The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

Edward assisted him with his observations. The man had a head for money and building, and was a great help to him. As he talked, Edward listened and offered educated opinions, finally helping him narrow down his priorities.

  The sun overhead was warm and but the air was cool toward mid-afternoon. The bailey was virtually void of any activity as the servants stayed within the confines of Lioncross, and the sentries up on the wall were pacing their rounds. At one point, Christopher caught sight of Jeffrey pacing the walls and the two men eyed each other like two cocks.

  “What is it about that man that riles you so?” Edward asked, somewhat amused.

  Christopher shook his head and turned back to their business. “I do not know. I do not trust him.”

  “Why? He has done nothing,” Edward said.

  Christopher shrugged, reading the parchment in front of him that he had been writing on. Edward grinned.

  “I have been talking to some of Barringdon’s men,” he mentioned. “They like him and seem to think he is a strong soldier. They also say he has eyes for your wife.”

  Christopher looked at Edward and then back up to Jeffrey on the ramparts. “Dustin?” he scratched his neck and refocused on the vellum. “Why am I not surprised? Then mayhap it is a good thing that she is going away.”

  Edward’s mirth faded. “Are you really going to let her go?”

  “She wishes it and I will grant it to her,” he replied, making another notation.

  Edward watched his friend, seeing that the man did not wish to discuss the subject. But Edward was naturally curious and wondered why Christopher could so easily dismiss such a lovely woman. He was shallow, true, but he also knew he was capable of deep feeling.

  “When will you dismiss Jeffrey?” Edward asked after a moment.

  “Today,” Christopher replied.

  “And when is Dustin leaving for Nottingham?” his friend asked, peering up at a broken corner on the side of the keep.

  “I do not know,” Christopher answered. “Whenever she is ready. Mayhap in the next few days. I will want you to ride escort, of course.”

  “Of course,” Edward agreed dryly. “Who else to protect the Lion’s Claw’s wife? Incidentally, when Jeffrey is dismissed from your command, what is to say he will not show up in Nottingham and serve your wife and her mother’s family?”

  Christopher stopped what he was doing and looked at him. “He had better not if he values his life.”

  Edward cocked an eyebrow. “He does not fear you; that is evident. And what better way to seek revenge for his dismissal than to seek out your wife and serve her while you are in London?”

  Christopher threw down his quill. “Enough of this, Edward. What are you driving at?”

  “Nothing, my lord,” Edward turned back to the parchment, confident his point was well taken. Now that Christopher had doubts about his wife going to Nottingham, hopefully he would conclude that the only logical thing was to keep her at Lioncross or take her with him to London. Of course it was none of Edward’s business what Christopher did with Dustin, but somehow, he thought she might need her husband. After all, she had just lost her mother and her father, and Christopher was the closest living relative she had. He just didn’t think they should be apart.

  Christopher watched his friend’s dark head, glancing up at the big man on the wall. He didn’t know why the thought of Jeffrey near his wife bothered him so, but it did. Confused and irritated, he turned back to his task, silently cursing Edward for getting him worked up over nothing.

  Not an hour later, he heard sentries shouting and immediately mounted the ladder to the wall, jogging in the direction the men were indicating. When he reached the northwest corner of the wall, a worried soldier met him.

  “Riders, my lord,” he breathed.

  Christopher peered in the direction the man was pointing, straining his eyes against the sun. It was a moment before he could make out the little group of riders crossing the distant field, heading toward them. Being that they were on the Welsh Marches, he was alerted.

  “Welsh?” he turned to the sentry.

  The man nodded. “We get raiding parties on occasion, my lord,” he replied. “Just rebels, in faith, but we still must keep them from the village. They like to steal goods and women.”

  “Christ,” Christopher muttered, turning to Edward over his shoulder. “Assemble fifty men and find my brother and the other knights. We ride.”

  The bailey turned into a hive of activity as soldiers donned their protective gear and the knights began assembling. Christopher dashed to his quarters, quickly acquiring his armor, and then hustled back down to the bailey to find that his steed had already been saddled and was waiting for him.

  Leeton, David, Max and Anthony, and Edward were quickly getting the men assembled and moving. Christopher shoved his helmet on and mounted his dancing destrier, glancing in Leeton’s direction.

  “So it seems that you and I are to ride to service together once again,” he remarked.

  Leeton nodded. “I have decided to stay here awhile, if it pleases you,” he said. “I always did enjoy a good fight with you guarding my rear. Max and Anthony are ready to swear fealty to you as well, as they are bachelor knights. Any objections?”

  Underneath his faceplate, Christopher smiled. He was more than pleased. “I will have the best knight stable in all of England,” he answered. “Even Richard shall be jealous.”

  Leeton was preparing to reply when a shout from atop the wall interrupted him.

  “Do you know where your wife is, my lord?” Jeffrey called.

  Christopher looked up at the man. “You must, or you would not be asking me,” he replied loudly, coolly. “Where is she?”

  Jeffrey didn’t answer for a moment. “In the village,” he said. “She left two hours ago and has yet to return. What kind of husband are you that you do not keep track of your wife? You had better get to her before the Welsh do.”

  “Bastard,” Leeton muttered.

  Christopher didn’t reply. He spurred his horse through the gate, yelling orders to the sergeant in charge to close the gates after the brigade had passed through. As he tore into the village, he was suddenly aware of a curious pounding of his heart. Be it at the excitement or because he was concerned for his wife’s safety, he could not be sure. But he knew he had to find her. The thought of Dustin in Welsh hands drove him crazed with anger.

  *

  Dustin had indeed left Lioncross in the early afternoon to do a bit of shopping in the village. She had been toying with the idea of a few new dresses, purely for appearance sake, but firmly decided that she should now that she would be traveling to Nottingham. All of her dresses were simple peasant clothes, with the exception of the blue surcoat she had worn yesterday. Even her wedding dress had been borrowed from her mother, but it had been far too small in the bustline.

  But before she did any haggling with the merchants, she went to Rebecca’s small hut near the edge of town. Rebecca’s mother was a midwife and her father farmed a small plot of land, which he sold vegetables from. It had been the first time she had seen Rebecca since yesterday, and the young woman’s mouth fell open at everything that had transpired in that brief span of time. She was driven to tears by the enormity of it all, yet controlled herself for Dustin’s sake. Her friend looked as if she had taken all she could.

  Rebecca was glad to go shopping with Dustin, just the thing to get their minds from their troubles. Though Rebecca had little money, she did have an eye for taste and quality, and in no time had three fine bolts of material selected from a nearby merchant.

  “Now, just who will sew these dresses, Dustin?” Rebecca asked pointedly as they carried their burden from the shop.

  Dustin grinned. “You, of course.”

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. “I knew it. And what do I get out of it?”

  “I shall pay you, Rebecca, have no fear,” Dustin replied. “But you will have to have them finished by tomorrow, for that’s when I plan to leave.”
>
  Rebecca’s smile faded. “Nottingham. ’Tis so far away, Dustin. Do you truly have to go?”

  Dustin watched the ground as they walked. “Aye, I do. I will not stay here longer than I have to.”

  “But he did not seem so cruel,” Rebecca offered hesitantly. “Mayhap he is a kind man if you will only give him a chance.”

  “I do not want to give him a chance,” Dustin snapped.

  “He is your husband for life, Dustin,” Rebecca reminded her. “Will you go through your whole life avoiding and hating him?”

  “Mayhap,” Dustin lifted her chin defiantly. “He does not want me, either, Rebecca. He told me so. He doesn’t even know where I am at this moment because he does not care.”

  “Every man wants you, Dustin,” her friend said wryly. “And mayhap he could care if you would just be a bit more.…”

  “Stop,” Dustin told her curtly. “I do not want to speak of this anymore. What kind of dresses are you making me?”

  The women chatted and stopped at the bakers for sticky honey bread with currants in it, being careful not to get any on the fabric. The next stop was the cobblers, and before Dustin realized it, the entire afternoon had passed her by.

  She felt better than she had earlier. Rebecca always lifted her spirits. She tried hard to forget this was the day she buried her mother. But as the day began to wane, she knew she had to return to Lioncross. She wondered if her husband would expect her to serve him dinner tonight. She would, as a show of thanks for allowing her to travel to Nottingham. But in the deep recesses of her mind she wondered if he would expect more this night.

  He was, after all, her husband. It was her duty as a wife to couple with him to produce heirs. It was a frightening thought, for she knew little of coupling, and it was all the more terrifying to think that her husband’s cold demeanor would carry over into the bedchamber. She had heard from some of the serving wenches that knights could be most rough in bed, even abusive. She wondered if he was the abusive type.

  “Why are you so quiet?” Rebecca broke into her thoughts.

  Dustin shrugged, gazing up at Lioncross as it loomed over the village like a huge sentinel. “Just thinking, I suppose. Rebecca, what do you know about coupling?”

  Rebecca looked thoughtful. “I know it keeps my mother in business,” she laughed. “I know that it can be painful the first time, for the woman, but some say they gain pleasure from it. Why? What was it like?”

  “I do not know,” Dustin admitted. “He hasn’t… that is to say, we slept apart last night. Mayhap I can avoid him until I leave for Nottingham. I do not wish to do that with him.”

  Rebecca nodded. “He is a big brute, the biggest man I have ever seen,” she agreed. “I do not blame you for being frightened.”

  “I am not frightened,” Dustin insisted. “I simply do not want him to touch me.”

  Rebecca shook her head. Dustin had a great amount of dislike for her new husband, yet she could hardly blame her.

  The sun was low in the sky but just as intense as the two women made their way back to Rebecca’s tidy little hut. Rebecca’s mother had a huge pot of lamb stew bubbling over the hearth and the rich smells made Dustin’s stomach rumble. Knowing she would most likely lose her appetite tonight when she was forced to serve her husband, she heartily agreed to the older woman’s offer of food and ate two bowls of the thick soup.

  It was a pleasant meal as they ate and discussed the dresses Rebecca would make. Dustin had purchased dark gold brocade, a lavender silk, and a heavier wine-colored silk. Rebecca had some grand ideas about sleeves and bustlines, and Dustin agreed to everything she suggested. Knowing nothing about fashion or clothes herself, she would agree to anything.

  Dustin was comforted by the two familiar women, her grief easing somewhat with the hominess of the hut and the pleasant conversation. She had always liked it here, and Rebecca’s mother, Eve, had always been very kind to her. The older woman was most distressed to hear of the events from the previous day and took to brewing Dustin a concoction of chamomile, rosehips and honey to soothe her mind and stomach.

  It was just before dusk when Rebecca’s father entered the hut, his ruddy face glazed with concern. His fears were doubled when he saw that the mistress of Lioncross sat at his hearth.

  “Oh lord, my lady,” he exclaimed.

  Dustin and the other two women rose swiftly. “What is it, Jacob?” Eve demanded.

  “Welsh raiders,” the man said. Being on the edge of the village like they were, they were always more vulnerable than anyone else. “We must hide.”

  Rebecca gave a little shriek and knocked over her stool. “Under the beds!”

  “How close, Jacob?” Eve was breathless.

  “Close,” her husband replied, hustling the women toward the beds. “I barely beat them out of the fields.”

  Panic rose in Dustin’s veins. She had lived here all of her life and had seen what Welsh raiders could do. But never in that time had she been caught outside the protective walls of Lioncross, and she was terrified.

  “Are the soldiers riding to meet them?” her voice was shaking.

  “I do not know, my lady. I can only assume so,” the man replied, practically shoving his wife under the bigger of the two beds.

  Of course they were riding to intercept them. Her soldiers were alert, that is to say, her husband’s soldiers were alert. And, after all, her husband was a baron and had fought with Richard, hadn’t he? Surely he was riding out, too. He would protect them.

  Just as Rebecca was sliding under the smaller bed, the door of the hut crashed in with a deafening noise. Dustin shrieked, startled and panicked to see three swarthy Welsh bandits storm into the room, the faces bent on nothing short of murder. She ran cold with terror, she knew what was going to happen to her and there was no way to stop it.

  But she bolted away just the same, only to be caught by one of the bastards, who laughed gleefully. At that point Dustin could only think of what was going to happen to her. She was filled with a panic and knew that her only hope was to fight like the devil, and fight she did.

  The raider had her around the waist, holding her up against him and babbling in the harsh Welsh native tongue. She was twisting wildly, swinging her fists and putting every ounce of strength she had in her legs to kick him painfully. But he was laughing, spewing Welsh and snorting, and she knew it would not end well for her.

  He was carrying her through the main room and back into a smaller all-purpose room. Dustin put her hands out as they passed through the doorway, making it impossible for him to move her through it until he removed her wedged arms. He would succeed in removing one only to have the other grab hold of the jamb and cling for dear life. It took the raider four tries to get her to release her hold so he could move her through the archway.

  There was a table in the small room. Dustin threw herself forward and grabbed ahold of it, struggling fiercely enough that the man lost his grip for a moment, and it was enough of a chance for her to grab hold of the leg of the table, winding her arms around it in a death-grip. She could not, would not, let her anchor go, for she knew if she did, then her fight was lost.

  The raider was angry now. He grabbed Dustin by the hair and pulled hard, drawing screams from her but she did not release her hold. He tugged and tugged, finally grabbing hold of her arms and pulling with a grunt of effort. He managed to pull Dustin and the table several feet across the floor, but little else.

  By now the man was thoroughly frustrated and resorted to smacking Dustin across her head and shoulders, trying to daze her enough to force her to relinquish her hold. She screamed loudly with the shock and pain, but bore down and tried to protect her head as much as she could. But, truth was, she was becoming light-headed and she was scared to death. Mayhap she was to see her mother and father sooner than she had expected.

  The man grabbed a big iron spoon and hit Dustin across the temple with it, stunning her. Her grip relaxed and she fell heavily to the floor, her temple blood
ied.

  Pleased with the result and a bit weary from the effort, the dirty man rolled Dustin over onto her back and tore at her bodice, his filthy hands roving greedily over her breasts. She moaned and made a feeble attempt to claw at him, but he laughed and began to push her skirts up, running his hands along her shapely legs, murmuring in Welsh the entire time. Spittle hung from his lips; he was going to enjoy this one.

  But he never had the chance. He heard his cohorts yelling, only to be immediately silenced. Panicked, he rose from his crouch but never made it completely to his feet as a shadow fell across the room. Before he could defend himself, the Welshman’s body collapsed on the floor as his head rolled to the opposite wall in a bright spray of blood and flesh.

  Christopher’s sword was still in his hand and he moved to Dustin. He could see that she was injured and he sheathed his sword with a hissed curse. The strangest feeling welled up in his chest but he chased it off angrily, too busy to deal with it at that moment. All he knew was that he felt a sense of both grief and relief. It was the oddest sensation he had ever known.

  He tore off his gauntlets, running his hands gently over her head, probing the gash along her hairline. Her beautiful hair was sticky with blood and he found himself stroking it aside gently. Satisfied her skull wasn’t fractured, he proceeded to assess the rest of her body and his concern was lessened to find that she had no broken bones. With his examination complete, he gathered Dustin into his arms and carried her into the greater room.

  But his tight chest still plagued him and he was greatly angered by it. Damn foolish woman. She was more trouble than she was worth. Christ, how could he let her go to Nottingham when all she ever did was get into trouble? He would not be near to save her if she left. Disgusted with himself for feeling a sense of duty to his wife, he found it easier to deal with if he focused his anger on the foolishness of her actions.

  Rebecca and her family were huddling by the hearth, all of them gasping when they saw Dustin, unconscious, with blood coating her head. Christopher passed them a disinterested gaze.

  “She suffers no broken bones,” he said coolly. “She will live.”