The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Marcus was out the door, slamming it behind him in his rage. John and Ralph looked at each other and chuckled wickedly.

  “He will be yours, sire,” Ralph said confidently. “Did you see how he rigidly denied it? Of course it is true. He will not allow de Lohr to become privy to such damaging knowledge.”

  John was quite pleased. “Are you sure the soldier is trustworthy?” he asked.

  Ralph nodded. “Not just one, but two men saw him through the small window as they were guarding the door,” he replied. “It was worth five gold crowns apiece to learn that he practically raped her right in the front room.”

  John grew thoughtful, thinking of Burton and his strong character. “He will not admit it, though. We may have to divulge the information to select people to start a wildfire of rumors. Mayhap it would cause a great enough rift between de Lohr and Burton, enough to force the man to our side. Mayhap we do not have to blackmail him at all; let the rumors do the damage.”

  Ralph agreed. “If you wish it, I am sure we could accomplish that very task tonight at supper.”

  John liked the idea. “Make it so.”

  “As you wish, sire,” Ralph replied, an evil gleam to his eye.

  *

  Marcus was out of control with anger. He plowed into David in the hall, nearly taking the man down as Christopher reached out a huge hand to ease him.

  “Steady, man, steady,” he admonished, gripping Marcus’ arms. “What in the hell did they say to you?”

  Marcus was so undone he could hardly think. He looked up into Christopher’s blue eyes, the eyes of a man he loved dearly, and could not speak for a moment. But he had to say something, anything, for he knew that one way or the other, Christopher was going to hear of his indiscretions with his wife. He would rather explain now, albeit most likely a lie, than defend himself later. He wanted to be upfront with Christopher even if he was not planning to be entirely honest. He could not seem to tell him the truth, for even though he didn’t bed Dustin, in his heart he already had a hundred times.

  “He is attempting to force me to champion him,” he rasped after a moment, “any way he can do it.”

  “What does that mean?” Christopher demanded, studying him closely.

  Marcus prayed that God would forgive him for what he was about to say. “Apparently there were some spies traveling with us,” he said softly. “Soldiers who are willing to tell them anything for a price.”

  Christopher’s expression never wavered. “What stories?”

  Marcus took a deep, fortifying breath. “Somehow, Ralph uncovered a story about Lady Dustin and I in a compromising position. Ralph intends to use the story to blackmail me into championing John.” He gazed into Christopher’s eyes as he spoke. “They were told that I ravaged your wife. They were also told that Lady Dustin and I spent a good deal of time alone together, in her room, which was true. But nothing ever happened, my lord, I swear it on all that is holy. I never touched your wife when we were alone in her room.”

  Christopher let go of him, his eyes unreadable but his body tense. He stared back at Marcus a long, long time and Marcus was sure he was reading right through him. He fought off the urge to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

  “That,” Christopher said after a long and pregnant silence, “is a lie.”

  Marcus’ eyes widened at Christopher. He saw the man smile faintly and knew it would be the last thing he saw on this earth before gazing upon God’s holy face.

  “My lord?” he choked.

  Christopher lifted an eyebrow. “Dustin told me you sat on her legs to keep her in bed,” Christopher explained softly. “So you did touch her. You could have spanked her, too, if she needed it.”

  Marcus closed his eyes, his fury and anxiety draining out of him and he slumped against the wall. He was positive every bone in his body had deserted hm. Christopher stood over him, knowing what a mind-wracking interrogation it must have been with John and Ralph, yet he had never seen Marcus so weakened. He was the strongest man he knew.

  Marcus grappled with his emotions, turning his pale face up to his liege. “I thought you were going to run me through,” he murmured, which was the truth.

  Christopher took his arm, pulling him up from the wall. “You have no control over rumors and lies, Marcus. People will believe what they will,” he said. “Yet you had the courage to tell me what was transpiring, and for that I am grateful. Now we can deal with what comes.”

  Marcus shrugged weakly. “I suppose they mean to break us down, to split Richard’s loyalists from the top.”

  Christopher began to pull the man down the hall with David trailing after them. “Nay, we must stay together, no matter what,” he replied. Then, he grunted disgust. “Who would have believed that John and Ralph could have tried to use a woman to drive us apart? Of all the stupid and ludicrous ideas….”

  He trailed off, shaking his head. But David, who had managed to walk up beside them, was focused on Marcus.

  “Aye, he told us of the rumors,” he said evenly, “but he did not deny them.”

  Christopher came to a stop, as did Marcus. They looked down at David, and Christopher actually glared, but David stood his ground.

  “Well, he didn’t,” he insisted to his brother. “Mayhap he was trying to save his own ass by telling you first, lying about it, so that you would not believe the truth when you heard it.”

  Marcus’ jaw ticked as he faced off against David. He was bigger and broader, but by no means the better warrior. David was one of the elite.

  “Do not let your jealously be so apparent, Lion Cub,” he growled.

  David twitched in Marcus’ direction but Christopher threw out a massive arm between them.

  “What is going on with us?” he demanded angrily. “Three years in the sands and never a harsh word, but we return to England, I take a wife, and suddenly everyone is at each other’s throats? David, you will apologize to Marcus for your blatant insult.”

  “Not until he denies it,” David muttered.

  Christopher looked to Marcus. The man continued to stare David down, his jaw working furiously. The cobalt blue eyes were hot enough to burn.

  “I did not ravage Lady Dustin,” he said simply. No, I kissed her softly. There was definitely a difference between kissing and ravishing, minor though it might be.

  Christopher had heard enough. Leaving David and Marcus glaring at each other, he had larger problems to worry over than two of his men quarreling.

  There were several soldiers guarding the door to his apartments and he brushed past them, opening the door and slamming it in his wake. Edward and Sir Trent were in his antechamber, but Dustin was nowhere to be seen.

  “Where’s my wife?” he demanded, then eyed Trent. “In the hall, boy.”

  Trent obeyed quickly, leaving Edward with a furrowed brow at Christopher’s manner.

  “What happened?” Edward asked.

  Christopher glanced at him on his way to the wine decanter. He poured himself a healthy amount before answering.

  “Christ, what isn’t happening?” he snapped. “Ralph and John tried to blackmail Marcus into championing the prince by telling him that their spies saw him ravish my wife back at the inn. Marcus did the correct thing by telling me about it, but that does not mean the rumors will not run rampant. I can only imagine how Dustin is going to react.”

  Edward sat on a chair, his expression cool. “What did Marcus say?”

  “The truth; that nothing happened,” Christopher said staunchly.

  Edward nodded, his eyes growing distant. Christopher downed his goblet and poured himself another, eyeing his silent friend.

  “What is with you?” he demanded.

  Edward glanced up at him, then looked away, shrugging. “Not a thing. Are you going to dress for supper?”

  Christopher set the goblet down, eyeing Edward. “What were you thinking, Edward? What have you heard?”

  “Heard? Nothing,” he said truthfully, then looked at his l
iege a long moment. “But I would be lying if I did not tell you that I think there may be some truth to the rumor.”

  Christopher ran cold. “What do you think? Damn, Edward, you were there. What do you think?”

  Edward drew in a long, deep breath. “What do I think? I think that your wife has fallen in love with you, and that Marcus has fallen in love with your wife.”

  Christopher’s gaze didn’t waver for several long moments. Then he broke away and wandered slowly across the cold wooden floor. After a pause, shook his head.

  “Damn,” he muttered, then turned to Edward again. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be without asking either one of them.”

  Christopher looked at the man, his expression torn with shock, before finally emitting a hissing sigh. “Why is this happening, Edward?” he demanded without force. “Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine when I married Dustin Barringdon that she might prove to be the downfall of the mightiest knights since Arthur’s Roundtable. Had I only known, I would have told Richard to forget everything. No keep is worth his kingdom, which might be exactly what this boils down to.”

  “What are you babbling about?” Edward demanded.

  Christopher’s passion was in his gestures, his voice. “Christ, Edward. David thinks himself in love with her, Jeffrey has told me he is in love with her, now you tell me that Marcus has fallen under her spell. And every time Leeton looks at her, he thinks of Rachel and becomes absolutely useless. That leaves me with you, Dud and that young Burton boy who seem to be unaffected by my wife’s charms. How is it possible that this is happening?”

  Edward shook his head slowly, seeing Christopher’s point. But his liege had failed to mention one very important point. “What about you, Chris? Have you fallen for the woman you didn’t want to marry?”

  Christopher stopped pacing and looked at him. “Oh…hell, I do not know,” he whispered, his agitation evident. “All I know is that I cannot go for a minute without thinking about her. How could I not? She is beautiful and sweet and full of spirit. I am very fond of her, true, but I do not love her.”

  Edward gazed back at him, not about to contradict him. But Edward knew better; Christopher did indeed love his wife, but he was too damn proud to admit he actually depended on someone other than himself.

  As they pondered the revelations, the questions, something came whistling through the air and missed Christopher’s head by a mere inch. Both knights instinctively ducked as the pewter cup banged against the wall behind them, and they turned with astonished expressions to see Dustin’s tear-stained face glaring at them from the bedchamber door.

  Christopher’s heart sank when he saw her. She had heard it, all of it, and he could only curse himself for being stupid enough not to control his mouth. But as soon as he saw her, he also realized one thing; she was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair was incredible, and the surcoat flattered her in every way. He wanted to take her in his arms but she threw another cup at him and he dodged it.

  “Get out of here, Christopher de Lohr,” she cried. “I hate you. I told you I hated you before, but I mean it now. Go away. I do not ever want to see you again!”

  “Dustin,” he began feebly, moving toward her.

  She screamed at him “You bastard! All the time you were being kind, you were thinking hateful things about me all along!” She bolted into the bedchamber and slammed the door, crying hysterically.

  Christopher sighed and looked helplessly at Edward, who didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. He sought to offer the man advice before he quit the room.

  “Chris,” he said pointedly, making sure the man was looking at him. “If you ever thought to tell your wife that you love her, now would be a good time.”

  He left, leaving Christopher listening to Dustin’s miserable wailing and feeling enough guilt to flood a moat.

  *

  He could not fold to her. He would not fold to her. Christopher dressed for supper, his armor having been polished by his squire until it gleamed like crystal. He listened to Dustin’s cries fade until there was complete silence, but even then he didn’t go to her. His heart was screaming for her forgiveness, his body ached to hold her, but his damnable pride prevented everything from being as it should. He would not show weakness.

  His knights joined him an hour later, having been informed by Edward that Lady Dustin would most likely not be attending supper with them. Hesitant to ask why, they congregated in the antechamber and eyed each other with uncertainty as Christopher finished dressing. Their liege had yet to look at them and tension was evident.

  Finished fussing with his armor, he went to the bedchamber door and rapped softly. “Dustin? Are you ready?”

  “Go to hell!” Dustin spat from behind the door.

  The knights had to look away, but not before broad smiles crossed their lips. They could not even look at each other for fear of bursting into laughter. Only Marcus and Edward didn’t smile.

  Christopher sighed slowly. “Open the door, sweetheart. ’Tis time to go.”

  The door seemed to explode with pounding and kicking on the other side of it. “I said go to hell!” she screamed, louder.

  He wouldn’t acknowledge her profanity. “Open the door, Dustin, or I shall open it from this side.”

  “You do and I shall…I shall jump out the window!” she hollered, kicking the door one last time for good measure. “Go away. Go eat your supper and I hope you choke to death!”

  They began to hear things breaking and a huge crash that shook the entire room. Christopher’s brow furrowed.

  “Dustin?” he called, standing next to the door. “Are you all right?”

  “What do you care?” she yelled, dissolving into sobs. “You do not like me, anyway. What do you care if I die? Then your knights will not be divided and you can continue your mission for your all precious and powerful Richard. You can sleep with him from now on, because you won’t be in my bed!”

  He sighed heavily, looking at his knights for the first time.

  “Go ahead without me. I shall be down….in a minute.”

  They turned to go, except Edward. Christopher nodded to him, silently telling him that all would be well. Edward closed the door softly behind him.

  When the men were gone and the room empty, Christopher ran his hands through his hair, a weary, defeated gesture. As much as he vowed he would not bend to her, he could not leave her like this.

  “Open the door, Dustin,” he sounded curiously as if he were begging. “I just want to talk to you, I promise.”

  “Nay!” she wept.

  “Please?” Now he was begging. “I swear, I only want to speak with you. Please open the door.”

  He thought he was going to have to break the door down and was amazed when it swung open quietly. He waited a moment before pushing it all the way open just to make sure she wasn’t lying in wait for him with a club or broken chair leg. He spied her sitting quite calmly on the bed, her tears dried and her hair in place. In fact, she looked stunning and he was completely off guard.

  He stood by the door, eyeing the destruction of the room. He was hard pressed to admit that her anger mattered to him, that he didn’t want her to be angry with him.

  “I am sorry you heard that,” he offered finally. “I did not mean to upset you so.”

  “You blame me,” she said in a scratchy voice. “You blame me for everything, don’t you? For Marcus, for David, for everything.”

  “Nay, Dustin, I do not blame you,” he said softly. “You have no control over your beauty or your charms, and being men, they naturally succumb.”

  “But you do not,” she whispered.

  “That is not true,” he said firmly. “I am very, very fond of you. You are my wife.”

  Her head came up, her eyes dark with hurt. Oh, why did she have to be so tormented by his words? She was stupid, foolish and completely out of control….and she didn’t care. Her pride was already damaged. She could not s
uffer much greater shame.

  “My father and mother loved each other,” she whispered. “If I ever had a husband, I hoped that someday we would grow to love each other, too. You love David, and Edward, and the others. You even love Richard. But you cannot love me, and it pains me. I should not care, but I do.”

  Her words reached into his chest and grabbed hold of his heart, twisting and squeezing until it was bled dry.

  “Do you love me?” he whispered.

  Her fierce pride was badly wounded. “I do not know… I think so. Otherwise, why would I hurt so?”

  He could not stop himself from reaching out and pulling her soft hand to his lips, kissing her fingers until she started to cry again, softly. It was a painful and tender moment for them both.

  “All things take time, Dustin,” he murmured. “Especially love. ’Tis the most difficult of emotions to achieve and the most difficult to be rid of. The kind of love I feel for my brother and for my knights is nothing compared to the love I would feel for my wife. For you. But I never expected to marry, much less love the woman I married.”

  “You are speaking in riddles,” she sobbed.

  He was. Damnation, he was. Christ, he knew he loved her. He could not remember when he hadn’t and the revelation of it nearly blew his mind to cinder. But he simply could not bring himself to spit it out. No one, not even Dustin, must ever know his weakness.

  He was suddenly on her, his mouth sucking her lips with blinding ferocity. She cried harder, responding to him, aching with her need and her confusion. Why did he kiss her so when he didn’t even love her? Mayhap he sought to comfort her, or to comfort himself, but all he was succeeding in doing was confusing her even more and she suddenly tore away from him, flailing off the bed until she stood unsteadily several feet away.

  “Don’t,” she said, her whole body shaking violently. “Don’t kiss me like that.”

  He sat on the bed, gazing at her with a look she had seen before, always before he made love to her. It was an expression that usually weakened her, but not now.

  “Why?” he pleaded. “Dustin, what do you want me to say that will make things well between us again? Is it that you want to hear me tell you that I love you? Would that make things right again?”