The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Another de Lohr, I presume?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Dustin shifted Christin’s weight and patted her rounded belly. “And another.”

  John was stunned. It was almost too good to ask for, too unbelievable to imagine. The Defender’s expectant wife and child right in his very own lap. And with Richard preparing to take back the holdings John had confiscated, the luck was beyond believing.

  He relaxed, a benevolent smile crossing his face. It would seem that God and fortune was to be on his side.

  “Come, my lady,” he pulled her along. “You must be exhausted.”

  *

  Later, after Dustin and Christin were safely tucked away, Ralph met John on his usual walk around the compound. The gray-stoned castle cast long shadows in the early afternoon as the men converged in the inner bailey.

  “Well?” Ralph asked his liege.

  “Well what?” John answered.

  Ralph sighed impatiently. “Lady de Lohr, sire. What are you planning for her?”

  John picked at his teeth. “Nothing, for the moment. I have already prepared a missive to London informing my brother of our ‘guest’. The rest will be up to him and up to de Lohr, whether or not I am allowed to keep my holdings and whether or not Lady Dustin and the children live.”

  “You would kill them?” Ralph asked.

  John shrugged. “Mayhap not. Lady Dustin would make a fine concubine, don’t you think? But I have no use for children, especially de Lohr’s children. Mayhap I would sell them off.”

  Ralph raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Sell them to Marcus Burton.”

  They both giggled. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see de Lohr and Burton battling to the death. I’d place my money on de Lohr, of course, although Burton is nothing to trifle with,” John said.

  Ralph agreed. “Richard has one more problem on his hands with his two best knights fighting over a woman,” he said. “Do you suppose he himself started the rumor of de Lohr’s death to throw us off the track?”

  “No,” John snapped. “You forget, Ralph, that la Londe saw de Lohr go down. ’Twas no rumor, although I am most curious to know how he survived.”

  “The man has God on his side, most assuredly,” Ralph commented. “Three years in Jerusalem could not kill him.”

  John stopped at a small vendor’s shack, inspecting the copper bracelets. “This would look lovely on Gabrielle, do not you think? And Dustin, too.”

  “Do you plan on sharing Dustin with la Londe and my Uncle Bruce as you have Gabrielle?” Ralph asked, a bit snidely.

  John took the bracelets that pleased him and did not bother to pay for them. “I will not,” he said frankly. “La Londe was most insistent about Gabrielle, but he will not touch Dustin. At least, not until I have had my fill of her. And I doubt her grandfather will want that sort of relationship with his own granddaughter, although I would not be terribly surprised to be wrong.”

  Ralph gave a crooked smile. “My lord, you have the most beautiful harem in all of England.”

  John grinned lewdly. “I have never bedded a pregnant woman before. I wonder what it will be like?”

  Ralph shrugged carelessly. “Start a new fad, my lord. Make it the rage of the palace.”

  John snickered, “Bedding pregnant woman? It could prove to be messy.”

  They smiled, snickered, and continued on their walk, feeling more light-hearted than they had in months.

  *

  Dustin awoke from a deep sleep to a soft, female voice in her bedchamber. She opened her eyes slowly, looking around and suddenly remembering where she was. She lay in the middle of an opulent bed, surrounded by finery on the top floor of Nottingham Castle. The voice that she heard was coming from the opposite side of the room. Slowly, she sat up and focused on the source.

  Lady Gabrielle de Havilland sat on the floor with Christin, playing with the babe. Christin was cooing and standing up with assistance, trying to take off walking, much to Gabrielle’s delight. Dustin propped herself up on one elbow, watching the two of them and pleased to see her old acquaintance. She looked as lovely as she always had, in spite of the life she had been forced to lead.

  “Greetings,” she said softly.

  Gabrielle’s head snapped up. “I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to wake you.”

  Dustin shook her head. “That’s all right,” she smiled. “Christin needs to be fed soon. ’Tis good to see you again; have you been well?”

  Gabrielle lowered her gaze, focusing on the babe. “Well as can be expected, my lady. How have you fared since we last met?”

  Dustin rolled out of the bed. “Well, I suppose, in spite of everything. And do not call me ‘my lady.’ Please call me ‘Dustin.’”

  “And you will call me Gabrielle,” her friend responded with a smile. “Truly, Dustin, there is so much that has happened and so much that should be said. I do not know where to begin.”

  Dustin rubbed her belly. “You heard of your husband’s death?”

  “Aye,” Gabrielle said without emotion. “I was told it was your husband who killed him.”

  Dustin eyed her apprehensively as she sank into a chair. “He did, but only after the earl killed Lady Isobelle and threatened my life as well. I am sorry, Gabrielle.”

  “Why?” Gabrielle asked seriously. “He was an evil, vile man and I am glad he is dead. I do not have to worry if he’s going to beat me, or starve me, or lock me in a room to rot. Your husband did me a great favor, Dustin.”

  Dustin swallowed, looking at her hands. Gabrielle glanced at her friend as she rolled a little ball to Christin.

  “How did you come here?” she finally asked.

  Dustin’s eyes came up, filling with tears. She struggled with herself for a moment. “Oh, Gabrielle, everything is so awful.”

  “Tell me,” Gabrielle insisted gently.

  Dustin sniffled, trying to find a starting point for her horrible story. “I suppose it started when I first met Chris,” she said. “I drove his men apart until they hated each other. After I was told Chris was dead, I married Marcus Burton because it seemed the right thing to do, but then Chris returned and he and Marcus had a battle to the death.”

  Christin had crawled off. Gabrielle stood up, making sure Christin wasn’t anywhere near the hearth, and went to her friend. “There, now, Dustin,” she said soothing, patting her on the arm. “Who won?”

  “I do not know,” Dustin sobbed. “I left before it was over. Gabrielle, I have caused all of this strife and anger. I had to leave. If I am gone, there will no longer be a reason for them to hate each other.”

  Gabrielle felt for her friend. “Then they do not know you have gone?”

  Dustin shook her head, wiping her eyes. “I did not tell anyone, but I am sure they know by now. And they are probably glad.”

  “I doubt that,” Gabrielle still remembered how Christopher had looked at his wife, and how envious she had been. “I know your husband loved you, Dustin. He was very proud of you.”

  “Proud of what?” she wept. “Proud of the fact that I drove him and his best friend apart, proud that because of me, he exiled his brother? Gabrielle, he’s better off without me. They all are. Mayhap things can be right again with all of them if I am not around.”

  Christin crawled past and Gabrielle picked her up. “Dustin, how can you be so silly? Your leaving will not change anything.”

  “Yes, it will,” Dustin insisted. “Don’t you see? I am the cause of everything. With me gone, they will stop hating each other and be friends again.”

  Gabrielle shook her head, Christin’s fingers entwined in the rich brown tresses. “It is not that simple and you know it,” she scolded softly. “Where were you planning on going? Surely not here to Nottingham.”

  “Home,” Dustin said vaguely. She did not want to tell her everything, lest she mention it to John. She hated to think that she did not trust Gabrielle, but she did not yet.

  “Alone, pregnant, and carrying a child?” Gabrielle pointed out. “You
are not thinking clearly, Dustin.”

  “Of course I am not,” Dustin snapped, shooting out of the chair, agitated. “My dead husband returns from the grave, my current husband challenges him to fight for the wifely prize, the king wishes he had never even heard of the name Dustin Barringdon, and half of the kingdom is being torn apart from within because of me. Tell me, Gabrielle… would you be thinking clearly?”

  Gabrielle looked at her. “No,” she said quietly. “But at least you have men who love you. I am nothing more than a royal whore.”

  Dustin stopped her raging and looked at Gabrielle. Lovely, gentle Gabrielle. Dustin’s problems were severe, but she was not the only one with problems. Her self-pity vanished and she threw her arms around Gabrielle.

  They cried together for several long minutes, Christin pulling hair from both their heads. They found comfort in one another and strength, and Dustin began to see just how foolish she had been.

  She was suddenly desperately concerned for Christopher, and for Marcus. She began to wish she had never left.

  “What now?” she asked with a sniff.

  “We become strong together,” Gabrielle said firmly. “With you here, I can face John and Ralph.”

  “But I have got to return to Somerhill,” Dustin said. “I have got to see what has happened.”

  “You cannot escape, Dustin, trust me,” Gabrielle said with resignation. “I have tried. There is no way out.”

  “There is always a way,” Dustin said firmly. “You just have not found it yet. We shall find it together.”

  Gabrielle nodded weakly, running her hand over Christin’s dark hair. “She has such dark hair. Marcus must be very proud.”

  Dustin looked at her daughter a moment. “She is Christopher’s child, as is the babe I carry. Marcus and I did not have any children together.”

  “But you and Lord Christopher are so fair,” Gabrielle insisted. “How did she come with this thatch of black?

  “My mother had dark hair,” Dustin said, suddenly remembering her mother’s relations. This place, Nottingham, had been her home. She silently vowed not to mention the fact to Gabrielle.

  Gabrielle smiled at Christin. “I envy you, Dustin. One babe and another on the way. I conceived my first month here with John, but he had a witch-woman give me bayberries to eat and I miscarried. It was the most awful…”

  Her voice faded away and Dustin looked completely horrified. Of all the cruel and inhuman things to do… she was sickened for her gentle, lovely friend.

  “With your husband gone, there will be ample opportunity for you to find another husband,” she assured Gabrielle timidly. “I will plead King Richard to select a handsome, kind husband for you.”

  Gabrielle looked at Dustin with honesty. “Who would want me, Dustin? The prince’s whore? No self-respecting man would accept me.”

  “You are not to blame to your situation,” Dustin replied firmly. “You mustn’t give up hope.”

  Gabrielle shrugged and turned away, her composure shattered. Dustin set Christin on the bed, not knowing what else to say. After a moment, Gabrielle turned around with renewed courage.

  “You must be starved,” she said briskly. “I shall have the servants bring you a meal. And a bath, too. Do you have any clothes to change into?”

  “Nay,” Dustin said. “I did not pack much, just necessary items for Christin and myself.”

  Gabrielle nodded sharply. “There is a fine seamstress here. I shall put her to work on a few surcoats for you. Mayhap she can finish one this afternoon.”

  Dustin never could get excited about clothes. She simply nodded as her friend prattled on, acting as if she had some control of the situation. Even Dustin could see that it was all a brave front, a facade for a woman with no true place in the world.

  Dustin bathed later that day as Gabrielle took care of Christin, relieved to have a bit of time to herself. Gabrielle had brought her a flowing robe of pale blue and Dustin wrapped herself in it as her hair dried, watching her daughter and Gabrielle play as she listened to the sounds of the massive bailey floating in through the lancet window.

  To hear the sounds reminded her of Lioncross and Somerhill, and the stab to her heart deepened. She shook her head faintly at her own stupidity and recklessness, yet there was naught to do about it now. She was in a dark situation and knew she must rely on her wits to help her escape.

  For once in her life, she could depend on no one but herself for protection.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Never was a mightier army to be assembled.

  Christopher, Marcus and Richard intercepted the army riding from Somerhill and took command of the nine hundred man force. With the additional fifteen hundred men riding north from Windsor, they would not only lay siege to Nottingham; they would mow it to the ground.

  Richard made the decision to wait for his army from Windsor. Christopher highly disapproved of the conclusion, but he was unsuccessful to convince his king otherwise. Marcus actually became quite irate and he and Richard had exchanged angry words. For a change, Christopher had had to separate the two of them.

  Richard’s logic was simple; he believed Dustin to be fairly safe and saw no need to go charging in and risk a great number of casualties. With the troops from Windsor, mayhap the casualties would be minimal simply because of the sheer number of men. Additionally, Dustin was not the primary concern; he intended to regain Nottingham for the crown and he knew he must show overwhelming force. When mercenary French soldiers returned to Philip Augustus after seeing battle with the returned King of England, he wanted the French king to know that Richard the Lionheart would not tolerate the French meddling in his country.

  So they waited outside of the village of Grantham, a little over twenty miles to the east of Nottingham. Somerhill was over a half day’s ride, and within a day after discovering where Dustin had been taken, they had their nine hundred troops. Camp was set up and the wait for the army from Windsor was met with impatience by all. Christopher was nearly insane with grief and worry, but he knew that within two days, they would be marching for Nottingham and for his family. Until then, he was helpless.

  Marcus got a grip on himself and was handling the wait better than Christopher. He and Christopher would talk of items that related to the battle, but that was the extent of their contact. For two men who had shared a tent for three years, it was a little strange being without the camaraderie and support of one another. They would gaze at each other across the compound, eyes meeting sometimes, but with no emotion. Yet even with the hurt and jealousy and anger, each man sensed an unfillable void the other had left within him, although they would not admit it. The pain of losing one’s best friend was too deep for words.

  On the second day of camp, an army was sighted riding in from the south and immediately the battle cry went up. Marcus expertly set up skirmish lines under the eagle eyes of Richard and Christopher as they studied the incoming troops.

  “Now who in the hell could this be?” Richard mumbled.

  Christopher could see colors being flown, but they were too far away. He tightened his reins. “We shall soon find out.”

  The dark brown destrier charged forward, kicking up great clods of dirt as Christopher ran at breakneck speed down the slight incline before leveling out on the flat, grassy land. As Christopher drew closer, he could see that there were no more than three hundred men and he was truly curious. Who would be riding with a small army this far north?

  The answer came to him when he spied the yellow, gray and black of Lord Lyle Hampton, Earl of Canterbury. David. His little brother had come.

  David met Christopher well in front of his army, the familiar white destrier he rode catching Christopher’s eye. Christopher was so damn glad to see his brother that he was off his destrier before the horse even came to a halt, pulling his brother into a great bear hug in spite of the bulky armor they both wore. His anger, his grief, his disgust with David was dissolved in an instant.

  “David,”
he managed to choke after an emotional minute. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  David wiped at his eyes, not ashamed to let his brother see how caught up he was. “Here to support you, of course,” he said, then gestured to the massive army on the rise. “What is all of this?”

  Christopher was so emotional he was ready to crack. He cuffed his brother affectionately on the side of the head.

  “Dustin was taken to Nottingham,” he said hoarsely. “How did you know we were here?”

  “Because I rode to Somerhill, knowing you would be heading there to collect Dustin, and they told me what had happened,” he replied, his blue eyes drinking in his brother’s face. “I came to help.”

  Christopher laughed softly. “And so you have,” he murmured, his hand still on his brother’s shoulder as if incapable of letting him go. “We are waiting for reinforcements from Windsor before we go charging in and raze the place. Christ, David, you do not know how good it is to see you.”

  David’s face was lit up like a candle. “What about you? Jesus, you were dead. What in the hell happened to you?”

  Christopher waved at him. “It is a long story. I was severely wounded and it took me three months to find my way back home again, but we shall delve more into that later,” he said. “What matters now is retrieving my wife and daughter.”

  David shook his head, still reeling with emotion. “What about Marcus?”

  Christopher shrugged. “A truce, for now. At least until we get Dustin back.”

  “That’s why I came, you know,” David said. “I thought you were going to have an all-out war with Marcus, and I wanted to fight with you; even if you did not want me.”

  “Did not want you…?” Christopher repeated, realizing how very foolish they had both been. “You are my brother, David. My only brother. What happened….well, we both said and did things in the heat of anger that we should not have.”

  David shook his head hard. “I am all to blame, Chris. You did nothing but protect your wife.” His voice lowered regretfully. “You were right when you said I was jealous. I was jealous of everything you had. When you first married Dustin, it was a sort of game to try and get you to like her. But when you came to love her, I felt left out. I guess I had to find something wrong with her to make you not love her so that things would be as they had been. Can you ever forgive me?”