“Marcus!” she yelled softly. “Shut up or I will kill you myself. I cannot watch this.”
“You are not,” he reminded her. “So I will be your eyes.”
“Nay, do not!” she shook her head, terror and excitement and apprehension filling her full to overflowing.
“There goes the flag,” Marcus announced.
Dustin was seized with dread. She could hear the destriers charging, their hooves thundering loudly as the two knights approached one another with their poles aloft. She began to whimper softly with mounting fear as the rumble grew louder and louder and she could hear Marcus laughing quietly.
There was a deafening crash and the crowd cheered uproariously. Dustin’s hand flew from her eyes and she whipped her head around to see her husband, still mounted, reining his horse to a halt at the opposite end of the arena. Sir Stephen, also still mounted, was fumbling with his pole as a young squire ran out onto the field to retrieve his shield.
Dustin sagged into her chair, her hand to her forehead. She was absolutely drained.
“You see? He’s fine,” Marcus said. “Watch the next pass.”
She eyed him, too weak with emotion to respond. The marshal was again on the field with his little yellow flag. Dustin watched the flag fall and in spite of her great apprehension, found herself unable to cover her eyes the second time.
Christopher spurred his steed forward, the horse digging deep holes with the power of his leap. Man and beast became one as they charged forward, aiming for the opposition’s shield, waiting for the correct moment to lower the joust pole. The seconds that passed were both elongated and shortened; it seemed to take forever to reach one another, yet suddenly, they were clashing with cataclysmic force.
Dustin jumped with shock when Sir Stephen went sailing to the ground in a crash of metal. The crowd roared their approval and ladies’ favors filled the air like rain, falling softly to the dirt of the arena for Christopher as he swung his destrier around and made a pass in front of the stands in a rare display of acknowledgment. Mayhap it was because he was sentimental for his first bout since returning home, yet for whatever the reason, he drew strength from the roar of the crowd.
Dustin’s heart surged with pride as he thundered past her, not realizing she had the most amazing smile on her lips. As he had promised, he was uninjured and her doubts were quelled for the moment.
He brought the horse around again and came to an unsteady halt directly in front of her. Dustin, oblivious to the cheering crowd, jumped to her feet and rushed forward.
Christopher didn’t say a word. Raising his visor, he reached out and took her hand, bringing it sweetly to his lips. Dustin blushed mightily as he gave her a wicked grin and, slamming his visor shut, tore off across the arena. Dustin simply stood there, watching him ride off as if he were God himself.
“Charming,” John said dryly.
The spell was broken. Dustin stiffened and turned back to her seat, choosing not to dignify John’s comment with a response. Marcus eyed her as she lowered herself to the chair.
“You see? There is nothing to worry over,” he said.
She tossed her hair over one smooth shoulder. “There are more bouts to come though, aren’t there? This was merely the first.”
Marcus shook his head. There was apparently no convincing Lady de Lohr that a tournament could be fun and exciting. He briefly wondered if she would show such concern for him if he were fighting.
The field was raked smooth in preparation for the second round and the combatants were paired against one another by the high marshal. Everyone in the stands were milling about or buying food from one of the numerous vendors, waiting for the next round to start.
“Marcus, I am hungry,” Dustin said. “Can we go and get something to eat?”
Marcus glanced at the field. “It looks as if it will be a few minutes yet before the games begin,” he said, and stood up and held out his arm. “What would you like?”
Dustin wanted everything. Marcus ended up buying her a fat tart with raspberries, chicken grilled on a stick, and a pie-like concoction filled with beef, onions and cheese. She downed the chicken in no time, chowed down the pie, and then started in on the tart. Marcus watched her eat with enjoyment.
“Has Chris been starving you?” he demanded suspiciously.
“Why do you ask?” she asked, her mouth full of custard.
“Because I have never seen a lady eat so much,” he said. “Yet there’s not a bit of fat on you.”
She shrugged, taking another bite. “I like to eat.”
He grinned, glancing out over the field to where the different competitor’s camps were set up. He could barely make out Christopher’s quarters, isolated away from the others. He nudged Dustin.
“Would you like to go see Chris?” he asked.
Her face lit up. “Can we?”
He took her arm in response, leading her around the field and between various encampments. He had an ulterior motive for bringing Dustin to see her husband, he wanted to confer with the baron regarding Sir Dennis. In fact, if Chris would allow him, he would gladly fight in the melee. He was highly uncomfortable with the Destroyer in the competition, especially when John had put a price on Christopher’s head.
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?”
“I have no knowledge, sire,” Ralph lied. “We will have to ask him to clarify his statement when the joust is finished.”
Dustin was shaking with fury and confusion and Marcus reached out to pat her arm. He and Edward exchanged disgusted glances, each man knowing exactly what the knight had meant. Had Christopher heard it, there would be French guts spilled out all over the ground.
The tournament marshal took the field, looking at both competitors to make sure they were ready. A hush settled over the crowd and Dustin’s palms began to sweat terribly. She wanted to cover her eyes but she could not seem to lift her hands. The stands grew quieter and quieter until it seemed that all she could hear were the screams of the hawk riding the drafts high above the arena. She wondered vaguely if it were a bad omen.
Dustin closed her eyes a brief second, figh
ting off her lurching stomach. She swore at that moment that if Christopher survived, she would make him promise never to compete in a tourney again. She simply could not take the terror it provoked, excitement be damned.
The marshal dropped the flag and Dustin’s heart surged into her throat as she watched her husband and Dennis charge at one another like rolling thunder, poles leveling out as they closed the gap. Dustin’s fingers flew to her mouth and she bit hard to keep from screaming, seeing the two mailed and colored knights come together in a scream of wood and metal, horse and man. Yet a split second before their poles collided with one another, she saw her husband jerk sideways in the saddle and then came a thunderous, shattering crash.
Christopher’s whole body snapped like a rag-doll from the force of the blow, but he remained seated as his destrier came to a halt at the end of the run. The crowd let up a collective groan and rose to their feet, concerned for their newly-returned hero. Dustin shrieked as Marcus and Edward shot angrily to stand.
“Damnation!” Marcus shouted. “He brought that pole to bear on Chris’ head.”
Edward furiously agreed. “Had he not ducked when he did, he would have had his head torn off.”
“Jesus, his shoulder must be broken from that blow,” Marcus raged. “How does he look, Edward?”
Edward was standing at the end of the platform, scrutinizing Christopher closely. His liege seemed to have righted himself adequately, but he could see that his left shoulder was bleeding through the mail.
“He shall live,” Edward said reluctantly, turning back to his seat. “But that shoulder is going to need attention.”
Dustin was still seated, her hands folded at her mouth and her huge gray eyes full of tears. Marcus gazed down at her, realizing they must have terrified her further with their shouting.
“He’s fine, Dustin,” he said softly, sitting beside her. “Another pass and he shall have the bastard on his arse.”
She shook her head and closed her eyes, wiping at the tears as quickly as they fell and trying hard to be brave. “I know,” she said with courage she did not feel.
The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 48