Chapter Twenty-One #2
They passed by a tent bearing the colors of the knight Sir Dennis had killed.
Inside they could hear a pathetic female sobbing and Dustin instinctively stopped, her eyes welling with sympathetic tears.
Lord, it could so easily be her crying over her husband’s body.
She still may be. She turned her wide gray eyes up to Marcus sadly and he did nothing more but urge her onward, away from the grief.
Her sadness faded when she caught sight of Christopher’s tent. David and Edward were outside, adjusting the tip on David’s joust pole. Dustin called out their names and gathered her skirts, hopping over a puddle and skipping the rest of the way.
She threw her arms around David happily with a congratulatory hug, then gazing apologetically at Edward.
“Oh, Edward, I am sorry,” she said. “But it was a good fight. Did he hurt you?”
Edward shook his head, though he had a ripe bruise on his forehead. “Nay, my lady, he did not. I hit my head when I fell to the ground. ’Twas my own clumsiness, really.”
Christopher burst out of his tent, his eyes riveted to his wife. “I thought I heard your voice,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
Marcus moved forward. “I brought her,” he said, making note of Christopher’s disapproving look. “Well, I could not leave her alone in the lists. Not with John and Ralph a few feet away. Besides, all they want to do is brag about le Londe. Did you know he was here?”
“Not until he killed one of Derby’s men,” he replied, as Dustin ran up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Marcus watched with cloaked envy as Christopher kissed the top of her head before continuing.
“I had no idea he was even in London, and I have been here over a week. I wonder where John has been hiding him.”
“Mayhap he wasn’t,” Marcus said. “It is entirely possible that le Londe was in France with Philip Augustus and just yesterday sailed the channel. We know that John is in contact with the French king and more than likely relayed his troubles about you, whereupon Philip sent le Londe to champion the prince’s cause. ”
Christopher nodded. “As logical an explanation as any,” he agreed. “What remains now is what to do with him. ’Tis without a doubt I will be facing him at some point.”
Marcus eyed Dustin, silently relaying to Christopher to be careful what he said. But Christopher was well aware of his wife’s fears, and he was also fully aware that she did not know of the price John had put on him.
“Your wife has been on an eating binge and I have no money left,” Marcus said, changing the subject.
Dustin grinned. “And I still did not get to sample the cream pastries.”
“Take Edward with you, then, and get your pastry,” Christopher said. “I am sure Marcus would appreciate being free of you for the moment.”
Dustin gazed up at him, her face positively glowing. “Do not joust until I return to my seat.”
His gaze on her was equally warm. “I seem to remember seeing my wife with her hand over her eyes as I took the field,” he said with a raised brow. “Do you intend to actually watch me this time?”
“I watched your second pass,” she insisted weakly. “I saw you unseat the pompous fool.”
He nodded reluctantly as if he didn’t believe her, then kissed her head once again. The show of affection from him had been remarkable, considering he tried to be very private with his feelings for her. But Dustin savored the affection, public or private.
“Go with Edward, sweetheart,” he patted her gently and yelled to his knight. “Edward, feed my wife and return her to the stands.”
Since Edward was not competing until the melee in the afternoon, he readily agreed to escort Dustin. All blue silk and silken blond hair, Dustin laughingly took Edward’s arm and they disappeared from view.
The moment they were out of sight, Christopher turned to Marcus. “Dennis will try his hardest to mortally wound me,” he said in a low voice. “Ten marks of gold will inspire him to conquer me any way he can.”
“I know,” Marcus replied. “Let me fight with you in the melee, Chris. I can watch your back.”
Chris looked at him, disbelievingly. “With that arm? Forget about it, Marcus. You’d end up getting yourself killed.”
“Chris, we’ve seen Dennis fight.” Marcus would not be denied so easily. “We both know how ruthless he is. He shall stop at nothing.”
Christopher’s sky-blue eyes grazed the tents until he came to rest on John’s encampment nearly a quarter mile away.
“He cannot best me, Marcus, but he can make my life miserable,” he replied.
“I am not worried about the melee so much as I am the joust. If he pulls a trick, then there is virtually no time to react. And I worry for my brother and my men, as well. Dennis does not play for fun, he plays to kill.”
Marcus stared at the ground thoughtfully for a few moments. “Do you want me to take Dustin back to the apartments?” he asked softly. “She’s terrified as it is, and seeing you or one of the others injured will ruin her.”
Christopher shook his head. “Nay, she would worry more penned up in a room where there were nothing to do but imagine the worst,” he said, then looked at Marcus with unguarded eyes. “Just….if something does happen, even though it won’t, take care of her as best you can.”
“Then you are worried,” Marcus declared softly.
“Nay, not worried, but cautious,” Christopher corrected him. “Dennis the Destroyer requires me to act in that manner.”
Somewhere back toward the lists, trumpets sounded, informing the wandering crowd that the games were about to commence again.
“That’s my call,” Christopher said, adjusting his sword. “Take care of my wife, Marcus.”
“She doesn’t need me to take care of her,” Marcus retorted lightly. “As long as I keep her supplied with food, she’s happy as a fool.”
“No, Marcus,” Christopher’s voice shocked him with its intensity and he found himself staring into the sky blue orbs. “I mean take care of her. If anything happens to me, I will depend on you.”
Marcus had never known Christopher to be wary, ever. The man was a perfect model of confidence and perfection, and he found himself licked by apprehension. He wanted to dismiss Christopher’s caution, to insist that none could touch the Lion’s Claw, but he bit his tongue.
“As you say, sire,” he replied softly, turning for the stands.
By the time he reached his seat, Dustin and Edward were already there and filling their bellies with two great cream pastries. He eyed the pastries with distaste, wondering aloud how they could eat such sickly sweet confections. Dustin simply smiled.
John and Ralph had been up walking the grounds, acting God to the inhabitants of Windsor. They returned to their seats shortly after Marcus’ arrival, both men gazing haughtily at Edward.
“So, de Wolfe, you are out of the competition,” John said flatly. “A pity. Your father was a fine jouster, you know.”
“Aye, your grace, I am well aware of my father’s skills,” Edward replied in his rich, steady voice. “But he, like me, found cheating beneath him. Obviously, not everyone has our scruples.”
John laughed aloud. “Oh, de Wolfe, as righteous as your father in every way. Thank God not every knight is as moral as you two are or this country would be quite colorless.”
Edward didn’t reply, finishing his pastry when in fact he had lost his appetite. Dustin licked her fingers with gusto, frowning like a child when Marcus snatched her hands and wiped them off with a kerchief.
The joust competitions continued on for the rest of the morning, with the field of knights narrowing down little by little.
There were two more substantial injuries, but for the most part, the majority of the combatants walked away unharmed.
By midday, the list had been narrowed down to only two men and, as expected, Christopher was to face off against Dennis the Destroyer.
Dustin had actually enjoyed the rest of the bouts and was even able to watch her husband dispose of his final three challengers with nary a twinge of apprehension, but when it became apparent that his final round would be against John’s champion, her anxiety returned worse than before.
Sitting between Edward and Marcus, her stomach was twisting into painful knots.
Christopher was at the opposite end of the field and she could see his spiral-decorated shaft pointing up to the sky as he adjusted his shield over his left side.
Sir Dennis was closer to her, his horned helmet quite imposing as he sat stock still, watching Christopher settle himself.
Dustin found herself staring at the man, her eyes shooting daggers at him, and every inch of her body conveyed pain and hatred.
She didn’t even know him yet, she hated him all the same.
From what she had heard, he was a disgrace to the brotherhood of knights, and for the simple fact he was competing against her husband, she hated him all the more.
Sir Dennis reined his steed over to the lists where John and Ralph were sitting. He raised his visor and Dustin was able to catch a glimpse of the despised face.
“Ten marks, did you say?” the knight said in a heavy French accent. “Seems like a small amount for a man’s life. He is married, n’est-ce pas? Where is his wife?”
Ralph jerked his head leisurely in Dustin’s direction. “The Lady Dustin de Lohr.”
Dennis’ bright, pale eyes immediately focused on Dustin and she went rigid under his naked scrutiny. He was probably as old as her husband, plain-faced, almost boyish-looking. She found it hard to believe that this man had the nickname of “Destroyer”. He smiled and she quickly averted her gaze.
“I want her, as well,” Dennis said to John. “Ten marks and the mademoiselle.”
As he reined his horse away, Dustin’s lovely face washed with shocked anger.
“What is he talking about?” she demanded hotly of John and Ralph, ignoring their titles completely.
The prince glanced casually over his shoulder at the sheriff, who shrugged lazily. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “Ralph? Do you know what he’s talking about?”