Rise of the Defender (145 page)

     John looked dubious. He was more afraid of
his brother than de Lohr or Burton and prayed he was wise enough to use his
advantages. He also prayed that Ralph was right and that Richard would not
attack Nottingham if de Lohr and Burton convinced him otherwise. At any rate,
an army was approaching and preparations must be made.

     “Find le Londe,” he growled, resuming his
twitching and pacing. “The man is in charge of my army, is he not? He had
better be on the ramparts or I shall castrate him myself.”

     Ralph nodded, feeling amazingly confident
in the face of mayhap the greatest army assembled. The king, his Defender and
the king's premiere general were bearing down on them yet he found his
apprehension somewhat easing. He knew that he and the prince held the
advantage.

     “I shall seek Lady de Lohr as well and make
sure she is well taken care of,” Ralph said.

     “See that you do,” John snapped, his mind
moving beyond his prisoner and ahead to more pressing concerns. “But I want her
displayed blatantly when the army closes in to avoid an instantaneous attack.
When they see her, surely they will stop any advance and give us a chance to
press our advantage.”

     “As you say, sire,” Ralph replied steadily.

     As he marched down the cool corridor toward
Lady de Lohr's rooms, he felt distinctly omnipotent. It was obvious to him who
held the true power In England, and it wasn't the king.

CHAPTER 
FIFTY SEVEN

     Dustin and Gabrielle had finally calmed
enough to the point where they could sit and read without the book shaking so
bad they could not see the words. Gabrielle, who was unusually educated for a
woman, read passages from the Book of Job, a particularly depressing subject,
Dustin changed out of her bloodied surcoat and into a fresh one.

     It was one of the newer garments Gabrielle
had ordered for her, an eggshell-colored cotton with a voluminous skirt and
long, billowy sleeves that made her feel especially fresh and feminine.

     A thin gold and black rope ran underneath
her breasts for decoration, emphasizing the beautiful swell of her chest and
allowing her blossoming belly ample freedom in the heat, she had pulled her
hair into a thick braid, letting the heavy thing fall over her right shoulder
and trail to her groin. Tendrils of damp hair framed her face as she took a
seat opposite Gabrielle and demanded she read something lighter; she did not
want to hear about the trials of Job any longer, for she was having a few
trials of her own.

     Dustin dozed off as her friend read softly,
not even realizing it until she was roughly awakened by Gabrielle's shaking
hand. Startled, she twisted around to see Ralph entering the room.

     “Ladies,” he greeted tightly.

     Dustin was filled with panic, wondering if
Ralph would read her mind and go to the wardrobe in search of her victim. She
rose as steadily as she could, fixing him with a stern gaze.

     “What do you want, Ralph?” she asked.

     He did not smile. Instead, he turned to the
door and the two ladies noticed several of John's elite guards standing in the
hall. Ralph glanced back at the women, pleased to see the expressions of doom
on their faces.

     “I would ask, Lady de Lohr, that you remain
in your rooms for the time-being,” he said formally. This Ralph was not the
sniveling, taunting man she had grown to know. He was firm and decisive and it
scared the devil out of her. “You will not leave these rooms under any
circumstances. Is that clear?”

     Dustin looked from the guards to Ralph.
“Why? I thought I was a guest here, not a prisoner.”

     Ralph raised an eyebrow. “True enough. I
ask that you remain here for your own safety, considering that an army
approaches and I would hate to see you injured in the crossfire.”

    
An army!
 Dustin knew immediately
that it was her husband and she could not help the smile that crossed her face.
Her plight, Gabrielle's plight, was drawing to a close and she could not
suppress the gloating feeling welling inside of her.

     “It is my husband, isn’t it?” she asked.

     Ralph’s expression was hard. He wouldn’t
lie to her for she would know the truth soon enough. “Perhaps,” he answered.

     The fear and panic Dustin had so recently
felt was vanished. “My husband has come for me as I knew he would,” she said arrogantly.
“How do you feel, Ralph, knowing that you will be dead in a matter of hours?”

     His eyes narrowed. “Do not be so confident
that it will be me meeting my death.”

     “He will not let you live,” she said
confidently. “He has come for me and you, my lord, shall pay the ultimate price
for confining the Lion Claw's wife.”

     Ralph's jaw ticked. “Do not be so certain,
bitch.”

     Dustin took the challenge, for she truly
felt she had nothing to lose. Her husband was within sight and that, to her,
made her untouchable. Even if he wasn't physically with her, Christopher's
reputation alone would keep Ralph at bay, knowing the wrath he would face.

     Her first instincts had been to play dumb
to Ralph's revelation, but she found she could not. She was so thrilled that the
army was arrived, that he had come for her, that she could not contain herself.

     Dustin had never in her life been arrogant
about anything. She'd never had any reason to be. But she was suddenly
extremely arrogant about her husband, his reputation, and the fact that she was
his wife. She tried to ignore the fact that she was his trouble-making wife and
that she had left him for the very same reason. She briefly wondered if he was
going to take a strap to her behind when he caught up to her for being such a
bother, and she furthermore did not blame him.

     But Dustin did not regret leaving as she
did. She had turned men against each other and she was not rueful in her
decision. Her one and only regret was that she had been caught by none other
than her husband's most declared enemy. God or the Devil was working against
her, she wasn't sure which. It would be a miracle if Christopher did not hate
her for everything she had caused.

     “You show your apprehension by resorting to
name-calling, sheriff,” she said, not the least bit offended. “And you should
be afraid.”

     “Nay, woman, 'tis you who should be
afraid,” Ralph returned sharply. “For it is you who have lured your husband to
his demise. And he will not be resurrected the second time around, I assure
you.”

     Dustin stiffened ever so slightly.
“Christopher will not die, sheriff. He cannot.”

     Ralph gave her a thin smile. “'Tis not just
de Lohr, but Burton as well. You have lured two men to their deaths. Can you
live with yourself?”

     Dustin cleared her throat softly, her
arrogant stance draining. She wanted to lower her gaze from Ralph's piercing
black eyes but she could not, for she meant what she said.

      “They will not die, Ralph,” she assured
him. “They are too powerful for you to kill and you know it. They will have the
keep by morn.”

     “But they will not have you or your child,”
Ralph said deliberately. “Our mighty prince will see to that.”

     Dustin blinked, a bolt of fear shooting
through her. She wasn't afraid to die, truly, but she feared for the life of
the child she carried. Suddenly, her arrogant front was not such a wise move
and she felt herself backing down, but only for the sake of her child. Selfish
as she was, she had only been thinking of herself and not of the babe within
her.

     Ralph saw the wind go out of her sails and
felt infinitely more in control of the situation. He slapped his heavy leather
gloves against his thigh.

***

     They were riding for battle. Christopher
could smell the excitement in the air, permeating the warriors like a drug.
They fed off it, breathed it, touched it until the only thing they were capable
of focusing on was the approaching storm.

     Christopher's face was set like stone. His
sky-blue eyes drank in the massive shape that was Nottingham, set like a great
stone phantom against the colors of the setting sky. The peasants had long
since taken cover and the only movement visible were the soldiers moving about
on the walls.

     “Skirmish lines,” he grumbled to Marcus,
who set the men to moving.

     It was an awesome sight to behold when
Marcus, David and Christopher set up the skirmish lines. A devotee of Roman
legions, Christopher set up his troops into blocks of 40 men, moving them out
in sharp military style across the rolling green fields around Nottingham. Ten
blocks formed a row, each block with a crude ladder for breaching the walls,
and there were three rows. The closer they drew to the actual fortress, the
more the blocks would spread out and move to surround the castle. There were,
in effect, three waves of soldiers instead of one giant front, and it was a
very effective method of laying siege.

     Richard sat back and watched with the pride
of a father as his Defender positioned the troops. Christopher was a master of
tactics, especially when it came to laying siege to a fortified structure or
city. Not usually content to be a passive observer, he was wise enough to know
that Christopher was better at this than he was. Out of the way, Richard
mentally prepared himself to take on his brother and regain his holding, the
first of many such battles.

     Christopher returned to him after checking
the position of the troops himself with Marcus and David hot on his heels.
Sean, Guy, Dud and the rest of Christopher and Marcus' knights were not far
behind. Visors went down and shields were secured over the left knee, grips
checked and the leather straps adjusted until they were comfortable. After
securing himself, Christopher passed a practiced eye over his knights to make
sure all was in order, even going so far as to re-adjust a piece of armor on
Marcus’ destrier that had slipped.

     Marcus held the animal steady as
Christopher worked through thick gloves to secure the errant piece of metal. He
thanked Christopher smoothly, like the Marcus of old whose very best friend had
been the man they called the Lion’s Claw.

     Christopher, knowing Marcus as well as he
did, associated an appreciative smile with the tone and found himself looking
at the man through his lowered visor as if he could indeed see the smile. He
was jolted from his battle-hard attitude for just a split second, wondering if
Marcus was trying to unbalance him for some reason. They had been so cold and
formal with each other that the friendly tone caught him off guard.

     Marcus saw Christopher looking at him and
flipped up his visor, his smile fading. “What's wrong?”

     Christopher shook his head but Marcus
reined his animal around so he could better speak to him. “You still do not
trust me, do you?” he asked quietly.

     “In battle there is no one I would rather
have by my side, save my brother,” Christopher said without hesitation. “I
trust you with my life, Marcus.”

     Marcus looked hard at him. “But you do not
trust me where Dustin is concerned.”

     Christopher’s shielded face turned away.
“I…I am trying, Marcus, I want to.”

     Marcus's gaze lingered on him a moment
before he lowered his visor once again. “Then do.”

     Marcus whistled to his destrier and the
horse thundered forward, leaving Christopher struggling to regain his
composure.

     Another destrier rode up beside him and he
looked up to see Edward looking at him. The man had kept an extremely low
profile since they had left Somerhill and Christopher was almost surprised to
see him.

     “He is sincere, you know,” Edward said.

     Christopher looked at him. “I want to
believe that, Edward, I really do.”

     Edward sighed and adjusted his helmet.
“Listen to me for once, Chris. I am usually right.”

     “You are
always
right,” Christopher
returned. “Why would you say that?”

     Edward shrugged, moving to turn away but
Christopher put out a hand and grabbed him before he could get away.

     “Why do you say that, Edward?” he asked.
“Why have you been avoiding me so?”

     “I haven't been,” Edward replied. “It was
plainly obvious that you refused to listen to me so I stopped talking.”

     Christopher flipped up his visor, frowning.
“You mean about Dustin?”

     Edward nodded, speaking reluctantly. “I
told you not to go charging up to Somerhill, but you ignored me. I told you not
to fight Marcus, but you ignored me again. I finally gave up.”