The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “I shall return,” he said simply and quit the room.

  She sat on her bed and waited.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rebecca wasn’t simply killed, she was massacred. When Christopher entered the small hut, he was assaulted by blood everywhere; all over the walls, all over the floor. His stomach turned at the sight, but only on behalf of his wife. Her worst fears had just been confirmed.

  Rebecca’s mother was in the smaller room, tied to one of the posts and all but gutted. Her blood coated the floor and Christopher was sure she was completely drained of it. Whoever had done the horrifying deed seemed to have done it with particular malice, for the woman was so chopped up that she was barely in one piece. That sort of anger indicated madness.

  But the sight of Rebecca, in the alcove where the beds were, disturbed him greatly. Whoever had killed her had done it with such viciousness that even a hardened warrior like Christopher was taken aback. David and Edward, having arrived several minutes earlier, had already had a chance to examine the body.

  “What devil did this?” David muttered, gazing down at the corpse.

  Christopher motioned at her. “Her throat is cut,” he commented. “And it looks as if she had been gutted.

  “Look at this,” Edward lifted her wrist. “She is missing a few fingers. This woman was tortured, Chris.”

  Christopher let out a sigh of disgust. “Why in the hell would anyone torture this woman?” he wondered aloud. “What could they possibly gain by it?”

  David flipped up her skirts, revealing bloodied thighs. “She was raped, too.”

  “Christ,” Christopher muttered, looking hard before turning away, crossing himself. “Whatever you do, do not tell Dustin that. God be merciful.”

  The knights stood silently over the young woman, saddened at such a waste and feeling for the baron’s wife. Christopher took a moment to compose himself before turning around once more and reaching down to gently pull Rebecca’s skirts back over her legs. With a sigh of regret, he reached down and picked up the stiffening body.

  “Take the blanket off the bed,” he ordered softly. “Spread it out.”

  Christopher personally wrapped Rebecca up in a tight little bundle for burial while the de Velt twins took care of the mother. No one had seen the father and assumed he was dead as well, but just to be sure, Christopher sent a few soldiers out to search for the farmer. He wondered vaguely if Rebecca’s father killed his family, but didn’t dwell on it. What was done was done, and now he would have to deal with his wife’s grief.

  It seemed that death had followed him to Lioncross Abbey. He came bearing news of death, and three deaths had followed his arrival. He knew he wasn’t directly responsible but he wondered if Dustin would blame him anyway. He hoped not.

  As he was leaving the hut, his eyes were drawn to the hearth and he suddenly stopped, staring at what he saw. Two surcoats, nearly finished except for the hem, hung untouched by the gore and carnage surrounding them. He paused a moment before reaching up and collecting both of them, folding them over his arm as he left the cottage of death without a hind glance.

  *

  Rebecca’s death was too much for Dustin to take. She went hysterical and it took Christopher and David both to force down a poppy potion that knocked her out in minutes. They watched her twitch and fidget even in her sleep, looking so tiny in the middle of Christopher’s huge bed. Both men were deeply exhausted from the day’s events.

  “Go get some sleep,” Christopher told his brother. “I can handle her from here.”

  David nodded, moving for the door. “Damn, Christopher, what’s going on around here?” he muttered. “Ever since we arrived there has been nothing but death.”

  Christopher looked down at his sleeping wife, deep in thought. “Everyone close to her has died,” he said softly. “I wonder if this is some curse I have brought back with me, manifesting itself on her for the sins I have committed against the infidels.”

  David shook his head. “Any curse that strong would have attacked you first… why waste it on those around you?”

  Christopher sighed heavily, removing his hauberk and moving for his plate armor. “I will see you on the morrow,” he said, then stopped his brother before he could close the door. “Post extra guards, David. If we have a murderer on the loose, then I do not want him infiltrating my keep.”

  David nodded, quitting the room. Christopher proceeded to remove the rest of his armor and stripped off his tunic. He sat heavily on the oak chair and pulled his boots off, pausing a moment as he felt his fatigue. He rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his neck. Then he glanced over at Dustin, sleeping fitfully, and wondered if she would be better on the morrow. He hoped that Rebecca’s death didn’t throw her off the edge of madness.

  Caesar appeared at his feet, rubbing up against him and he found he was actually glad to see the cat. He reached down and scratched the orange ears before moving to the bed, slipping in carefully beneath the covers and making sure his sword was at the ready.

  Dustin twitched and let out a ragged sigh, turning over and pressing herself right into Christopher’s chest. Contentment warmed over him and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Caesar, not to be left out, curled up against the nape of his neck and his head vibrated with the force of the animal’s purring, yet it did not bother him.

  He was coming to like it… all of it.

  *

  Dustin awoke to something tickling her cheek. She brushed at it, thinking it to be Caesar, but it tickled her again and again and finally opened her eyes when she heard a throaty laugh. Christopher, propped up on one elbow, was smiling down at her. She smiled back.

  “Good morn, my lady,” he said softly.

  She stretched a bit. “Good morning, husband,” she said, then memories from the previous evening flooded her and tears filled her eyes. “Rebecca!” she gasped.

  His smile vanished and he enclosed her in his arms to comfort her. “I am sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “There was nothing I could do.

  “She’s dead,” she cried softly.

  “I know,” he replied simply, not knowing what else to say.

  Her crying was soft and mournful, deeply painful. Yet she spared him the hysterics from the previous night. She had cried so much the past week that it was becoming easier to gain control. The whole time, Christopher didn’t say a word; he simply held her, trying to give her some consolation.

  “We must bury her,” she said finally, her face pressed against his naked skin.

  “We will,” he answered. “Whenever you are ready.”

  She shifted, pulling her hair free that was trapped between them as she looked at him. Gazes locked, devoured.

  “Today?” she asked.

  He nodded vaguely. “Do not rush. Whenever you are strong enough.”

  She gazed back at him, her tears and fears fading away as his sky blue eyes swallowed her up. They were so close, and with his nakedness, she began to feel that giddy warmth again. The longer she gazed at him, the stronger the feeling became.

  “I should get dressed,” she stammered.

  “As should I,” he replied, his voice raspy.

  “I cannot get up unless you release me,” she said.

  “Do you want me to release you?” he asked.

  “Do you want to release me?” she countered, embarrassed at the bold question.

  “Nay,” he answered, his voice silky. “I do not. Does that shock you?”

  The giddy warmth was overwhelming her, causing her breathing to become ragged and her hands to sweat.

  “What….what will you do to me if you do not release me?” she asked.

  “What would you have me do?” he said in turn.

  She shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t know. Will you kiss me again?” It was a question, not a request, but he took it for his own interpretation.

  He answered her by clamping his lips on hers, his lips soft and probing and his stubbl
e scratching her silky skin. She knew instantly that it was as wonderful as she had remembered, and her arms went about his neck tightly. When he felt her acceptance, he let his inhibitions go. He would have her, and he would have her now.

  He laid her back on the bed, his hands trailing down her body as he had dreamed of for so long. Her breasts beneath her shift were firm and round and felt wonderful against his big hands. And the way she pushed into him as he touched her drove him further over the edge of ecstasy. The moment he touched her, it was as if she had always been his, as if he had touched her this way a thousand times, each was sweeter than the previous. He found his hands were shaking with excitement when he reached up and tore her shift right down the front, all but destroying it.

  Dustin let out a shriek but didn’t stop him, instead, watched him as he kissed her shoulders, her chest, and his great hands were so gentle on her breasts. He kissed a circle around each breast, slowly and lingeringly, until her breathing was so rapid she thought she might faint. The sensations were beyond anything she had ever imagined. When he lifted his head and suckled on a peaked nipple, he took her to a whole new level of passion.

  Dustin nearly came up from the mattress but his heavy body and firm hands prevented it. His mouth on her breasts was so wickedly lustful that she could not help herself from panting, spiraling out of control with his touch. Her hands found his thick hair, pressing his head against her nipples to encourage him. She never wanted him to stop, for the feelings were too wonderful to comprehend.

  But he did leave her breasts, eventually, and his mouth kissed every inch of her supple torso, her sides, even the underside of her arms. How in the world he could turn something like a kiss into the most sensual experience she had ever encountered was a mystery, yet she had no desire to think on it. All she knew was that she loved what he did to her.

  So far, every bit of loving he had done had been above her waist. But that soon changed and his huge hands began to touch her groin and inner thighs. Dustin jumped as his fingers drifted over her mound of dark-blond curls, the sensations strange and thrilling. It was such a private and intimate touch, and she was uncertain as to whether or not to stop him. Still, he had been completely gentle and wonderful thus far. She was struggling with herself and he seemed to sense it.

  “Trust me, Dustin,” he whispered, kissing her fingers.

  “I do, my lord, but….”

  He shook his head and kissed her hand again. “You will call me Christopher in private, always. I am your husband, your lover. I will come to know you better than anyone.”

  She looked down at him, reaching out to run her hand through his hair. He had trusted her with his very private feelings, once. There was so much she wanted to tell him, but it was difficult for her to lower her defenses long enough to do it. Yet in this environment, just the two of them, it became easier.

  “The only person who knew me well was Rebecca,” she whispered. “I would tell her everything; my hopes and dreams and dislikes. She was the only person I ever felt comfortable enough to confide in because she never laughed at me, nor made fun of my thoughts. She was the only person I ever trusted.”

  “Not even your mother?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Mother’s ideals were different from mine, and she would only admonish me for being a nonconformist,” she whispered in reply, stroking his hair. “She was my mother, yet she did not know everything about me.”

  His hand ran up the full length of her thigh and made her shiver. “I would know everything about you, wife.”

  She gazed back at him for a long moment. “Then know I am afraid of what we are doing, yet I think I like it all the same. Is that strange?”

  He cracked a smile. “Not at all. ’Tis right to be uncertain of something you have never experienced before, but I can promise you that it will be wonderful. You must trust me.”

  She stared into his sky-blue eyes, as pure as air. Her reluctance was gone. “I do,” she whispered.

  He blessed her with his wide, curvy smile that sent her insides jiggling wildly, a smile rarely viewed but the most sexy, magnificent gesture she had ever seen. She could not help but smile back as he lowered his head and returned to running his mouth over her thighs.

  She was once again losing herself in his touch when there was a loud rap at the door, accompanied by someone calling Christopher’s name loudly.

  Dustin jumped but Christopher merely paused, he face glazed with passion. “What is it?” he roared.

  “Open the damn door, Chris!” It was David, irritated that the door was locked.

  Christopher’s mouth returned to Dustin’s lower abdomen. “Go away.”

  “Stop arguing and get out of bed,” his brother said, pounding on the door. “Ever since you arrived here, you have been the laziest bastard I have ever seen. Now open this goddamn door before I break it down.”

  Christopher sighed. Obviously, David didn’t know Dustin was still in the room. He glanced up at his wife apologetically. “I shall see what he wants and send him away.”

  As he pushed himself up, Dustin scrambled out of the bed and pulled her torn shift about her.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart, get back in bed,” he told her gently, not wanting to lose the entire mood. “Let me see what he wants.”

  Dustin snatched at the heavy coverlet and wrapped it around her like a mummy. Christopher sighed again; he knew the mood was already gone and she was very self-conscious. He was very annoyed with his brother.

  He unlocked the door and David shoved it open from the outside, plowing it into Christopher’s nose. Even as Christopher let out a grunt and put his hand to his face, David’s look of irritation went to one of regret as he realized he hit his brother in the nose.

  “Forgive me,” he insisted. “But why in the hell did you lock the door?”

  Christopher eyed him, his hand still on his nose. He lifted an arm in Dustin’s direction. “To better protect my wife’s privacy from idiots like you.”

  David’s blue eyes riveted to Dustin, standing wrapped in a blanket, and he was immediately contrite. “Oh, Jesus, I am sorry,” he said. “I did not know she was still in here.”

  “She is,” Christopher gingerly wrinkled his tender nose. “What in the hell is so important?”

  David looked at his brother, clearing his throat. “Uh… Mistress Rebecca’s father came to the gates before dawn. He is insisting that the bodies be buried immediately to prevent demon possession.”

  “What?” Christopher demanded, incredulous. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

  “I think I can explain,” Dustin said timidly, rounding the corner of the bed. “Rebecca’s father is Welsh, and still clings to the old religions of his forefathers. They believe that if a person is killed violently, then the angered soul will possess the body and wreak havoc on the living. He is very superstitious.”

  Christopher ran his fingers through his hair. “Very well, then. If that is what the man believes,” he said. “David, go back to the man and tell him Lady Dustin will be there shortly.”

  David nodded, passing a final glance at Dustin. “I really am sorry, my lady. You must think me quite lacking in manners.”

  He seemed so remorseful that Dustin smiled and started to reply, but Christopher spoke before she could.

  “Aye, she does, so get out of here,” he said, all but throwing his brother from the room. When David was gone, he turned to his wife. “I am sorry, too. I was quite enjoying our time alone.”

  Dustin blushed. “I have a feeling that it will not be the last opportunity, my lord,” she said, moving past him like a giant wrapped bundle, keeping her gaze averted. He smiled at her, pleased that she had all but given him permission to touch her anytime he so desired. And he was coming to quite desire her.

  *

  Christopher never left Dustin’s side.

  From the moment he escorted her to the peasant cemetery next to the small church and throughout the ceremony read in the harsh Welsh tongue, h
e stayed close by her, his eyes constantly scanning the area for anything hostile.

  Dustin was greatly comforted by his presence. She was so distraught at the death of her best friend that she had wept nonstop since they had left the keep. As she stood with Christopher underneath the trees, listening to the Welsh priest speak, she felt his arm around her arm but didn’t give it much thought until he removed it, then she turned to look at him. Suddenly, she missed it terribly and he read her thoughts, replacing his arm and drawing her even closer to him.

  Christopher’s knights stood to the rear, their attention also drawn to the surroundings. With the murders yesterday, they were wary standing in foliage that would serve as perfect cover for an ambush.

  Rebecca’s father was absolutely stricken with grief. He had been out in the fields all day, returning to find soldiers in his house and his wife and daughter’s remains spread all over the interior. He simply could not comprehend the loss and even now lay prostrate on the two fresh graves.

  Dustin cried softly for the man’s pain and for her own personal loss. She still could not believe her friend had befallen such a horrible fate and her agony was deep, deeper still for all of the losses she had suffered over the past week.

  She wondered vaguely if she would ever be the same.

  *

  The same two men that had killed Rebecca and her mother now hid among the trees, watching the mass take place for their victims beneath cloudy skies over the wind-swept cemetery.

  “Look at ’im, standin’ there with his grievin’ wife as if he were an innocent,” said the dark-haired, dirty man. “He as much as killed her, having her whore for ’im. ’Twas his own fault we had to kill ’er.”

  The fat man nodded grimly. “And she was loyal to until the end. Never did tell us anything much.”

  The oily man scanned their surroundings. “Virgil, do you think we could take the baron out? There’s lots of trees for cover, you know. One good arrow and we could remove him forever.”