Chapter Fifty-Three #2
The soldier reached up and grabbed her, noticing before he even set her on the ground that she was pregnant.
“By God, woman,” he hissed. “What fool let you travel alone?”
Dustin twisted away from him, holding Christin fiercely. “Do not touch me,” she spat in return. “Give me back my horse.”
The soldier put his hands on his hips; he was a nasty, fierce man, but he seemed to have something most of John’s soldiers lacked; a bit of control.
“You shall ride with me,” he said firmly. “Foul-tempered little chick.”
Dustin scowled. “I shall not go with you to the prince. I shall kill myself first.”
“With what?” he asked. “If you have a dagger, you had better give it to me now and save us both a lot of trouble.”
“I have no dagger,” Dustin said with contempt. “But if I did, I’d use it on you.”
He nodded in agreement. “No doubt. Come, now.”
He yanked her by the arm and pulled her, struggling and twisting, over to his mount. His men collected Hercules and grinned as he lifted the spitting, fighting female onto the back of his horse.
“Stop that or you shall hurt yourself,” he ordered. “I shall not be responsible for the death of the babe you carry.”
Dustin stopped, looking at him with fear and hatred. “You are already responsible for kidnap, and when John is finished with me, you shall be responsible for murder as well.”
“Is that what you think? That he’s going to kill you?” the soldier asked, mounting behind her. “Lady, he would never dispose of a pretty thing such as yourself. You shall be added to his collection.”
The men laughed bawdily and Dustin glanced around, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
“Surely your husband, the great Lion’s Claw, has told you about harems?” the man said, gathering his reins. “I understand he had a magnificent one in Ascalon.”
Dustin did not even know what a harem was, but she did not like the sound of lt. “I am no offering to be made to a deviant prince.”
“Aye, you are,” the soldier answered firmly. “You will be my great contribution to John’s cause. The wife of the Defender delivered personally by me.”
“But he’s in Nottingham,” she pointed out.
The soldier looked at her. “Do not you even know where you are?”
Not really, she did not, but she refused to answer him. The soldier laughed.
“To Nottingham, ladies,” he said to his men. “This prize ought to get us a week of women and ale.”
The men cheered and yelled, confusing and frightening Dustin all the more. Against her body, Christin started to cry. Dustin tried to comfort her daughter, not knowing what else to do or say.
Fighting them was not an option because of her condition and she resigned herself to the fact that she was now a captive of Prince John. She wondered what was a worse fate; outlaws or the bastard prince. She would almost rather take the outlaws.
She had taken a foolish gamble and she had lost, and now her fate and the fate of her children rested in the hands of a morally corrupt man. She could not help wondering that if Christopher ever did catch up to her, she was in for the spanking of her life.
*
“I do not like this,” Richard growled. “I do not like this at all.”
Christopher was on the ground, studying the myriad of hoof prints and boot prints on the soft earth. His sky-blue eyes turned easterly as he studied the horizon.
“Well?” Richard demanded harshly.
Marcus wandered the perimeter of the hoof prints, his eyes glazed with thought. He came to within a foot or so of Christopher and his eyes trailed off in the same direction as the Defender’s.
“Nottingham,” he murmured.
Christopher did not respond for a moment. He continued to stare to the horizon as if in a trance. “John is so bloody bent on protecting his holdings that he would indeed have a patrol this far north. Christ, I cannot believe they actually found her.”
“Look, Chris,” Edward pointed to the ground. “Smaller boot prints. Female boots.”
Christopher did not turn around. “I know. I saw them.” He turned around then, slowly. “The patrol found her, took her off Hercules and put her on with one of them, and then headed back for Nottingham.”
“It is at least a day’s ride to Nottingham,” Marcus said. “We can catch them if we ride hard enough.”
“We have already ridden hard enough,” Christopher looked at the sweaty, tired horses.
“We shall succeed in killing our mounts if we do not rest them before proceeding.” He slapped at his leg armor, weary and defeated, and wandered back over to his horse.
“We shall rest now for a few hours. The horses need it.”
“But she’s with a roving band of soldiers,” Marcus said quietly. “We have got to get to her as soon as we can.”
Christopher knew that; with every fiber of his being he felt it. But he could not, would not allow himself to get caught up in the panic.
“We shall never get to her if we kill our horses,” he said calmly.
Marcus flushed and Richard jumped in. “You are right, of course. We must pray that my brother’s soldiers show mercy on an expectant mother and her babe and do naught to harm either of them.
” He eyed the two men, so powerful and large, yet so helpless at the moment.
“I furthermore suspect that John would kill any man who touched her before he has a chance to. I would not worry about her until she reaches Nottingham.”
“Jesus Christ,” Marcus muttered, turning away with disgust.
“Calm yourself,” Richard snapped.
Christopher was far calmer than he should have been. He was trying so hard to keep everything inside that he came across looking callous. But, God help him, his insides were tearing themselves apart.
“Edward, send riders back to Somerhill. Tell the sergeant in charge to send the remaining troops to Nottingham,” he said steadily, focusing at Marcus full on. “We’re going into battle.”
Marcus straightened, feeling the familiar smell of a fight in the air. But this time, he would be fighting for something that meant more to him than all of the battles in the Holy Land combined.
Richard bowed his head a moment, in silent prayer. “I shall send back to London, then. I have fifteen hundred men armed and waiting at Windsor. Not an excessive amount, considering how fortified Nottingham is.”
“I’d say that the six hundred men from Somerhill plus the fifteen hundred men from Windsor is a bit much, sire,” Christopher said softly. “We can take the castle with a thousand at the most.”
Richard pulled his gauntlets back on. “John holds fourteen of my properties. I intend to regain all of them, and I might as well start with Nottingham. We not only ride to retrieve the Lady Dustin, but we ride to secure my holding.” He eyed Marcus and Christopher sternly.
“I ride with my Defender and my premier general, and I have no doubt that victory will be ours.”
Strains of sand and heat began to flow about them, the air faint with the smells of myrrh and the sounds of Muslims as the faithful were called to prayer. They began to feel the familiar taste of the quest, even though they were in the heart of England.
Suddenly, the fighting, the dissension, the hatred, were foolish and misplaced. They were warriors, soldiers, the men that they were before they had ever heard of Lady Dustin Barringdon.
But heard of her they had and, unfortunately, both men loved her deeply. Yet when it was all over and she was safe, only one would be the victor. And neither man was used to defeat.