiff steps forward, standing at the very edge of the
platform as she stood above him, shaking so badly that she could hardly place
the ribbon on him.

     “It’s all right, Dustin, my love,” he
whispered for her ears only. “Give me the ribbon and be done with it.”

     She heard him call her ‘my love’ and she
dissolved, the sobs coming forth like great choking sounds. He wanted
desperately to reach up and cradle her against him, but his ribs were screaming
with pain and he knew the action was impossible. He raised his hand and took
the ribbon from her, for she was unable to go any further. With a quick nod to
David, the man swept Dustin against him and Marcus moved close on her other
side. They were moving for the stairs when Ralph moved before them, his oily
face glazed with humiliation.

     He boldly glared at Marcus and David before
his black eyes came to rest on Dustin. “Next time, my lady….” Was all he said,
a challenge and a promise that could have encompassed any number of references.

     Dustin's tears disappeared as she stared
back at the sheriff. Anger and hatred filled her, racing up her spine until she
was fairly hot with the stuff. No longer was she the weakened wife, she yanked
herself from David and Marcus and moved to within an inch or so of Ralph’s
disgusting face, her lips parting seductively as she looked him up and down,
scrutinizing every inch of the hated face.