The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Edward pulled Marcus to his feet and the two of them followed Dud back up the hall to where young Trent Burton lay in a puddle of his own blood, having been lanced in the side of the neck. He was bleeding volumes by the second. Edward and Leeton picked him up between them as Marcus opened the door to Christopher’s apartments.

  David was left alone with Dustin, having seen the wound and was now wrapping her leg tightly in strips of her destroyed surcoat. His handsome face was so very serious and Dustin watched him work; the pain in her leg unbearable but she maintained her composure. ’Twould only upset David more to see her tears, and he was doing the very best that he could.

  “There,” he said in a breathy voice when he had finished tightening the cloth. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

  He reached down and picked her up, holding her against him as he rushed back down the hall and into the antechamber of Christopher’s apartments. Behind him, Leeton slammed the door and bolted it.

  Trent lay on the floor and Dustin caught sight of him, twisting in David’s arms. “What happened to Trent?”

  No one answered her, for they were more concerned with stopping the flow of blood from the man’s neck. David carried Dustin into the bedchamber and laid her gently upon the bed.

  “David, where is Christopher?” she asked as he pushed her down on the pillows.

  “I do not know, but I intend to find him,” David said grimly, then turned to the open door. “Leeton! Get in here!”

  The tall, blond knight was immediately by David’s side, his fair face glazed with distress.

  “Stay with her,” David instructed breathlessly. “I am going for Chris and for a physician.”

  Leeton nodded shortly, removing his helmet even as David raced for the door. Dustin pushed herself up on her elbows, her face pale and her eyes unnaturally bright.

  “I am fine, really I am,” she insisted.

  David nodded once, glancing at Leeton before quitting the room. As he moved past Marcus and Edward in the antechamber, trying desperately to save young Trent’s life, one look at the mess told David that the efforts would be in vain. A major vessel had been breached and the poor young man’s life was slipping away. David paused a moment, watching their attempts, and he was gripped with utter contempt for Ralph and John.

  “How’s Dustin?” Edward managed to ask, up to his elbows in blood.

  “It’s long and fairly deep, but not too serious,” he replied. “I am going for the physician and for Christopher now. Bolt this damn door after I leave.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer before he was gone, tearing down the hall with the rage of the devil filling him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Christopher returned close to dawn, having no idea that anything was amiss until he approached his apartments and saw the bloodstains on the floor. Terror seized him, even as he raced the last several yards and saw a dozen soldiers guarding his door. Without a word or a glance, he shoved into his apartments, his eyes wide with fear.

  David was near the door, his sword drawn in reaction to his brother’s violent entry. When he saw who it was, the sword clattered to the floor.

  “Chris!” he exclaimed. “Where in the hell have you been? I have been looking….”

  “What happened?” Christopher only wanted his questions answered. “Why is there blood in the hall?”

  “We were ambushed,” David said gravely. “Ralph lay in wait with John’s troops out in the hall and jumped us when we returned from supper. They killed the six guards that were protecting your apartments and stored the bodies in the maid’s alcove at the other end of the wing.”

  Christopher’s face washed with a menacing expression. “Bastards,” he hissed. “Where is Dustin? Is she well?”

  “She took a blow to the leg,” David said, hoping his brother wouldn’t tear him apart in his grief. “A decent cut that bled a great deal, but the physician stitched her up and gave her something for the pain. She is sleeping.”

  Christopher’s face went from sheer anger to chalky pale very rapidly. He stared at David a moment.

  “But she’s all right?” he rasped. “ ’Twas not a severe wound?”

  “Nay, not overly,” David replied. “The doctor says there was no great damage, though she will have a scar.”

  Christopher could hardly catch his breath, so great his shock and grief. His gaze wandered from his brother and traveled to the closed bedchamber door, so incredibly furious at John and Ralph but immensely grateful for Dustin’s life. He took a moment to glance about the room, noting the blood on the floor.

  “What is that?” he demanded, pointing. “Is that my wife’s blood?”

  “It is Trent’s,” Marcus said from his chair in the corner, his head resting on his hand wearily.

  “Trent? What happened? Where is he?” Christopher asked insistently.

  “He is dead.” Marcus’ hand fell to his lap, his face lined with fatigue. “He took a blow to the neck and bled to death, right there on your floor. We tried to help him but there was nothing we could do.”

  Christopher’s eyes washed with sorrow for the knight’s death. Even though he had not truly fought with the boy, Marcus thought a great deal of his cousin and, therefore, so did Christopher. He had seen him in practice for the tourney and knew the lad to be an aggressive and eager fighter.

  “I am sorry, Marcus,” he said softly. “I did not know the boy very well, but he was your blood and I am truly sorry for his death.”

  “As am I,” Marcus said hoarsely, averting his gaze.

  Christopher looked about again, at his bloodied and weary knights and at the blood on the floor, and was suddenly seized with a ferocious rage. Damn John and Ralph; would the bastards stop at nothing to destroy him? An attack against him was understandable, even welcomed, but to ambush his knights and wife in the very halls of Windsor was inexcusable. Christopher knew damn well that Ralph had convinced John the undertaking would be a success, revenge for the pounding Christopher had dealt Ralph that afternoon.

  Instead of going to the bedchamber as expected, Christopher whirled and stormed to the front door. David, Edward and Leeton leapt out to stop him.

  “Where are you going?” David demanded.

  “Where do you think, little brother?” Christopher snapped. “This time they have gone too far. They have wounded my wife and killed one of my knights, and I will avenge myself on them. They have played with fire and now they shall be burned.”

  “Nay, Chris.” David grabbed him by the arms as Edward wedged himself between his liege and the door. “Do not you see? That is what they want. John is looking for an excuse to dispose of you and an attack on the prince would sentence you to a life in the dungeons. Not even Richard could release you.”

  “John is not looking to dispose of me; he is looking to destroy everything that I am,” Christopher raged. “I cannot allow this crime to go unpunished.”

  “You can and you must.” Marcus was up, standing next to David. “John is above the law, unanswerable to all except God and Richard. You cannot touch the man, Chris. You know that.”

  Christopher was shaking with fury, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I can still kill Ralph.”

  “John would have you executed for murder,” Marcus said evenly. “You are not thinking clearly, Chris. Go in and see your wife and calm yourself.”

  Christopher’s eyes met Marcus’ and David’s. He gnashed his teeth with the helplessness he was feeling.

  “Christ,” he muttered. “I command the crown’s troops and I can do nothing against an attack on my family.”

  “Go in and see Dustin,” David repeated Marcus’ suggestion.

  Reluctantly, he moved from the door, his great body tensed. The knights dispersed themselves, weary from the day’s events.

  “Who shielded my wife?” he asked, as he moved for the bedchamber door.

  “I did,” Marcus said. “And then she shielded herself. Do you know the woman can use a mace, and use it well?
She felled three soldiers herself, if you can believe it. I was amazed.”

  Christopher looked at him without surprise. “I can believe it,” he said.

  “What about Richard, Chris?” David asked. “Have you heard anything else?”

  “Nay,” Christopher replied, his hand on the latch. “He is missing and the justices meet today after the tournament to discuss the future of Richard’s government. John, I am sure, is claiming two victories this night.”

  “Two?” David asked.

  “Aye,” Christopher nodded absently. “The attack on my knights and my wife, and the vanishing of his brother.”

  Edward and Leeton had not heard of Richard’s disappearance, and they turned astonished faces to their liege. He acknowledged them with a wave of the hand.

  “Marcus will tell all,” he told them quietly. “I will see to my wife now.”

  Christopher quietly opened the chamber door and entered, shutting the panel softly behind him. It was dark inside and his gaze found his wife upon the great bed. Dustin was asleep, snoring softly and buried under a mound of covers. Dustin’s maid sat by the glowing hearth, rising to her feet when she saw Christopher.

  “How is she?” he whispered, his eyes on his wife’s sleeping face.

  “She fell asleep not an hour ago, my lord,” the woman replied. “The physician gave her a medicine for the pain but she fought sleep, waiting for you to return.”

  He nodded briefly and dismissed the woman. With grunts of relief and fatigue, he stripped off his armor, peeling off his clothes until he was nude. As he moved around the bed, he noticed the puppies sleeping soundly on a pile of rags and he skirted around them quietly.

  Dustin was on her back, both arms over the top of her head. He was flooded with relief as he sat on the bed beside her, knowing her fate could have been that of young Trent. He so tremendously thankful that a slice to her leg was all she had suffered.

  He reached out and stroked her hair and touched her silk cheek. It began to occur to him that bringing her here to London had not been a wise choice. He had convinced himself that he would be able to protect her better were she with him, but that had been far from the truth. Now, with Richard’s fate unknown and John’s imminent plans to usurp the throne, he knew that she would be safer at Lioncross Abbey. They would all be safer, the knights included. But if John planned to conquer Richard’s holdings and his loyalists, he would have to do it keep by keep, and Lioncross would surely be at the top of the list. Christopher, as commander of the crown’s troops, would find himself fighting John at every turn.

  He sighed, caressing her head tenderly. Mayhap she would not be safe at Lioncross; if not, then where could he send her? Certainly not Nottingham, nor Lohrham Forest. Then a thought occurred to him; Marcus’ new keep was in the north, near York. That was nearly as far north as one could get, terribly far away from London.

  Marcus could not fight, not with that arm. But he could protect Dustin and defend his keep from any attack. And if Christopher reinforced Marcus’ troops with two hundred more crown troops it would provide ample protection for his wife. But, Christ, he didn’t want to be away from her, not even for a minute. He knew now that keeping her here at Windsor was entirely selfish on his part; he could not protect her any better here, and tonight’s incident was a prime example.

  But to send her with Marcus… his thoughts lingered on the obvious. The two of them, alone in the north, with Christopher far away… Marcus was greatly attracted to Dustin, still. Christopher knew that. He had to admit that he didn’t trust Marcus not to make another move on his wife and if he were honest with himself, perhaps he didn’t trust Dustin not to resist. They were the foolish thoughts of a weary man and, for the moment, he pushed it all aside. He didn’t want to think about it anymore this night.

  George jumped onto the bed, his beady little monkey eyes blinking rapidly at Christopher as he crawled around Dustin’s head and settled himself on the top of the pillow. Christopher sighed and moved over his wife, snuggling into the bed beside her and being mindful not to jostle her leg. He knew from experience how painful such wounds could be.

  With two hours until dawn, he slept.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The morning dawned bright and clear, unusual for the time of year but very pleasing to the occupants of Windsor. There was a cool breeze lifting the banners about the tournament field as the grounds came alive with knights and servants, groomsmen and squires, all preparing for the exciting day ahead.

  Christopher had risen and bathed in the antechamber so as to not wake his wife. His squire and two other young boys sat in the corner polishing the rust from his armor. George, ever curious, had followed Christopher into the room and sat perched on a chair as the baron bathed, screaming a monkey scream when Christopher flicked water at him and drawing laughter from the boys.

  Christopher donned his breeches and heavy linen shirt, pulling on his boots, as one of Dustin’s maids brought the morning meal into the room, followed closely by David. His brother had brought his own squire and soon four boys sat in the corner polishing two sets of armor.

  “How is Dustin?” David yawned, breaking apart a hunk of cheese.

  “Still asleep,” Christopher replied, drinking a warmed mulled wine brew. “What about you? Did you get any sleep?”

  “About an hour,” David replied. “Marcus probably didn’t sleep at all. He is devastated with his cousin’s passing.”

  Christopher grunted in sympathy, sipping at his cup. “David, I made some decisions last night,” he said. “With the uncertainty of Richard’s future, I have decided to leave Windsor. I am afraid that last night was only a foretaste of what is to come.”

  David nodded. “That is wise,” he said. “Dustin shouldn’t be here with John and Ralph on the prowl. They came for her last night, you know. She belongs back at Lioncross.”

  “She’s not going back to Lioncross,” Christopher said, noting the expression of surprise on his brother’s face. “David, when John goes through with his plans to seize the throne, and have no doubt that he will, Richard’s loyalists will be his first targets. Lioncross is too close to London to be safe for my wife.”

  “So… what?” David wanted to know. “Where will you send her?”

  Christopher took a healthy drink of his brew. “With Marcus to Somerhill.”

  David eyed him warily. “Chris, what are you talking about?”

  Christopher sat forward, his expression grim. “David, John is raising a mercenary army and the justices believe he intends to forcibly seize Richard’s holdings, especially now that Richard is missing,” he said in a lowered tone. “Obviously, if that happens, you and I, and all of Richard’s troops will move to halt him and civil war will ensue. I intend that Dustin should be as far away as possible, with Marcus, at Somerhill.”

  “Marcus will not be fighting with us?” David demanded, his emotions running high as usual.

  “With his arm useless? I would not allow it,” Christopher said.

  “But you will allow him to protect your wife, to be with her day in and day out, while you defend Richard’s throne?” David hissed. “You may save your king’s throne, but you may also lose your wife in the process. Think on it, Chris. Marcus loves Dustin and in your absence, you know what could happen.”

  “It will not,” Christopher snapped quietly, eyeing the squires in the corner. “Dustin is my wife and she loves me. I will have to trust them both, David. What else can I do?”

  “Send her to Lohrham. Or to Bath,” David insisted. “Jesus, Chris, do not send her into the wilds with Marcus. You shall never get her back.”

  Christopher sat back in his chair, his expression icy. “I have made my decision, David. I must do what’s best for my wife.”

  David acted as if it was his wife being sent away. “You are wrong.”

  Before they could argue the subject further, the door to the bedchamber opened. The men turned to see Dustin standing in the doorway.

  “Yo
u are back,” she said, her focus on Christopher. “I thought I heard your voice.”

  “Dustin,” Christopher said as he got out of his chair. “You shouldn’t be up, sweetheart.”

  She met him halfway, throwing herself into his arms. He hugged her deeply and then tried to swing her into his arms, but she protested with a grunt of pain.

  “I am sorry,” he said gravely, lowering her back to the ground. “I did not mean to hurt you, sweet.”

  “I am fine, really,” she said, but she was pale. Then she glanced over at David. “Good morn, David.”

  Before David could answer her, Christopher lifted her gingerly. “Back to bed with you, lady. That leg requires rest to heal.”

  Her brow furrowed. “The physician said it is not too deep and I do not feel like staying in bed. The tournament is today.”

  “No tournament for you,” he said firmly, swinging her back into the bedchamber.

  “But, Chris,” she protested, gripping his neck tightly to prevent him from laying her down on the bed. “My leg will heal. The physician stitched it and wrapped it tightly, and I can walk on it. I must get ready for the tournament.”

  David listened to them argue, hearing Dustin challenge and complain and cajole in response to Christopher’s firm denials. When Dustin got mad and called him a less-than-ladylike name, David shot a reproachful glare to the gigglers in the corner. The sun rose steadily and the fight ensued, much to David’s amusement.

  As he sat there listening to his brother’s wife rant, it occurred to him how much this woman had become a part of their lives. Not just Christopher’s, but his as well. It was as if she had always been a part of their lives and he almost could not remember what it was like before she graced them with her light.

  His infatuation with her had banked to respectful appreciation, but he had to admit he was fiercely protective of her when it came to Marcus. Mayhap it was jealousy, but whatever the case, he didn’t trust Marcus where Dustin was concerned and he thought his brother’s intention to send Dustin north with the new baron to be foolish.