Chapter Fifty-Seven
The road was flat and from the absence of activity along the path, they knew they had been sighted.
Nottingham lay beyond the horizon and Christopher mentally lingered on the fortress; Dustin and Christin were holed up in that horrible place and his stomach twisted with agony.
He could not think of what might be possibly happening to them now as he rode to the rescue, because to imagine the worst drove him insane.
Over his right shoulder, several feet back, Marcus was having the exact same thoughts.
A rider suddenly appeared on the road ahead, riding toward them at breakneck speed.
It was just one man and no alarm was sounded, but Christopher sent Marcus and David out to intercept.
However, the closer the horse came, the more Christopher recognized the animal and he bolted forward with terror in his throat.
Darren was returning to the army.
David and Marcus reached Darren first, their horses dancing and snorting with excitement. They barely had time to speak when Christopher roared up, plowing his animal forward and pushing David and Marcus out of the way.
“Darren!” he bellowed. “What in the hell is going on? Why have you returned?”
Darren threw back the hood of his black cloak. “She would not let me stay, my lord,” he said loudly, sensing his liege’s apprehension. “She insisted I return with a gift for you.”
Christopher’s composure was rapidly slipping. “Gift?” he roared. “What kind of damn nonsense is this? You had your orders, boy.”
Marcus and David were waiting for Christopher to behead the squire right then and there, and they both cringed inwardly when the young man had the audacity to smile.
“My orders came from a higher source, my lord,” the squire said. “My lady was fearful with the approaching battle and wished to have her most valuable possession taken to safety. She wouldn’t let me stay, my lord. She insisted I bring you this.”
He moved the cloak from his chest and Christin de Lohr’s bright gray eyes blinked in the sudden light.
Christopher’s eyes widened and he heard himself gasp as he laid eyes on the daughter he had not seen in months.
Immediately, his heart softened and he forgot all of his anger and anxiety.
Without thinking, he reached out and took her.
“Oh, my God,” he whispered. “Look at her; she is beautiful.”
Marcus could only stare at Christin, his heart breaking into a million pieces. The hardest thing he had ever had to do was not reach out instinctively for the babe, and he felt as if the weight of the world was pressing on his chest.
David, his face soft and smiling, flipped up his visor to get a better look at her. “By damn, if she isn’t starting to look more and more like you,” he told his brother. “Poor child.”
Christopher smiled at his brother’s comment, not taking his eyes off the baby. Warm, fluid emotion rippled through him and he was in love all over again.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Do you remember me?”
Marcus flipped up his own visor, mayhap in challenge. He wanted to see if Christin would react to him instead of to Christopher. He had promised he wouldn’t fight anymore, but his aching heart demanded one last bit of satisfaction. He loved Christin more than anything; almost more than Dustin.
Christin looked at Christopher, chewing her fingers. Then, she looked at David disinterested and finally to Marcus. He got a reaction; she smiled broadly and crowed, but then she abruptly turned back to Christopher and slapped at his face with wet fingers.
Christopher melted. He kissed her little fingers and her face, careful not to bump her with his visor. The more he kissed her, the more she giggled and slapped.
“Just like her mother,” David remarked warmly. “She thinks it funny to punch you in the face.”
Christopher’s throat was tight, too tight to speak.
He did not trust himself not to break. Marcus could not take anymore, his heart was ripping in two, so he reined his horse away, back to his position in the column.
David was aware of the pain in the man’s eyes but did little more than watch him trot back along the line before turning his attention back to his brother and niece.
He was saddened, though, at Marcus’ pain; even with all of the hatred and fighting that had gone on between them, David wasn’t cruel. He did not wish sorrow on anyone.
“What are we going to do with her?” Richard asked, as he rode up and watched the touching reunion.
Christopher held the babe close to his chest, watching her as she banged on his armor and nibbled the little fingers she put in his mouth.
“Keep her back in the wagons,” Christopher replied, his voice filled with incredible gentleness. “Christ, I cannot believe how beautiful she is.”
“Your wife was wise to send her to safety,” Richard said.
“Absolutely,” Christopher agreed, taking his eyes off his daughter for the first time and focusing on Darren. “How is Dustin?”
“As well as can be expected, my lord,” he replied, his expression hesitant. “I saw her only once, this morning, when she was out walking with John’s hounds in tow. Her friend, a Lady Gabrielle, delivered me the baby for safekeeping. I was told Lady Dustin was with John and Ralph.”
Christopher’s face hardened like stone and he took a deep, calming breath. Richard was again amazed to watch him transform from doting father back to hardened warrior.
“We ride,” Christopher growled. “David, get the column moving while I deliver my daughter to Burwell.”
Richard scratched his cheek. “He should be thrilled with the prospect of child-watching,” he said with a smirk.
The army was moving and Darren took up a place of honor beside Christopher as they rode. It was a reward for a job well done, and Christopher furthermore had more questions to ask of the young man. A young man who had so recently seen his precious wife.
“Was Dustin looking well?” he asked his squire.
“Aye, she was, my lord,” Darren answered. “I have never seen her look better.”
There was something in his voice that caused Christopher to turn and look at him. “What is it that you are not telling me?”
Darren looked uncomfortable, his eyes on the road ahead.
“Nothing, truly, sire. ’Tis just that I saw your wife only once, and I had to keep in the shadows when that bastard le Londe approached her.
He was less than gentle with your wife, sire, and it was extremely difficult for me not to intervene.
But I had no choice if I were to bring your daughter out of Nottingham. I could not risk being caught.”
Christopher’s face was impassive, but his hands underneath his mailed gloves gripped the reins with white-knuckled intensity. “How was he rough with her? Did he strike her?”
Darren shook his head. “Nay, sire, he did not, but he grabbed her by her arms,” he told him. “He was less than respectful and she gave him an earful. And she mentioned something I found strange; she said her grandfather was the Lord of Nottingham.”
“Indeed he is,” Christopher said evenly, thinking what a vile, disgusting man Lord Bruce was.
He could only pray that he hadn’t taken to Dustin the same way he had taken to Dustin’s mother.
Whether or not he had, he was a dead man.
They were all dead men. Even John was, whether or not Richard knew it.
Richard knew it, but he had said nothing.
John was his brother, hated or not, and he would not allow his Defender to kill him.
If he had touched Lady Dustin, then the fight would be a grand one for Richard intended to defend his brother himself.
Bloodlines dictated it. But if John had kept his hands off the Defender’s wife, then mayhap reasoning would prevail over might.
His conflict was tremendous; he did not want to lose his Defender, but he could not allow the man to kill his brother, no matter what he had done.
It would seem their goals, for once, were not the same.
Richard only wanted his property returned; Christopher only wanted his wife.
“Chris,” Marcus rode up, tipping his head in the direction of the castle. “Nottingham on the horizon.”
Christopher strained his eyes to see that, indeed, the tiny dots that represented peasants were scattering like flax in the wind and up on the massive wall, they could see a flurry of activity.
“Prepare the men, Marcus,” Christopher said and he could hear orders being barked almost simultaneously. “Darren, fall back with the other squires.”
Darren obeyed, a bit disappointed. He was hoping to ride into battle at the front of the column. He wasn’t wearing any body armor but he could don his scant pieces when time allowed. Hell, he was almost a damn knight. In fact, he had seen more action than men who called themselves knights.
Doing as he was told, Darren reined his animal about and returned to the rear of the army.
Like any good knight, his adrenalin began to flow and he was eager to fight the battle alongside his liege and King Richard.
Already a battle veteran at his young age, Darren looked forward to seeing Lady Dustin again.
And he had no doubt that he would. Surely God himself could not have raised a mightier army, with mightier leaders.
The army rode toward Nottingham, the first of fourteen keeps that Richard planned to retake from his brother.
The summer sun sank in the sky and the heat of the day stagnated, and the hawks high above riding the warm drafts screamed to their mates.
Below them, knights in armor slung their shields over their left knees and adjusted their swords, preparing for the coming battle; the clash between the brothers Plantagenet.
Christopher’s determination was unmovable, unwavering. His shield slung and his broadsword at the ready, his eyes were focused on the looming gray shape coming into view, assessing the structure tactically.