Rise of the Defender (66 page)

     Time was passing and they had to get to the
tournament field to begin preparations. He knew that the other knights were
most likely already there, but he hesitated to leave without Christopher. The
fight coming from the bedchamber had grown suspiciously quiet and he suspected
it was either because Dustin was crying or because Christopher was making mad
love to her.

     David waited about as long as he dared,
finally donning his helmet and heading for the door just as the bedchamber door
opened and Christopher exited, not looking the least bit sheepish.

     “Well? Is she coming?” David demanded,
fumbling with his gloves.

     Christopher shot him an impatient glance as
he went to his squire. “She is,” he said, forcing the words out. “Go and make
sure the preparations are complete. I shall escort my wife down to the field.”

     David snorted and Christopher glared at him
menacingly, conveying silent threats of pain and death to his brother should he
laugh at him. David bit his lip and feigned a serious look.

     “Edward and Leeton are at the field, I am
sure,” he said, fighting off a bad attack of the giggles. “I shall wait for you
and your lovely wife.”

     Christopher ignored him as his squire
helped him with his armor. Dustin's two fat maids bustled in and out of the
bedchamber, carrying in hot water and linens and other things. The young
squires sitting against the wall watched with great interest as the women
scurried in and out, back and forth, digging into the massive wardrobe in the
antechamber at one point and retreating with a pile of cloaks.

     “How is her leg?” David asked, watching the
competent young squire handle Christopher's leg armor.

     “’A mere scratch, she says, to quote a more
experienced warrior,” he replied, shaking his leg to adjust the greave. The
armor settled down over his boot. “If she bleeds to death up in the lists, then
it is her own fault.”

     “Are you going to let her award trophies?”
his brother inquired.

     Christopher tugged at the tunic as his
squire straightened his breastplate. “I already told her that she could,” he
said, looking at David. “As much as I loathe the idea of her anywhere near John
and Ralph, there is naught they can do to her with Marcus by her side or with
thousands of people as witness.”

     David stood with his legs braced apart,
arms crossed, watching the squire finish his brother's dress. David had seen
his brother in armor for as long as he could remember, and words that came to
mind this day were imposing… indestructible... power... fearless. Defender of
the Realm and Richard's Champion.  His brother was all of those and more.

     “Chris, with all of the excitement, I
forgot to tell you that Deborah is here,” David said after a few moments. “I
saw her in the dining hall last eve. She's a damn woman grown; I'd never would
have recognized her if she hadn't come to me first.”

     “Deborah?” Christopher looked surprised,
then nodded with sudden understanding. “Of course; how could I have not
realized? The Earl of Bath is here. Christ, I shall have to seek her out and
see if your words are true. How old is she now - seventeen? By the way, have
you seen anyone from Lohrham?”

     “Nay,” David answered. “They probably
arrived late yesterday, as did the rest of the competitors who weren't already
here.” He grinned suddenly. “It shall be a route, Chris. Lohrham's knights are
all old warriors who fought with father and Uncle Philip. There are only a few
worthy knights in the contest worthy of your skills, most of them having
recently returned from the quest.”

     “And not even they can defeat me,”
Christopher said with customary arrogance, as casually as if he were discussing
the weather. “You are correct in your observation, little brother. This tourney
will be a route for Richard's forces.”

     His squire was securing his sword when
Dustin entered the antechamber. All male eyes in the room, young and old alike,
were glued to her like flies to honey. She wore a surcoat of rich royal blue
silk, the same color as Christopher's tunic. The flattering lines along her
bosom and shoulders brought out the beauty of her neck and torso, and she had
pulled her hair back softly to reveal her heart-shaped face.

     She smiled as she approached her husband,
noticeably limping. “Do you like it? It matches your colors.”

     Christopher was deeply pleased. He smiled
faintly, touching her gently under the chin. “The color makes your eyes as dark
as storm clouds,” he said softly. “Aye, I like it a great deal. Never have my
colors looked so good.”

     She grinned triumphantly and Christopher
had to chuckle; she was always as happy as a child when she got her way.

     “Thank you, my lord,” she curtsied coyly,
lowering her lashes. She was becoming quite practiced with her feminine
gestures, for they came naturally to her.

     Christopher grinned openly at her, holding
out his hands for his squire to pull on his gauntlets. Dustin stepped back as
the tall lad silently and deftly pulled on the gloves. She eyed the young man
curiously, now at close range. She had never been this close to him before and
she was interested.

     “I have never met your squire, Chris,” she
said. “Would you introduce us?”

     Christopher looked as if the idea had never
occurred to him. The squire stopped what he was doing, his cheeks flushing
bright red as he looked up at his liege.

     “Darren, this is my wife, the Lady Dustin
de Lohr.” He looked at his wife and turned the boy to face her. “Dustin, this
is Darren Ainsley, son of Lord Robert Ainsley. Darren served with me three
years on the quest. His father served Richard.”

     Dustin nodded to the embarrassed young man.
“Is your father still in the Holy Land?”

     The poor squire looked as if he were going
to die from sheer fright. “Nay, my lady, he perished over a year ago,” he
answered, his voice cracking.

     “How terrible,” Dustin said sincerely.
“Then it would seem that you and I have something in common.”

     “Aye, my lady,” the boy nodded rapidly, his
eyes too shy to meet hers.

     “How old are you, Darren?” she asked. 

     “Seventeen, my lady,” he replied, then
added, “I was sent to foster at Lohrham Forest when I was seven years old. Lord
Christopher took me as his squire when I was twelve.”

     Dustin smiled at him and Christopher felt
the boy sway under his grip. As amusing as it was to witness Darren's abject
terror, time was pressing.

     “If you are ready, then, we shall proceed
to the field,” Christopher said.

     As Dustin nodded, he let go of Darren,
positive the lad would collapse without the support. He didn't, but bolted for
the corner as if he had been burned, gathering Christopher's weapons and shield
hastily. Christopher had to smile to himself; he barely remembered the same
fear when he had been a lad barely over the threshold of manhood, speaking to a
beautiful woman for the first tune. But no woman he had ever seen nor spoken to
had ever compared with his wife, so he felt doubly sorry for Darren on that
account.

     “Do you think I will need my cloak? I do
not think I will need it.” Dustin was rattling at David, who simply shrugged.

     “Bring it,” Christopher ordered. “The day
may grow chilly.”

     “But the sun is shining,” Dustin pointed
out, “and this silk is heavy. I will not need my cloak.”

     Christopher picked up the deep blue cloak
and threw it at her. “Take it.”

     She dropped it on the floor purely from
spite, smoothing her surcoat primly. “I do not want to,” she said disagreeably.
“The silk is warm enough. Besides, it will cover up this lovely dress and I
want to show it off.”

     He glared threateningly at her, about to
suggest that her surcoat gave an ample view of her lovely breasts and that the
cloak would cover her from lustful eyes, but he didn't want to upset her.
Instead, he sighed heavily and picked the cloak up.

     “Take it or you do not go,” he said in a
low, even tone. She scowled but took it, for she was wary of the level of his
voice.

     The squires preceded them from the room,
the boys laden with Christopher and David's shields as well other implements.
Dustin fastened the cloak around her shoulders and took David and Christopher's
arms. Outside in the hall was a full company of soldiers lining the walls,
snapping to attention when they exited from the antechamber and Dustin startled
at the loud salute as they greeted the baron. They were all Christopher's
troops, their sharp blue and gold tunics indicating such, their mail polished
to a sheen.

     It was extremely impressive, even to her.
Twenty-four soldiers escorted her, Christopher and David down from the
apartments and through the bulk of the castle. There were very few people in
the castle, most of them either getting ready for the tournament or already
down at the field, and the cadence of synchronized boot falls echoed loudly in
the cavernous halls as they made their way outside.

     Dustin gripped the elbows of the two
knights, almost running to keep up with the pace that had been set and her
chest swelling with the enormous pride she was feeling. She could not keep the
cocky smile from her lips.

     She glanced up at her husband, so tall and
strong and powerful that he was nearly surreal. His helmet was on and his visor
lifted and it was impossible to see most of his face, but she stared at him
anyway. She could not describe the pride filling her veins, proud that he was
hers, that all of this loyalty was theirs, that her husband and his knights
were the envy of the whole of Windsor.

     “How's your leg?” his helmeted head looked
down at her.

     Truth was, it ached a great deal but she
forced a smile. “Not too bad.”

     “Are we walking too fast for you?” he
asked.

     She didn’t want to be a bother, especially
when she had put up such a fuss earlier. But her expression gave her away and
before she could answer and he was barking orders at the sergeant to slow the
pace. Slower, and much better for her, they continued on to the arena.

     The lists were already filling up with
women in gaily decorated dressed and men with brightly colored tunics and
shoes. The royal box was decorated with flowers and ribbons, silks and silks,
but John and Ralph were nowhere to be seen. David excused himself and
Christopher positioned the color guard personally.

     “What are you doing?” Dustin asked,
watching him place the men in strategic places about the stands.

     “Making sure each man has an unobstructed
view of you,” he replied, distracted. “Marcus will act as your personal
protector and these men will assist him. Their duty is to you and you alone.”

     Dustin watched the strong, silent soldiers
take their places, a little overwhelmed that all of the men were assigned to
her. The early morning sun was remarkably warm and she was heating up rapidly
underneath the cloak, so she removed it as her husband placed the last of the
guards. Finally, he turned to her.

     “That should be sufficient,” he said, his
eyes raking her bare shoulders and chest. He almost forgot himself, but cleared
his throat and continued. “You will sit up there.”

     She turned and looked to see where he was
pointing, noting that there were several chairs in the royal box.

     He continued. “Marcus should be here
momentarily, and I do not want you straying from him.” He grasped her chin,
forcing her to look at him. “Do you understand me?”

     “Aye,” she nodded. “Will I see you at all?”

     “Of course, sweet. I shall be fighting for
the honor of Richard and England, out there on the field,” he said, smiling. “                               And
then, of course, you will award the trophies to me.”

     She smiled in return, her eyes suddenly
growing concerned.            “You shall be careful, won't you? Promise me that
you will not get hurt.”

     “I promise,” he replied sincerely.  “Do not
worry about me.”

     “I
do
worry,” she said insistently.
“I cannot help it. I have heard that tournaments can be very dangerous.”

     “Not to me,” he snorted, bending down to
kiss her when she eyed him dubiously. “And there is one thing.” He fumbled
under his tunic, digging beneath his mail and Dustin watched him curiously.
Finally, he drew forth a black silk pouch and proceeded to open it with thick
fingers.

     “Do you remember I told you that I wanted
to buy you a proper wedding gift, something you would wear and remember me by?”
he asked softly.

     “Aye,” she said. “But you bought me the
diamond ring and I think of you every time I look at it.”

     He smiled warmly at her. “Close your eyes.”

     She did as she was asked, feeling something
heavy and cold lay against the white skin of her bosom like a great block of
ice.

     “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he ordered
quietly.