Chapter Fifty-Nine #4
Dustin’s eyes were riveted to Christopher as he gracefully hacked away at Ralph.
His face was expressionless, no hate and no anger as she would have suspected.
He almost looked calm compared to Ralph’s expression of total anxiety.
He was so focused and so at ease tearing Ralph down that it made her feel calmer, too, although she was shaking and would yelp every time Ralph landed a blow against him.
But she knew he would be the victor; he always was and she had the utmost faith in his abilities.
She only wished he would hurry the hell up so she could hold him and tell him how very much she loved him.
But they were taking their time with it, cutting and striking against each other.
Ralph had several decent nicks whereas Christopher showed signs of none and Dustin felt her heart lighten, for she knew the fight would be over soon and Christopher would emerge whole.
She had no doubt of it until she noticed ugly red blood soaking the bottom of his hauberk on his left side and staining the top of his leg armor.
Horror gripped her, where had this come from? Perhaps he had been wounded in the battle outside somehow, yet she had not noticed it when he had first come into the room. The more she watched, the more he bled, and she was more terrified that he would bleed to death than be speared by Ralph.
Suddenly, the massive burning door gave way and splinters and burning cinders of wood exploded into the room. Dustin cringed, turning her face away as she was pelted by bits of wood and debris. Before she could even turn back around, someone was grabbing her and she cried out in fear.
“Dustin.” Marcus had her by both arms. “Come on; let’s get you out of here.”
“Nay!” she was terribly glad to see him but she wasn’t about to leave Christopher. “I am staying with Chris. Marcus, go help Gabrielle. Hurry.”
He looked puzzled for a split second until he caught sight of Lady de Havilland tied to a chair on the opposite side of the room. He glanced once more at Dustin.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes raking over her.
Again, she found herself explaining her seizure outside of the gates and she nodded firmly. “Fine, Marcus, I am fine. Are you all right?”
He nodded, although he was paler and pastier than Dustin had ever seen him. She eyed him even as he lied to her, her own eyes moving over his body. “Why are you so pale?” she demanded. “Are you ill?”
“Nay, Dustin, I am not ill,” he replied hoarsely, letting go of her and passed a wary look at Christopher and Ralph as they destroyed the remains of an altar. He turned his back on her, preparing to cross the room to her friend, when Dustin cried out and grabbed him.
“You are hurt!” she exclaimed. “You lied to me. Let me see.”
He pulled away from her firmly but gently. “ ’Tis only a scratch, I assure you.”
She opened her mouth to argue with him, but he was gone, skirting the room as he made his way to Gabrielle.
Dustin watched him go, seeing the blood on his lower back and down his right leg and thinking that it did not look like a mere scratch to her.
A huge crash from the direction of Christopher and Ralph diverted her attention from Marcus and she was instantly refocused.
Marcus heard the smash signaling the total destruction of the carved altar, but he was intent on rescuing Lady de Havilland and paid little heed.
Gabrielle was trussed up tightly in the oaken chair, the ropes so tight they were cutting off her circulation to her arms. She smiled wanly as Marcus reached her, slicing through her bindings with his dagger.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said softly. “I was losing feeling in my hands.”
He gently pulled her to stand but her legs were so shaky that she fell against him. Instinctively, he put his arms around her to shield her from the fight at hand as he led her to safety.
Dustin and Gabrielle fell into each other arms, tremendously grateful that their lives were spared and that all would soon be well.
Marcus provided a shield against the fighting that was going on in the room, but Dustin shooed him away; she knew instinctively that the fight was waning and she wanted to see for herself.
Reluctantly, he moved aside, watching with the two women as Christopher beat Ralph down.
Ralph was spent, he was certainly not as fine a warrior as Christopher and it sorely showed.
He found himself bouncing off walls in his fatigue, no longer swinging his sword because he was simply too tired.
His entire motivation was to keep away from Christopher’s broadsword any way he could, and eventually he simply took to running around like a crazed idiot.
Christopher gave little chase; he would wait for Ralph to collapse before delivering the final blow.
A hush settled in the smoky, cluttered room; the death watch had begun.
Christopher stood in the center of the room, breathing heavily and sweating, filthy and exhausted to the bone but his posture was as straight as a tree, his stance unshaken.
He looked completely in control as Ralph staggered about in a futile attempt to delay death.
Dustin’s eyes were wide as she alternately watched her husband and passed pathetic glances at the sheriff.
“Christopher…,” she ventured softly.
He put up a gentle hand to silence her, not taking his eyes off Ralph. He was still caught up in the fight and could not allow his attention to be diverted lest Ralph suddenly come to life and run him through.
Ralph knew he was done for. He tripped over his own feet and slammed heavily into the wall, scraping his face and shoulders against the stone as he turned to eye Christopher with contempt.
“This isn’t over, Defender, not by a far sight,” Ralph rasped. “John shall persevere, mark my words.”
Christopher took a slow step toward him. “Richard is king, Ralph. Why is that so hard for you to come to terms with? He is the rightful heir, as his birthright dictates. John is nothing more than a petty, jealous boy.”
“Henry wished for John to ascend him,” Ralph wheezed back. “He was going to kill Richard himself so that John could take the throne before he himself was claimed by death.”
Christopher shook his head slowly. “Speculation, pure and simple,” he said. “Even so, Richard is king and shall remain so as long as I have breath in my body.”
Ralph’s eyes spit hatred and fear before he lolled his head away, his gaze falling about the room as he knew it would be the very last he saw of his beloved England.
He did not want to die, for he knew he would be doing penance in hell for years to come for his sins.
Ah, well, he was too tired to fight anymore and he knew full well there was no chance to escape.
Yet he regretted nothing he had done, nothing at all, and he would not denounce his actions before God.
He pushed himself up, a little straighter, although he was still leaning against the wall. Inadvertently, he bumped a heavy iron wall sconce and it gave way. A panel in the wall opened up immediately to his left and Ralph realized that it was the secret exit he had been searching for.
His heart soared with delight and he bolted off the wall.
With a triumphant shout, he threw himself into the hidden doorway.
Christopher, breaking from his still stance the moment the panel had opened up, knew there was no time to stop the man.
He was exhausted and frustrated, disbelieving that Ralph was going to somehow escape him.
In desperation, he pulled out a long, thin razor-sharp dagger from a hidden sheath on his upper left arm.
He threw it, well-aimed at Ralph, as the man entered the doorway.
It had been an unsteady throw but his aim had been true; and before Ralph could disappear the dirk caught the man squarely in the throat.
Ralph toppled over, hands to his throat. He yanked the dirk free but that was his undoing; blood flowed freely from the severed artery. Christopher reached the secret doorway, with Ralph half in and half out of it, in time to see the man bleed to death on the cold stone floor.
It was finished.
He just stood there a moment in disbelief.
Dustin, having witnessed the entire climax, released Gabrielle and walked toward her husband, her entire body aching, her dress torn and dirty, and feeling as if she could sleep forever.
But the newness that was hope and joy was seeping into her soul, telling her that, indeed, her trial was over.
She wanted all of it to be over, and she wanted her husband.
“Chris,” she breathed.
He looked at her, standing in the open doorway for a small eternity before pushing himself away. He continued to stare at her as if he was having difficulty believing the rapid occurrence of Ralph’s death. It had happened so quickly that he was rather numbed by it all.
“Is it over?” Dustin asked timidly.
Christopher nodded, glancing once again to Ralph’s supine body. “It is.”
“Swear it?”
“I do.”
“Then take me home,” Dustin whispered fervently, tears suddenly welling in the huge gray eyes.
Christopher broke, rushing to her and capturing her in his embrace with the passion and want and tenderness of the ages.
Her tears turned into full blown sobs of joy as she felt him against her.
His face was in her hair and his armor was jabbing her with familiarity.
He was here, in her arms, and she would never leave him again.
She was so choked with emotion that her mind turned into a warm haze, where the only thing that mattered was that he loved her.
Her hair felt wet and it took her a moment to realize it was due to her husband’s tears.