Rise of the Defender (97 page)

     She made sure she was looking at
Christopher when she said 'true gentleman'. Christopher did not so much as
raise an eyebrow at her and David sat his goblet down and looked at Gowen
curiously.

     “Do you still raise
bees
?” he asked
distastefully.

     Dustin was infuriated with their arrogant
attitude and condescending tone, and was preparing to tell them so when Gowen
replied to David’s question.

     “Nay, sire, I do not,” Gowen answered
politely. “'Twas a childhood hobby, nothing more. I spend my time teaching
these days, and translating.”

     “Translating what?” David asked.

     “The Bible,” Gowen replied evenly. “I am in
the process of translating the Bible from Latin to Welsh for a few of the Welsh
border lords.”

     David cast Christopher a long look before
turning away. Christopher, however, continued to stare at Gowen, analyzing
every move the man made. The other knights ignored the young man as if he were
no more than a spider in the corner, and Dustin was incensed. Christopher
stared at the young man for several more tense moments before looking back to
his ale.

     “He may stay and sup with us,” he said.

     Dustin was mad enough to spit. “Oh, thank
you, Your Holiness,” she said with great exaggeration. “Your gracious
benevolence is appreciated.”

     Anthony snorted into his goblet, the only
reaction to her sarcastic remark. Christopher drank what was left in his cup,
eyeing his sister.

     “You look well enough,” he commented. “How
is Lioncross agreeing with you?”

     Deborah was close to angry, embarrassed
tears. “Well, my lord,” she said. “Gowen has been most helpful acclimating me
to the surroundings.”

     Christopher acted as if he didn’t hear her.
“I fought with someone you knew at Norwich, Deborah,” he said casually. “Sir
Liam Donavan. Do remember him? He certainly remembered you.”

     Dustin’s mouth went agape. She squeezed
Gowen's arm encouragingly before moving back to her husband.

     “What does she care about Sir Liam
Donavan?” she snapped softly. “We were speaking of Gowen.”

     Christopher gave his wife a lazy glance.
“Mayhap
you
were. I was simply curious if she remembered a man who she
seemed to have left an indelible impression on. David, do you remember Sir
Liam?”

     “Aye,” David said with a firm nod. “A hell
of a fighter. Swings a broadsword as well as anyone.”

     Deborah turned away, fighting off tears.
She went over to Gowen and took his arm, urging him with her. Dustin watched
them leave the room, enraged like the devil. When she heard the front door slam
softly, she turned to her husband as if to kill him.

     “How
dare
you treat him as if he
were as common as dirt!” she exclaimed. “I have always known you to be arrogant
and pompous, but I have never known you to be so utterly rude. I cannot believe
you did not even respond to his greeting. Of all the conceited, nasty,
haughty…..”

     She was off raging and he put his hand up
to still her, but she yanked away from him, telling them all what horrible,
insensitive creatures they were. They were terrible, mean and cruel, even
Edward received an earful, for he had befriended Gowen over the past few months
and she berated him for not defending him. No one was safe or spared from her
tirade, and Christopher sat and listened to her, knowing every word was true.
But he had intended for it to be exactly as it was.

     “Dustin,” he said calmly.

     “Do not talk to me.” she snapped. “I am not
finished with you yet.”

     “Aye, you are,” he said. “I have heard
enough.”

     “No, you have not,” she threw back at him.
“Christopher de Lohr, if you do not go and apologize to Gowen and Deborah right
now, you can sleep with your soldiers tonight.”

     The knights, their heads lowered liked
scolded dogs, glanced around at each other in anticipation of Christopher's
reply. Their liege rose slowly to his feet, his gaze fixed on his wife.

     “Do not threaten me,” he said quietly.
“Come here and sit down before you upset yourself.”

     “I will not,” she snipped, turning her back
on him and marching from the room.

     Christopher went after her, his boots
clapping loudly on the stones as he pursued his wife to their bedchamber. She
slammed the door a few seconds in front of him, only to have it swing open
violently and slam again, hard enough to rattle the furniture. The knights
looked at each other and shook then heads; another bout was about to begin
between the baron and his enraged wife.

     Dustin stormed to the other side of the
room, completely ignoring Christopher as she began to dig through the wardrobe
and throw his clothes all over the room. He watched her with building
irritation, but also with a certain amount of amusement; she could be very
physical when riled, but her movements were so jerky and magnified that they
were comical. He had heard that pregnant women were often moody and volatile,
but he honestly imagined Dustin more animated than she already was. He was
wrong.

     “What are you doing?” he asked calmly
enough.

     “Do not talk to me, you…you
ogre
,”
she growled, yanking a tunic off her head that had inadvertently landed there.
“You are the meanest, nastiest man alive. I cannot believe how cold you were to
my friend, and Deborah's lover. Gowen is a very nice man, but you wouldn't know
anything about being nice, would you?”

     He bit off a smile as her arms flailed
about, determinedly tossing his clothes into a pile. “What are you doing with
my clothes?” he asked.

     “I told you not to talk to me!” She tugged
roughly at a pair of lodged hose and nearly fell over when they suddenly pulled
free. Christopher took several rapid steps to steady her, but she regained her
feet and dashed away from him. “Do not touch me!”

     He put his hands on his hips. “Dustin, I
have not seen you in six months,” he said. “Are we to spend our first night
together quarreling?”

     Her face was dark and pouting, but he saw a
flicker of doubt in the gray eyes. “Well you...you should not have been so
mean. Why were you so mean to him?”

     “I was not mean; I never said a word to
him,” he said, putting up a hand to silence her as he proceeded to explain.
“Sometimes, my lady, one can deduce a great deal by simply being still and
watching. I simply sat and watched him as he reacted to you, to Deborah, to
David and Leeton. There is nothing ‘mean’ about that. There is a great deal to
learned about one's character and behavior when facing a new situation.”

     “You made him terribly uncomfortable,” she
insisted. “And Deborah, too. She was crying when she left.”

     “I know, and for that, I am sorry,” he said
sincerely, taking a step toward her. “But I want to observe her Gowen before I
speak with him.”

     “Why? To determine if he is worthy of your
attention?” she said cynically. “Even I am not that prideful, husband. I do not
think everyone is beneath me.”

     “Nor do I,” he said, standing directly in
front of her, gazing down into her face. “But it is undeniable that certain
people have certain stations in this life. If I deem Gowen unworthy of our
family, I will deny him.”

     “You cannot,” she insisted but quickly
caught herself, horrified that she almost slipped with the most private of
secrets.

     “I can, and I will if it is necessary,” he
said evenly. “Now, I do not want to fight about this anymore. I want to walk
about my keep, with you, and see what has happened to it in my absence.”

     “Will you go and apologize to Gowen and
Deborah?” she asked.

     “To my sister, yes. But tonight will tell
whether I apologize to Gowen or throw him out of my keep,” he said, tapping her
chin with his forefinger.

     Up on their bed, Caesar awoke and stretched
a long, cat stretch. He yawned contentedly and licked his chops, his eyes
focusing on his master and mistress and emitting a loud meow.

     “So you awaken after the storm has passed,
you wicked beast?” Christopher said. “Have you become acquainted with Harold
yet? I forbid you to make a meal from him.”

     Dustin smiled, rubbing her belly as the
baby kicked. Christopher put his hand on her stomach, too.

     “He's so strong,” he said, the joy of the
baby’s movements alight in his eyes. “He is not even born yet. Aye, this lad
will be the most powerful knight that England has yet to see.”

     “And fight with you?” she turned her sweet
face up to him, her eyes soft and caressing. “I do not think I want my son to
fight.”

     “Why not?” he insisted. “'Tis well enough
for your husband to fight. Why not your son?”

     “Because,” she shrugged. “'Tis different,
that's all.”

     He smiled, pulling her into an embrace.
“Your motherly instincts are showing, Lady de Lohr. You cannot protect your
child always.”

     “I know,” she lay her head against his
chest, sighing with contentment. Lord, she had missed him. “Chris, when are you
returning?”

     “I do not know,” he said, his hands caressing
her. “John is quiet now, holed up at Nottingham. I suppose whenever he moves
again, I shall leave. But I fully intend to be here for the birth of my son.”

     “But that is almost three months away,” she
said.

     He kissed the top of her head, not knowing
what to say. Quite a lot could happen in three months.

***

     The supper hour rolled around and the
servants set out a splendid meal for their master returned. The knights, having
enjoyed a leisurely afternoon, appeared at supper bathed and dressed and fully
intending to stuff themselves ill on the well-prepared food. Dustin and
Christopher were also finely dressed in celebration of Christopher and David's
return, and they sat down to a table loaded with delights.

     The beef was a bit too rare for Dustin and
Christopher laughed as he ordered it back to the kitchens, cooked until it was
black so as to not upset his wife. Conversation was light and pleasant, the
room fragrant and warm, as they waited for Deborah and Gowen to return.

     And they waited. Christopher bade the men
to go ahead and eat, irritated at his tardy sister. Everyone ate until they
could hold no more, but Deborah and Gowen had yet to arrive and Christopher's
mood was darkening.

     “She is probably heartbroken,” Dustin
scolded her husband softly. “You shall be lucky if she ever speaks to you
again.”

     He raised an eyebrow at her but remained
silent, listening to Leeton relay an amusing story as he toyed with his goblet
of wine.

     It became ridiculously late and it was
obvious that Deborah and Gowen were not going to show. By this time,
Christopher had had enough and slammed his emptied goblet loudly on the table
as he rose.

     “Dustin, where does Gowen live?” he asked.

     Her eyes widened at his authoritative tone.
She'd only heard him use it in crisis situations.

     “Why?” she wanted to know. “What are you
going to do?”

     “Answer me,” he returned firmly.

     She stood up as well, eyeing him.
“Christopher…..”

     “Dustin, I am not going to kill the lad,”
he assured her. “I simply want to know where he lives so I can retrieve my
sister.”

     She looked at him as if she did not believe
him. “Then I shall go with you.”

     Christopher motioned his knights up. “Nay,
you will not,” he said. “You will go to bed and wait for me.”

     “Nay, Chris,” she insisted. “If you fly into
a rage, someone has to stop you. I forbid you to lay a hand on either of them.”

     He gave her a reproachful gaze as his armor
was brought to him by two young pages. Other young boys had brought in the
armor of the other knights and began to help them dress. It always amazed
Dustin how well Christopher's men could read his mind; he'd not uttered a word
to call for his armor, yet here the young boys were, ready to assist him. The
depth of fear and respect for the baron ran even to the lowliest of pages and
she knew they hovered about, anticipating his every wish.

     “'Tis not my intention to lay a hand on
them, merely to bring Deborah home,” he said, bending down as his hauberk was
slipped on. “Now tell me where he lives.”

     She watched the pages work like busy, eager
bees over her husband, removing his fine silk tunic and replacing it with the
standard tunic and armor. She might as well tell him, for someone else easily
would.

     “On the southern tip of the village, near
the monastery,” she said quietly. “The cottage is small and rundown, and there
is always a light in the window.”

     “Why is that?” he asked.

     “Because his father works through the
night,” she replied. “He does work for the monks.”