Rise of the Defender (63 page)

     Dustin liked her immediately. She was
cultured and vivacious and her blue eyes twinkled the same way her older
brother's blue ones did when she smiled. She was very lovely in a subdued sort
of way, a creamy, glowing beauty. Dustin realized quickly that she did not want
Lady Deborah to return to Bath and would speak to her husband about it
forthright. She wanted Lady Deborah to return with them to Lioncross Abbey.

     The evening moved on rapidly and before
they realized it, it was past midnight. Dustin was having a wonderful time with
Deborah and didn't want the evening to end, protesting loudly when Marcus
called a halt to the fun and demanded to return her to her apartments.

     “Marcus, you spoil my joy,” she accused
with a pout, “I am not tired in the least.”

     He was on his feet, giving her a
fatherly-sort of reproving glance. “I am sure that is true, but your company of
knights have a tourney tomorrow and would like to get their rest. The only way
they might accomplish that task is if
you
retire for the night.”

     She gave him an exaggerated frown and
turned to Deborah. “I am afraid our time is ended,” she said. “Will you sit
with me at the tourney tomorrow?”

     Marcus cleared his throat before Deborah
could answer. “You will be awarding prizes, my lady, if you will recall, and
will be isolated from the crowd.”

     Dustin's face fell a bit. “Oh,” she said.
“Then... I will see you tomorrow, Lady Deborah, I promise.”

     The women giggled as if they were planning
some sort of covert action. Marcus grasped Dustin's arm and helped her to her
feet, not an easy task considering she had had far too much wine and was as
tipsy as a loon. David had his sister, escorting her back to the Earl of Bath's
group.

     They were on their feet in preparation of
leaving when Marcus and Edward were confronted by two young women in gaudy
court surcoats, layers upon layers of fabric and embroider and their cheeks
over-rouged. They were giggling as one woman put her arm upon Marcus' good
hand.

     “Baron Marcus Burton,” she exclaimed
loudly. “Do you know that I have waited all night for you to dance with me?”

     Marcus cocked a tolerant eyebrow at the
brown-haired woman. “I apologize, Lady Lucinda, truly. But I have been else
occupied.''

     The woman and her companion eyed Dustin
openly and Dustin, even with her alcohol-induced high-spirits, immediately
bristled.

     “I can see that,” Lady Lucinda said
cattily. “Lovely, isn't she? I see that she has you and Sir Christopher
occupied.”

     “This is Christopher's wife, the Lady
Dustin,” Marcus said, eyeing Dustin and the women, wondering if they were in
for a round of punches. “My lady, this is Lady Lucinda Bartley and Lady Maryann
de Bohun.”

     The two women looked at Dustin with new
eyes but not necessarily friendlier eyes.

      “I had heard he had married,” Lady Lucinda
said, “but I had no idea this lovely little thing was his wife. She's so
small.”

     Dustin's eyes narrowed. “Aye, you knew I
was his wife,” she growled. “Everyone in the whole bloody castle knows it. And
as far as my size is concerned, I have yet to hear my husband complain.”

     Lady Lucinda curled a thin lip. “I meant no
offense, Lady de Lohr. It's just that….well, your husband is known for his
appetites and you do not seem to fit the bill.”

     Marcus pursed his lips and stood back; he
did not want to be caught in the crossfire but he wanted to be close enough to
prevent Dustin from committing murder.

     Dustin put her hands on her hips, swaying.
“Have you been bedded by my husband?”

     Lady Lucinda looked away coyly. “Surely, my
lady, I have not for I am not yet married and…..”

     “Save it for your husband, if you ever get
one.” she snapped overbearingly. “If you are a maiden, then I am the Queen of
France. If I were to take a headcount of all the men in the room you two sluts
have bedded between you, it would most likely constitute half the room. That
is, if they were brave enough to admit they touched women as ugly as you.”

     Lady Lucinda and Lady Maryann were appalled
and angered, emotions increased by the snickering of the knights. Dustin
grinned, a humorless gesture.

     “That's what I thought,” she said smugly.
“Whores disguised as fine ladies. And let me guess - you pursued my husband
relentlessly but were unsuccessful. He has much better taste.” She suddenly
pushed forward and waved her hands sternly at them as if to sweep them away.
“Be gone with you, piglets. And leave Lord Marcus alone or you shall have to
deal with me.”

     “How dare you!” Lady Lucinda cringed but
did not do as she was ordered and leave. “You are an ill-bred little wench who
was lucky enough to marry a baron, and he married you purely for the inheritance.
Everyone knows that you are a simple country waif with no claim to court other
than your husband.”

     Dustin's jaw ticked but she did not lose
her smile. Her gray eyes bore holes into the woman.

     “If you intend to spread rumors about me,
then you had better get the facts straight,” she said, her delivery quiet and
rapid. “My father, Lord Arthur Barringdon is a cousin to Richard and John; my
great-grandmother and their great-grandmother were sisters and my mother is
directly descended from King Harold. Now, do you have any more questions about
my lineage?”

     Lady Lucinda looked as if she were about to
retort but thought better of it. In a swish of blue silk and finery, the ladies
swept away with their noses in the air and disappeared back into the crowd. Dustin
made a face and turned her back on them.

     “Bitches,” she snipped, reaching for more
wine.

     Leeton and Edward put their great mailed
gloves together and clapped slowly, appreciating the lady's bravado. She
grinned at them and they laughed softly. Even Marcus was smiling.

     “You did well with your first test,” he
said, taking the goblet from her.

     “Test? Was that a test?” she asked,
frowning as he set her drink down.

     “Of course,” he replied, holding out his
elbow to her. “Now they will go back and tell their friends and all will think
twice before confronting you again.”

     “Hmpf,” Dustin snorted, taking his arm. “It
wasn't much of a test. I need someone better to sharpen my claws on.”

     Marcus chortled, leading her from the room.
“Let me get you out of here before you turn the whole room into one giant
ruckus.”

     The halls of Windsor were dim and silent as
they made their way back to the apartments. Dustin clutched Marcus and Edward,
feeling the floor beneath her rolling about and wondering why she could not
keep her footing.

     Edward had to practically carry her up the
stairs and she giggled the whole way up, banging on his plate armor and singing
a crazy tune. When he set her down at the top of the stairs, she laughed loudly
and whirled away from him, right into Marcus' chest.

     Marcus caught her with his good arm,
grinning as he straightened her out and they resumed their trek. Tipsy as she
was, she began to dance and bounce her way down the hall, crowing about her
first victory with the court wenches and insisting that the knights, all five
of them, sing her praises.  They did and she threw up her arms in triumph.

     “Where is my husband?” she said, falling
against Marcus and grabbing his armor, causing him to lose his balance.

     “I do not know,” he answered truthfully,
regaining his feet and trying to keep her from falling. “I am sure he shall
return shortly.”

     “Marcus!” She grabbed his neck, trying to
force him to look her in the eye. “Where is he?”

     Edward could see that Marcus was at a
disadvantage and grabbed Dustin around the waist, pulling her off of him. “He
is seeing to business, Dustin,” Edward said steadily. “Do not worry about it.”

     “I am not,” she insisted, stumbling when he
set her down. “I just want to know where he is.” Her knees gave way a little
and she fell against Edward, who wrapped his arms about her instinctively to
keep her from going down. She looked up at him, a silly-sweet smile on her
lips. “Thank you, Eddie. Eddie, Eddie,
Eddie!
”

     Edward chuckled in spite of himself and
picked her up, knowing they would never make it to the apartments if she kept
on like this. He hoped Christopher wouldn't be angry that they allowed her to
get drunk; truthfully, they hadn't even noticed the amount of wine she imbibed.
Hopefully, she would sleep most of it off before her husband returned.

     They were approaching the apartments and
the hall seemed particularly dim. Several of the torches were out and Marcus
found it peculiar that there were no soldiers on guard out in the hall. He put
up his hand, halting the group, and shushed Dustin loudly when she tried to
question him.

     “Dud, Trent,” he motioned to the knights.
“Clear the way.”

     Unsheathing swords, the two knights
cautiously made their way up the hall and toward the door. They nearly
disappeared in the darkness, the reflection of the torchlight catching their
armor here and there. Edward put Dustin down, moving for his own sword as he
watched the knights up ahead.

     “What do you think?” he asked Marcus.

     Marcus shook his head, his cobalt-blue eyes
intense. “I am not sure, but the absence of soldiers cannot be good. There
should be at least a half-dozen men guarding the door.”

     Dustin pushed herself forward, her head
hurting and the floor moving. “I want to go to bed. What are you doing?”

     Marcus grabbed her before she could move
forward. “Making sure all is safe for you, my lady,” he said evenly.

     There was a richly clothed chair against
the wall. Edward gently sat her in it, making sure he was standing directly
next to her should anything happen because he, like Marcus, was leery of the
darkened hall.

     In the darkness up head came a crash of
metal on metal and a groan of pain followed. Marcus, Edward and Leeton had
their swords in hand, ready to do battle when they saw that their enemy was
none other than John's cockroaches, his elite force. Urgently, Marcus turned to
Edward.

     “Get her out of here.” he ordered.

     “Nay, Marcus,” Edward countered. “If we can
get her into the rooms and bolt the door, she will be safe. Besides, I cannot
leave you. You are compromised.”

     Dustin, jolted from her drunken stupor,
shot off the chair with a yelp of surprise. Soldiers in black and green charged
forward, immediately clashing with the three knights and Dustin found herself
cringing behind Marcus as he fended of several soldiers with his left hand.
With every blow she gave a little gasp of fear, feeling the concussion through
Marcus' body.

     Even with his good arm useless, Marcus was
remarkable. He found himself fending off an onslaught of soldiers, too many to
count, but he knew they were in grave danger. He could hear Dud yelling
something but could not make out the words and beside him, Leeton and Edward
were fighting for their lives. He knew very early on that they had to get
Dustin out of there; there were simply too many soldiers for them to hold off.

     Behind him, he heard yelling of a familiar
sort. David raced up the hall with his sword in hand and plunged into the
turmoil, his sword flashing like bolts from heaven. The man was as fast and as
furious as a madman, his well-aimed strokes striking down men where they stood.
Yet even with the considerable addition of David, they were still badly
outnumbered and Marcus retreated slowly with Dustin tucked behind him, trying
to fight his way free of the rolling mass of fury as he hustled Dustin to
safety. He could feel her hands gripping him tightly about the waist.

     There were at least two dozen men against
the six of them, impossible odds even for the best of knights. Dustin was
terrified; all she could think of was running for help or finding a weapon to
help in the defense.

     Then it occurred to her; down the hall high
on the wall was a display of weaponry, arranged quite artfully, but her mind's
eye focused on the mace she knew was there and she was seized with a fit of hope
that if she could retrieve the mace, she could help her knights. She had used a
mace before; Jeffrey had taught her when he had showed her how to use the pick
axe and the sword.

     Trouble was that it was damn heavy and she
wasn't even sure if she could be effective, but no matter; she had to try.
Releasing Marcus, she charged back down the hall in a fit of panic.

     The mace was there as she remembered.
Breathing heavily, she pulled a chair across the corridor and stood on it,
ripping the spiky ball-on-a-chain off the wall and nearly falling off the chair
with her effort. As she knew, it was terribly heavy, but she heaved it over her
shoulder and jumped off the chair, tearing the maroon surcoat with one of the
spikes and causing her shoulder to bleed as she tore back down the hall,
anxiety filling her. She was close to tears of horror and did not realize that
by the time she returned to the fight, hot tears were already streaming down
her pale cheeks.