Chapter Twenty
The morning dawned bright and clear, unusual for the time of year but very pleasing to the occupants of Windsor.
There was a cool breeze lifting the banners about the tournament field as the grounds came alive with knights and servants, groomsmen and squires, all preparing for the exciting day ahead.
Christopher had risen and bathed in the antechamber so as to not wake his wife.
His squire and two other young boys sat in the corner polishing the rust from his armor.
George, ever curious, had followed Christopher into the room and sat perched on a chair as the baron bathed, screaming a monkey scream when Christopher flicked water at him and drawing laughter from the boys.
Christopher donned his breeches and heavy linen shirt, pulling on his boots, as one of Dustin’s maids brought the morning meal into the room, followed closely by David. His brother had brought his own squire and soon four boys sat in the corner polishing two sets of armor.
“How is Dustin?” David yawned, breaking apart a hunk of cheese.
“Still asleep,” Christopher replied, drinking a warmed mulled wine brew. “What about you? Did you get any sleep?”
“About an hour,” David replied. “Marcus probably didn’t sleep at all. He is devastated with his cousin’s passing.”
Christopher grunted in sympathy, sipping at his cup. “David, I made some decisions last night,” he said. “With the uncertainty of Richard’s future, I have decided to leave Windsor. I am afraid that last night was only a foretaste of what is to come.”
David nodded. “That is wise,” he said. “Dustin shouldn’t be here with John and Ralph on the prowl. They came for her last night, you know. She belongs back at Lioncross.”
“She’s not going back to Lioncross,” Christopher said, noting the expression of surprise on his brother’s face.
“David, when John goes through with his plans to seize the throne, and have no doubt that he will, Richard’s loyalists will be his first targets.
Lioncross is too close to London to be safe for my wife. ”
“So… what?” David wanted to know. “Where will you send her?”
Christopher took a healthy drink of his brew. “With Marcus to Somerhill.”
David eyed him warily. “Chris, what are you talking about?”
Christopher sat forward, his expression grim.
“David, John is raising a mercenary army and the justices believe he intends to forcibly seize Richard’s holdings, especially now that Richard is missing,” he said in a lowered tone.
“Obviously, if that happens, you and I, and all of Richard’s troops will move to halt him and civil war will ensue.
I intend that Dustin should be as far away as possible, with Marcus, at Somerhill. ”
“Marcus will not be fighting with us?” David demanded, his emotions running high as usual.
“With his arm useless? I would not allow it,” Christopher said.
“But you will allow him to protect your wife, to be with her day in and day out, while you defend Richard’s throne?
” David hissed. “You may save your king’s throne, but you may also lose your wife in the process.
Think on it, Chris. Marcus loves Dustin and in your absence, you know what could happen. ”
“It will not,” Christopher snapped quietly, eyeing the squires in the corner. “Dustin is my wife and she loves me. I will have to trust them both, David. What else can I do?”
“Send her to Lohrham. Or to Bath,” David insisted. “Jesus, Chris, do not send her into the wilds with Marcus. You shall never get her back.”
Christopher sat back in his chair, his expression icy. “I have made my decision, David. I must do what’s best for my wife.”
David acted as if it was his wife being sent away. “You are wrong.”
Before they could argue the subject further, the door to the bedchamber opened. The men turned to see Dustin standing in the doorway.
“You are back,” she said, her focus on Christopher. “I thought I heard your voice.”
“Dustin,” Christopher said as he got out of his chair. “You shouldn’t be up, sweetheart.”
She met him halfway, throwing herself into his arms. He hugged her deeply and then tried to swing her into his arms, but she protested with a grunt of pain.
“I am sorry,” he said gravely, lowering her back to the ground. “I did not mean to hurt you, sweet.”
“I am fine, really,” she said, but she was pale. Then she glanced over at David. “Good morn, David.”
Before David could answer her, Christopher lifted her gingerly. “Back to bed with you, lady. That leg requires rest to heal.”
Her brow furrowed. “The physician said it is not too deep and I do not feel like staying in bed. The tournament is today.”
“No tournament for you,” he said firmly, swinging her back into the bedchamber.
“But, Chris,” she protested, gripping his neck tightly to prevent him from laying her down on the bed. “My leg will heal. The physician stitched it and wrapped it tightly, and I can walk on it. I must get ready for the tournament.”
David listened to them argue, hearing Dustin challenge and complain and cajole in response to Christopher’s firm denials.
When Dustin got mad and called him a less-than-ladylike name, David shot a reproachful glare to the gigglers in the corner.
The sun rose steadily and the fight ensued, much to David’s amusement.
As he sat there listening to his brother’s wife rant, it occurred to him how much this woman had become a part of their lives.
Not just Christopher’s, but his as well.
It was as if she had always been a part of their lives and he almost could not remember what it was like before she graced them with her light.
His infatuation with her had banked to respectful appreciation, but he had to admit he was fiercely protective of her when it came to Marcus.
Mayhap it was jealousy, but whatever the case, he didn’t trust Marcus where Dustin was concerned and he thought his brother’s intention to send Dustin north with the new baron to be foolish.
The door to the bedchamber suddenly slammed shut with a resounding noise, rattling the utensils on the table before him.
Even with the door closed, he could hear Dustin shouting and Christopher’s even responses.
David took a last swig of wine and rose, going across the room to see how his armor was coming along.
The squires, proud of their work, displayed the shiny pieces for him.
Something banged heavily in the other room and he heard Dustin yelling loudly.
He couldn’t really make out her words, but whatever they were, they were angry.
Casually, he held his arms out while his squire pulled his hauberk on, acting as if there was nothing unusual occurring at all.
But the young squires had big eyes as the banging and shouting continued. David thought it all rather comical.
He finished dressing, including the tunic bearing Christopher’s colors.
This was a newer tunic, made a few days ago when he had tunics made for Marcus, Dud and Trent.
David wondered if Marcus would even be wearing colors today, even though he would be acting as Dustin’s escort.
And he had no doubt Lady de Lohr was coming, although he pondered the question of whether or not she would award trophies.
Time was passing and they had to get to the tournament field to begin preparations.
He knew that the other knights were most likely already there, but he hesitated to leave without Christopher.
The fight coming from the bedchamber had grown suspiciously quiet and he suspected it was either because Dustin was crying or because Christopher was making mad love to her.
David waited about as long as he dared, finally donning his helmet and headed for the door, just as the bedchamber door opened and Christopher exited, not looking the least bit sheepish.
“Well? Is she coming?” David demanded, fumbling with his gloves.
Christopher shot him an impatient glance as he went to his squire. “She is,” he said, forcing the words out. “Go and make sure the preparations are complete. I shall escort my wife down to the field.”
David snorted and Christopher glared at him menacingly, conveying silent threats of pain and death to his brother should he laugh at him. David bit his lip and feigned a serious look.
“Edward and Leeton are at the field, I am sure,” he said, fighting off a bad attack of the giggles. “I shall wait for you and your lovely wife.”
Christopher ignored him as his squire helped him with his armor.
Dustin’s two fat maids bustled in and out of the bedchamber, carrying in hot water and linens and other things.
The young squires sitting against the wall watched with great interest as the women scurried in and out, back and forth.
They dug into the massive wardrobe in the antechamber at one point and retreated with a pile of cloaks.
“How is her leg?” David asked, watching the competent young squire handle Christopher’s leg armor.
“‘A mere scratch’, she says, to quote a more experienced warrior,” he replied, shaking his leg to adjust the greave. The armor settled down over his boot. “If she bleeds to death up in the lists, then it is her own fault.”
“Are you going to let her award trophies?” his brother inquired.
Christopher tugged at the tunic as his squire straightened his breastplate.
“I already told her that she could,” he said, looking at David.
“As much as I loathe the idea of her anywhere near John and Ralph, there is naught they can do to her with Marcus by her side or with thousands of people as witnesses.”
David stood with his legs braced apart, arms crossed, watching the squire finish his brother’s dress.
David had seen his brother in armor for as long as he could remember, and words that came to mind this day were imposing…
indestructible…powerful…fearless. Defender of the Realm and Richard’s Champion. His brother was all of that and more.