“You are sure Christin was early?” he asked, his voice strangely raspy.
“I’d stake my reputation on it, sire,” Griselda said confidently.
He stared at the old woman a moment. Then, he grasped her gently by her bony shoulders and planted a loud kiss on her wrinkled old forehead.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Griselda watched the baron lumber down the hall, his gait slow and tired, wondering what in the world was wrong with the man. But her puzzlement did not prevent a faint blush from creeping into the aged cheeks.
Dustin was lying down when he entered the bedchamber. She had only meant to rest a moment, but the minute her head hit the pillow, she was asleep. Christin was snoring baby-soft in the little cradle next to the bed and he smiled at his daughter. His daughter.
Dustin stirred the moment he touched the bed. “You are here,” she murmured. “I am sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep.”
He put his hands on her as she tried to rise. “Nay, sweetheart, lay down. You are tired.”
“But I have a house full of guests,” she protested softly.
“Gowen and Deborah can handle the masses,” he said gently, moving to pull her shoes off. “You need to rest.”
Dustin watched him, his movements slow and unenergetic. “You are exhausted, too. We both need to rest.”
He smiled wanly. “I am all right.”
She reached out and tugged on his mail. “Lie with me.”
He eyed her, instantly half-aroused with her tone. Christ, it had been months since he had touched her, but now was not the time.
“Nay, my love, I shall not,” he said with gentle firmness. “We would most definitely not get any rest if I did.”
She sat up, her beautiful face rosy and glazed with love. “It has been months, Chris. Will you truly deny me? After everything we have been through?”
He felt his composure evaporating. “Of course not, Dustin, but look at us. I am still recovering from a near-fatal injury, and you are exhausted and pregnant.”
“Then neither one of us will tax the other,” she said softly. “Lie with me, husband. I need to feel you.”
He lost it. His armor and mail came off and he was next to her within seconds, pulling her most fiercely to him and burying his face in her hair. The scent of roses filled him.
Dustin sighed with utter contentment, her eyes closed at the pureness of his touch, the absolute reverence she felt in it. Tears of such joy stung her eyes that she did not bother to dash them away. The tears were well-earned.
The Defender of the Realm made love to his wife that afternoon, every touch and every kiss a song of love unto itself. He loved her with the endless devotion of time, always and forever would he love her. And she responded to him with the blind worship she had always felt for him; she could not remember when she hadn’t loved him.
God had given them a second chance and they would not be so foolish as to waste it.
The Defender had come home.
EPILOGUE
“They are here!” Dustin was running as fast as her shapely legs could carry her. She dashed out of her bedchamber and hit the stairs like a runaway horse, almost crashing into her daughters at the base of the stairs.
“Mama, they are here!” Christin announced with excitement.
Dustin grabbed Christin’s hand. “Come along,” she said as she snatched her other daughter’s hand. “Come, Brielle.”
The three ladies raced outside, excitement filling their veins. Dustin was near to bursting with anticipation; it had been so long since she had seen her sons. Fostering was a cruel thing, she thought bitterly as the great gates of Lioncross swung open. To separate a family for the sake of training was inexcusable to her, although her husband thought differently.
Christopher was crossing the bailey with his youngest son in tow. Five-year-old Myles was the spitting image of his Uncle David, whom he would soon be greeting. He stopped a moment and shielded his blue eyes from the sun as he watched the gates lurch to a halt, eager to catch a glimpse of the incoming party but being foiled as his father hoisted him onto his shoulder.
“But I want to see!” Myles protested with a grin, gripping his father’s neck.
“You can see better from up here,” Christopher told him. “Down on the ground, someone might run over you.”
Myles strained to look over his shoulder as his father made his way to the front steps of the keep, watching with excitement as the large party entered the gates with great noise and fanfare.
“Do you see them?” Dustin demanded of her husband before he even reached her.
Christopher fought off a grin, stopping at the base of the steps turning around to face the party. “Nay; not yet. They are probably riding with Emilie and the girls.”
Dustin was so excited she could hardly contain herself and her daughters were catching on. “Do you think they have changed much, Mama?” Christin asked.
“Christin, they have only been gone six months,” Christopher said. “I doubt they have changed to the point where you wouldn’t recognize them.”
“But six months is a long time, Dada,” Brielle chimed in. “Curtis and Richard are bound to have grown some.”
“They have not grown beards,” he said, then turned and winked at his ten-year-old daughter. “You are starting to sound like your mother with your worrying.”
Dustin lifted an impatient eyebrow at her husband. “And you are callous in your treatment of your sons. Who ever heard of sending a six-year-old boy to foster?”
“Richard was two months shy of his seventh birthday,” Christopher re-explained for the hundredth time. “ ’Twas better to send him with Curtis to begin their training together. I wanted to send them to Marcus.”
“Marcus already has Peter,” Dustin shot back. “I did not want to send him so far north, as you well know. We haven’t seen Peter in almost a year.”
Christopher shook his head. “Peter is a fully-trained squire and Marcus says he fights better than most of his knights. You should be very proud of your son.”
“I am,” Dustin insisted, avoiding her husband’s gaze. “But he is so far away and I miss him terribly.”
“Christ, Dustin, he’s almost eighteen years old and is as big as I am,” Christopher said. “He’s not a child any longer and you would do well to remind yourself of that.”
Dustin made a face. “He is still a child of six to me. For a man with four sons, your attitude is most heartless.”
Christopher shook his head again, after seven children, they still could not agree on the proper form of child-rearing. Dustin would keep them to her bosom until they were thirty if she had her way, while he was quite convinced that early fostering was necessary.
“I am not heartless, sweetheart, I am simply more practical than you,” he said, stroking Brielle’s long, blond hair affectionately. “But Myles goes to Marcus.”
“He does not,” she said firmly. “He goes to Canterbury when he is eight and no earlier. I am sure David is doing a fine job with our sons. They do not need to go to Marcus.”
“Of course he is doing a fine job, he’s my brother,” Christopher said, watching as his brother dismounted his warhorse and shook hands with Jeffrey. “But Marcus has done an outstanding job with Peter. I feel David may be too soft on Curtis and Richard because he is their uncle.”
Dustin caught sight of David too, and her face lit up. “There’s David. But where are my boys?”
Christopher chuckled, patting Myles on the leg. “You shall go to Somerhill, won’t you? You want to foster with Peter and Uncle Marcus?”
“Aye, Dada,” Myles nodded solemnly, although he did not realize the entire concept of fostering. All he knew was that his brothers had been gone a long time, living with their Uncle David. He was too young to remember Peter. It was just him and his three sisters, one of which was a baby. He had been lonely without Curtis and Richard to play with, although his father had done a fine job of filling in.
> “There they are!” Dustin screeched, rushing down the steps. From behind the wall of horses and men, a lovely woman and several children appeared, walking toward them.
Christopher put his hand on his wife. “Do not hug them. Treat them like young men.”
She scowled at him. “They are my sons and I shall hug them if I want to.”
“Nay, Dustin, you shall embarrass them in front of the soldiers,” Christopher admonished. “Let them bow to you here in public. Hug them later in private, if you would.”
She furrowed her brow impatiently, knowing his words to be true but, Lord, how she had missed her children.
She resumed her place between Christin and Brielle, waiting impatiently for Emilie and the brood of children to reach them. When finally they were upon them, Dustin could not take her eyes from her two blond-headed boys.
“Greetings, my lord,” Emilie politely kissed Christopher on both cheeks. “Thank you for having us for Christmas. The children could hardly wait.”
Christopher smiled. “You look lovely, Emilie,” he acknowledged the three girls standing next to her. “And I am pleased to see your children look like you and not my dastardly brother. Good Christmas to you, ladies.”
The girls curtsied prettily for their Uncle Christopher. Christina, Colleen and Caroline were polite, sweet girls with their mother’s disposition and their father’s spirit. And they always, always chattered, driving David to the brink of madness, yet at this moment, they were uncharacteristically quiet. They knew their Uncle Christopher to be an important man. He always struck awe into their little hearts every time they met, although he had been nothing but kind and gentle with them. Somehow, his presence enough was imposing.
“Christin, Brielle, take your cousins inside,” he instructed his daughters. “Show them where they are to sleep.” Giggling, Christin and Brielle eagerly took hold of their cousins and whisked them up the stairs. Christopher watched the girls with pride, never thinking that one day his children and David’s would be walking hand-in-hand.
“Where is your son, my lady?” he asked Emilie.
“In the wagon with his nurse,” she replied. “At six months, he weighs eighteen pounds. David is most pleased.”
“No doubt,” Christopher remarked. “ ’Tis about time he gave you a son. There are too many women at Canterbury.”
Emilie raised her brows in feigned outrage. “And what about Lioncross? You have three daughters of your own, sire, in addition to your wife, your sister, and her two daughters.”
Christopher waved at her. “Rebecca is only three months old, but already her temperament is as mine. She is a calm, even-tempered baby, of which I am greatly pleased. Christin and Brielle are too much like their mother and I fear I am losing control over them already,” he said, shifting his grip on Myles. “As for Deborah’s daughters, they are angels. My daughters could learn lessons on obedience from them.”
Emilie laughed, seeking out Dustin. “Is this true?”
Dustin shrugged and gave Emilie a hug. “He thinks any woman who speaks her mind and has half a wit is disobedient. Now, where is your new son? I am anxious to see him.”
“David is probably retrieving him himself,” Emilie said, glancing back to the huge caravan disassembling in the bailey. “He cannot stay away from Daniel.”
Dustin nodded in agreement, her gaze falling on her two sons standing a few feet behind Emilie. Emilie, for her part, made up a discreet excuse and left the family alone.
“Hello,” Dustin greeted her sons, repressing a huge urge to gather them against her. Curtis de Lohr and his brother, Richard, displayed a much practiced bow.
“Hello, Mother,” Curtis said formally.
Dustin’s heart sank. They were so grown up, so stiff with her, that she felt tears sting her eyes. Christopher put Myles down and approached his sons.
“Gentlemen,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “How has the baron been treating you? Well, I hope?”
“Well, Father,” Curtis said evenly. “We eat at his table every night and sleep in our own bedchamber.”
Christopher’s eyes narrowed. This was exactly what he did not want. “Then you do not sleep with the other pages?”
“Nay, Father,” Curtis shook his head. “Richie…uh, Richard and I have our own room.”
“Hmm, I see,” Christopher said, his voice low.
Dustin looked at her husband and could see his displeasure. She, however, was quite happy that her boys were being treated like one of the family.
“I am so glad you have returned,” she said quickly. “You have a new sister. Would you like to go and see her?”
They boys nodded eagerly and she bade them go into the castle. She was still smiling when she turned to face her stern husband. Immediately, her look became impatient.
“Now, what’s wrong with you?” she demanded.
He raised an eyebrow at her tone. “That is between David and me.”
“It is not,” she said. “They are my sons, too. I would know what you are planning to tell your brother about their treatment.”
He looked at her a moment. “They will never learn to become proper pages or squires if they are being coddled, Dustin. I was most specific to David in that regard.”
“They are not being coddled,” she insisted. “Since when is kindness considered coddling? They are still little boys, for heaven’s sake. Why must they be treated like men?”
“You do not understand, Dustin,” he said, gazing off across the bailey and seeing his brother approach. “I would speak to David alone.”
“Can the man at least wash the dust from his tongue before you lay into him?” Dustin asked annoyed.
“Leave us,” Christopher told her, annoyed as well.
She looked at him a moment, at his strong profile and his most beautiful blond hair with streaks of gray. “Do not talk to me like that. I am not a wench to be dismissed at your whim.”
He looked at her. “Nay, you are a countess, who is expected to obey her husband,” he said. “Leave us, please.”
She raised her eyebrow, seeing a way around all of this. Immediately, she went to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. He returned her kiss, the sweetness of it filling him as it always had. She pulled back and smiled at him through smoky eyes, pleased to see him reacting.
“You still cannot stay,” he whispered huskily.
She slapped him playfully and he laughed low. She turned on her heel in a defiant blur of blond hair and fabric, marching away from him, but not before he planted a plate-sized hand on her behind. She yelped and rubbed the assaulted area, but it was all in fun and she fought off a grin even as she continued on her way.
David came up on his brother and did not even afford him the opportunity to speak. “I know what you are going to say,” he exclaimed. “I know that look on your face and I do not like it. Your sons have not been treated any differently than the other pages.”
Christopher put his hands on his hips. “Then why did they tell me they take meals with you and sleep in their own bedchamber?”
“Because they do,” he snapped, although it was not in anger. “Emilie insisted until they are a year older. She says that they are still babies and….”
“Good Christ, David,” Christopher muttered, putting a hand over his face. “She sounds like Dustin. And you allow this?”
“Tell me, brother, when my own son comes to foster here at age six or seven, will you tell Dustin that he cannot eat at the table with the rest of the family?” David shot back, crossing his arms expectantly. “Will you? The first time Dustin catches a glimpse of my little boy eating his supper from his lap in the corner, she will come apart at the seams. Trust me, for I have witnessed it and you, too, will be unable to deny her.”
Christopher glared at his brother, not unfriendly, before shaking his head in defeat. “Then I send them to Somerhill. I cannot risk their training due to family ties.”
“Oh, hell, you know Gabrielle
will treat them the same way. Thank God she has not ruined Peter,” David insisted. “And Marcus will go along with her in everything. Nay, they are better off with me.”
“They are not,” Christopher snapped, agitated on his sons’ behalf. “Then I send them to Edward. He will train them to be proper pages.”
“You mean the new Earl of Wolverhampton?” David said tauntingly. “Jesus, he has been so involved in John’s court, he will not have the time to train the boys.”
“Ah, but he has Max with him and Max is as fine a trainer as ever lived, as you well know,” Christopher was suddenly relieved and satisfied with his own rapid decision. “Come the New Year, I send Curtis and Richard to Wolverhampton. I might take them there myself.”
“You have seen quite a bit of him, haven’t you?” David remarked.
Christopher nodded, clapping his brother on the shoulder as they moved for the castle. He truly was glad to see him. “We have been working on a charter for John’s signature,” he said. “The majority of earls and feudal barons have come together in the matter. Despite any disagreements or hatred, we all seem to have a common bond, we hate John.”
“What kind of a charter?” David asked.
Christopher waved his hand carelessly, he did not want to get into the specifics out here in the open, but later when there was more time to talk. “We call it the Magna Carta. Sean de Lara has drafted most of it. You remember Sean, do you not?”
David nodded. “The Shadow Lord? Of course. After he left your service, he went to serve John, or so we thought. I still find it difficult to believe he was a spy for William Marshal. Who would have known?”
Christopher wriggled his eyebrows. “Not me,” he replied. “Like you, we were all convinced he was John’s strongest supporter. The man was brilliant in his cover. But I shall tell you more about it later.”
David nodded, not really caring. He had never involved himself much in politics or scholarly pursuits. He left those things up to his brother, the Earl of Hereford and Worcester.
The de Lohr Dynasty Page 106