Chapter Fifty-Two #4
“She was born early, wasn’t she?” Marcus said. “She has dark hair, like me. Dustin isn’t even sure if she’s your daughter.”
He stared at Marcus a moment. “Then she did, in fact, know it was you who took her that night?”
“She said she thought she dreamed it, and I assured her that she did not,” he replied. “I never meant to betray you, Chris. But I could not help myself.”
Christopher looked away, those events suddenly rushing back to him with amazing clarity.
He remembered well when Dustin accused him of making love to her, and he had insisted that she had only dreamed it.
Damnation! Then it hadn’t been a dream, after all.
He remembered her moods, how bitterly she had hated Marcus.
All of it suddenly became clear and he felt distinctly less benevolent toward his friend.
To think that his sweet little daughter may, in fact, not be his after all spread anguish in his heart.
And he felt doubly foolish for denying the very fact to his brother.
Had David been wiser than he when it came to Dustin? Had he been right all along?
“I see,” he rose stiffly, feeling his anger rise.
“Damn, Marcus, was David right? Should I have killed you the very first time you kissed my wife? Would that have spared me all of this pain and anguish?” he focused on Marcus.
“I trusted and respected you till the very last, Marcus. But from what you have just told me, any last shred that existed is gone. Hell, even as I rode here with Richard, I was hoping beyond hope we could remain friends, but I see that you have rendered that quite impossible. I always knew you to be cunning and sly, but never against me. You have betrayed me, Marcus, beyond repair.”
Marcus looked deeply saddened and guilty. He knew Christopher was right and he was disgusted with his lack of control. But the fact remained his motives had been true, even if his tactics weren’t.
“I can only apologize, Chris. ’Tis your right to accept or reject it,” he said.
Christopher paused a moment. “I reject it. And Christin goes with her mother.”
Marcus looked away a moment, feeling the grip of his sword in his hand. “Then I guess there is nothing left to say. I have enjoyed our friendship, Chris, in spite of everything.”
Christopher had returned to the hard Defender, his face emotionless as he secured his helmet and lowered his faceplate.
“Now I must do what I should have done a year ago,” he said. “May God have mercy on your soul, Marcus.”
Marcus lowered his visor, not the least bit apprehensive. “And on yours, Christopher.”
The Defender of the Realm faced off against Richard’s mightiest general.
Each man knew the other’s skills and weaknesses, having fought with each other long enough to know his opponents responses.
When the first blow came, from Christopher no less, the clash of blade upon blade shook all of Somerhill to the very rafters.
*
Instead of feeling weakened, Christopher had never felt so powerful.
It was as if he had never been injured, and Marcus fought as if his right hand had never been crushed.
Blow upon blow slammed against each other with unimaginable strength, their teeth rattling and their heads jarring at the force.
But this was the fight of their lives, as if all of the preparing and practice that they had gone through their entire lives was now suddenly coming to bear.
This was the pinnacle they never thought to achieve, yet were just the same.
They plowed their way through the great hall, grunting and snorting with effort, tearing the place apart until it looked as if a platoon of thieves had gone through it. The only thing remotely spared was the massive oak table, but it had suffered greatly in the clash.
Christopher’s stamina was holding very well as he slashed away at Marcus, all of the anger and pain of betrayal finding an outlet through the serrated broadsword.
He would have much rather beaten Marcus to a pulp with his fists, but David’s words kept ringing true in his ears; you should have killed him when he first lay hands on Dustin.
He would not make the same mistake twice, as much as it pained him.
Marcus deftly danced around a huge cabinet, pulling it down behind him and it crashed with a deafening roar to the ground.
Christopher acted as if it wasn’t even so much as an obstacle, he charged over it, smashing through the wood as he plowed his way to Marcus.
Broadswords met with the stone wall, emitting a shower of sparks as Marcus dodged Christopher’s fury.
All of Somerhill was in hiding, waiting until it was safe to come out.
Everyone knew that Lord Christopher and Lord Marcus were going at it, and the knights purposely kept all of the soldiers outside in the outer bailey, as far away as they could from the fighting.
Edward was nearly frantic to get inside, but Sean and Nicholas restrained him uneasily.
Several feet away, Sir Stephen, Dud and Sir Dalton eyed Lioncross’ knights with a mixture of suspicion and regret. The tension in the air was tangible.
Marcus took the offensive well into the bout, hoping that Christopher had tired himself out enough to the point that defeat might be in sight.
He charged headlong at the Defender and they both went tumbling down a short flight of stairs, ending up in a dimly lit corridor that led to the small chapel where Marcus and Dustin were married.
It was fairly dark and their blows met with each other a good deal more than they had out in the well-lit main hall.
Christopher landed a particularly vicious strike to Marcus’ torso, in the weak point where the breastplate met the lower body armor, and blood stained the mail.
It was a bloody nick, but not too severe, and Marcus strove onward, fighting Christopher for all he was worth.
The power, the strength coming from a man who was declared dead not four months ago was amazing; in fact, he hadn’t seen Christopher stronger in spite of his weight-loss.
If anything, he was more agile than ever.
With renewed determination, Marcus met the onslaught and countered.
*
“I cannot stand this anymore,” Dustin whispered painfully. “I do not hear them. Where did they go?”
Richard cocked a well-trained ear. “I still hear them, but they have moved away from us. Aye, they are both still alive.”
Dustin clutched her stomach. “Oh, lord, I think I am going to be ill. Why are they doing this? Why?”
Richard smiled ironically, his gaze averted. “For a reason I never thought I would see. For the love of you.”
“But I only love Christopher,” she insisted. “Why does Marcus insist on going through with this battle? If he wins, I shall hate him until I die.”
“Men do strange things when they are in love,” Richard said vaguely.
Dustin looked at the king, forgetting about her own anguish for a moment. “This distresses you greatly, sire. You love both Christopher and Marcus, don’t you?”
“As if they were my brothers,” Richard replied wearily. “Oh, my lady, the stories I could tell you of them, their bravery and devotion to me. To see it come to this is unbelievable.”
Because of her. All of this, because of her.
Richard was losing his throne and the two men who could help him regain it were fighting over her.
She felt guilty and worthless. Mayhap if she had died in childbirth, the wrongs would have righted themselves.
Christopher and Marcus had loved each other, once.
And that love was gone because of her. All of this was her fault.
Mayhap if she left, things would go back the way they were.
But where would she go? Her father had been a friend of the Earl of Wrexham.
Mayhap he would take her. What of Lord Sedgewick?
She could go and live with him and Anne, and serve as Anne’s lady.
Mayhap if she explained the situation, they would take her in.
But she would swear them to secrecy; Christopher must never know where she went.
For all he would know, she had run away and disappeared.
Hot tears stung her eyes; she loved Christopher so much that she could not stand to be away from him, yet she would have to put her feelings aside.
Lord, she had only this day learned he was alive and now she was considering leaving him.
But the value of his life and Marcus’ life was more important than her feelings, and considering she had caused all of this havoc, she did not deserve anyone’s love.
Besides, Christopher could not truly be happy with her; all she had done was cause dissension and misery among him and his men.
She had been a weak, indecisive mass of humanity ever since Christopher had “died.” She knew that he was alive and for that, she was somehow made whole again.
But the division she had caused made her ashamed of herself, even though she had not knowingly done anything.
She truly believed if she left, then all would right itself.
There would no longer be any reason to fight if she were gone.
Dustin was intelligent, but she was naive.
She believed more with each passing moment that if she were gone, Christopher and Marcus would stop trying to kill each other, and Richard would then stop resenting her.
Then, mayhap, someday, she would seek her husband again.
Mayhap he would have a chance to clear his mind and decide if she was truly worth the pain she had caused.
She rose unsteadily, eyeing Richard where he sat in the corner. Fighting off the tears, she approached him.
“Sire,” she said softly. “I am….I am not feeling very well. I would retire to my rooms to rest, if I may.”
He gazed at her. “You look tired. Go as you will, my lady. Would you like me to escort you?”
“Nay,” she shook her head quickly. “I am quite able, sire.”