The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  He left and Dustin kicked off her shoes in frustration. She was so desperately tired and sick that she did not know how much more of this torment she could take. She could hardly wait to find Gabrielle to make sure Darren took Christin with him. She had to know her daughter was safe.

  Christopher, wherever you are, hurry!

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  The road was flat and from the absence of activity along the path, they knew they had been sighted. Nottingham lay beyond the horizon and Christopher mentally lingered on the fortress; Dustin and Christin were holed up in that horrible place and his stomach twisted with agony. He could not think of what might be possibly happening to them now as he rode to the rescue, because to imagine the worst drove him insane. Over his right shoulder, several feet back, Marcus was having the exact same thoughts.

  A rider suddenly appeared on the road ahead, riding toward them at breakneck speed. It was just one man and no alarm was sounded, but Christopher sent Marcus and David out to intercept. However, the closer the horse came, the more Christopher recognized the animal and he bolted forward with terror in his throat.

  Darren was returning to the army.

  David and Marcus reached Darren first, their horses dancing and snorting with excitement. They barely had time to speak when Christopher roared up, plowing his animal forward and pushing David and Marcus out of the way.

  “Darren!” he bellowed. “What in the hell is going on? Why have you returned?”

  Darren threw back the hood of his black cloak. “She would not let me stay, my lord,” he said loudly, sensing his liege’s apprehension. “She insisted I return with a gift for you.”

  Christopher’s composure was rapidly slipping. “Gift?” he roared. “What kind of damn nonsense is this? You had your orders, boy.”

  Marcus and David were waiting for Christopher to behead the squire right then and there, and they both cringed inwardly when the young man had the audacity to smile.

  “My orders came from a higher source, my lord,” the squire said. “My lady was fearful with the approaching battle and wished to have her most valuable possession taken to safety. She wouldn’t let me stay, my lord. She insisted I bring you this.”

  He moved the cloak from his chest and Christin de Lohr’s bright gray eyes blinked in the sudden light. Christopher’s eyes widened and he heard himself gasp as he laid eyes on the daughter he had not seen in months. Immediately, his heart softened and he forgot all of his anger and anxiety. Without thinking, he reached out and took her.

  “Oh, my God,” he whispered. “Look at her; she is beautiful.”

  Marcus could only stare at Christin, his heart breaking into a million pieces. The hardest thing he had ever had to do was not reach out instinctively for the babe, and he felt as if the weight of the world was pressing on his chest.

  David, his face soft and smiling, flipped up his visor to get a better look at her. “By damn, if she isn’t starting to look more and more like you,” he told his brother. “Poor child.”

  Christopher smiled at his brother’s comment, not taking his eyes off the baby. Warm, fluid emotion rippled through him and he was in love all over again.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Do you remember me?”

  Marcus flipped up his own visor, mayhap in challenge. He wanted to see if Christin would react to him instead of to Christopher. He had promised he wouldn’t fight anymore, but his aching heart demanded one last bit of satisfaction. He loved Christin more than anything; almost more than Dustin.

  Christin looked at Christopher, chewing her fingers. Then, she looked at David disinterested and finally to Marcus. He got a reaction; she smiled broadly and crowed, but then she abruptly turned back to Christopher and slapped at his face with wet fingers.

  Christopher melted. He kissed her little fingers and her face, careful not to bump her with his visor. The more he kissed her, the more she giggled and slapped.

  “Just like her mother,” David remarked warmly. “She thinks it funny to punch you in the face.”

  Christopher’s throat was tight, too tight to speak. He did not trust himself not to break. Marcus could not take anymore, his heart was ripping in two, so he reined his horse away, back to his position in the column. David was aware of the pain in the man’s eyes but did little more than watch him trot back along the line before turning his attention back to his brother and niece. He was saddened, though, at Marcus’ pain; even with all of the hatred and fighting that had gone on between them, David wasn’t cruel. He did not wish sorrow on anyone.

  “What are we going to do with her?” Richard asked, as he rode up and watched the touching reunion.

  Christopher held the babe close to his chest, watching her as she banged on his armor and nibbled the little fingers she put in his mouth.

  “Keep her back in the wagons,” Christopher replied, his voice filled with incredible gentleness. “Christ, I cannot believe how beautiful she is.”

  “Your wife was wise to send her to safety,” Richard said.

  “Absolutely,” Christopher agreed, taking his eyes off his daughter for the first time and focusing on Darren. “How is Dustin?”

  “As well as can be expected, my lord,” he replied, his expression hesitant. “I saw her only once, this morning, when she was out walking with John’s hounds in tow. Her friend, a Lady Gabrielle, delivered me the baby for safekeeping. I was told Lady Dustin was with John and Ralph.”

  Christopher’s face hardened like stone and he took a deep, calming breath. Richard was again amazed to watch him transform from doting father back to hardened warrior.

  “We ride,” Christopher growled. “David, get the column moving while I deliver my daughter to Burwell.”

  Richard scratched his cheek. “He should be thrilled with the prospect of child-watching,” he said with a smirk.

  The army was moving and Darren took up a place of honor beside Christopher as they rode. It was a reward for a job well done, and Christopher furthermore had more questions to ask of the young man. A young man who had so recently seen his precious wife.

  “Was Dustin looking well?” he asked his squire.

  “Aye, she was, my lord,” Darren answered. “I have never seen her look better.”

  There was something in his voice that caused Christopher to turn and look at him. “What is it that you are not telling me?”

  Darren looked uncomfortable, his eyes on the road ahead. “Nothing, truly, sire. ’Tis just that I saw your wife only once, and I had to keep in the shadows when that bastard le Londe approached her. He was less than gentle with your wife, sire, and it was extremely difficult for me not to intervene. But I had no choice if I were to bring your daughter out of Nottingham. I could not risk being caught.”

  Christopher’s face was impassive, but his hands underneath his mailed gloves gripped the reins with white-knuckled intensity. “How was he rough with her? Did he strike her?”

  Darren shook his head. “Nay, sire, he did not, but he grabbed her by her arms,” he told him. “He was less than respectful and she gave him an earful. And she mentioned something I found strange; she said her grandfather was the Lord of Nottingham.”

  “Indeed he is,” Christopher said evenly, thinking what a vile, disgusting man Lord Bruce was. He could only pray that he hadn’t taken to Dustin the same way he had taken to Dustin’s mother. Whether or not he had, he was a dead man. They were all dead men. Even John was, whether or not Richard knew it.

  Richard knew it, but he had said nothing. John was his brother, hated or not, and he would not allow his Defender to kill him. If he had touched Lady Dustin, then the fight would be a grand one for Richard intended to defend his brother himself. Bloodlines dictated it. But if John had kept his hands off the Defender’s wife, then mayhap reasoning would prevail over might. His conflict was tremendous; he did not want to lose his Defender, but he could not allow the man to kill his brother, no matter what he had done. It would seem their goals, for once, were not t
he same. Richard only wanted his property returned; Christopher only wanted his wife.

  “Chris,” Marcus rode up, tipping his head in the direction of the castle. “Nottingham on the horizon.”

  Christopher strained his eyes to see that, indeed, the tiny dots that represented peasants were scattering like flax in the wind and up on the massive wall, they could see a flurry of activity.

  “Prepare the men, Marcus,” Christopher said and he could hear orders being barked almost simultaneously. “Darren, fall back with the other squires.”

  Darren obeyed, a bit disappointed. He was hoping to ride into battle at the front of the column. He wasn’t wearing any body armor but he could don his scant pieces when time allowed. Hell, he was almost a damn knight. In fact, he had seen more action than men who called themselves knights.

  Doing as he was told, Darren reined his animal about and returned to the rear of the army. Like any good knight, his adrenalin began to flow and he was eager to fight the battle alongside his liege and King Richard. Already a battle veteran at his young age, Darren looked forward to seeing Lady Dustin again. And he had no doubt that he would. Surely God himself could not have raised a mightier army, with mightier leaders.

  The army rode toward Nottingham, the first of fourteen keeps that Richard planned to retake from his brother. The summer sun sank in the sky and the heat of the day stagnated, and the hawks high above riding the warm drafts screamed to their mates. Below them, knights in armor slung their shields over their left knees and adjusted their swords, preparing for the coming battle; the clash between the brothers Plantagenet.

  Christopher’s determination was unmovable, unwavering. His shield slung and his broadsword at the ready, his eyes were focused on the looming gray shape coming into view, assessing the structure tactically.

  His heart sank a little; Nottingham was mayhap one of the best fortified castles in England. The thirty foot walls were nearly impenetrable and he let out a small sigh. He wasn’t disheartened in the least, but considered it a challenge to his considerable skills.

  He would get his wife back, walls or no walls. Prince or no prince. King or no king.

  *

  Dustin had not seen Gabrielle or Christin since she left them to attend John, and that had been nearly two hours ago. She sat by the hearth, listening to the noise of the bailey, so wild with worry that she could do naught but sit and stare. And movement or any words would be like removing the plug from the dam; everything would go and she would lose her careful control. So she sat and waited for any word of what had transpired.

  There was a knock on the door and she jumped, flying to open the panel. But her excitement quickly turned to apprehension when she saw that Sir Dennis stood in the hall, grinning suggestively at her.

  “Ah, chèrie! You are so eager!” he said gleefully. “I am flattered.”

  Her blood ran cold. “What do you want?”

  He gave her a look of mock hurt. “Tsk, tsk, mon petite. Why are you so unfriendly? I have simply come to keep you company.”

  “I do not want your company.” Dustin tried to shove the door closed, but he blocked it firmly.

  His eyes glittered dangerously as he pushed into her bedchamber, the smile on his lips becoming something more sinister. “Do not ever shut me out, chèrie. I do not like it.”

  Dustin backed away, although she wasn’t particularly frightened. She had seen the way John had ordered his men not to touch her and was confident that Sir Dennis would obey the order. But she was perturbed and angry; she had been confronted by Lord Bruce, Ralph, John and now Sir Dennis and she was frankly sick of the games they seemed to like to play. She had tried to play their game, but it had backfired in her face and she was wary. But she had not lost her fighting spirit, bolstered in the knowledge that her plight would soon be over.

  “I do not give a damn what you like,” she growled. “Get out of here or I shall tell John you tried to force yourself upon me.”

  Dennis pushed in so hard that Dustin stumbled back, almost tripping in her attempt to get away from him. When she recovered, she could see that he was indeed moving for her and she dashed away, scampering for the hearth and the fire poker she could see within her reach. She reached the poker a second before Dennis closed in on her and she swung it around with all her might, catching Dennis across the chest. The sharp tip left a long, thin gash on his flesh and he stopped instinctively, his hand flying to the wound.

  Dennis’ eyes widened as he drew his hand back, covered with blood. “You little bitch,” he hissed with surprise. “Why did you do that?”

  Dustin held the poker between them, fully preparing to use it again. “Get out.”

  He looked at her, perplexed and angered. “But why? I have done nothing. You, mademoiselle, attacked me without provocation.”

  “Without provocation?” Dustin repeated incredulously. “You entered my bedchamber uninvited, sir. I’d call that a most provocative move. Now, get out before I drive this poker through your heart.”

  Dennis’ face lost its confusion and he charged her, snatching at the poker. Dustin swung hard and hit him twice, once across the arm and once on the face before he dislodged the poker and sent it sailing. Panicked, Dustin tried to flee but in her lethargic state, Dennis was faster and grabbed hold of her arms.

  He yanked her, twisting and fighting, to the bed and slammed her down hard. Stunned momentarily, she attempted to roll away, but he flopped his body atop her and effectively stopped her escape.

  Dustin was near hysteria, fighting and struggling for all she was worth. Dennis had her arms trapped and threw his big leg across her thighs to pin her down, leaving his sword hand free to assault her. She could feel his hand moving up her leg, skimming her hips and moving across the roundness of her belly.

  “What joy Burton must have had planting his seed in this exquisite body,” he breathed heavily.

  Dustin jumped and shrieked, twisting violently, anything to get away from his offensive hand. Tears were close to the surface, but she refused to give in. Once spilled, Dennis would have a great advantage and she could not allow that. She had to fight.

  His hand caressed her stomach, moving upward and she realized with horror that he was moving for her breasts. His big hands cupped her fullness, fondling her roughly and she bit off a scream, trying with all of her might to dislodge him.

  “Do not fight me, chèrie,” he panted. “I can give you much pleasure or much pain. Yours is the choice.”

  Dustin was growing quite weary with her struggles. Her body was not in prime condition and she realized reluctantly that she would not be able to beat this man in a physical sense. The only thing to do would be to defeat him on a mental level. Dustin wasn’t very good with mind games, but she would have to try in order to save herself. Forcing herself to calm, she desperately cleared her mind of its panic and set forth rapidly to formulate another plan.

  Her struggles lessened, she moved to look Dennis in the eye. His plain face met her beautiful one, his eyes glazed with lust.

  “I….I choose pleasure, my lord,” she choked, her heart pounding in her ears.

  He flickered a small smile. “Wise, chèrie. I am quite good, I am told.”

  Dustin forced a smile, she was shaking so badly that she could feel her lips shaking. “We shall see. Might I rise and prepare myself?”

  He eyed her. “Not so easy as that, mon petite.”

  Dustin cleared her throat and drew in a breath to relax, to prove to him that she was sincere. If she was going to retrieve the fire poker again, then he had to let her up. And once she had the poker, she fully intended to gore him. It was either that or he would surely kill her.

  “It is, I swear it,” she said softly, trying to appear submissive. “I am tired of fighting. My body aches for a real man’s touch. Mayhap that is you?”

  “Mayhap,” he replied, eyeing her now that she was suddenly cooperative. “You will certainly find out.”

  Dustin gulped, trying desperatel
y to convey compliance. Surely he could feel her shaking. “I have not had but two lovers, my lord. You will be gentle with me, will you not? My husbands were often rough. It frightened me.”

  She was lying through her teeth, anything to appear vulnerable. Dennis lapped it up, knowing she was lying but feeling comfortable enough with her submissiveness. As long as she wasn’t biting and kicking, he could handle her resistance. He felt himself growing warm, looking forward to their coupling. He had been planning this since he had seen her the day before, and to hell with the prince. He was confident he could explain his impetuousness.

  He grinned. “Very well, then. Rise and prepare yourself,” he said, releasing her. “But no tricks, mind you. I shall thrash you soundly, prince or no prince.”

  Dustin nodded solemnly, straightening her surcoat as she rose. With a shielded gaze, her eyes rapidly searched the floor for the fire poker. As she rounded the side of the bed, she was flooded with relief to see it lying close to her wardrobe, which just so happened to be her destination. Taking a deep breath to bolster her courage and ease her quaking knees, she blessed Dennis with a sweet smile and moved toward the wardrobe.

  “Something pink, chèrie,” Dennis said, stretching his legs out on the bed. “I like to see my women in pink.”

  Dustin did not answer; she was close to the poker and was trying to maintain her posture so he wouldn’t see that she was moving for it until it was too late. Her feet moved rapidly across the scrubbed floor, every step bringing her closer to Dennis’ death. Her palms began to sweat; she had to be swift and sure. There would be no room for mistakes.

  With quaking hands, she was upon the poker and she dropped to her knees, snatching it confidently within a firm grip. Dennis, moved from the warm anticipation of sex to a stab of anger at the sight of his prey preparing to defend herself again, shot off the bed with the agility of an attacking tiger.