The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “You are planning to go to Nottingham, are you not?” Ralph said. “ ’Twould be suspicious if you were both to vanish at the same time. She either goes before or after you.”

  “Ralph, in light of the information we received this day, I leave for Nottingham tomorrow,” John said irritably. “With Richard a captive of Leopold and Emperor Henry, he is completely helpless and I can rule England before the summer is out if I launch my army now to gain control of his holdings. De Lohr will do everything in his power to stop me, and I want his wife to be my secret weapon. I care not when she goes, just make sure you follow through with it.”

  “I promised you I would, sire,” Ralph said softly. “But ’tis the heart of winter now, and Wales will be hellish to travel through.”

  John let out an annoyed hiss. “Then take her somewhere else, Ralph, or do I have to do your thinking for you? Damnation, I shall take her to Nottingham with me and she will be in good company with her grandfather.”

  Ralph shrugged. “Verily, ’twould make better sense,” he said.

  John liked the idea. “De Lohr would be busy fighting your armies at Gloucester or wherever they go, never dreaming his wife was with you, holed up in Nottingham. For her to be with you would be so logical, he shall think it illogical.”

  John’s gaze lingered on Ralph. “For months now we have kept a low profile, building my army with Philip’s wealth, the stupid bastard. He thinks he controls me by it, when in fact, I may turn on him like an ungrateful son.” He sat opposite Ralph, drawing forth his gaudy, gleaming dirk and inspecting it absently. Suddenly, he tossed it sharply and it sailed, blade first, into the banister of the balcony.

  Ralph eyed the blade, ’twas only inches from his shoulder. “I look forward to leading your armies, my lord. Sir Dennis and I will be an unbeatable team.”

  John watched his blade quiver, his thin face thoughtful. “Victory is all that I ask. And de Lohr’s defeat.”

  Ralph nodded slowly. “Success will be ours, my lord.”

  “Send word to de Lohr,” John commanded quietly. “In fact, send word to all of my brother’s loyal men. It is time to put the last nail in my brother’s coffin, so to speak. I have need to speak with his loyalists, and especially de Lohr.”

  Ralph carried out the prince’s directive without another word.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Marcus and Dud were in charge of Dustin while Christopher answered the prince’s summons. Reluctantly, Marcus had come simply because Christopher had no one else to turn to because most of his knights were too drunk or missing to attend his wife. Marcus was still smarting from her rebuff earlier and he wanted to return to his bed. He hadn’t even fully dressed, only taking the time for breeches, a shirt and heavy boots.

  Dustin had been asleep several hours and, a little after midnight, Dud complained of a sour stomach and left the antechamber to seek relief. Marcus played with the monkey for a while before ending up pacing listlessly in front of the windows.

  She was angry with him, he knew it. He felt that if he could talk to her, reason with her, then mayhap she would see things clearly. He had spent the week of her infirmary convincing himself that loving Dustin de Lohr was a waste of energy, and vowed to move forward and put her from his mind. It was growing easier bit by bit, day by day, and he knew he would eventually be successful in chasing the woman from his mind. Already he could look at her without feeling the strange, fluttering sensation in his chest.

  But he needed to speak with her to settle the air between them. With Christopher gone, he was alone with her and he wasn’t sure when he would have another opportunity to talk to her, just the two of them. His courage rose and fell until finally, he bolstered the nerve to open the bedchamber door. He hoped she wouldn’t be angry at him for waking her, but he felt strongly that he needed to do this.

  She was curled up at the edge of the bed, and he could see that she was sleeping nude. Familiar feelings raced through his veins, but he stopped them angrily and moved forward toward the bed.

  Bedclothes were bunched all around her, covering her most intimate parts but leaving little to the imagination. Marcus took a deep breath, trying to keep his mind on what he had come for. The room around them was pitch dark, the only faint light coming from the dying fire that hardly radiated beyond the hearth. Everything else was blackness as he knelt beside the bed.

  He tried to speak her name but he choked. Trying again, he leaned close to her. “Dustin?”

  She twitched a bit and he tried once more. “Dustin, wake up,” he whispered.

  She sighed deeply and stretched, and his mouth went agape as the bedclothes fell away from her magnificent breasts. Marcus almost staggered back. Jesus, I shouldn’t be here! But he forced himself to stay. He had to talk to her, he admitted to himself, to ease his own conscience.

  “Dustin?” he whispered smiling. “ ’Tis me, Mar…..”

  Her arm suddenly snaked up and grabbed him around the neck, unbalancing him in his crouch so that he toppled over on her.

  “You are back,” she murmured sleepily, latching onto his earlobe. “I missed you.”

  Marcus’ mind went into failure. Before he realized it, his arms were going about her, responding to her. He knew he should yank away from her, at least tell her who it was she was kissing, but he could not force the words from his mouth. Guilt exploded within him but at the same time, desire and lust such as he had never known flooded him like a wildfire and he ceased to think, like a rational, moral being. All he could think of was her, in his arms, as he had always wanted.

  In his blind lust, he was rough with her. The fact that it was so dark in the room worked in his favor because she could not see who it was and he had yet to utter a word. His mouth was all over her, tasting, licking, sucking and she panted heavily in response to his less than gentle ministrations.

  His clothes were coming off, she was helping him. When his broad, bare chest met with her peaked nipples, he groaned so low in his throat that he rattled his own teeth. Dustin laughed softly, pulling him against her.

  He could not seem to touch her fast enough, every inch of her skin covered with his hands or his mouth. His lips suckled her nipples until they were raw, but she loved every moment of the sweet torture and Marcus’ mind was a black void, neither feeling nor hearing anything but Dustin beneath his hands.

  He forged a trail down her flat belly to her most intimate center, trying to be gentle with her but not being able to control his want or his shaking. When his mouth came to bear on the pink folds hidden behind the soft blond curls, Dustin nearly came off the bed with pure passion. Her fingers delved into his hair, pulling at it insistently as she encouraged him onward. His tongue was wild and wicked, driving her mad with sweet torture as he savagely orchestrated her taut little bud. His hands, his huge hands, never left her breasts.

  His tongue probed her passage, tasting her with all of the hunger he had felt for her. He was beyond rationality, he knew exactly what he was doing and who he was doing it to, but he suddenly didn’t care anymore. Had Christopher walked through the door at that moment, Marcus would have fought him to the death. Some things in this life were worth dying for, and she was one of them.

  When he could stand it no longer, he shoved himself between her legs and drew her knees up, positioning his great shaft against her orifice. Dustin had him by the hair.

  “Chris,” she whispered. “We shouldn’t do this. The midwife said….”

  He cut her off by thrusting headlong into her, driving himself in the full long length and Dustin let escape a moan of utter rapture. Marcus was unstoppable; he drove in to her again and again, feeling her tightness like nothing else he had ever known, knowing indeed this would be the greatest mistake of his life but knowing in the same breath that he would die a contented man. He would live on this moment the rest of his life.

  When he erupted, it was through clenched teeth in the greatest explosion of pleasure. He pulled Dustin to him fiercely, holding her with
the most reverent of touches. He held her for the longest time, caressing her, kissing her beautiful hair, until he felt her relax and he knew she had fallen asleep.

  He was already beyond the limits of safety, for Dustin’s sake. She thought he was Christopher and would be entirely innocent of her husband’s wrath, but wrath she would receive. The hardest thing Marcus ever had to do in his young life was let her go.

  He dressed quietly, watching Dustin sleep peacefully, wondering if she would ever realize what had happened this night. He hoped that one day she would, and he furthermore hoped she wouldn’t hate him for his weakness. But he had done more than taste her, he had feasted and for that, he would go to his grave satisfied.

  He would never be rid of her now and it would slowly kill him to see her living her life with Christopher. There was only one way to be clear of her beautiful, face forever, as much, as the thought pained him. Yet for his sanity, he knew he must. But his moment in time with her would linger on him forever.

  With a long glance, Marcus Burton quit the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Christopher paced the floor of John’s audience chamber calmly enough, but inside he was as cagey as a cat. He was almost frantic to know why John had called an audience of Richard’s loyalists, he and the justices, and a few close advisors of the absent king. Yet even as he wondered, he knew the reason and his stomach tightened in response, word must have come about Richard. He didn’t know why his instincts told him that, but he knew it just the same. All of the justices sat or stood in relative silence, waiting in the chill of the ornate audience hall, their minds riveted to the same thought, they knew why they were here, too.

  William Marshal watched Christopher pace, his aged face creased with fatigue and worry this night. Whatever the reason they had been summoned, it could not be a good one and he would not let his concern show.

  “Would you sit down, Chris? You are going to wear a hole in the damn floor,” he said quietly.

  Christopher eyed William, slowing his movement but not sitting. William raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I realize that you believe sitting in John’s presence is a sign of submission, but force yourself,” he said with suppressed sarcasm, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “You are making me nervous.”

  Christopher continued to eye him doubtfully but did as the elder man asked and took a seat next to him. William relaxed back into his chair, eyeing Christopher’s stiff body with faint amusement. He shook his head and smiled; Christopher hated John more than any of them, and for good reason, and was preparing to shoot to his feet the moment the prince entered the room. He might as well still be standing for all of the relaxing he was doing on his arse.

  “Tell me, how is your wife?” William asked.

  “Well, sire,” Christopher replied. “Her appetite and vigor have returned, thankfully.”

  William nodded. “Well and good,” he eyed Christopher. “Any thoughts on returning her to Lioncross?”

  Christopher shrugged vaguely. “Thoughts, of course, but no action.”

  William nudged the big man with an elbow. “You’d miss her too much, wouldn’t you?”

  Christopher lifted his shoulders again, not meeting William’s knowing gaze. “I’d rather have her here with me.”

  William laughed softly; Christopher was not a man to admit attachment to anything or anyone other than Richard, even though it was painfully obvious his wife had usurped their king in the Defender’s heart. Yet before William could goad him further, a small door behind the throne swung open and Ralph marched through. He hadn’t taken two steps when Christopher was on his feet, his huge body coiled with anticipation.

  Everyone rose out of pure protocol when John entered the room, waving benevolently at the group of men and followed by his closest advisors. Christopher eyed the small group of seedy, shady characters, even if they were some of England’s most noble blood. Bringing up the rear was none other than Sir Dennis le Londe.

  He spied Christopher and gave him a wolfish sort of smile. Christopher met the expression with an unreadable face, wishing he could get the man alone just long enough to snap his neck like kindling. They never had gotten along, merely tolerated one another because they were fighting for a common cause. Dennis was a devotee of Philip Augustus, as passionate about his king as Christopher was for Richard. Since Richard and Philip Augustus despised each other, it was only natural for Christopher and Dennis to feel the same way. What had happened in the tournament had not increased Christopher’s loathing, but simply reinforced it.

  John took his seat, adjusting his robes as a woman would fuss over her surcoat. The justices sat and waited patiently while John deliberately stalled, conferring with various men around him before finally clearing his throat and facing the expectant throng.

  “Loyal vassals of Richard,” he began. “I am afraid ’tis bad news I must give you. I received word from the continent today regarding Richard’s whereabouts and well-being and, I am sorry to say, the information is most disturbing.”

  Christopher braced himself mentally, not daring to glance at William Marshal but so wanting to. John continued.

  “On December 12, Richard was captured by forces of Duke Leopold. He and Emperor Henry are holding our king hostage and the inclination seems to be that they will demand a ransom for him, a ransom I am sure we as a country cannot meet.” He was relishing the open reaction of some of the justices. “As Richard’s heir, ’twould seem that England would be mine in that case.”

  William rose beside Christopher, eyeing John with disbelief. “Is Richard well?”

  “He is healthy and whole, as far as we are told,” John replied without a hint of distress.

  “Then ransom or not, sire, Richard is King of England until his demise,” William said evenly.

  “But England needs a king who is not being held prisoner,” John said, trying to control the temper that threatened to flare.

  “Richard cannot rule from a cell.”

  “Richard is king,” William repeated. “The throne of England is his. And it is quite possible that we may deliver the requested ransom; has any amount been discussed yet?”

  John’s jaw ticked. “Nay, not yet,” he replied quietly. “But surely it will be overwhelming and the royal coffers are already near to bone dry. There will be no way to pay it.”

  “Begging you pardon, sire, but how do you know?” William said. “Richard has many loyal, wealthy vassals and it is quite possible that the booty will be raised. Mayhap we should wait and see what Leopold and Henry demand before we draw any conclusions.”

  John was thoroughly agitated. Already the meeting was not favorable in his behalf, as he had hoped. William Longchamp, Richard’s chancellor, suddenly bolted from his seat, wringing his hands behind his back.

  “How dare they take Richard prisoner as if he were a common thief,” he raged. “By what right do they possess the power to take our sovereign hostage?”

  “They consider Richard a criminal, my lord, as you well know,” William said steadily, hoping Longchamp would calm down and realize now was not the place for dissension amongst Richard’s ranks. “We have known that for a long while now, yet it changes nothing. Leopold and Henry the Lion hold Richard and we must deal with them.”

  Christopher was surprisingly collected. He crossed his massive arms over his chest, listening to Marshal’s voice of reason.

  “Would an armed incursion be possible, my lord, were we to find out where they are holding him?” he asked William quietly.

  “I will not allow it.” John shot out of his chair, shaking his fist at Christopher. “You will not take an army into the empire to free my brother. Such acts could be deemed provocative and before we would realize it, we would be at war with the entire empire.”

  Christopher’s gaze was cool on John. “We are already at war with Henry, so to speak,” he said. “He has captured our king. Would you not consider that act the least bit provocative?”

  John’s
mouth worked furiously. “No armed excursion, de Lohr. I forbid it.”

  “You cannot,” Christopher responded flatly. “You have not the power. Only the justices can deny me.”

  The veins on John’s neck bulged. “But I am the bloody prince and heir to the throne. ’Tis well within my royal right to approve or deny the use of crown monies and power.”

  “The troops are mine, as pursuant to Richard’s decree,” Christopher reminded him, wondering how long it was going to be before John was having seizures on the floor. “Your use of them is limited.”

  “They are crown property and I am the crown,” John shot back. “But you are not king.” How Christopher loved to say that.

  “They are Richard’s troops and he has given the responsibility to me in his absence. Why must we go over this, sire? You read the missive and know full well the royal appointment. ’Tis not up for discussion, and certainly not with me. I am simply following Richard’s orders.”

  John was bordering on another fit and Ralph leaned closed to his liege, whispering in his ear until John visibly relaxed. All in the room watched as he regained his seat with mounting control over himself. He seemed to calm with amazing speed and Christopher wondered what in the hell Ralph said to him, but not really wanting to know.

  “My brother will never leave captivity alive, you know,” he said finally. “Philip is akin to this kidnapping and he and Henry want him dead, almost as badly as they want money. Mayhap they will decide that his death is more important to the good of the free world after all. ’Twill be interesting to see if there is a ransom demand at all.”

  A rapid change of attitude, no doubt to throw the justices off guard. Christopher raised an eyebrow at the prince, but William remained impassive.

  “Mayhap, sire,” he replied. “I suppose we will find out in due time. Was that all you wished to speak with us about?”