Chapter Fifty-Eight
Dustin and Gabrielle had finally calmed enough to the point where they could sit and read without their book shaking so bad they could not see the words.
Gabrielle, who was unusually educated for a woman, read passages from the Book of Job, a particularly depressing subject.
Dustin changed out of her bloodied surcoat and into a fresh one.
It was one of the newer garments Gabrielle had ordered for her, an eggshell-colored linen with a voluminous skirt and long, billowy sleeves that made her feel especially fresh and feminine.
A thin gold and black rope ran underneath her breasts for decoration, emphasizing the beautiful swell of her chest and allowing her blossoming belly ample freedom in the heat, she had pulled her hair into a thick braid, letting the heavy thing fall over her right shoulder and trail to her groin.
Tendrils of damp hair framed her face as she took a seat opposite Gabrielle and demanded she read something lighter; she did not want to hear about the trials of Job any longer, for she was having a few trials of her own.
Dustin dozed off as her friend read softly, not even realizing it until she was roughly awakened by Gabrielle’s shaking hand. Startled, she twisted around to see Ralph entering the room.
“Ladies,” he greeted tightly.
Dustin was filled with panic, wondering if Ralph would read her mind and go to the wardrobe in search of her victim. She rose as steadily as she could, fixing him with a stern gaze.
“What do you want, Ralph?” she asked.
He did not smile. Instead, he turned to the door and the two ladies noticed several of John’s elite guards standing in the hall. Ralph glanced back at the women, pleased to see the expressions of doom on their faces.
“I would ask, Lady de Lohr, that you remain in your rooms for the time being,” he said formally.
This Ralph was not the sniveling, taunting man she had grown to know.
He was firm and decisive and it scared the devil out of her.
“You will not leave these rooms under any circumstances. Is that clear?”
Dustin looked from the guards to Ralph. “Why? I thought I was a guest here, not a prisoner.”
Ralph raised an eyebrow. “True enough. I ask that you remain here for your own safety, considering that an army approaches and I would hate to see you injured in the crossfire.”
An army! Dustin knew immediately that it was her husband and she could not help the smile that crossed her face. Her plight, Gabrielle’s plight, was drawing to a close and she could not suppress the gloating feeling welling inside of her.
“It is my husband, isn’t it?” she asked.
Ralph’s expression was hard. He wouldn’t lie to her for she would know the truth soon enough. “Perhaps,” he answered.
The fear and panic Dustin had so recently felt was vanished. “My husband has come for me as I knew he would,” she said arrogantly. “How do you feel, Ralph, knowing that you will be dead in a matter of hours?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do not be so confident that it will be me meeting my death.”
“He will not let you live,” she said confidently. “He has come for me and you, my lord, shall pay the ultimate price for confining the Lion’s Claw’s wife.”
Ralph’s jaw ticked. “Do not be so certain, bitch.”
Dustin took the challenge, for she truly felt she had nothing to lose. Her husband was within sight and that, to her, made her untouchable. Even if he wasn’t physical with her, Christopher’s reputation alone would keep Ralph at bay, knowing the wrath he would face.
Her first instincts had been to play dumb to Ralph’s revelation, but she found she could not. She was so thrilled that the army was arrived, that he had come for her, that she could not contain herself.
Dustin had never in her life been arrogant about anything.
She’d never had any reason to be. But she was suddenly extremely arrogant about her husband, his reputation, and the fact that she was his wife.
She tried to ignore the fact that she was his trouble-making wife and that she had left him for the very same reason.
She briefly wondered if he was going to take a strap to her behind when he caught up to her for being such a bother, and she furthermore would not blame him.
But Dustin did not regret leaving as she did.
She had turned men against each other and she was not rueful in her decision.
Her one and only regret was that she had been caught by none other than her husband’s most declared enemy.
God or the Devil was working against her, she wasn’t sure which.
It would be a miracle if Christopher did not hate her for everything she had caused.
“You show your apprehension by resorting to name-calling, sheriff,” she said, not the least bit offended. “And you should be afraid.”
“Nay, woman, ’tis you who should be afraid,” Ralph returned sharply. “For it is you who have lured your husband to his demise. And he will not be resurrected the second time around, I assure you.”
Dustin stiffened ever so slightly. “Christopher will not die, sheriff. He cannot.”
Ralph gave her a thin smile. “ ’Tis not just de Lohr, but Burton as well. You have lured two men to their deaths. Can you live with yourself?”
Dustin cleared her throat softly, her arrogant stance draining. She wanted to lower her gaze from Ralph’s piercing black eyes but she could not, for she meant what she said.
“They will not die, Ralph,” she assured him. “They are too powerful for you to kill and you know it. They will have the keep by morn.”
“But they will not have you or your child,” Ralph said deliberately. “Our mighty prince will see to that.”
Dustin blinked, a bolt of fear shooting through her.
She wasn’t afraid to die, truly, but she feared for the life of the child she carried.
Suddenly, her arrogant front was not such a wise move and she felt herself backing down, but only for the sake of her child.
Selfish as she was, she had only been thinking of herself and not of the babe within her.
Ralph saw the wind go out of her sails and felt infinitely more in control of the situation. He slapped his heavy leather gloves against his thigh.
*
They were riding for battle. Christopher could smell the excitement in the air, permeating the warriors like a drug. They fed off it, breathed it, touched it until the only thing they were capable of focusing on was the approaching storm.
Christopher’s face was set like stone. His sky-blue eyes drank in the massive shape that was Nottingham, set like a great stone phantom against the colors of the setting sky. The peasants had long since taken cover and the only movements visible were the soldiers moving about on the walls.
“Skirmish lines,” he grumbled to Marcus, who set the men to moving.
It was an awesome sight to behold when Marcus, David and Christopher set up the skirmish lines.
A devotee of Roman legions, Christopher set up his troops into blocks of 40 men, moving them out in sharp military style across the rolling green fields around Nottingham.
Ten blocks formed a row, each block with a crude ladder for breaching the walls, and there were three rows.
The closer they drew to the actual fortress, the more the blocks would spread out and move to surround the castle.
There were, in effect, three waves of soldiers instead of one giant front, and it was a very effective method of laying siege.
Richard sat back and watched with the pride of a father as his Defender positioned the troops.
Christopher was a master of tactics, especially when it came to laying siege to a fortified structure or city.
Not usually content to be a passive observer, he was wise enough to know that Christopher was better at this than he was.
Out of the way, Richard mentally prepared himself to take on his brother and regain his holding, the first of many such battles.
Christopher returned to him after checking the position of the troops himself with Marcus and David hot on his heels.
Sean, Guy, Dud and the rest of Christopher and Marcus’ knights were not far behind.
Visors went down and shields were secured over the left knee, grips checked and the leather straps adjusted until they were comfortable.
After securing himself, Christopher passed a practiced eye over his knights to make sure all were in order, even going so far as to readjust a piece of armor on Marcus’ destrier that had slipped.
Marcus held the animal steady as Christopher worked through thick gloves to secure the errant piece of metal. He thanked Christopher smoothly, like the Marcus of old whose very best friend had been the man they called the Lion’s Claw.
Christopher, knowing Marcus as well as he did, gave an appreciative smile at his tone and found himself looking at the man through his lowered visor as if he could indeed see the smile.
He was jolted from his battle-hard attitude for just a split second, wondering if Marcus was trying to unbalance him for some reason.
They had been so cold and formal with each other that the friendly tone caught him off guard.
Marcus saw Christopher looking at him and flipped up his visor, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”
Christopher shook his head but Marcus reined his animal around so he could better speak to him. “You still do not trust me, do you?” he asked quietly.
“In battle there is no one I would rather have by my side, save my brother,” Christopher said without hesitation. “I trust you with my life, Marcus.”
Marcus looked hard at him. “But you do not trust me where Dustin is concerned.”
Christopher’s shielded face turned away. “I…I am trying, Marcus, I want to.”
Marcus’s gaze lingered on him a moment before he lowered his visor once again. “Then do.”
Marcus whistled to his destrier and the horse thundered forward, leaving Christopher struggling to regain his composure.