The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  He made a face. “Jesus, woman,” he said. “I am no babe to be fed. Would you really do such a thing?”

  “Of course I would, my master. I mean my lord.”

  He scowled, exaggerated. “Then the marriage is off.”

  Emilie giggled. “I am destroyed,” she said, feigning great distress. “You would do such a thing to me? After I scraped mud out of your nose?”

  He started laughing although he was trying not to. “You have a point,” he said. “You have done things to me that no woman ever has. I do not recall having anyone stick their fingers up my nose, ever.”

  “Romantic, is it not?”

  His laughter broke through as he looked at her, seeing the impish twinkle in her eye and the big dimple in her cheek. God, she was an alluring creature and as he gazed at her, he realized one thing – whatever control he’d ever had over his emotions, especially when it came to women, was weakening. What had started out as a giddy infatuation with a beautiful young woman was becoming something much more. Even now, as he looked at her, all he could do was feel a pull towards her that came straight from his heart.

  “Very,” he said. “I suppose I shall reconsider marriage to you, after all.”

  Emilie’s smile faded into something warm and hopeful. She sensed that he was being quite serious now simply by the expression on his face. It was as warm and hopeful as her own. Averting her gaze, she fought off a powerful flush.

  “If you insist, my lord.”

  He was watching her as she began to tear up pieces of linen for bandages. “David,” he said softly.

  She looked at him, somewhat curiously. “My lord?”

  He shook his head as much as he was able, reaching out to take one of her hands. “You will call me David,” he murmured. “I give you permission. May I call you Emilie?”

  She nodded, her heart beating wildly against her ribs as his rough, bloodied fingers touched hers. “You may,” she whispered.

  Pulling her hand to his bloodied lips, he kissed it gently. For a moment, their banter faded and they simply stared at one another. There was something heady in the air now, something that hadn’t been there before, a miasma that bespoke of interest and warmth and even affection beyond what they were currently experiencing. Earlier in the day, before David had competed in the mass competition, they had been in a situation similar to this, close to one another, until Lyle and Brickley had ruined it. Now, there was no one to ruin it. Reaching up, David put a hand behind her neck and pulled her down to him, kissing her sweetly on the lips.

  “Aagh,” he suddenly grunted in obvious pain.

  Startled, flushed, Emilie pulled back, looking at him with horror. “Did I hurt you?” she asked. “I… I did not mean to. I….”

  He reached up and pulled her down to him again, his hand behind her neck, kissing her gently on the cheek. “You did nothing,” he said, thinking her cheek was quite soft and smooth. “But my mouth seems to be paining me, and my lips in particular. But it was worth the pain to taste your lips.”

  Emilie had no idea how to react. His move to kiss her had been unexpected and she was giddy with the thrill of it. She’d been kissed before, of course, but not like this. Never like this. Her cheeks were hot with the excitement of it and she put a hand to her face, feeling the heat, giggling when David grinned at her. He felt the heat, too.

  “Was it wicked of me to let you do it, then?” she asked.

  He laughed softly. “Probably,” he said. “But who cares? I have wanted to do that practically since I met you. I am glad I did it. I will do it again if given a chance, so be warned.”

  Emilie was moving to re-thread the needle for the gash on his scalp, anything to keep her hands busy because she was so rattled by his kiss that she was having difficulty thinking straight. It was a wonderful feeling.

  “So long as you do not kiss me in front of my father,” she said. “Unless, of course, you were serious about marrying me.”

  David lay there, his half-lidded gaze studying her for a moment. A smile played on his lips as he wondered just how serious she was about it. She seemed to be teasing him about marriage an awful lot and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. He undoubtedly liked her, but marriage….

  “I told you that I am not the marrying kind,” he said.

  “Then you cannot kiss me again.”

  “Is that so? I must marry you in order to kiss you?”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. “How would you feel if you married a woman who had been repeatedly kissed by another man who would not marry her? Would you want his leavings?”

  He sighed heavily, scratching his chin with his bloodied hand. “Probably not,” he said. “Let me be clear on this; if I want to kiss you again, I must offer for your hand?”

  “That seems reasonable.”

  He frowned. “It is not reasonable at all if I never intend to marry.”

  Emilie wouldn’t relent. Certainly, she had let men kiss her before, but only once. Never anything more. What David seemed to want to do was much, much more; she could tell simply by his tone and that warm, liquid expression when he looked at her. It made her want to succumb to his lusty wishes. Not that she didn’t want him to kiss her again and again, but she didn’t want to be something convenient to him. She wanted him to be serious about her, as she was about him.

  She didn’t want to be used and discarded.

  “So I should simply let you kiss me as much as you want without any hint of commitment from you?” she asked. “You do not believe I am more respectable than that?”

  His jaw ticked. “I will not promise to marry you just to kiss you once or twice.”

  “Then you shall never have another kiss from me.”

  “Mayhap I do not want one, then.”

  “That is a good thing because you shall not have one.”

  “I am content with that.”

  “So am I.”

  The mood had quickly turned from giddy and playful to something serious. Emilie’s feelings were hurt and David, on unsteady ground with talk of marriage, was starting to feel cornered. A marriage proposal for a kiss? Ridiculous! He thought. Was it possible she was even serious, that he simply wanted kisses because he did not respect her?

  But the truth was that he respected her a great deal. If he ever considered marriage, it would be to someone like Emilie. Actually, it would be to Emilie. The thought of her marrying another didn’t sit well with him in the least. What if Brickley managed to marry her? That would upset David to no end and he knew, as he lived and breathed, that he could not let that happen. He didn’t want to marry her but he didn’t want anyone else to marry her, either.

  David had a dilemma on his hands.

  The safe thing to do was not to speak to her anymore, so he fell silent, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep as she stitched up the cut in his scalp. He thought that she might have stabbed his flesh a little harder than normal but he didn’t say anything about it. He remained silent, feigning sleep.

  But he couldn’t hold out the ruse. Exhausted, and wounded, his pretend-sleep soon became the real thing.

  When David awoke, the tent was dark except for a pair of lit tapers and the soft golden glow from the brazier. Startled to realize the sun had set, he shifted around on his pallet, thinking he should get up and see where everyone had gone. It seemed rather quiet to him, the encampment around him still and vacated for the most part, but the moment he moved, he heard a soft voice from the darkness.

  “So you are awake,” Emilie said. “How do you feel?”

  David couldn’t see her so he tried to sit up but suddenly, her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back down again. “Stay,” she commanded softly. “I will summon Sir Edward. He is waiting to take you back to your apartments.”

  David let her push him back down, blinking up at her in the darkness; she was wrapped in something, a cloak he thought, and she moved to collect one of the tapers that lit the tent. Her sweet face was illuminated by the golden light from t
he candle but her expression was anything but warm; she appeared rather subdued as she made her way to the tent opening and pushed it back, sending the nearest soldier for Edward. When she let the flap fall back into place and turned back into the tent, David spoke.

  “How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

  She turned her serious expression on him and David was distressed to see that there was no light in her eyes for him at all. He thought back to the conversation they’d had before he’d fallen asleep and wasn’t particularly surprised by the lack of warmth in her face, but he had hoped things would smooth over with time. She would forget, or so he hoped, but he could see that wasn’t the case. He was coming to regret their unhappy exchange but not enough to make amends. Not enough to agree to marry her in exchange for a kiss.

  “You have been asleep for several hours,” Emilie said, interrupting his thoughts. “I waited here with you in case you needed something or were in distress, but you have slept heavily all that time. My father is here, waiting with Sir Edward, to escort me home. We have been all waiting for you to awaken so that you could be moved.”

  David scratched his head, gingerly feeling the stitches in his scalp. “You should have awoken me,” he said. “You have been sitting here in the dark all of this time, waiting for me. That is not a particularly pleasant way for you to spend your evening.”

  She set the taper down on a small table. “You carried my favor today,” she said. “It was my duty to tend you. You may return my favor, by the way. You shall not need it any longer.”

  David looked at her, feeling some sadness and guilt that she was still cross with him. He could see it in everything about her. He didn’t like that feeling, not in the least.

  “Emilie,” he said quietly. “Would it be too much to ask to keep your favor?”

  She shook her head almost immediately. “There is no need for you to keep it,” she said. “It was simply a favor given to you to wish you luck for the games. The games are over now. In fact, my father has informed me that we are leaving Windsor on the morrow for my aunt’s home in London. I am sure you and I will never see one another again, so there is no reason for you to keep my favor. I would like it returned.”

  David had been stripped of his outer tunic and mail when Emilie had tended him, but the padded tunic next to his skin remained. It was dirty and stained, and smelled horrifically of sweat, and Emilie’s favor was tucked into that, pressed up against his chest. With a heavy heart, he reached into his tunic and fumbled for it.

  “What makes you say we shall never see each other again?” he asked as he held it up to her, damp and smelly. “You will be in London and I may visit you, with your permission.”

  Emilie took the favor and avoided looking him in the eye. “Why?” she asked. “Why would you come and visit me? David, we enjoyed a day of festivities and excellent conversation. I even let you kiss me because I thought… well, it does not matter what I thought. What we shared today is ended and I enjoyed it a great deal. I wish you well in your life and pray you enjoy good health.”

  David pushed himself up on an elbow, eyeing her in the faint light. “Is this because I told you I was not the marrying kind?” he asked. “Is that why you do not want to see me again? Because I will not agree to marry you after knowing you only one day?”

  Hugely embarrassed, Emilie blew out of the tent, crashing into Edward and her father as they entered. She wouldn’t look at either of them as she headed for her father’s horse, as he’d come to escort her home when the sun began to set but she wouldn’t leave David’s side whilst he was sleeping. Lyle understood her attention to duty, and he and Edward had enjoyed a pleasant conversation for the past several hours.

  Now, Lyle was concerned with his daughter’s distressed behavior so he bid Edward a good evening and left the transport of David to Edward and his soldiers. Emilie’s task was finished and he went to her as she stood next to his horse, seemingly wiping at her face.

  “Em?” he asked, concerned. “What is the matter, sweetheart?”

  Emilie shook her head; she wasn’t about to tell her father that she’d made an utter fool of herself. Is this because I will not agree to marry you after only knowing you one day? He was right and Emilie knew it; he was utterly correct. But she had fallen for the man so swiftly that she would have gladly married him after knowing him only one day. What a fool she had been. A silly, besotted fool.

  “Nothing is wrong, Papa,” she said. “I am simply exhausted. It has been an eventful day.”

  Lyle accepted her excuse although he didn’t really believe her; she was usually very good at keeping her emotions under control and he swore that she had been weeping, but he didn’t press her. She was correct – it had been an eventful day for them all. He was willing to let Emilie deal with her emotions in private. Even if he knew what was bothering her, which he suspected he did, he couldn’t help her. If she had her heart set on David and the feelings were perhaps not returned, there was perhaps nothing he could do at all.

  He wondered if that was the case.

  Lifting his daughter onto his heavy-boned warmblood, Lyle mounted the horse behind her and, in the darkness, headed towards Windsor Castle.

  PART TWO

  DEUS ET HONORA

  “Gold and silver in countless tale,

  Mules and chargers, and silks and mail,

  The king himself may have spoil at call.

  From hence to the East he will conquer all”

  ~ Song of Roland c. 1040 A.D.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  December 1192

  The justices met after the tournament and decided that until they had a body or confirmation of Richard’s death, the man was still England’s king and they would continue administering the country in his absence, or at least until Eleanor returned from France. Christopher, in full agreement with their conclusion, decided to delay his return to Lioncross until there was any change regarding Richard’s well-being. It did not, however, sway his mind to send Dustin northward. He had yet to speak with Marcus about it, but knew the man would do as was asked of him.

  John and Ralph had kept a remarkably low profile after the tournament that saw Dennis de la Londe emerge the victor. Even with Sir Dennis and his henchmen as the prince’s constant companions, there were no confrontations, threats, or attempts on Christopher or David’s life. In fact, it was almost too good to hope for and Christopher was increasingly concerned that John was merely attempting to lure him into a false sense of security. There was, however, one point of great distress in the midst of the calm – John’s mercenary army was growing in strength and size and Christopher, as well as the justices, suspected that Philip Augustus was channeling funds into England somehow to pay for them. There was also the unmistakable fact that a great majority of the mercenaries were Frenchmen.

  It was a few days before Christmas when John decided to have a mask. It was a season of celebration and prayer, but the prince took it to the next level. He wanted a mad party. The mood struck John to have a mask, and a mask all of Windsor would have.

  *

  Home of Lady Orford, sister to the Earl of Canterbury

  London, England

  She didn’t do much more than lay there and spread her legs, but that was truthfully all Lyle needed. She didn’t even take off her clothes, which he found rather erotic. All Lillibet would do was lift her skirts and either lay on the bed, as she was now, or bend over and hold on to the end of the bed or a table, whatever happened to be closest, as Lyle thrust into her. She may have spit like a cobra when she spoke, and didn’t particularly have a handsome face, but she knew how to please a man from the waist down.

  Even now, as the sun began to set over the western horizon and the sky turned shades of pink and dark blue, Lyle thrust into Lillibet as the woman held tight to the head of the bed, grunting every time Lyle rammed his big organ into her body. She would tighten up her muscles, internally, squeezing him, and by God he loved that. Someone had taught her to do
that although he had never asked her who. All he knew was that she serviced him well and had since his wife had died. She had managed to keep that part of him satisfied even though his heart still longed for something more. Not with her, but with someone worthy. Lillibet had simply been a means to an end until something better came along, even after all of these years.

  But it had been foolish to sneak Lillibet into his bed this time of day while his girls were in the house. Still, the urge had struck him and Lillibet had answered the call. The time had been ripe; his daughters had been napping because of the big, formal mask that evening so with a quiet house, Lyle’s thoughts had turned to satisfying his needs. He was just about to find his release, for he could feel it building, when he began to hear his daughters’ voices, raised.

  Someone was unhappy; he thought it might have been Elise, for she was always the most vocal. Mixed in with the girl’s voice were more voices. It sounded as if there was some kind of argument going on and Lyle had to quickly take his pleasure. Too much going on for him to feel comfortable with Lillibet in his bed. He was a hypocrite and he knew it, but it had been going on so long this way that it was simply the way of things.

  Once finished, he shooed Lillibet from his chamber by having her leave through a servant’s door. His sister’s home was quite large, with a maze of servant passages and stair cases, so Lillibet took the stairs to the bottom floor and came back up the main stairs, into the girls’ suite of rooms. It had been her intention to soothe whatever argument was brewing but when she entered Nathalie and Elise’s chamber, she came face to face with Lady Orford, who had been trying to calm the situation herself. Upon seeing Lyle’s sister, Lillibet immediately left the chamber; there was no love lost between the lady of the house and her brother’s lover.