David led them all to a delightful bakery on the outskirts of town. All seven of them entered the small, warm establishment and Dustin proceeded to eat two sticky buns, two chunks of hot bread with apple butter, plus a slice of dark bread with butter, nutmeg and honey. The more she would eat, the more the fat baker would feed her.
Since she was so full, Dustin and Deborah wholeheartedly agreed to visit the popular dressmaker on the other side of the Thames. Christopher wasn’t thrilled about taking a ferry across the frozen river, but agreed to keep her happy. They proceeded to the river’s edge and he wrapped her in his arms to keep her warm as they waited for the river boat.
“Now that you are drunk on bread and sweets, you intend to spend all of my money?” he teased her.
She nodded firmly. “All of yours, and all of David’s, and all of Edward’s, and…”
Edward shook his head. “I will have my own wife for that soon enough. Leave me out of this.”
“But your wife is only three years old, Edward,” Dustin said. “I must prepare you for what is to come.”
He snorted. “By the time I marry her, I will probably die of heart failure the first time she spends an extravagant amount.”
They laughed and joked as they waited, but Deborah seemed distracted. Finally, she turned to her eldest brother.
“Where is Marcus?” she asked.
“At Windsor,” he replied, careful of what he said. “The last I saw, he was working with a group of squires in the jousting field.”
“Why didn’t he come?” Deborah asked.
Dustin’s mood sank again, but she said nothing. Christopher felt her press closer against him. “Because I did not tell him we were going into town,” he told his sister. “He’s very busy, Deborah.”
Deborah sighed a regretful, pretty sigh and looked over her shoulder again as if expecting Marcus to ride up any moment.
The trip to the dressmaker’s had been an expensive one for Christopher. Dustin had purchased one surcoat that the woman had ready-made, a surcoat a noblewoman had ordered and neglected to pay for, and ordered two more for herself and for Deborah. Christopher not only found himself paying for his wife, but for his sister.
“When are you going to find yourself a husband?” he asked Deborah with feigned irritation. “You are an expensive habit.”
She grinned coyly. “No one has asked for my hand yet, my lord.”
“Hmm,” he eyed her critically. “I believe I will have to sell you off to the highest bidder to recoup my losses.”
“I doubt there would be anyone who would pay such a price for me,” she said.
“Aye, there is,” Dustin said, knowing Deborah meant Marcus but not wishing to go into it any further. “We simply have to find him.”
Deborah blushed prettily. “I have a suggestion.”
Christopher wasn’t oblivious to what his sister was inferring; he’d known she had her eye on Marcus for months but Deborah was too much of a lady to broach the subject. Her latest words had him eyeing her warily, fearful of Dustin’s reaction if Deborah’s suggestion was going to be Marcus. He decided it was best all around to simply skirt the subject.
“You will forgive me if I do not ask for your suggestion,” he said. “It is my duty to find you a husband and I plan to select the wealthiest old man I can find so you can spend your days tending his gout, wiping his dribble, and turning all of his coffers over to me. How does that sound?”
As he’d hoped, the women were properly distracted. Dustin burst out into laughter while Deborah, grinning, was mortified.
“You would not dare do that, would you?” she asked fearfully.
He cocked a stern eyebrow. “If you keep costing me so much money, I will have no choice.”
Deborah looked worried, eyeing the bundled dress she held. “Then you can return the dress and get your money back. I do not want to be a burden.”
He wasn’t about to return the dress. He pinched her chin lightly. “You are not a burden,” he told her, “but it is more than likely that you fear I really will select a fat old husband for you who lies in bed and farts all night long.”
Dustin giggled loudly and even Deborah was smiling. “Like David does?” she asked innocently.
David, having stayed out of the conversation to this point, heard her insult. “What is this?” he said, outraged. “Who told you such lies?”
“They are not lies,” Edward said from his other side. “I have seen it for myself. A fearsome and pungent talent you have, David.”
David slugged Edward, who nearly toppled off his charger. It set the stage for laughing ladies and insults being slung all around the entire ride back to the castle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Back at Windsor, the hour was rapidly approaching for supper and Dustin decided that she would attend her first formal meal in over a week. Christopher was doubtful as to whether or not she was strong enough, mentally and physically, but he did not want to deny her. She seemed happy as she and Deborah admired her new surcoat and fussed over each other as they experimented with different hairstyles, and he was deeply relieved that she was returning to her happy self.
There was a knock on the antechamber door and Christopher left his wife and sister to go and open it. Marcus barged into the room, dressed finely in his new tunic bearing his coat-of-arms.
“Well? What do you think?” he demanded, turning around so Christopher could see the whole thing.
Christopher was wary of the man’s presence because of his wife’s attitude, but he admired the crest just the same.
“Magnificent,” he said, stepping back to study it better. The colors were a crimson field with black and gold, the silhouette of a massive bear with a crown around his right arm and a sword in his left hand. “Very impressive.”
“Dud is wearing his tonight,” Marcus said. “And Sir Stephen Marion has pledged to me this day, of which I am extremely pleased.”
Christopher nodded. “The man is a fine knight, very strong,” he agreed, wondering if Dustin could hear Marcus’ voice.
“And do you know who else has pledged to me? Sir Dalton le Crughnan,” Marcus said proudly.
“Le Crughnan? Christ, Marcus, he’s the biggest man in England. How in the hell did you earn his loyalty?” Christopher demanded.
“I bested him this afternoon in a fight,” Marcus said, a huge smile on his lips. “He said he would only serve a man who could beat him in a fair battle, and I did. He’s mine.”
Christopher shook his head. “Good Christ, I will never again say a bad thing about you lest le Crughnan come after me to avenge you. Hell, I do not even know if I could have bested him.”
“He is not such a fearsome animal now that I have spent some time with him, but Dud is scared to death of the man,” Marcus said.
Christopher snorted. “Me, too. He’s a giant.”
Marcus grinned, glancing past him to the open bedchamber door. “I hear your wife is up and about. Glad to hear it.”
Christopher looked quickly at the door and moved to close it. “She and Deborah are preparing for supper,” he said. “We shall see you in the grand dining hall this evening.”
Marcus nodded. “I am relieved she is feeling better, Chris. How is her mood?”
Christopher cleared his throat, wondering how to answer him. “Rotten, at times,” he admitted. “She is still quite affected by the whole thing, Marcus, so do not take offense too quickly if she….well, if she isn’t acting herself.”
Marcus agreed, wishing he could at least speak to Dustin. He had really rushed to their apartments to show her his new crest and hear her praise, but that would have to wait until supper.
“Well, I suppose I had better gather my men,” he said, retreating to the front door. “I shall need them to beat the women off me now that I have established my own house. I suppose I am considered quite a catch.”
Christopher gave him a lopsided smile. “Christ, why? Get out of here, you arrogant whelp.”
&
nbsp; “You will help me select my wife, Chris,” Marcus said. “Considering you landed the most beautiful, desirable woman in the realm, I will trust your opinion.”
“Choose your own wife, Burton,” Christopher opened the door for him. “I shall not be blamed for the poor woman’s misery.”
He closed the door on Marcus and turned to see Deborah and Dustin exiting the bedchamber. Deborah’s face was tight with emotion.
“So he wants a wife, does he?” she said. “Why didn’t you mention me? You are so eager to get rid of me.”
“Deborah, I am not a matchmaker,” Christopher said firmly. “You and Marcus will have to form your own relationship without my help.”
Deborah looked decidedly displeased, but Dustin’s face was cold. Christopher noticed her expression and sought to get rid of his sister for the moment.
“Go dress for dinner,” he told his sister. “Dustin and I will come and retrieve you in an hour or so.”
Deborah quit the apartments with an injured ego while Dustin merely turned back for the bedchamber. Christopher followed.
She was dressed in a long shift, fumbling with her new surcoat in preparation for wearing it.
“Are you still angry with Marcus?” he asked. “He shall be sitting with us at supper tonight.”
“For Deborah’s sake, I will tolerate him,” she said. “Help me with this surcoat, please.”
He held the surcoat up for her and she slipped the luscious gold brocade on, smoothing it over her trim torso as he did the stays. Christopher stood back a moment, watching her as she observed herself in the mirror and he let out an appreciative sigh.
“Christ, you look marvelous,” he said with approval. “The surcoat was well worth the price.”
Dustin gazed back at herself; the surcoat clung to her like a second skin, the wide, scoop neckline barely off her shoulders and the sleeves long and bell-shaped at the wrist. The skirt was long and narrow, emphasizing her figure to a fault. She looked like a golden goddess and Christopher was growing lustier by the minute.
When she moved to put her hair back, he stopped her. “No,” he said, putting her hands back to her side. Still looking at her reflection in the mirror, he ran his fingers through her hair, playing with it and combing it, until it was a glittering erotic mass. He pushed a healthy portion of it over her right shoulder, allowing it to cascade over her breast and hang past her waist, while the rest of her hair hung down her back to her buttocks.
She closed her eyes as he touched her, her heart pounding with excitement and her breathing growing rapid. She loved it when he played with her hair, relishing his touch. He stroked and touched and played to the point when he was finished, she was panting for him painfully and he buried his face in her neck. His arms went about her and she relaxed into him, feeling his hot mouth kiss and lick at her neck.
“Chris,” she moaned.
“What?” he mumbled into her neck.
“We cannot… well, we cannot do anything and you are driving me insane,” she murmured. “Stop this torture, husband.”
He stopped only to spin her around to face him, his hands gripping her arms and his face dark with passion. “Kiss me,” he demanded.
She grinned, hearing her own plea in his words. She kissed him long and hot and feverishly, a kiss of pure desire.
“Now who is torturing whom?” he asked in a raspy voice. “I cannot touch you for at least six weeks, the midwife told me so.”
“I know,” Dustin replied. “She told me as well.”
They looked regretfully at each other for a moment before he hugged her briefly and pulled away, preparing to dress for supper.
“Do not wear that surcoat again until I can do something about it,” he instructed her firmly, then mumbled more to himself. “Christ, this will be the longest six weeks of my life.”
*
William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, and William Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, were their supper companions that evening. Dustin sat between Christopher and David, her husband entirely occupied by the chancellor and the marshal. David did his best to keep her entertained, but she was restless and out of sorts. Deborah sat on David’s other side and Marcus next to her.
Dustin was determined to ignore Marcus. She could not bring herself to look at him, knowing how he felt, knowing he was the reason she fell down the stairs. If he had only come up when she had called to him, she wouldn’t have descended the stairs. Aye, she blamed him, although she knew deep in her heart that it wasn’t his fault. Yet she had to find a focus for her grief, and Marcus made a convenient whipping post.
All of their friends had made a grand fuss over Dustin’s appearance and she tried hard to be gracious. But her patience wore thin quickly and she was grateful when the meal commenced. After a fine supper of meats and winter vegetables, the king’s minstrels began the entertainment with a slow folk ballad and soon the floor was filled with dancing couples. Dustin watched, remembering her mother had taught her the dance when she was young, and suddenly wishing her husband would dance with her.
Marcus made a number of attempts to start a conversation with her, but she would respond with one-word answers or not at all. Frustrated, he resorted to conversing with Leeton and Edward, and kept his back to Deborah, which upset her immensely.
Ralph was on the dance floor with a very young, pretty redhead, dancing lightly. Dustin didn’t even realize he was there until he stopped in the middle of the song right in front of her. Christopher, aware of Ralph’s attentions on Dustin, turned menacingly to the sheriff. If the man so much as mentioned their loss, he would kill him where he stood.
“I am surprised to see you out and about, Lady de Lohr,” he said thinly. “From what we had heard, you were near on your deathbed.”
Dustin met Ralph’s gaze steadily. “Nay, sire. As you can see, I am well.”
Ralph had imbibed a bit too much wine. He pushed his dancing partner away and leaned forward on the table. “Call me not sire, my lady. Relatives should not be so formal.”
Dustin looked confused as well as irritated. “What?”
Ralph laughed low in his throat. “Are you feigning ignorance or are you truly unaware of our ties?”
Christopher stood up. “Stop harassing my wife, Fitz Walter.”
Ralph smiled openly. “I am not harassing her, truly, de Lohr. Your wife and I are related by blood.”
“My wife would never be related to the likes of you,” Christopher growled. “If you value your life, you will leave this table posthaste.”
Ralph stood back from the table but he didn’t leave. “I can see you are puzzled, so allow me to explain. Lady Dustin, your mother was from Nottingham, was she not?”
Dustin was seized with horror. How did he know that? By not answering, she answered him completely.
Ralph’s smile was back. “You see, my lady, your grandsire and my father are brothers. I did not know until I visited Nottingham last month. Your grandsire is most anxious to see his only granddaughter.”
Christopher slammed his big fists down on the table. “You are a liar, Fitz Walter.”
“Not at all,” Ralph insisted. “Lady Dustin’s mother, Lady Mary Fitz Walter Barringdon, is Lord Bruce Fitz Walter’s daughter. Lord Bruce’s younger brother is my father, Charles.”
Dustin went white and she thought she might literally become sick. Ralph could only beam at the two shocked people.
“We’re related, de Lohr,” he crowed happily. “Isn’t that amazing?”
Christopher was furious. He pointed a thick finger at Ralph, his manner slow and deliberate. “You will stay away from my wife, and you will stay away from me. I want nothing to do with you, you bastard. Get out of my sight.”
“Anything you say, cousin,” Ralph said flippantly, then gazed at Dustin. “Lord Bruce sends his love and regards, my lady. He hopes you will visit him soon.”
Christopher moved menacingly but William Marshal grabbed him to halt any advance. “No, Chris, not here,” he said quie
tly. “He is baiting you. Let him go.”
Ralph flitted away, leaving everyone at the table shocked and bewildered. Christopher, still inflamed, looked at Dustin.
“You didn’t tell me your mother was a Fitz Walter,” he said sharply.
Dustin looked horrified. “ ’Tis a common name,” she choked. “I didn’t know…Oh, Lord….”
Then it is true. Christopher regained his seat and quickly took his wife’s hand in a reassuring gesture. He fought to calm himself.
“I am sorry, sweetheart, I did not mean to snap at you,” he squeezed her hand. “Calm down. Eat your sweets.”
Much to his sorrow, she started to cry. He immediately stood up and drew her with him, conveying his apologies to the chancellor and the marshal, promising to return shortly. He would comfort his wife first.
He never received much of a chance to do so. By the time they reached their chamber, a messenger from John was waiting for them. As much as he wanted to ignore the summons, Christopher’s curiosity had the better of him.
*
“Did you tell them?” John asked from his vantage point.
“I did,” Ralph said, he was so damned pleased with himself. “Quite a bit of luck, wouldn’t you say, sire?”
“Indeed,” John gazed off across the room to the big table where Richard’s loyalists were gathered. “I see her reaction was as expected.”
“Of course it was,” Ralph replied. “ ’Twas only by chance I discovered the information myself. I know she had no idea that I was her second cousin.”
John glanced at him. “You look nothing like lovely Lady de Lohr,” he said. “She must take after her father’s family. Now tell me, sheriff, now that the entire de Lohr camp is unnerved, what shall we do about it?”
“Do, sire? What do you mean?” Ralph sat down.
“What I mean is, we planned several months ago to kidnap Lady de Lohr and spirit her off to St. Donat’s Castle,” John said shortly. “With the most recent developments, it is more imperative than ever that de Lohr is put out of the way. My mercenary army is even now in Nottingham with your uncle preparing to strike Gloucester and it will only be a matter of time before de Lohr mobilizes the crown troops. I want Lady de Lohr taken away and hidden for safekeeping.”
The de Lohr Dynasty Page 57