Rise of the Defender (67 page)

     She did and immediately looked down to see
what he had placed upon her. Her breath caught in her throat when she observed
a large golden cross, inlaid with glittering sapphires and strung upon a
beautiful gold chain. It was simple and elegant, entirely gorgeous, and she
turned it over and over in her hands as she admired it.

     “Oh, Christopher,” she gasped. “It's
lovely.”

     “Do you like it?” he watched her expression
and could only read joy.

     “Oh, I do,” she exclaimed, her face
lighting up with a huge smile. “I shall never take it off, I swear it. But why
do you give it to me now, in front of everyone, where I cannot thank you properly?”

     His great gloved hand caressed her cheek
and her heart fluttered at his warm, loving gaze. “You thank me properly by
being my wife, by bearing my colors, by your beauty and your spirit. 'Tis the
greatest thanks I could receive.”

     “I will thank you later in private,
nonetheless,” she promised quietly.

     “I will live on that vow the rest of the
day,” he said, turning as a knight roared by on a gaily colored destrier and
the crown applauded loudly.

     “Who is that?” Dustin asked.

     “Sir Stephen Marion,” he replied. “A
pompous fool if there ever was one.”

     Dustin watched the knight remove his helmet
and acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, eyeing her husband as he pretended to
ignore the cries. “Lord, he's a handsome devil,” she teased.

     Christopher tightened his gauntlets. “Not
after I get finished with him,” he said. “Take your seat; Marcus should be here
shortly.”

     “Where are you going?” Dustin grabbed his
arm, suddenly afraid to let him go.

     He put a hand over hers. “I must prepare,
sweetheart,” he could read the anxiety on her face and patted her hand
reassuringly. “Do not worry. Enjoy yourself. This will be exciting, I promise.”

     He tried to steer her toward her chair, but
she balked. “Wait; I haven't given you a favor.”

     “Aye, you have,” he said, holding up his
left hand. “I wear it on my finger.”

     “But...it's just a wedding ring.” she
grappled for her surcoat. “Let me give you a real favor you can carry in your
gauntlet.”

     “This ring means more to me than any slip
of material, Dustin,” he said softly, stilling her hands. “I really have to go
now.”

     Again he moved her toward her seat but she
stopped dead in her tracks like a stubborn old horse. “Kiss me.”

     His brow furrowed. “I cannot, sweet. I have
got my helmet on and….”

     “Kiss me,
please
.” She was insistent.

     He sighed, wondering what was bringing on
this case of nerves. True, she had never been to a tournament before, but she
was acting as if he were going to his death. With thick fingers, he unlatched
his helmet and removed it. Before he could take another breath, she grabbed his
mailed head and planted an urgent, hard kiss on his bearded lips.

     “Dustin, what's the matter with you?” he
demanded quietly.

     “Nothing,” she insisted, still holding his
head. “It's just that I have never been to a tourney before and I know there is
always a chance that you could…”

     “Do not say it or you shall curse me,” he
warned lightly. “My sweet love, I have been competing in tournaments since I
was twenty years old and I have yet to be injured in one. You worry overly.”

     She started to pout but he thankfully
caught sight of Marcus rounding the stands. “Look, there's Marcus,” he said
quickly before she could stall further.  He waved at the man. “Marcus!”

     Marcus caught sight of them as he entered
the lists, his eyes warming at Dustin. She looked absolutely beautiful in the
dark blue surcoat. Christopher took her hands from his head and kissed them
before placing them on Marcus' arm.

     “Take her before she convinces me not to
compete,” he said. “I have yet to see to my horse or to my men.”

     Marcus' hand closed over her two small
ones. “Why? What's the matter?”

     “She's afraid,” Christopher said, putting
his helmet back on. “She has never been to a tournament before and she's
concerned that I will end up impaled on a pole or some other sort of nonsense.”

     “It's
not
nonsense.” Dustin insisted
hotly.

     Christopher and Marcus passed glances and
Marcus began to lead her toward their seats. “Aye, it is,” Marcus said. “You
are in for a great treat, my lady. Tournaments are a test of skill and tactics,
not a fight to the death.”

     She allowed him to settle her, but her eyes
were glued to her husband as he strode away across the busy arena. They were
barely seated when Marcus found himself the object of several young women's
attentions, all in a rush of giggles and perfume.

     Dustin lost sight of Christopher and turned
her attention to the flock of young ladies fawning over Marcus, cooing like
silly sappy fools about his arm, lamenting the fact that he would not be
competing. Dustin sighed irritably, if there was anything worse than a cow-eyed
man, it was a cow-eyed woman. She turned her back as Marcus politely fended of
his admirers.

     The arena was alive with knights and horses
and servants. Banners of nearly every great house in England whipped about in
the brisk wind that was picking up, blowing the dead leaves across the field.
Dustin's fear for her husband was gradually replaced by the building excitement
as the competitors prepared for the great meet ahead. She quickly lost her
anxiety as she eagerly watched a knight's last practice with his new joust
pole, or a mayhap a few final light blows against another knight. Everyone was
busy, making ready for the events in one form or another.

     Marcus found it very strange to be watching
the games from the stands. He had never in his life watched a tournament from
this vantage point and realized he was very restless. He tried to concentrate
on various opponents, evaluating them as if he were actually going up against
them, but the constant stream of female admirers was distracting and he was
losing his good-nature. The more the stands filled with various houses and
nobility, the more women seemed to occupy themselves with the great Marcus
Burton.

     Dustin was peppering him with questions,
but she was a welcome diversion. Her view of life, of the world, in general was
refreshing and he was happy to answer her inquiries. But no sooner would he
respond to her than another lady was tugging on his arm, vying for his
attention. He began to wonder if sitting in the stands was such a wise idea, if
he continued to be as distracted as he was, he would not be able to keep an eye
on Dustin.

     Dustin, over all of her excitement, could
see Marcus' irritation. The women about him were fluffy little chits with shallow
brains and even shallower hearts and she suspected that there was only one way
to get rid of them.

     “Do you want me to fight them off?” she
asked.

     He turned greatly amused eyes to her.
“Hopefully that will not be necessary,” he responded, then eyed a particularly
busty woman as she approached him with a smile. “Yet, on second thought, I may
have to accept your gracious offer.”

     Dustin eyed the woman, too, a few feet
away. “I think I know a way to be rid of them,” she said. “Do most of these
people know who I am?”

     “A few, not all,” Marcus replied. “I doubt
the women have made the association that you are Chris' wife, the gossipy
little whores. They come up to me in groups and then retreat to tell their
friends, and then their friends move in. Why do you ask?”

     Dustin grinned a mischievous grin. “Go
along with me, Marcus, whatever I do.”

     Before he could respond, she was bounding
onto his lap and throwing her arms around his neck. “Of course I shall marry
you, Lord Marcus. We shall be ever so happy at Somerhill and…!” She suddenly
looked up at the busty woman innocently. “Greetings, ladies. Congratulate me!”
She fixed Marcus with a sweet and loving expression as she could muster. “The
baron and I are to be married immediately. Tell everyone we will have a big,
expensive wedding, won't we, darling?”

     Marcus was watching her with astonishment
but didn't miss his cue. “Of course, my love, whatever you say.” For good
measure he kissed her loudly on the cheek.

     The big-chested woman was appalled and
outraged. She took a step back, glaring at Dustin's smirking face, and put her
handkerchief to her lips as if to stop the scream of shock rising in her
throat.

     Dustin just beamed up at her, pulling
Marcus' face into the soft curve of her neck. “Remember, tell everyone. Marcus
Burton is no longer a free man, and I am the jealous sort with a belt full of
daggers that I am quite good with.”

     The woman shrieked nearly stumbled over her
own feet in her haste to leave. Dustin's fake smile turned into a real one and
Marcus tore his face away from her silky neck, not because he wanted to but
because he knew if he kept it there any longer, Dustin might become suspicious.

     “There,” she said smugly. “That should take
care of that.”

     She climbed off his lap and took her seat, gloating
at her cleverness. Marcus, however, was still a bit stunned. Having her so
close, so sweet, so warm against him only served to reinforce his desire for
her. For a brief, clandestine moment he actually held her, actually put his
face against her incredible skin and the faint scent of roses permeated his
nostrils.

     Marcus was a strong man, but he was not
perfect. His want for his liege's wife was multiplying and he was having a
devil of a time controlling it. He knew her actions were innocent, but they had
provoked the banked flames in him nonetheless.

     “Thank you,” he managed to say. “Mayhap
that will keep the foolish birds away from me.”

     “The rumors will spread like wild fire,”
Dustin agreed. “At least for today, they will believe it. Only when they see me
with Christopher will they become confused and then, eventually, discover our
game.”

     “Are you really good with a dagger?” Marcus
teased. “You are damn good with a mace.”

     “Oh? You noticed, did you?” Dustin
shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. “I can handle a dagger, too, I suppose. Why? Do
you want me to follow through on my threat?”

     He laughed. “No, truly, you have done quite
enough.”

     Something over Dustin's shoulder caught
Marcus' attention and he stiffened. Dustin saw his expression and whirled around
to see the prince and Ralph mounting the stairs to the lists, surrounded by a
dozen elite guards.

     Marcus rose, his face like stone as he
watched John and Ralph make their way to their seats, a few feet from where he
and Dustin sat. As Ralph and Marcus glared daggers at each other, John extended
his hand graciously to Dustin.

     “Lady de Lohr, how lovely you look.” he
exclaimed loudly.

     “I am so pleased your husband allowed you
to grace me with your company.”

     Dustin realized she was shaking as she rose
and placed her hand in the prince’s, watching him with veiled disgust as he
kissed her palm. But the prince didn't bother her nearly as much as Ralph did;
standing a mere few feet away, she felt his presence like a harsh December
wind. Every time she looked at him her leg began to throb unbearably, reminding
her of what happened last night.

     Ralph's face was one massive bruise. He
stopped glaring at Marcus long enough to focus his beady eyes on Dustin.

     “My lady,” he greeted skeptically, his eyes
roving her body. “You look entirely healthy and whole.”

     Dustin, twitching, could not hide her
contempt. “No thanks to you, sheriff but at least I am alive.”

     Marcus, seeing an invitation for an
explosion, gently grasped Dustin by the arms and pulled her down to sit once
again.

     John eyed Marcus. “You know, for my
champion, you do not seem to be inclined to wear my colors.”

     “I wear no colors today, sire, for I am not
competing,” Marcus replied steadily.

     “Yet you sit with Lord Christopher's wife,”
the prince pointed out.

     “As do you, my lord,” Marcus returned.

     John pulled back a bit, rethinking his
strategy. He scrutinized Marcus once more before leaning back in his chair in a
relaxed motion.

     “I must say I was quite disappointed to
learn of your injury,” he said without sincerity. “In fact, I found myself
searching for another champion right away and although I found no one of your
caliber of skills, I was able to find a suitable replacement.”

     Marcus gazed back impassively, wondering
who had been foolish enough, besides himself, to champion the prince. “Anyone I
know, sire?”

     “Possibly.” John let his gaze wander out
over the arena until it came to rest on a group of men underneath a massive oak
tree just outside the perimeter of the field. Marcus and Dustin followed his
eyes, immediately spying the black and green colors of the prince. Beside her,
Marcus visibly stiffened.