Chapter Fifty-Two
The army was sighted at dawn.
Nearly three thousand troops descended on Somerhill under the summer sunrise, looking like an army of ants in the distance. Like a black tide of men and horses, they approached the keep in a steady rhythm, scrutinized by the troops atop the massive wall of the castle.
Marcus Burton watched them closer than anyone, knowing exactly who they were, yet his heart still sank when he saw Richard’s and Christopher’s banner flying side by side.
He could not fight the king; he had contemplated holding out, but he knew that would be disastrous.
He had no choice but to open his gates to Richard or face the consequences, and he was greatly troubled.
The missive announcing Christopher’s resurrection had been nothing short of a blinding shock.
Marcus would not have believed it except that one of Richard’s personal knights delivered it and vouched on behalf of the king that the Defender was, indeed, alive.
Marcus had raged for an hour after reading it, accusing the king of subversion, and went so far as to throw the knight from his keep.
But he recalled the knight an hour later, sat down with him in the great hall of Somerhill, and questioned him most of the night.
Only then had he been satisfied that Christopher de Lohr somehow, someway, had returned from the dead.
It was as sickening as it had been astonishing.
After his disbelief had settled into edgy acceptance, his focus inevitably turned to Dustin.
Marcus purposely kept the missive contents from her, simply waiting for the right time to tell her, but it never seemed appropriate.
Truth was, it had taken him a long time to advance their relationship to what it had become and he knew the moment he told her that her first husband was alive, it would dash it all out the window.
He loved Dustin too terribly to risk that until it was absolutely necessary.
Selfish, he knew, but he didn’t care. But now, three weeks after he received the missive, the time was upon him.
The army came to a halt about a quarter of a mile from the fortress and set up siege lines; Marcus could see the careful battle lines from where he stood.
It was classic de Lohr tactics. After the lines were drawn, two riders broke off from the main body and thundered towards the gatehouse.
Marcus ordered the gates open, ushering in the riders.
Marcus saw very shortly that is was Christopher and Richard.
He met them in the outer bailey, his big body tense and unfriendly.
The silence between the three of them was uncomfortable and electric.
No one seemed to want to speak first or even move; it was a standoff, each man waiting for the other to break.
Christopher finally flipped up his visor and met Marcus’ cobalt-blue eyes for the first time.
For Marcus, it was a distinct shock looking into the eyes of a dead man.
“You cannot have her,” he growled.
“Dammit, Marcus,” Richard snapped. “What kind of greeting is that?”
Marcus cleared his throat, glancing at Richard and then back to Christopher. “I am pleased to see that you are not truly dead.”
Christopher snorted rudely. “Somehow I doubt that. Where is my wife?”
“My wife is inside,” Marcus corrected him coldly. “I did not tell her you were coming.”
“What?” Richard gasped before Christopher could speak. “She does not know we have arrived?”
“Nay,” Marcus was dangerously close to insubordination as he spoke to his king. “In fact, she does not know Christopher is alive. I did not tell her.”
Christopher flew off his destrier, his boots thumping against the earth and his big body posturing angrily.
“You bastard,” he hissed. “You filthy, lowlife bastard. I ought to….”
Richard bailed off his destrier in time to grab hold of Christopher. “Easy, baron, easy,” he said, looking to Marcus again. “That was most unwise of you, Marcus. And selfish.”
“Selfish?” Marcus repeated as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Sire, I beg to differ. ’Twas a choice I made for the sanity of my wife, who is with child and quite easily upset.”
Christopher visibly swayed in Richard’s grasp and Richard glanced uneasily at the man; the veins on his neck throbbed erratically and his pale lips were open in shock.
Christopher didn’t look at all well. With a long look at Marcus, he pulled himself from the king’s grasp and struggled to compose himself.
Marcus was so torn it was unbelievable. Christopher had been his best friend, once, but now he was his sworn enemy.
Yet he couldn’t help feeling vastly relieved to see the man alive, in spite of everything.
He had a difficult time believing things had deteriorated the way they had, but truthfully the only thing that mattered was Dustin. She made him blind to everything else.
Richard’s gaze lingered on Christopher with some concern before returning his focus to Marcus.
The meeting wasn’t going at all well, and these men who had once been like brothers were seething with hatred.
It was disheartening, on so many levels.
Richard struggled to keep the meeting from deteriorating even more.
“May I see Lady Dustin?” Richard asked after a moment.
Marcus braced himself. “I would ask that you not, sire.”
“That is of no matter to me,” Richard said, more firmly. If Marcus was going to be difficult, then so was he. “This is not a request, baron.”
Marcus ground his jaw, knowing he could not deny his king. “I shall retrieve her for you, then,” he said with strained politeness. “Would you come inside?”
Richard tugged at Christopher but Marcus put out a hand. “Not him,” he said pointedly. “Just you, sire.”
Christopher turned to face Marcus. “I am coming and nothing short of God can stop me.”
“I can stop you,” Marcus said through clenched teeth.
Christopher flared and Richard found himself caught in the middle, ordering both men to stand down.
But it was like trying to separate two raging bulls so he bellowed to one of the nearby soldiers and sent the man back to the army for reinforcements.
Richard spent his time pushing Christopher one way and literally kicking Marcus the other until, thankfully, a pair of knights came charging into the dusty bailey and leapt from their destriers.
Richard turned Christopher over to Edward and Anthony, to keep the man calm, before turning his attention to Marcus.
Richard was exhausted and edgy, frustrated that Marcus was being so stubborn. More than that, it made him physically ill to see how much hatred there was between the two former friends. His patience was gone.
“You are making this most difficult, Marcus,” he said in a low voice. “Stop being so bloody obstinate and gain us entrance to your keep before we burn the damn thing down. Am I understood?”
Marcus eyed Richard, resigning himself to the inevitable. “As you say, sire.”
Before he moved to do the king’s bidding, there was a clatter of footsteps on the great stone stoop and Dustin appeared out of the keep.
She gazed with excitement over the group, too caught up with the arrival of an army to even look at the banners or at the men.
She had been out by the beehives with Iris in the kitchen yard, not even imaging the old woman was purposely detaining her.
But an errant soldier had told her of the approaching army and she had run off before Iris could stop her.
They all looked at her, including Christopher.
Had Edward not been holding onto him, he would have collapsed in a heap.
Never had he seen her look so beautiful, so incredibly healthy and sound and whole.
Dressed in a simple yellow surcoat that revealed her blossoming belly, he was weak with the sight of her.
His mind went blank and all he wanted to do was run to her and take her in his arms, never to let her go.
After months of waiting and dreaming, it was almost too much for him to take in his weakened state.
Tears found their way onto his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them and didn’t care.
“Marcus?” Dustin gasped, her gray eyes alight as she looked at him. “Who has arrived? Why did not you tell me? Oh!” Her eyes suddenly fell on Richard and she curtsied, surprised. “Sire, I did not know… oh, my goodness… I apologize I was not here to greet you.”
Richard smiled weakly at the woman who was tearing his kingdom apart. “Lady de…,” he caught himself, “Lady Dustin, you look lovely, as always.”
“Thank you, sire,” she said pleasantly, amazingly, still not bothering to look at any of the knights that had accompanied the king. “Truly, forgive me for not greeting you personally, as my husband did not tell me you were arriving. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”
Richard was at a loss for words. Dustin was smiling expectantly at him and he honestly could not answer her. Marcus, too, seemed momentarily stumped. Dustin passed an irritated eye to Marcus, waiting for a reply. But no one spoke until a soft, deep voice suddenly filled the air.
“Greetings, Dustin.” Christopher pushed past Edward and Anthony, only a few feet away from her, his sky-blue eyes drinking in her face. He wiped at his wet cheeks, smiling when she turned to him. Their eyes met, and it was magic. “You look wonderful, sweetheart. It is so good to see you.”
She heard the voice, and then she turned and saw the face.
After that, she remembered little. She remembered thinking she was dreaming, seeing Christopher walk toward her as magnificent as she had ever remembered him, and then thinking that she was losing her mind.
Was it possible that his ghost was haunting her, come to punish her for marrying Marcus?
She could only stare at him as he loomed over her, seeing him yet not seeing him, and then her entire world went blissfully, peacefully, welcomingly black.
*