Rise of the Defender (30 page)

     “Christopher,” she began softly. “Can’t I please
take Caesar? I promise he will be no trouble.”

     “Dustin, I told you, he will not travel
well,” he repeated patiently. “He will not be happy.”

     “But I will miss him.” she insisted miserably.
“He will be happy if he is with me. He will be heartbroken and lost here when I
am gone. He may run away.”

     “He won’t run away from here, I promise you
that,” he said. “The cat is not stupid. He knows where he fed and warm and pampered.”

     She made a wry face, signaling defeat, and
lowered her gaze. He was sorry that he had to deny her, but he believed what he
said, Caesar would still be ruling Lioncross upon their return.

     She turned around and returned to picking
the flowers. He continued to stand there and watch her, glancing up at the sky
that was growing dark and menacing.

     “It will rain soon,” he said. “Let's go
inside.”

     She glanced up, wiping at her cheek with
the back of her hand. “I am almost finished.”

     He shifted on his massive legs, waiting patiently
for her to finish, when suddenly there was a commotion over by the wall. They
both looked over, watching the overgrowth shake violently.

     Christopher stepped forward, wondering what
sort of hellish wild animal was caught in the garden and wanting to protect his
wife from any attack, when suddenly a great howl went up and Caesar came
shooting out of the bushes, his ears back and his eyes wide. He tore after
something neither human could make out.

     Caesar tore a crazy path into the garden,
screeching and running as fast as his fat body could take him. Dustin watching
her cat with her hands on his hips, wondering how long it would take him to
catch the mouse so she could return to her task, when suddenly a tiny white
rabbit burst forth out of the low-lying weeds, racing like the wind with Caesar
hot on its heels.

     “Caesar! Stop it this instant.” Dustin
shrieked, attempting to track down the cat.

     But the cat and the rabbit were much faster
than the mistress, and after running up a wild path through the garden, they
were through the gate and into the area by the kitchens where Dustin kept her
rabbit hutch.

     Dustin was beside herself as she ran after
the two animals, leaving Christopher following her far behind, fighting off his
amusement as she yelled at the cat like an unruly child. Dustin dodged and
dashed, trying to cut them off, then being double-crossed for her efforts.
After racing a mad course through the small bailey, the little rabbit took
Caesar out through the poster gate carved into the outer wall, and Dustin was
forced to follow.

     Christopher wasn’t far behind, muttering a
curse as he ducked into the tunnel and came through the other side. He could
see Dustin running after the animals down the small grassy incline, still screaming
at her disobedient cat. He was actually still quite amused, allowing himself to
crack a smile now that he knew he wasn’t being watched.

     Then, it was as if the heavens opened up
and suddenly there were sheets of water drenching him in his clean clothes and
armor. Huge flashes of lightning lit up the sky and his immediate concern was
for his wife, racing around like a madwoman in the field below him. He could
see that she had stopped and had turned to look upward, and he wondered as he
went toward her if she had indeed caught her cat.

     But her hands were empty and she was
absolutely soaking. Christopher went to her, picking her up and carrying her
back up the hill. Once she was in the shelter of the cave-like passage of the
postern gate, she pushed herself from his arms.

     “What are you doing?” he demanded.

     “I have to wait here for Caesar,” she
insisted, pushing her wet hair from her eyes. “He hates the rain.”

     It wasn’t simply raining, it was pounding.
Thunder and lightning broke every few seconds and the intensity was growing. Christopher
shook his head.

     “Nay, lady, we go inside,” he said firmly. “The
cat will take care of himself.”

     In spite of her protests, he swung her into
his arms again and carried her into the keep. By the time they passed through
the kitchens and into the great hall, Dustin was shivering and her lips were
blue. Christopher bellowed for warmed wine and hot water even as he carried her
up to her rooms.

     “Off with the dress,” he ordered, soaked to
the skin himself but more concerned with Dustin.

     Without a word, she tried to comply but her
hands were shaking so that she could not manage the stays. He assisted her,
releasing the fastenings and the surcoat slipped to the floor. She wore a shift
underneath, plastered to her damp skin. Silently, Christopher had her lift her
arms and he peeled it off of her.

     As much as he would have liked to have
stood there and gazed at her luscious nude body, she was as cold as ice and he
ripped the coverlet off the bed and wrapped her in it tightly, using a portion
of it to dry her hair. But she was still quivering, cold, so he steered her
over to the fire that was snapping in the hearth.

     “Stay there,” he ordered. “I shall return.”

     “Where are you going?” she said through
chattering teeth.

     “To get something to warm you,” he replied.

     She was too cold to ask any more.
Christopher returned a few moments later with warmed, mulled wine and a serving
wench in tow, loaded down with linen towels. He set the servant to drying his
wife’s hair while he stood over her and watched her drink nearly half a goblet
of the warmed wine. Outside, the storm was growing violent and Dustin kept
turning her head to the window every time there was a crash of thunder or a
bolt of lightning.

     “Caesar hates the rain,” she repeated
softly, her gray eyes concerned.

     “I am sure he is safe,” Christopher replied.
“How do you feel? Better?”

     “Aye,” she nodded, taking another sip of wine
as she gazed at him. He was still in damp clothing. “Aren't you going to change
out of your wet clothing?”

     He glanced down at himself, knowing he
should have dried the armor off immediately for it rusted easily.

     “In a moment,” he replied. “When I am sure
you are not going to go charging off into the storm again looking for your cat.”

     She smiled in spite of herself. “I will not,
I promise.”

     He smiled in return. “In that case, I shall
take off these wet things before this armor rusts and traps me within it.”

     The wine was making her sleepy and silly. “Terrible,”
she said with mock-seriousness.

     “Indeed,” he agreed, noticing that the wine
was affecting her. “I would be quite useless, not to mention uncomfortable.”

     “Not to mention you could not relieve
yourself.” She suddenly looked up at him when she realized what she had said,
her shock turning into bubbling giggles.

     He grinned and patted her head. “You are
feeling better, I see.” He looked sternly at the maid. “Do not let her leave.
And no more wine.”

     Christopher returned a half-hour later to find
her curled up in a sturdy oak chair, still wrapped in the coverlet and munching
on a hunk of bread with butter and fruit compote on it. In fact, there was a
tray on the table next to her with more food on it. He was pleased when she
smiled comfortably at him again.

     “I had the maid bring this up,” she said. “We
missed the nooning meal.

     “I know.” He reached down and retrieved a
large piece of bread, also pleased she had thought of him when she ordered the
meal. Outside, the storm raged violently but her chamber was warm and cozy and
he sat in the chair opposite her as he ate.

     “Your hair is almost dry,” he noted.

     She ran her fingers through it. “Only on
the top,” she said. “It takes forever to dry.”

     He nodded faintly, finishing off the bread.
“Your hair is beautiful.”

     She touched it again absently. “There is
too much of it. It is forever in my way.”

     He raised an eyebrow. “You do not know how
to accept a compliment, do you? I told you once you were beautiful and you told
me you were too short.”

     Her cheeks went a soft pink but she didn’t
reply. He sat forward in his chair.

     “The proper response to a compliment is ‘thank
you’,” he said softly. “I know you know the words for I have heard you say
them. Now, let us try this again; your hair is beautiful.”

     She looked at him from underneath her thick
lashes, yet he could see a smile playing on her lips. “Thank you,” she
whispered.

     He gave her a half-smile. “And you are very
beautiful.”

     “Thank you,” she repeated, looking away
from him.

     “And I am glad I married you,” he said, his
voice gentle.

     She looked at him, astonished. “You are?”

     He held up a finger admonishingly and she
corrected herself quickly. “I mean, thank you,” she replied, then looked at him
curiously. “Are you truly?”

     He grinned and sat back. “Aye.”

     “But why?” she demanded, puzzled.

     He looked amused. “Why not? You are
beautiful and you have intelligence. You are a perfect match for me.”

     She continued to stare back at him just as
he was gazing at her. She was quite amazed at his confession. Question was -
was
she
glad she married him? She wasn’t all sure yet, but she suspect
that she was. What wasn’t to like?

     However, she was feeling quite playful and
happy with the warm wine coursing through her veins and she felt a strange
sense of power with his admission.

     “In my view, this marriage could have been
much, much worse,” she said, feigning seriousness.

     “Is that so?” he responded.

     “Aye,” she nodded firmly. “For instance,
you could have been a horrible, ugly, mean ogre and I would have been forced
into submission. I would say that I was rather lucky for that you are not and I
suppose my father did choose well.”

     “I thank you, my lady.” He raised an
eyebrow. “Then I must agree that I, too, have fared rather well. You could have
been an abomination to the eye and I would have still had to marry you. What if
you had been as fat as a cow? Or as homely as a pig? If I wanted this fortress,
then I would still have had to marry you. Aye, I was fortunate on that account.”

     “You say that now,” she shot back
good-naturedly. “I do not think that was your reaction the day we met.”

     “Hmm,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “But we
must do something about your disagreeable disposition.”

     She turned her nose up at him. “I have
never had anyone complain before.”

     He laughed. “They wouldn't dare. You hit
too hard.”

     She turned a coy gaze to him. “But you are
not afraid of me, are you?”

     He looked at her, falsely stern. “Your
father was wiser than you know. He knew he must select a man who could hold his
own against you in a fight. After seeing how I held off legions of Saracens, he
was impressed enough to offer me the position. I was foolish enough to accept.”

     She sat up, the coverlet partially falling
away. “With the good comes the bad,” she teased. “You wanted Lioncross but I
came with it.”

     He folded his hands under his chin, his
eyes like blue flame as they smoldered at her. “How fortunate for me.”

     She grinned back, feeling his gaze licking
at her. “Then tell me,” she said thoughtfully, “were you his first choice? Or
was there an entire company of men my father weeded through to make his choice?”

     Christopher actually looked thoughtful. Hell,
he didn’t know, come to think on it. Was he indeed the first choice? Or had
some other fool turned the baron down? Richard was close with Marcus Burton,
now in the north determining the political tides of who was loyal to John.
Could he have approached Marcus with the same proposal? Marcus was such an
eloquent speaker that he could weasel his way out of anything, even a marriage
contract.

     He glanced at Dustin, suddenly jealous at
the thought of her ending up in Marcus’ arms. Foolish, of course. He was the Lion’s
Claw. Marcus was merely a general. He knew without a doubt that he had been the
first choice.

     “Nay, lady, I was his first and only
choice,” he said confidently. “I am the only one worthy of the treasure of Lioncross
Abbey.”

     “Treasure? What treasure? We do have some
wealth, but….”

     He cut her off, taking her soft white hand,
now warm, into his huge palm. “I meant you.”

     “Oh,” she felt her cheeks go warm at the
compliment. When he raised his eyebrows expectantly at her, she got his hint. “Thank
you,” she added quickly.

     As the fire crackled and Dustin finished
her bread, Christopher held her hand, lost in his own thoughts. Marcus Burton
kept popping up into his mind, as much as he tried to ignore him. Marcus was
his closest friend, outside of David, but the competition between the two of
them had always been fierce. He wondered if Marcus would view Dustin as another
contest, knowing the man’s taste for women. His gaze turned dark as he stared
into the flames of the hearth; friend or no, this was one treasure he would not
share.