Rise of the Defender (54 page)

     She had let her guard down for this man and
had welcomed him, albeit reluctantly, into her heart. She had grown to love the
man whose strong hands and warm smile made her feel warm and safe. But stung by
his words and by his actions, she would be damned to make the same mistake
twice.

     Lost to her thoughts, she became aware that
there was a body next to her and she glanced over, seeing that it was Ralph
Fitz Walter. She scooted several inches away from him, still with her
needlepoint lifted as if to create a barrier between them.

     “Lady de Lohr,” he greeted formally. “How
lovely you look today.”

     “Thank you, my lord,” she mumbled.

     “Ah, I see your husband out there,” Ralph
remarked. “A fine warrior. The best. I trust that he and Marcus had come to an
agreement over you?”

     Dustin lay the needlepoint down in her lap,
her gray eyes guarded and dark. “I know not what you mean, my lord. There is no
agreement to reach.”

     “Of course not, my lady, my mistake,” Ralph
said quickly. “But did, in fact, your husband tell you that Marcus will be
competing against him in the tournament? It will prove to be a priceless
match.”

     “Against him?” Dustin stared at Ralph.
“Nay, my lord, he said nothing.”

     Ralph smiled narrowly. “Then let me be the
first. Mayhap the prize with be more than a simple reward, eh? Mayhap there
will be a trophy involved.”

     Dustin shot to her feet, her anger and
hatred of this man filling her. “I am no trophy, sire, and I resent being
labeled as such. I am Christopher's wife and will always be, Marcus or no
Marcus. The man is inconsequential to me.”

     Ralph's eyebrows rose. “Pray forgive,
madam, 'twas not my intent to offend,” he said soothingly. “I simply meant...
well, 'tis well known that there is a struggle of the heart where Marcus and
your husband are concerned.”

     “You are so wrong, Sir Ralph, that I resist
the urge to laugh in your face,” Dustin snapped. “There is no struggle, other
than the continuing struggle of honor and morality. I married Christopher for
duty and honor, nothing more. I am his legal wife and would do nothing to
jeopardize that station. Now, if you will kindly leave me alone, I would
appreciate it.”

     Ralph rose to his feet. He was aware of
several mailed forms approaching him from all sides, Christopher coming up to
stand by his wife with his sword held tightly in his hand. Ralph smiled and
bowed deeply to Dustin.

     “Thank you for your company, my lady,” he
said graciously. “And I look forward to seeing your beautiful face at the
tournament tomorrow.”

     Dustin didn't reply, averting her gaze.
Ralph, amused, looked at Christopher. “Greetings, my lord,” he said. “I see you
are in fine form today.”

     “Be gone with you, vermin,” Christopher
rumbled.

     Ralph laughed. “Not much for compliments,
are you? Well, tomorrow will tell just how fine your form is. I look forward to
your bouts with Burton.”

     Christopher took Dustin's arm and gently
began to lead her away. Ralph, ignoring the knights breathing down his neck,
watched her go. He did so enjoy goading her and the baron.

     “My lady, will you reconsider awarding
prizes tomorrow?” he called. “John is most anxious that you do it.”

     Dustin waited for Christopher to answer for
her, looking up at him when he didn't. She could only see his eyes and the
bridge of his nose through his raised visor. He was looking at her.

     “Do you want to?” he asked.

     She was shocked but after a moment, managed
to nod once. Christopher turned to Ralph.

     “Tell John that my wife will grant his
wish,” he said. “She will be most gracious and award trophies and, considering
I will win all, she will be awarding them to me.”

     They left Ralph standing alone in the
stands with a shocked look on his face for a change.

     Christopher took her around the other side
of the arena where their squires and a few soldier were camped.  The knights
were trailing after them, like a protective group, and Dustin was having a
difficult time looking at her husband.  She was incredibly confused as they
came to a stop near a horse corral.

     “Why?” she finally asked.

     Christopher glanced at her. “Why did I
allow you to award prizes?” he removed his helmet. “You heard my reasons, I
gave them to Ralph.”

     She looked up at him a moment, trying to
determine his true motive, but could read nothing on his stoic face. She found
a stump and sat on it.

     “Why are you fighting Marcus?” she asked,
quieter.

     Christopher looked at her. He had a feeling
Ralph had come to gloat. “Marcus is a baron now, a title granted by the prince
last night. In return, he is championing the prince in the tournament
tomorrow.”

     She lowered her head, not uttering a sound
and he knew she was deeply upset. As he gazed at her, he knew he had to tell
her the truth of the circumstances. To keep it from her would further destroy
what was already badly damaged between them, and he very much wanted to repair
it. He crouched down next to her.

     “Dustin, I will not be fighting him,” he
said softly. “Marcus had an…accident this morning and he is unable to compete.”

     “Accident? What sort of accident?” she
looked at him suspiciously.

     “He broke his sword hand,” he replied
softly.

     Dustin was concerned. “Is he all right? How
did he do it?”

     “He will be fine,” Christopher replied,
avoiding her second question. “Tell me, my lady, would you like to go to the
Street of the Jewelers later today? I promised you a trip.”

     She shook her head. “Nay, I do not feel
like shopping.”

     He raised an eyebrow. He repressed an urge
to leave her alone to her self-pity, instead resorting to a seldom-used tactic
- he begged.

     “I would like you to come with me,” he said
softly, gently. “Please?”

     She shook her head again. “Nay, I do not
want to go,” she repeated.

     That was as much begging as Christopher was
going to do. Abruptly, he rose and began fumbling with his armor. There was
frustration and disappointment to his movements. Dustin watched him from the
corner of her eye first, then more openly, watching his sharp and rather
reckless movements.

     “Do you really hate Marcus?” she asked.

     “Nay,” he replied. “I do not. I never did.”

     “Do you hate me?” she questioned.

     He came to a halt and looked at her. “Of
course not, Dustin. I could never hate you.”

     She stood up, her body rigid and her
beautiful face intense. “Then tell me you forgive me or tell me you will never
trust me again before you take another breath,” she pleaded. “I cannot go on
with this any longer, Christopher.”

     He stared back at her. “Is it so important
that I forgive you? Are you not satisfied to let things pass over?”

     “Nay, I am not,” she said passionately. “I
will not have this between us, not for the rest of our lives. I will not have a
seed of bitterness or a gram of mistrust that you can throw back in my face.”

     “Why would I do that?” he asked, puzzled.
“But if it is so important to you, then I do forgive you.”

     “And Marcus?” she pushed.

     He lowered his gaze, pretending to busy
himself with his helmet but she reached out and stopped his hands, her fingers
curling around his great mailed gloves.  He tried not to look at her but he
knew he was fighting a losing battle.  Their gazes locked and she lifted her
eyebrows.

     “Do you forgive him?” she whispered, enunciating
each word.

     “Would you have me forgive him?”

     She nodded firmly so there would be no
mistake. Christ, as he looked into the depths of her haunting gray eyes he knew
at that moment that there was nothing on earth he wouldn't do for her.

     “Then I do,” he whispered.

     “Will you tell him or shall I?” she asked.

     “I will when I see him,” he replied, trying
to shake off the effect her gaze was having on him.

     She shook his hand, trying and succeeding
to regain his attention. “Nay, Christopher, you will tell him
now
.”

     “Dustin, I am not yet finished with my
bouts and…..”

     She cut him off. “The man is crippled,
Christopher. 'Twould greatly improve his outlook to know that you do not carry
a grudge,” she said softly, her tone honey to his ears. “And know this,
husband; a clandestine relationship takes two people. Even if Marcus was
willing, which he was not, I certainly would not jeopardize my marriage to you
by taking part. 'Tis you I love, husband, not Marcus Burton.”

     He stared back at her, her words sinking
in.
‘Tis you I love, husband
.  Her words filled him more than he ever
thought possible, hearing it again from her and knowing that this time, she
meant it. She wasn’t ill or sleepy. She was clear-headed and rational. When she
smiled as if to emphasize her words, he came apart, kissing her happily more
times than he could count, listening to her giggles and sighs and, finally, her
soft pleas to stop. Her arms were wound around his mailed neck, her face
against his beard.

     “I am so glad you do not hate me,” she
whispered against his cheek.

     He kissed her chin. “Dustin, there is
nothing you could possibly do to make me hate you,” he replied. “I am so sorry
for the things I said. I didn't mean them.”

     “I know,” she rasped, cuddling against him.

     His kisses slowed and he grew thoughtful.
“You said something to me last night, something that has irked me ever since.”
He relaxed his hold and she slipped down to stand on her feet. “You said that
sex is all we have between us. It isn't, is it?”

     She shook her head and put her fingers on
his lips to quiet him. “I just told you I love you, Chris. Obviously, there is
more than a physical relationship on my part.” Her smile faded. “But what about
you? When I asked you, you gave me a pretty speech that I still find difficult
to understand. You said love was difficult to achieve and that it took time. It
took me less than a week to know that I loved you. Is that enough time?”

     He grinned and kissed her fingers. “It is.”

     She caught his knowing grin, eyeing him.
“And?”

     “And what?” he said with good-natured
evasiveness. “Do you wish me to tell you that I would die for you a thousand
times over? That I worship the ground you walk on? That I find myself living
simply to see your smile, to hear your laughter, to feel your fist on my jaw?”

     She giggled, closing her eyes briefly and
drinking in his words happily. “Aye, tell me all that and more,” she breathed.
“Tell me you love me.”

     His smiled faded and his grip tightened,
his blue eyes boring into her. “I do. More than anything.”

     Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn't
truly expected to hear him admit it and she was surprised, but at the same time
an overwhelming sense of elation swept her and she smiled broadly. She grabbed
his beard and shook his head gently.

     “Then say it, Chris,” she demanded softly.
“I would hear those words from your lips.”

     He pulled her to him, nipping at her ear.
“In time, sweetheart. But know that I do.”

     She would be satisfied with that for now.
She did not understand why it was so hard for him to utter the words, but it
mattered naught. He admitted his love and she was delirious with joy.

     “Now we must go and find Marcus,” she said,
pulling away from his probing lips.

     “Now?” he repeated, his thoughts lingering
more on seeking their bedchamber.

     “
Now
, Chris,” she said firmly. “He
feels terrible, I know it.”

     Christopher gave her a long look before
sighing with reluctance. “Very well.”

     He took his wife’s hand and escorted her to
the low, squat outbuildings that housed visiting knights. The knight's quarters
were cool and dark as the two of them entered, the smell of the corridor dank.
As they progressed, she became apprehensive, wondering if Marcus would throw
them both out on their ear. But she had to try; she was sure if she hadn't
hounded her husband then he would not have come. The man's pride was legendary.

     Christopher stopped before an iron-clad
door and gave a sharp rap. They heard Marcus' voice demand identification of
the caller.

     “'Tis me, Marcus,” she said softly before
Christopher could respond. “Dustin.”

     After several moments they heard the latch
to the door lift and slowly, the door swung open.

     Marcus' pale face loomed in the door, his
right hand bandaged almost to his shoulder. His eyes riveted to Dustin then,
with surprise, focused on Christopher. But there was no emotion whatsoever and
the silence was uncomfortable.