The de Lohr Dynasty: Medieval Legends: A Medieval Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I take it, then, you were coming to Lioncross to be in my service?” Christopher said, changing the subject.

  Marcus smiled. “Absolutely, my lord. I would serve no other, except our glorious Richard, of course.”

  Christopher smiled faintly. “I am pleased. Who are your vassals?”

  Marcus glanced over his shoulder to the two knights sitting in the corner. “The younger one is my cousin, Sir Trent Burton, and the other is Sir Thomas Dudley.”

  “Is that Dud?” Christopher studied the dark form in the corner. “Christ, I did not recognize him. He looks years older from when I last saw him on the sands of the Holy Land.”

  “He is,” Marcus chortled. “But he, and my cousin, wish to serve you also if you will indeed have us.”

  Christopher looked as if he was thinking it over. “Very well,” he said finally. “I shall take you and Dud on, but I will have to see Sir Trent in action before I can accept his oath.”

  “He has a good deal of skill and strength,” Marcus assured him. “Now tell me, Chris; where are you traveling to?”

  “To London,” Christopher said, and his mirth faded. Marcus knew nothing of Richard’s directive and here was certainly not the place to inform him. “You are coming with me.”

  “As ordered, my lord.” Marcus did not look pleased, but held his tongue. He was far too wise to run off at the mouth in public.

  Since they could not delve into the subject at the moment, Christopher relented and ordered his and his wife’s trenchers filled, and they ate while conversation bounced about the table. Sir Thomas and Sir Trent joined them eventually, and Dustin was once again fascinated by the tales of the Holy Land. Sir Marcus was the consummate storyteller, but he always focused on her when he talked and she was uncomfortable with his attention. He reminded her of the honeyed-word fools that used to call on her.

  She lost track of time listening to the men. When the food was finished and the plates had been cleared, she was still caught up in the stories. Marcus was in the middle of a particularly harrowing tale when the front door to the inn blew open in a crash of rain and weather and noise. Everyone turned to see several men in armor and mail storm in, filling up the room with their presence.

  Dustin caught her husband’s body language as he stiffened, as did the rest of the knights at their table. She was apprehensive, wondering why the men had suddenly gone on guard.

  The knights that had entered the small inn were loud and rough, shoving and cursing each other as they made their way wearily to one of the worn eating tables. They demanded ale and food loudly, sending the innkeeper and the serving wench running.

  Plates of food were brought to them and pitchers of drink. They dripped water all over the floor and in little time bones and bits of slop were falling to the ground as they began to eat. They were extremely loud and rambunctious, and Dustin eyed them distastefully.

  “Pigs,” she muttered.

  Christopher did not want his wife in the same room as these hardened men. There was something unpredictable about them. The sooner he returned her to their room and bolted the door, the better.

  “David, you and Leeton will escort my wife to our room,” he said in a low, even voice. “One of you stay with her and bolt the door. I shall be up shortly.”

  David rose, pulling Dustin’s chair out as Leeton came around and took her arm. Dustin glanced at her husband with concern, not understanding why he seemed so on edge, but he patted her arm.

  “Go on up, sweet,” he said quietly. “I shall be along.”

  A knight at the other table pinched the serving girl as she poured one man a cupful of ale, forcing her to cry out with pain. The men laughed and one of them did it again as the woman struggled to pull away from them. But they wouldn’t let her go, like a cat in a snare, and they began to grab parts of her body that were sensitive and personal.

  The serving wench was in a panic and Dustin looked to Christopher and his men to see if one of them would move to aid the wench. No one did. Frustrated, Dustin was about to say something to David but a cry from the serving woman interrupted her. The knights were starting to stick their hands up her skirt. Dustin, unable to control her mouth, burst out angrily.

  “Leave her alone, you pigs,” she snapped. “Keep your fat, filthy hands off of her!”

  The entire table of knights turned to her, their anger quickly turning into open appraisal of the serving woman’s defender.

  “Come over here, wench, and I shall put my fat and filthy hands all over you,” one man said and the entire table roared with approval. “God, you are a lovely little chit. Good knights, pray be kind to her. I should like to have your leftovers when you are finished.”

  Christopher got up, as did the rest of his knights. Huge and powerful and imposing, he rushed to the other table of men in less than a second, his sword drawn. He knocked one man who leapt up clear across another table, grabbing the offending knight by his armor and slamming him to the ground.

  Everyone was shouting and bellowing, the sounds of swords being unsheathed filling the warm, stale air. Dustin lunged for the serving girl, pulling her out of the way as Leeton grabbed them both. David left them to plunge feet-first into the blossoming melee, sword in hand.

  Leeton jerked her halfway up the flight of stairs when she realized that the skirmish had turned into an out-and-out brawl. She clung to the bannister as Leeton yanked at her, watching her husband beat the senses out of some hapless fool. She should have been mortified, but instead, she was mesmerized and strangely energized by the sight. She knew Leeton was trying to remove her, but she just didn’t want to go. She wanted to see the fight, and help if she could.

  “Give it to him, Chris!” she yelled, ignoring Leeton’s tugs. “Beat him!”

  Suddenly, a knight charged at her and Leeton thrust himself forward, kicking the man in the face and sending him tumbling back down the stairs. Dustin crowed triumphantly.

  “That will teach you, you bastard,” she said, clapping her hands.

  Leeton looked at her with amusement and horror, a strange expression indeed. “My lady, you will come with me now or I will carry you.”

  She opened her mouth to reply when another knight was bearing down upon them. Dustin, gripping the railing, kicked the man squarely in the chest plate and sent him rolling, pleased with her handiwork. Shocked, Leeton didn’t know whether to laugh or spank her. He could not believe what he was seeing, and he could not believe he was allowing it to go on.

  The brawl transformed from a fistfight to a swordfight, and the air was full of the sounds of metal on metal. Dustin knew that the fight had gone beyond her, and she reluctantly followed Leeton up the stairs, watching what was going on over her shoulder. She could see Christopher engaged with a rather large man, their swords hitting so hard that sparks flew. David, Edward, and Marcus were involved in their own vicious battles, but Dustin’s eyes were on her husband.

  Christopher swung the sword with incredible confidence and power. He easily dispatched two of the men before kicking over a large table and marching over it to assist his brother. With David’s opponent gored, it was no time before the hostile knights collected and turned tail, dragging their wounded comrades with them. As quickly as it started, the battle ended, and Christopher slammed the inn door behind the retreaters so hard that the entire building shook.

  He was winded, but not because he was tired. He was so damn angry that he shoved his sword back in its scabbard hard enough to drive the tip through the reinforced end. His gaze went to his wife, standing at the top of the stairs with Leeton a step or two below her, and pointed a massive finger.

  “To the room!” he roared.

  Dustin jumped, truly puzzled at his reaction. Her shock turned to anger. “Well, you don’t have to yell about it.”

  Christopher didn’t reply, but his jaw was ticking. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he made his way through the debris and took the stairs two at a time. Leeton gave him a wide berth as he came u
p on his wife, huffing and puffing, his cheeks flushed with fury.

  “To the room, now, or I will spank you right here in front of everyone,” he seethed.

  Dustin’s eyes widened and she obeyed, gathering her skirts and hustling down the hall. Christopher, pausing a moment to utter a prayer to God to give him patience, followed.

  The knights heard the chamber door slam close upstairs, and silently they began to right fallen chairs and see to the broken tables. They were moving silently and efficiently when Leeton began to laugh. Edward glanced at the man as if he were crazy, but caught onto his mirth before he knew it, and he too began to choke with laughter. David chimed in with his high-pitched giggle, followed by Marcus and the others until the entire room was screaming with laughter.

  “Why are you laughing?” the innkeeper implored, devastated by the sight of his common room.

  David wiped his eyes. “Because my brother has married a troublemaker and he is too besotted to notice.”

  “He notices,” Edward corrected him. “But he chooses not to care.”

  *

  Upstairs, Christopher slammed the door and bolted it as Dustin ran to the other side of the room, her eyes wide. He ripped off his helmet and tossed it aside, unbuckling his sword and scabbard and letting them clatter to the floor. Dustin watched his angry, jerky movements apprehensively.

  “Are you going to spank me?” she asked fearfully.

  He didn’t look at her as his breast plate fell heavily to the floor and he ripped off his hauberk. “God knows I should,” he muttered angrily. “I should spank you so hard that you blister, but then you wouldn’t be able to travel to London. Hell, it would serve you right if I left you here.”

  Her big gray eyes filled with hot tears. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

  His head came up and he tried not to be swayed by the tears. “I should.”

  Her lower lip quivered. “I am sorry. I did not mean to start the fight.”

  He took a cleansing breath, calming his boiling blood. Her tears were cooling his fury. “You didn’t start the fight,” he struggled to stay calm. “But you know you should have left with Leeton. He was trying to be gentle in removing you. Next time I will give him permission to manhandle you like a sack of oats.”

  She blinked her tears away. “But I was in no danger on the stairs. I wanted to watch you fight.”

  “Why?” he implored. “In God’s name, why, Dustin? Leeton was trying to get you to safety.”

  She could not answer him. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed and pouted. He marched over to her, his massive hands resting on his hips.

  “Listen to me well, lady, for I will not repeat this,” he said lowly. “You will always do what is asked of you, without question or hesitation. You could have been in great danger in there. What if Leeton had been felled somehow and you had been at the mercy of one of those cretins? Would you have my attention divided in a swordfight so that instead of focusing on my opponent, I am worrying about you, giving my enemy an opportunity to gut me? I do not give you orders to hear my own voice, my lady. I do it because I know what is best for you. You will never again disobey nor question me, or so help me I will lock you in a room at Lioncross and throw away the key.”

  Dustin hung her head, completely remorseful. “I am sorry, Christopher. I…I did not think.”

  “I know you did not,” he said harshly. “That is your problem, which is why I think for you.”

  Her head snapped up to him and he caught a flash of resentment. “Not in every matter, husband. I can think well for myself.”

  “Dustin!” he snapped, smacking a balled fist into his hand. But he forced himself to calm, turning away from her in agitation. “I am not arguing your ability to think for yourself, but you are a naive woman. You must trust me with your safety, and with other important matters. I am smarter than you are.”

  Her mouth opened in outrage, but wisely, said nothing. She stood up and unfastened her surcoat, allowing the garment to fall to her feet. Angrily, she tore off the woolen boots and woolen hose and kicked everything into a big pile. Then she moved to the huge bed and yanked back the coverlet, settling herself with loud, furious movements before jerking the covers back over her.

  Christopher watched her, knowing how hard it was for her to bite her tongue. But he was right and she knew it.

  “So that is it?” he said. “Not even a thank you for saving your virtue?”

  Her blond head came up, her hair tousled wildly and her face red with fury. “Oh… go to… go sleep with your knights.”

  Her anger amused him, but he kept his humor banked. “Very well, then, you ungrateful creature, next time I shall let any man who pleases ravage you.”

  She brushed the hair from her face in outrage. “Just let them try. I shall drive their nose clear through their brain.” She sat up, her anger gaining speed. “And I didn’t need you to protect me, anyway. I do just fine by myself, or do I have to wield a pick axe to remind you?”

  “You do not,” he said, calmer now. “And you do need me, lady, whether or not you care to admit it.”

  She let out a grunt of frustration and fell back onto the bed, beating her pillow to make it comfortable. She was far too angry to respond, another word from him would have her throwing things, and she remembered what happened the last time she did that. So she chose to ignore him.

  Christopher was nearly sedate again. He proceeded to remove his boots, breeches, and tunic, laying them on a frame by the fire to dry them out, and snuffed out the candle. Nude, he climbed in bed next to his wife’s stiff body. They lay there in the darkness, listening to the rain, for a long while.

  “How are your hands?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she snapped.

  He sighed. “I should wrap them.”

  “Nay,” she said harshly. “I do not want your help. I do not need it. I want to go home.”

  “Fine,” he said shortly. “I shall send you home tomorrow. You cause too much trouble.”

  She rolled over, looking at his profile in the dim light. He was staring straight up at the ceiling.

  “Fine,” she agreed angrily. “I do not want to be where I am not wanted. Mayhap I shall petition the church for an annulment, and since you think I am too much trouble, I am sure you will not contest it. You can keep Lioncross and I shall marry somebody else, somebody who will treat me as an equal.”

  “And who would that be?”

  She didn’t know, but she thought quickly and blurted the first name that came to mind. “Jeffrey.”

  He turned to her in the darkness. “Kessler? Hell, he wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

  Her anger was turning into hurt, and she rolled back over on her side away from him. “He loves me and would treat me well.”

  He flipped her onto her back, his angry face looming over her. “Did he tell you that?”

  His big body was halfway covering her, and his huge hands were gripping her forearms. She was forced to admit that she was intimidated.

  “Of course not,” she said softly. “But I have heard the talk; I know what the men say.”

  He studied her in the light of the distant fire and his grip eased, turning soft and caressing. “Yet you do not return these feelings.”

  She shook her head. “Nay, husband, I only care for you,” she murmured, then scowled. “Even if you are cruel and demanding and harsh.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but already she could see his gaze softening. “I am what you dictate, lady,” he said. “Were you not so stubborn and willful and mischievous, I would not have to be severe with you.”

  The tenderness in his eyes filled her with warmth and awakening passion. She pulled her arm free of his grasp and ran her fingers through his hair. “Why did you attack that knight?”

  “Why do you think? He insulted you and I could not allow that to go unpunished,” he said firmly.

  “But I yelled at him first,” she reminded him, tracing her finger along his jawline.


  He let out a long sigh. “You did, but no matter. You were defending the serving wench, which is admirable.”

  The mood between them quickly moved from irritation to desire. He reached up and pulled her hand away from his head, studying her blistered palm. “I really should bandage your hands, Dustin.”

  “Did you hurt your hands punching that man?” She turned the tables on him, looking at his knuckles. “You hit him very hard.”

  He shrugged. “My hands are fine,” he said, looking at her again. “I saw you kick that soldier in the chest. Damnation, you are a ruffian.”

  She flashed a quick, embarrassed smile, moving both hands to his head, touching him tenderly. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore, for she knew she had been wrong in nearly every way and he had done what had been necessary to protect her.

  “Chris?” she asked softly.

  “Hmm?” he closed his eyes to her touch.

  “Are you really going to send me home?” she asked.

  He opened his eyes. “Are you really going to divorce me?”

  She grinned and giggled, “No.”

  “Then I won’t send you back,” he said, leaning down to nuzzle her neck.

  His beard was scratchy and his breath warm and she began to melt against him. “Am I really a troublemaker?”

  “The worst.” His voice was husky as he gently kissed her neck, her shoulders.

  She didn’t say any more, giving herself over to him completely as his mouth caressed her gently at first, then more insistently. He had her lift her arms at one point so that he could remove her woolen shift, which then landed on the floor next to her surcoat and boots. He stopped a moment to gaze at her sweet body in the flicker of the firelight. She watched his face, shuddering as he ran his finger lightly down her torso.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.

  His voice was rich and seductive. She hated sweet words; she’d always hated them. But hearing them from his mouth meant something to her. As he bent down to kiss her again, she put her fingers up to his lips.