Chapter Fifty-Eight #2
Another destrier rode up beside him and he looked up to see Edward looking at him. The man had kept an extremely low profile since they had left Somerhill and Christopher was almost surprised to see him.
“He is sincere, you know,” Edward said.
Christopher looked at him. “I want to believe that, Edward, I really do.”
Edward sighed and adjusted his helmet. “Listen to me for once, Chris. I am usually right.”
“You are always right,” Christopher returned. “Why would you say that?”
Edward shrugged, moving to turn away but Christopher put out a hand and grabbed him before he could get away.
“Why do you say that, Edward?” he asked. “Why have you been avoiding me so?”
“I haven’t been,” Edward replied. “It was plainly obvious that you refused to listen to me so I stopped talking.”
Christopher flipped up his visor, frowning. “You mean about Dustin?”
Edward nodded, speaking reluctantly. “I told you not to go charging up to Somerhill, but you ignored me. I told you not to fight Marcus, but you ignored me again. I finally gave up.”
Christopher gazed at him a moment. “And you were right both times, Edward. God help me, I should have indeed listened to you and I shall forever regret my rashness. I am sorry I hurt your feelings, old man. I never meant to.”
Edward lifted his visor, a faint smile on his lips. “I can die happy now. I do not think I have ever heard you apologize for anything you have done, Chris. It makes all of my humiliation worth it.”
“Humiliation? I have never humiliated you,” Christopher said, fighting off a grin. “Bullied you, scorned you mayhap, but never humiliated. You are by far my wisest friend, de Wolfe. You are invaluable to me.”
Edward snorted. “Is this what death has done to you? Made you humble and sentimental beyond belief?”
Christopher scowled. “David said the same thing. I have not changed that much.”
Edward’s eyes twinkled and he lowered his visor. When he spoke, there was amazement in his voice. “Oh, yes, you have.”
*
Lines were set and there was naught else to do but position the senior knights and move out. Christopher reined his destrier between Richard and Marcus, waiting for the final command from his liege.
But Richard was a thousand miles away, staring at the dark hulk of Nottingham as if he were hypnotized by the sight.
His men waited patiently, silently, listening to the murmurs among their own men and the distant shouts from the soldiers in the fortress, all waiting for the final command that would move them forward and toward their destiny.
Some would die, some would live, and the excitement for the battle made their blood pump loudly in their ears.
The wait for the command merely served to feed their drive.
“Sire?” Christopher finally inquired after several minutes.
Richard drew in a long, slow breath as a man usually does when he awakens from a deep sleep. “I have not seen my brother in four years,” he said softly. “A pity we have to meet like this.” He turned to Christopher and lowered his voice. “John is not to be touched by anyone. Is that clear?”
Christopher stiffened; he knew Richard was referring to him.
In hindsight, he had known that Richard was going to demand this of him and he had tried to prepare himself, but the answer still came hard and forced.
John, by virtue of birth, was untouchable, and it cut Christopher to the bone, especially if the prince had touched Dustin in any way.
To cut John down would surely be his own death, and he had promised Dustin that he would not die. The paradox was overwhelming.
Slowly, he nodded once and Richard was satisfied.
The king’s gaze then sought out Marcus and demanded the same of him, also met by an equally reluctant affirmation.
Relieved that mayhap the most important point was clear to all of them, he turned his attention back to the fortress and prepared to give the supreme order.
Before the command could leave his lips, the man-sized door within the massive outer gate opened and a figure spilled forward.
Although they were several hundred feet away, everyone recognized the Sheriff of Nottingham, dressed in black leather and armor.
Ralph stood just outside the door, his arrogant gaze moving over Richard’s army.
“Archers,” Marcus rumbled a command next to him, but Christopher held up a hand quickly.
“Nay, not yet,” he said. “He has something to say. Let him say it and then we kill him. Aim for the neck.”
Marcus relayed the order to the sergeant, his eyes trained on the sheriff and his massive body tensed like stone.
“I wonder what in the hell he wants?” Richard ventured.
Ralph did not keep them waiting. “Greetings, King Richard… de Lohr….Burton. How nice of you to come.”
No one replied and Ralph smiled humorously. “I would admit you to the keep but we have, well, little room with all of John’s troops and the peasants huddled inside. It seems your army scared them soundly.”
“We scared your troops?” David yelled back before anyone could stop him. “I would believe that.”
Richard’s men in earshot laughed uproariously but Ralph did not miss a beat.
“Ah, Lion Cub, I see you are still as biting as always,” he said. “Strange to see you bearing arms with your brother and Marcus Burton again. I had heard you had been exiled to France for bedding their wife.”
David’s horse jerked when the rider tensed. Marcus and Christopher sat like stone, but inside, they were white with anger and hatred. Ralph was deliberately provoking them and they knew it.
“What is it that you have come to say, Fitz Walter?” Richard inquired in his booming tone.
Ralph half-bowed to the returned monarch, acknowledging the sound of his voice. “Sire, ’tis good to see you riding the green fields of England again. I am sure it is something entirely foreign to you, to ride in your own country,” he jabbed. “Can I assume, then, that you received our message?”
“Message? What message?” Richard repeated.
“Regarding Lady de Lohr, sire,” Ralph reminded him as if he were a child. “She is our guest here at Nottingham.”
Christopher twitched but Richard quietly, sharply, stilled him. “I am fully aware of Lady de Lohr’s whereabouts,” Richard replied. “As much as we appreciate your hospitality, her husband has come to take her home.”
“Is that the reason for this sea of escorts?” Ralph asked dryly. “Or, mayhap, is there another reason for this show of force?”
Richard sighed, tightening his grip on the reins. “I have come to replace my brother’s men with legions of my own, as is befitting my holding. A changing of the guard, as it were.”
Ralph crossed has arms. “We rather like it here, sire, and furthermore have no intention of leaving.”
Richard was finished with the pleasantries, the foolishness. “Let us cut through the charade, Fitz Walter. Baron de Lohr wants his wife and I want my holding. Will you turn them both over peaceably?”
Ralph did not answer for a moment. “I am afraid that we cannot, sire. We have become quite attached to them.”
Richard shifted aboard his great destrier. “We would like Lady de Lohr returned without a fight, please. Surely we can work toward a pleasant conclusion.”
Ralph grinned ironically. “Sire, I am sure our opinions would not match in that case.”
“Then what is it that you want?” Richard said impatiently. “You try my tolerance, man.”
Ralph took on the look of the hound who had cornered the fox. Now they would determine just where this confrontation was going.
“John wants the holding he has collected, sire,” he said. “It is a simple enough request considering how many you have. Surely you can indulge him.”
“Where is my brother?” Richard said irritably, tired of dealing with the middle-man.
“Inside, of course,” Ralph replied.
“Coward,” Richard muttered, then spoke loudly to Ralph. “I have no time for you, Fitz Walter. Either give me back my holding and return Lady de Lohr to her husband, or we will take them both from you. And I promise that the latter will not be pleasant.”
Ralph’s face took on such a devious smile that the knights were on their guard.
The sheriff turned and motioned to the open door and bodies began passing through the opening.
It took Christopher all of a split second to see his wife being escorted forward between two burly mercenaries, one of them pointing a massive crossbow at her rounded belly.
Marcus heard Christopher whimper low in his throat but he was too slow to stop the man from bailing off his destrier.
The chargers danced about as they felt their rider’s tense, as they sensed the change in mood and smelled the fear in the air.
Richard did not call Christopher back for he knew it would be of no use; the man was already halfway to his wife, his armor clanging in sharp, rhythmic tones as his boots met with the earth.
“Stop where you are, de Lohr, or I skewer your wife,” Ralph said sharply, seeing visions of himself being crushed to death by the Defender’s bare hands.
Christopher froze, a good twenty feet or so from Dustin.
His heart was breaking into a million little pieces as he gazed upon his wife.
She was quivering with fear, her head lowered and her eyes closed.
He could see how terrified she was and had he any less control, he would have ripped apart Ralph and the two soldiers holding his wife with his bare hands.
But he steadied himself, not wanting Ralph to have any more of an advantage than he already had.
Jumping from his horse had not been the wisest move, but he had acted blindly.
He only knew he had to get to Dustin, no matter what.
Now that he had a moment to think, he got a grip on himself and stopped any advancement.
His eyes were drinking in the sight of his wife, dressed in flowing white robes with her considerable hair pulled into a thick braid. She looked so lovely and angelic, so completely fragile, that it nearly brought tears to his eyes.