The field marshal and a few other officials were conversing with Christopher and they could see his head nodding faintly. John turned to gaze at Dustin, his eyes grazing over her.
“I do hope your husband is well enough to continue,” he said. “ ’Twould be a shame to lose de Lohr. The competition wouldn’t be the same without him.”
Dustin looked hard at the prince, sick and tired of his deceptions and games. “Why do you offer me such bold-faced lies? You hate my husband and would like nothing better than to see him dead.”
Only Dustin and her forthright manner could get away with such blatant disrespect. John’s eyes widened with feigned surprise.
“How untrue, Lady de Lohr,” he insisted. “I greatly respect your husband and his skills. To lose him would be to lose the Defender of the Realm and leave us all vulnerable.”
Dustin’s face twitched with fury. “You are a liar, my lord, and a disgrace to the crown,” she snapped. “I should have listened to my husband when he told me to stay away from you.”
Ralph turned on her savagely. “Anymore from your mouth, madam, and I throw you in the dungeons for blasphemy.”
Marcus and Edward were up, preparing to rip Ralph joint from joint but John put up a quelling hand. “Sit down, everyone, or I shall have you all removed.” His hand fell limply to the arm of the chair. “Emotions are high, especially with an injured comrade, which is why I forgive Lady de Lohr her words. Look, now; the marshal is moving to centerfield.”
Dustin, her beautiful face dark, sunk back into her chair as Marcus and Edward regained their seats. The whole day had been draining on her and it wasn’t even noon yet, she could not even fathom what the afternoon might hold.
Dustin wasn’t mentally prepared when the marshal dropped his flag. Christopher and Sir Dennis stormed toward each other with a deafening roar, shafts leveling out, and Dustin tried to close her eyes but she could not manage the action. She could only stare, frozen in her seat, waiting for what would happen next.
Two glancing blows and naught else occurred. With the next pass, Christopher broke his shaft and took his brother’s one as a replacement. As he handled the heavy pole, Marcus and Edward glanced at each other over Dustin’s head, silent words acknowledging that their liege was definitely favoring his left shoulder.
The crowd’s feelings were rising and falling like waves upon the shore, and Dustin’s emotions with them. Every time Christopher made it through a pass unharmed, she whispered a prayer to God that his next one would be as successful. It was completely maddening and frustrating and she was so sick to her stomach that she thought she might vomit, but she didn’t want to leave the lists. As much as she was terrified to watch, she knew there was no other place she would rather be.
At the other end of the field, Sir Dennis switched from his crow’s foot shaft to a spear-tipped one. Marcus saw the exchange and his body went stiff with fury.
“Damnation,” he spit, then turned to see if Edward had caught the switch. Indeed, Edward had and his golden eyes were wide with apprehension. In the midst of their anxiety, Dustin suddenly shot to her feet.
“He has got a dagger on the end of that shaft,” she gasped with realization. “He is going to kill Christopher with it.”
Marcus grabbed her arms and set her down as the combatants took up position. But Dustin would not be so easily sated.
“You must stop this!” she said frantically.
“I cannot,” Marcus said quietly. “ ’Tis perfectly legal for Sir Dennis to joust with the spear-tipped shaft.”
“Like hell!” Dustin shot out of her seat again, thrusting herself forward towards John and Ralph. “Sire, surely you will not allow your champion to compete with a blade on the end of his pole?”
John looked amused with her terror. “My lady, ’tis painfully obvious that you have never been to a tournament before. Until a year or two ago, spear-tipped shafts were the only type used in a joust. The crow’s foot tip is very new.”
Dustin looked back at the prince in disbelief, her eyes trailing to the field helplessly as the competitors prepared for their run. The field marshal raised his flag and with the drop, the destriers sprang into a rumbling gallop.
Dustin could not move. It took all of her concentration to stand there and watch, her breath caught in her throat and her heart quivering in her chest as her husband and the prince’s champion raced toward each other at breakneck speed. Behind her, the crowd slowly rose to their feet in anticipation of what was to surely come.
When it happened, it happened too fast for the human eye to comprehend. The shafts came down and suddenly there was a deafening noise; Sir Dennis went flying from his destrier as if unseen hands had thrown him. Dustin’s heart soared until she saw a split second later that Christopher, his destrier gored by the 12-foot shaft, went down hard enough to shake the ground. Dust and chunks of earth spewed into the air and before she could react, Marcus and Edward flew from the lists and were racing across the arena.
Dustin was in shock. In fact, almost the entire lists were rushing onto the field. Even Ralph had jumped from the platform and were running toward the mass of people, all swarming around the two competitors. The arena turned into a boiling pot of knights and officials and she completely lost sight of her husband and his horse.
The crowd in the lists were loud with their concerns, but Dustin could not hear them. It was as if she were locked in her own little world, her entire life hanging on what was happening out on the dirt in front of her. She tried to pick out her husband’s knights, any familiar head, but there were so many men in armor that it was impossible to single out any one person. She could hear shouting and see all sorts of movement surrounding her husband and his animal.
“My, my.” Prince John was standing beside her, shielding his eyes from the glare of the weak sun as he gazed out on the field. “Quite a finish to an exciting bout. I do hope everyone is all right.”
Dustin could not even manage a retort. Her mind was like mud. Before she realized it, she was descending the stairs and making her way across the field like a woman hypnotized. She saw nothing, heard nothing; her focus entirely on where she last saw her husband. The honor guard that Christopher had left in charge of her broke rank and began to follow, wondering if they should prevent her from going any further. Yet they did not, instead, acting as an escort and shoving people out of her way as she went. Dustin didn’t even notice their assistance.
Sir Dennis’ men managed to get him back on his feet. He was several feet to her right, quite shaken as he leaned on his comrades for support. Dustin snapped out of her trance long enough to stare him down with a look of complete loathing. He didn’t see her as he was helped from the field.
She pushed into a crowd of knights and suddenly the legs of Christopher’s horse became visible through the crowd. Seized with anguish, she tried to shove her way further but was grabbed with large, firm hands.
“Lady de Lohr.” It was an older knight, his visor raised and his face coated with perspiration. “I am Lord Lyle Hampton, Earl of Canterbury. Certainly there are better places for you to be than out here on a dirty field. Please allow me to escort….”
Dustin jerked away from him roughly. “I would see my husband.”
The earl eyed the sergeant of the escort as he grasped Dustin again, more firmly this time. “I understand completely, my lady,” he said gently, “but it would be much better if you wait in the lists to see your husband.”
“Nay!” she screamed. “Let me go or I shall scratch your eyes out.”
Lord Hampton, fortunately, was a man of even temper, having three daughters of his own. He was a friend of Christopher’s and also a friend of Christopher’s uncle, Sir Philip. Christopher had proudly pointed out Dustin to the earl before the competition, which was how the earl knew who the lovely lady was on sight. And he also knew without a doubt that she should not be here.
“As you wish, my lady,” he said, holding her with an iron grip. “But it will
have to wait. We must get you out of this dirt. Sergeant, your help would be appreciated.”
The sergeant-at-arms gripped Dustin’s other arm and between he and the earl, were able to direct her back toward the stands. But Dustin would have no part of it and turned into a wild animal. She slugged the earl in the nose, drawing blood, before she turned like a banshee on the sergeant and kicked him in a weak point in the armor by his groin. Free for the moment, she grabbed her skirts and tore through the crowds of knights and men, knowing her greatest advantage was the fact that men in armor lack decent balance and are not quick on their feet. With enough shoving, she knew she could throw them off enough to reach Christopher.
As she rounded a particularly tall bank of knights, she caught sight of Edward’s head and she screamed his name loudly. At the sound of his name, Edward whirled around and rushed to her as she moved toward him. He snatched her firmly around the torso and she twisted and punched him.
“Let me go!” She fought Edward with every ounce of strength she possessed. “Where is Christopher?”
Edward was having a devil of a time holding onto her. “Come on, Dustin,” he said, grunting when she elbowed him in the gut. “Let’s get you back to the lists.”
“I will not,” she shrieked. “What happened to my husband? Is he dead?”
“Nay, he’s not dead,” he said, getting a better grip on her when she relaxed a bit. Mayhap if he were honest with her she would stop fighting so much. As it was, she had no idea what was transpiring with her husband and was understandably terrified. “He’s trapped under his horse, Dustin. They are trying to free him now.”
As he hoped, she stopped struggling and instead strained around Edward to get a better look at what was happening.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, seeing only seas of mailed legs. “Is the horse dead?”
“Aye,” he replied quietly. “The spear went right into his chest.”
“Is Christopher alright?” She turned her brimming gray eyes up to him. “Please tell me, Edward.”
Edward could see her anguish. He loosened his grip and put his arm around her waist. “Come with me,” he said softly.
He led her around the crowd and soon Christopher and his horse came into view. Dustin’s hands flew to her mouth to stop the sobs as she viewed the scene closely; the destrier, mortally wounded, fell sidelong into the dirt and trapped her husband’s right leg underneath thousands of pounds of horseflesh and armor. Christopher, helmetless, was supported by David and Leeton as dozens of knights and soldiers and grooms tried to truss the horse up with rope, enough so they could lift him off Christopher.
Dud was near the animal’s head, and Marcus, his brow sweaty from exertion, was controlling the entire operation as he shouted orders loud enough for the king of Scotland to hear. Seeing her husband so helpless nearly drove Dustin over the edge.
She was standing yards away from Christopher, watching the urgent actions of the men working furiously to free her husband. Had Edward not been holding her firmly, she was sure she would have slipped to the ground from sheer grief. She found herself leaning against him, her head against his armored chest. As long as she could see Christopher and see that he was alive, she could keep herself calm.
“So this is where you went.” The Earl of Canterbury strolled up casually, a handkerchief to his nose. “I thought as much.”
Edward glanced over at the earl. “What happened to your nose, sire?”
The earl snickered. “Lady de Lohr and I were introduced,” he said, studying her lovely profile as she watched the rescue effort on her husband.
Edward raised his eyebrows in horror but the earl waved him off, still chuckling. Together, the three of them watched the last of the rigging go around the destrier’s body. The task had been difficult and time-consuming due to the angle the horse had landed and also for the fact that the men had to dig trenches underneath the animal to run the rope through.
Marcus tested the ropes himself and when he was satisfied, ordered the men to be ready. Dustin tensed as the ropes were pulled taut, moving the beast inch by inch as David and Leeton grasped Christopher’s arms and tugged. In synchronization the men would pull at the horse as Christopher’s men attempted to slide him out from underneath the animal.
It took several tries until finally, after a lifetime of torturous waiting, Christopher slipped free. Dustin let out a cry of relief and Christopher heard her, twisting around to see his wife.
“Dustin!” he called urgently.
She tore free of Edward and raced to him, collapsing in the dirt beside him and covering her good silk surcoat with filth. Even as David and Leeton and Dud were steadying him into a sitting position, Dustin was throwing her arms around his neck and weeping hysterically.
Christopher’s armored arms went about her stiffly, distracted with the pain and disorientation he was feeling. Marcus was kneeling beside him, demanding to know where he hurt. He waved Marcus off, focusing instead on his crying wife.
“Sweetheart, I am all right,” he whispered softly into her ear. “Stop your weeping.”
Naturally, she disobeyed. He so wanted to comfort her more, but his ribs were absolutely killing him and he was in agony. He turned his head to David slightly.
“Help me with her,” he said, voice raspy.
David reached down to pull her free but she responded by tightening her grip on Christopher. Pained and exhausted, he patted her gently.
“Go with David, sweet,” he said softly. “Be a good girl.”
Dustin pulled her tear-stained face back, looking him deeply in the eyes, so incredibly grateful he was whole. He kissed her, his beard scratching her face, and smiled faintly. “Stand up,” he whispered.
She kissed him anxiously three or four times, kisses soft and quick and sweet, before doing as she was asked. Her legs were shaking so that David found himself literally supporting her as Marcus knelt beside Christopher.
“Where are you injured, Chris?” he asked.
Christopher took a deep breath. “I am well enough, except for my ribs and shoulder.”
“What about the leg?” Marcus asked.
“It does not hurt,” Christopher replied, bending it at the knee slowly. “Amazing. I thought he damn near tore it off when he went down.”
“Can you stand?” Marcus inquired insistently.
Christopher nodded and his men reached down, carefully lifting him to his feet. Immediately his head began to swim and his knees went weak, but he fought it. After a fall as brutal as the one he took, ’twas a natural reaction and he was grateful for Leeton and Dud’s strong arms to lean on.
The crowd of knights applauded loudly when they saw the champion on his feet. Christopher nodded vaguely to acknowledge the cheers, reserving a worn smile for his ashen-faced wife.
“Can you walk?” Marcus asked him, wondering who was paler; the baron or his wife.
“Aye,” Christopher replied, shifting a bit as if something inside his armor was itching him. “Christ, I can hear my ribs grinding.”
The castle surgeon who tended the knights was a big, burly man with wild red hair. He appeared beside Christopher as the men tried to steady him, eyeing the man critically.
“I came as soon as I could,” he said. “I was off tending the Earl of Norwich. What’s this? I hear a horse fell on you? Why are you walking, man? You should be on a gurney.”
In faith, Christopher was feeling fairly weak but knew he had to keep up the strong front if only for Dustin’s sake. She looked as if she were about to faint. He flicked a hand at the surgeon.
“ ’Tis nothing, really,” he grunted. “A bit of rest and I shall be fine.”
“He broke some ribs,” Marcus told the doctor flatly. “And his shoulder is injured.”
The surgeon nodded curtly. “To your apartments then, baron. We waste no time with broken ribs. One could steer loose and puncture your liver and you will bleed to death in minutes.”
Dustin gasped in horror and Christopher e
yed her with concern. “I assure you, it’s not that severe,” he told the doctor, wishing the uncouth man would keep his mouth shut.
But the surgeon wasn’t finished, he glared at Marcus. “And what are you doing running about here with that crushed arm? I told you to keep it immobile and to rest a great deal. If it turns gangrenous, we have to cut it off and no one wants a one-armed knight.”
Dustin let out another strangled cry and looked at Marcus with fear. Marcus echoed Christopher’s thoughts, he wished the fool would shut up before he had Dustin swooning.
“My arm is healing nicely, Burwell,” he said evenly “Let’s focus on the baron, shall we?”
The group of knights and men were dispersing and the field marshals were conferring in the center of the arena as Christopher and his group passed slowly by. The crowd, seeing their champion up and walking, albeit with help, began to stomp and cheer wildly. In no time the lists were literally quaking with the excitement and appreciation of the crowd as Christopher crossed the field.
Two of the marshals approached Christopher. “My lord,” the head marshal bowed quickly. “The officials have conferred and we all agree that you are the winner of the event.”
Christopher’s guts were hurting him the longer he stood. He leaned heavily on Leeton. “And just how did you come to that decision?”
“Sir Dennis hit the ground first, my lord,” the man replied. “You unseated him without question. Had he not gored your destrier, you would not have met with the dirt.”
Christopher glanced over his shoulder as a couple dozen grooms and stable servants were towing his horse from the field. He was deeply saddened; Boron was nearly seventeen years old and the two of them had seen through every campaign and tournament since he had been a squire. With Boron beneath him, there was never a worry, for the animal could read his mind and he knew he would miss him greatly.
“Very well,” he replied wearily.
The marshal turned to Dustin, who was behind her husband and clinging to David. “My lady, will you award your husband his just reward?”
Dustin was so drained she could barely walk, but she nodded unsteadily. Christopher looked over his shoulder at her.