The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  The evening moved on rapidly and before they realized it, it was past midnight. Dustin was having a wonderful time with Deborah and didn’t want the evening to end, protesting loudly when Marcus called a halt to the fun and demanded to return her to her apartments.

  “Marcus, you spoil my joy,” she accused with a pout, “I am not tired in the least.”

  He was on his feet, giving her a fatherly-sort of reproving glance. “I am sure that is true, but your company of knights have a tourney tomorrow and would like to get their rest. The only way they might accomplish that task is if you retire for the night.”

  She gave him an exaggerated frown and turned to Deborah. “I am afraid our time is ended,” she said. “Will you sit with me at the tourney tomorrow?”

  Marcus cleared his throat before Deborah could answer. “You will be awarding prizes, my lady, if you will recall, and will be isolated from the crowd.”

  Dustin’s face fell a bit. “Oh,” she said. “Then… I will see you tomorrow, Lady Deborah, I promise.”

  The women giggled as if they were planning some sort of covert action. Marcus grasped Dustin’s arm and helped her to her feet, not an easy task considering she had had far too much wine and was as tipsy as a loon. David had his sister, escorting her back to the Earl of Bath’s group.

  They were on their feet in preparation of leaving when Marcus and Edward were confronted by two young women in gaudy court surcoats, layers upon layers of fabric and embroider and their cheeks over-rouged. They were giggling as one woman put her arm upon Marcus’ good hand.

  “Baron Marcus Burton,” she exclaimed loudly. “Do you know that I have waited all night for you to dance with me?”

  Marcus cocked a tolerant eyebrow at the brown-haired woman. “I apologize, Lady Lucinda, truly. But I have been else occupied.”

  The woman and her companion eyed Dustin openly and Dustin. Even with her alcohol-induced high-spirits she immediately bristled.

  “I can see that,” Lady Lucinda said cattily. “Lovely, isn’t she? I see that she has you and Sir Christopher occupied.”

  “This is Christopher’s wife, the Lady Dustin,” Marcus said, eyeing Dustin and the women, wondering if they were in for a round of punches. “My lady, this is Lady Lucinda Bartley and Lady Maryann de Bohun.”

  The two women looked at Dustin with new eyes but not necessarily friendlier eyes.

  “I had heard he had married,” Lady Lucinda said, “but I had no idea this lovely little thing was his wife. She’s so small.”

  Dustin’s eyes narrowed. “Aye, you knew I was his wife,” she growled. “Everyone in the whole bloody castle knows it. And as far as my size is concerned, I have yet to hear my husband complain.”

  Lady Lucinda curled a thin lip. “I meant no offense, Lady de Lohr. It’s just that….well, your husband is known for his appetites and you do not seem to fit the bill.”

  Marcus pursed his lips and stood back; he did not want to be caught in the crossfire but he wanted to be close enough to prevent Dustin from committing murder.

  Dustin put her hands on her hips, swaying. “Have you been bedded by my husband?”

  Lady Lucinda looked away coyly. “Surely, my lady, I have not for I am not yet married and…..”

  “Save it for your husband, if you ever get one,” she snapped overbearingly. “If you are a maiden, then I am the Queen of France. If I were to take a headcount of all the men in the room you two sluts have bedded between you, it would most likely constitute half the room. That is, if they were brave enough to admit they touched women as ugly as you.”

  Lady Lucinda and Lady Maryann were appalled and angered, emotions increased by the snickering of the knights. Dustin grinned, a humorless gesture.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said smugly. “Whores disguised as fine ladies. And let me guess, you pursued my husband relentlessly but were unsuccessful. He has much better taste.” She suddenly pushed forward and waved her hands sternly at them as if to sweep them away. “Be gone with you, piglets. And leave Lord Marcus alone or you shall have to deal with me.”

  “How dare you!” Lady Lucinda cringed but did not do as she was ordered and leave. “You are an ill-bred little wench who was lucky enough to marry a baron, and he married you purely for the inheritance. Everyone knows that you are a simple country waif with no claim to court other than your husband.”

  Dustin’s jaw ticked but she did not lose her smile. Her gray eyes bore holes into the woman.

  “If you intend to spread rumors about me, then you had better get the facts straight,” she said, her delivery quiet and rapid. “My father, Lord Arthur Barringdon is a cousin to Richard and John; my great-grandmother and their great-grandmother were sisters and my mother is directly descended from King Harold. Now, do you have any more questions about my lineage?”

  Lady Lucinda looked as if she were about to retort but thought better of it. In a swish of blue silk and finery, the ladies swept away with their noses in the air and disappeared back into the crowd. Dustin made a face and turned her back on them.

  “Bitches,” she snapped, reaching for more wine.

  Leeton and Edward put their great mailed gloves together and clapped slowly, appreciating the lady’s bravado. She grinned at them and they laughed softly. Even Marcus was smiling.

  “You did well with your first test,” he said, taking the goblet from her.

  “Test? Was that a test?” she asked, frowning as he set her drink down.

  “Of course,” he replied, holding out his elbow to her. “Now they will go back and tell their friends and all will think twice before confronting you again.”

  “Hmpf,” Dustin snorted, taking his arm. “It wasn’t much of a test. I need someone better to sharpen my claws on.”

  Marcus chortled, leading her from the room. “Let me get you out of here before you turn the whole room into one giant ruckus.”

  The halls of Windsor were dim and silent as they made their way back to the apartments. Dustin clutched Marcus and Edward, feeling the floor beneath her rolling about and wondering why she could not keep her footing.

  Edward had to practically carry her up the stairs and she giggled the whole way up, banging on his plate armor and singing a crazy tune. When he set her down at the top of the stairs, she laughed loudly and whirled away from him, right into Marcus’ chest.

  Marcus caught her with his good arm, grinning as he straightened her out and they resumed their trek. Tipsy as she was, she began to dance and bounce her way down the hall, crowing about her first victory with the court wenches and insisting that the knights, all five of them, sing her praises. They did and she threw up her arms in triumph.

  “Where is my husband?” she said, falling against Marcus and grabbing his armor, causing him to lose his balance.

  “I do not know,” he answered truthfully, regaining his feet and trying to keep her from falling. “I am sure he shall return shortly.”

  “Marcus!” She grabbed his neck, trying to force him to look her in the eye. “Where is he?”

  Edward could see that Marcus was at a disadvantage and grabbed Dustin around the waist, pulling her off of him. “He is seeing to business, Dustin,” Edward said steadily. “Do not worry about it.”

  “I am not,” she insisted, stumbling when he set her down. “I just want to know where he is.” Her knees gave way a little and she fell against Edward, who wrapped his arms about her instinctively to keep her from going down. She looked up at him, a silly-sweet smile on her lips. “Thank you, Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!”

  Edward chuckled in spite of himself and picked her up, knowing they would never make it to the apartments if she kept on like this. He hoped Christopher wouldn’t be angry that they allowed her to get drunk; truthfully, they hadn’t even noticed the amount of wine she imbibed. Hopefully, she would sleep most of it off before her husband returned.

  They were approaching the apartments and the hall seemed particularly dim. Several of the torches were out and M
arcus found it peculiar that there were no soldiers on guard out in the hall. He put up his hand, halting the group, and shushed Dustin loudly when she tried to question him.

  “Dud, Trent,” he motioned to the knights. “Clear the way.”

  Unsheathing swords, the two knights cautiously made their way up the hall and toward the door. They nearly disappeared in the darkness, the reflection of the torchlight catching their armor here and there. Edward put Dustin down, moving for his own sword as he watched the knights up ahead.

  “What do you think?” he asked Marcus.

  Marcus shook his head, his cobalt-blue eyes intense. “I am not sure, but the absence of soldiers cannot be good. There should be at least a half-dozen men guarding the door.”

  Dustin pushed herself forward, her head hurting and the floor moving. “I want to go to bed. What are you doing?”

  Marcus grabbed her before she could move forward. “Making sure all is safe for you, my lady,” he said evenly.

  There was a richly clothed chair against the wall. Edward gently sat her in it, making sure he was standing directly next to her should anything happen because he, like Marcus, was leery of the darkened hall.

  In the darkness up ahead came a crash of metal on metal and a groan of pain followed. Marcus, Edward and Leeton had their swords in hand, ready to do battle when they saw that their enemy was none other than John’s cockroaches, his elite force. Urgently, Marcus turned to Edward.

  “Get her out of here,” he ordered.

  “Nay, Marcus,” Edward countered. “If we can get her into the rooms and bolt the door, she will be safe. Besides, I cannot leave you. You are compromised.”

  Dustin, jolted from her drunken stupor, shot off the chair with a yelp of surprise. Soldiers in black and green charged forward, immediately clashing with the three knights and Dustin found herself cringing behind Marcus as he fended of several soldiers with his left hand. With every blow she gave a little gasp of fear, feeling the concussion through Marcus’ body.

  Even with his good arm useless, Marcus was remarkable. He found himself fending off an onslaught of soldiers, too many to count, but he knew they were in grave danger. He could hear Dud yelling something but could not make out the words and beside him, Leeton and Edward were fighting for their lives. He knew very early on that they had to get Dustin out of there; there were simply too many soldiers for them to hold off.

  Behind him, he heard yelling of a familiar sort. David raced up the hall with his sword in hand and plunged into the turmoil, his sword flashing like bolts from heaven. The man was as fast and as furious as a madman, his well-aimed strokes striking down men where they stood. Yet even with the considerable addition of David, they were still badly outnumbered. Marcus retreated slowly with Dustin tucked behind him, trying to fight his way free of the rolling mass of fury as he hustled Dustin to safety. He could feel her hands gripping him tightly about the waist.

  There were at least two dozen men against the six of them, impossible odds even for the best of knights. Dustin was terrified; all she could think of was running for help or finding a weapon to help in the defense.

  Then it occurred to her; down the hall and high on the wall were a display of weaponry, arranged quite artfully. Her mind’s eye focused on the mace she knew was there and she was seized with hope that if she could retrieve the mace, she could help her knights. She had used a mace before; Jeffrey had taught her when he had showed her how to use the pick axe and the sword.

  Trouble was that it was damn heavy and she wasn’t even sure if she could be effective, but no matter; she had to try. Releasing Marcus, she charged back down the hall in a fit of panic.

  The mace was there as she remembered. Breathing heavily, she pulled a chair across the corridor and stood on it, ripping the spiky ball-on-a-chain off the wall and nearly falling off the chair with her effort. As she knew, it was terribly heavy, but she heaved it over her shoulder and jumped off the chair, tearing the maroon surcoat with one of the spikes and causing her shoulder to bleed as she tore back down the hall, anxiety filling her. She was close to tears of horror and did not realize that by the time she returned to the fight, hot tears were already streaming down her pale cheeks.

  Dustin took no time to pick and choose her targets. With a yell that a Scot would have been proud of, she swung the mace over her head a few times to gain momentum and plowed it into the first enemy soldier she came to. The helmet caved in and smashed his skull into fragments.

  Dustin didn’t even stop to see what her handiwork had caused; she continued to swing the mace, killing two more unsuspecting soldiers before one man actually turned on her, brandishing his sword high. Dustin didn’t back down in the least; she swung the mace again and aimed well, but she ended up entangling the chain in the soldier’s sword. In a panic, she tugged as hard as she could to release it, but the man’s strength was greater and he nearly tore her arms from her sockets yanking the mace from her grip.

  He snapped his sword sideways, disentangling the mace and bringing the sword to bear once again on Dustin. She was momentarily stunned; all she could do was stare back at the soldier who held her life in his hands.

  She could hear shouting going on and suddenly there was a man standing beside the soldier in front of her. The visor to the faceplate went up and she found herself face to face with Ralph Fitz Walter. His bruised, circled eyes glittered evilly at her and Dustin knew she was trapped.

  “My lady looks ravishing as always,” he said as easily as if they were at a social gathering. “Accompany me and I shall spare your husband’s knights.”

  Dustin knew that if she went with Ralph, she might never see the sun rise again. After what had happened this afternoon, she knew he would seek revenge on Christopher. Panic surged in her chest and she stumbled backwards, her mind completely blank except for the lone thought of escaping the sheriff.

  “Nay!” Ralph screamed as she moved, unable to grab hold of her. As Ralph pushed forward, the soldier, thinking Ralph had just given him the order to kill the lady, brought the sword down and buried five or six inches of the blade lengthwise in the top of Dustin’s left thigh.

  Dustin screamed loudly with pain and shock, twisting away with blood streaming all down her surcoat and spattering on the floor. Marcus and Edward, the closest to her, saw what transpired and were overcome with desperation to reach her. All Marcus could see was the blood and his heart crashed to his heels in agony.

  Suddenly the hall was filled with a legion of soldiers, crown soldiers, fighting off John’s guard simply by sheer number. Frightened residents of the wing had summoned the company when sounds of a battle filled the corridor, it was a matter of honor to kill John’s mercenary bastard troops. The hate for the elite guard was great among the crown’s men-at-arms.

  The black and green soldiers retreated down the hall, yet not without resistance, as Ralph hurled himself at Dustin and snatched her by the arms.

  “You are coming with me,” he snarled into her ear.

  Dustin tried to kick and fight him, but the shock of her wound was rendering her weak and faint. She did manage to slug him in his bruised face, and he dropped her with a loud curse. But when she stumbled away from him, he hit her brutally across the back of her head and she faltered, allowing him to get a grip on her waist. Gasping with triumph, he hauled the dazed Dustin against him and attempted to find a way free of the melee.

  “Ralph!” came an unmistakable roar and the sheriff looked over to see Marcus jostling toward him, his face deadly.

  Ralph ripped his dagger free of its sheath and pointed it at the baron. “You are the prince’s champion. You should be assisting me, you traitor.”

  “I shall kill you, you bastard!” Marcus bellowed furiously, shoving soldiers aside with his bad arm, oblivious to the pain. “Let her go.”

  The dirk pointing at Marcus was suddenly at Dustin’s gut. “I shall kill her if you come any closer, Burton. Call back your men or she dies.”

  Dustin heard t
he words through her stupor and suddenly came around, twisting violently against Ralph and throwing her hands up in the general direction of his face. As she hoped, her palm found its mark and Ralph yelled in pain as his nose was again struck. His hands on his face, Dustin fell to the floor and scrambled on her hands and knees, persevering with every ounce of strength she had as she tried to get away from him. There was a heavy silk curtain several feet away; she pushed toward it, thinking if mayhap she could hide in the folds, Ralph would leave her alone to die. And with the amounts of blood she was losing, she was sure that heaven was her next destination.

  Ralph was in his own world of pain. His broken nose was moving loosely about his face and he forgot all else but retreating before further damage could be dealt. Hollering in frustration and anguish, he staggered back down the hall, yelling retreat to the elite guard. Hearing the command, swords dropped and the stampede was on.

  Marcus raced to Dustin, propped up against the far wall half-hidden behind the huge silk portiere. She was trying to wrap her surcoat around her bleeding leg without much success and he pushed her hands away, wiping at the blood as he tried to assess the wound.

  “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Oh, God, Dustin, I am so sorry.”

  Through her weakness and pain, Dustin could see how agonized he was as he ripped her surcoat away to get a better look at her leg. She reached out and touched his thick black hair.

  “ ’Tis nothing compared to your hand,” she said shakily. “Are you all right? Is everyone all right?”

  David was there, letting out a small cry of panic when he saw all of the blood on his brother’s wife. He dropped to his knees, shoving Marcus aside as they both tried to get a better look at the wound.

  Edward and Leeton rushed up, nicked and breathing heavily as they gazed down on their liege’s wife. Yet before they could do or say anything, Dud stumbled up, blood all over him.

  “Marcus,” he croaked, “Trent is in a bad way.”