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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The door to the bedchamber suddenly slammed shut with a resounding noise, rattling the utensils on the table before him. Even with the door closed, he could hear Dustin shouting and Christopher’s even responses. David took a last swig of wine and rose, going across the room to see how his armor was coming along. The squires, proud of their work, displayed the shiny pieces for him.

  Something banged heavily in the other room and he heard Dustin yelling loudly. He couldn’t really make out her words, but whatever they were, they were angry. Casually, he held his arms out while his squire pulled his hauberk on, acting as if there was nothing unusual occurring at all. But the young squires had big eyes as the banging and shouting continued. David thought it all rather comical.

  He finished dressing, including the tunic bearing Christopher’s colors. This was a newer tunic, made a few days ago when he had tunics made for Marcus, Dud and Trent. David wondered if Marcus would even be wearing colors today, even though he would be acting as Dustin’s escort. And he had no doubt Lady de Lohr was coming, although he pondered the question of whether or not she would award trophies.

  Time was passing and they had to get to the tournament field to begin preparations. He knew that the other knights were most likely already there, but he hesitated to leave without Christopher. The fight coming from the bedchamber had grown suspiciously quiet and he suspected it was either because Dustin was crying or because Christopher was making mad love to her.

  David waited about as long as he dared, finally donning his helmet and headed for the door, just as the bedchamber door opened and Christopher exited, not looking the least bit sheepish.

  “Well? Is she coming?” David demanded, fumbling with his gloves.

  Christopher shot him an impatient glance as he went to his squire. “She is,” he said, forcing the words out. “Go and make sure the preparations are complete. I shall escort my wife down to the field.”

  David snorted and Christopher glared at him menacingly, conveying silent threats of pain and death to his brother should he laugh at him. David bit his lip and feigned a serious look.

  “Edward and Leeton are at the field, I am sure,” he said, fighting off a bad attack of the giggles. “I shall wait for you and your lovely wife.”

  Christopher ignored him as his squire helped him with his armor. Dustin’s two fat maids bustled in and out of the bedchamber, carrying in hot water and linens and other things. The young squires sitting against the wall watched with great interest as the women scurried in and out, back and forth. They dug into the massive wardrobe in the antechamber at one point and retreated with a pile of cloaks.

  “How is her leg?” David asked, watching the competent young squire handle Christopher’s leg armor.

  “‘A mere scratch’, she says, to quote a more experienced warrior,” he replied, shaking his leg to adjust the greave. The armor settled down over his boot. “If she bleeds to death up in the lists, then it is her own fault.”

  “Are you going to let her award trophies?” his brother inquired.

  Christopher tugged at the tunic as his squire straightened his breastplate. “I already told her that she could,” he said, looking at David. “As much as I loathe the idea of her anywhere near John and Ralph, there is naught they can do to her with Marcus by her side or with thousands of people as witnesses.”

  David stood with his legs braced apart, arms crossed, watching the squire finish his brother’s dress. David had seen his brother in armor for as long as he could remember, and words that came to mind this day were impos­ing…in­destruct­ible…power­ful…fear­less. Defender of the Realm and Richard’s Champion. His brother was all of that and more.

  “Chris, with all of the excitement, I forgot to tell you that Deborah is here,” David said after a few moments. “I saw her in the dining hall last eve. She’s a damn woman grown; I never would have recognized her if she hadn’t come to me first.”

  “Deborah?” Christopher looked surprised, then nodded with sudden understanding. “Of course; how could I have not realized? The Earl of Bath is here. Christ, I shall have to seek her out and see if your words are true. How old is she now, seventeen? By the way, have you seen anyone from Lohrham?”

  “Nay,” David answered. “They probably arrived late yesterday, as did the rest of the competitors who weren’t already here.” He grinned suddenly. “It shall be a rout, Chris. Lohrham’s knights are all old warriors who fought with father and Uncle Philip. There are only a few worthy knights in the contest worthy of your skills, most of them having recently returned from the quest.”

  “And not even they can defeat me,” Christopher said with customary arrogance, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “You are correct in your observation, little brother. This tourney will be a rout for Richard’s forces.”

  His squire was securing his sword when Dustin entered the antechamber. All male eyes in the room, young and old alike, were glued to her like flies to honey. She wore a surcoat of rich royal blue silk, the same color as Christopher’s tunic. The flattering lines along her bosom and shoulders brought out the beauty of her neck and torso, and she had pulled her hair back softly to reveal her heart-shaped face.

  She smiled as she approached her husband, noticeably limping. “Do you like it? It matches your colors.”

  Christopher was deeply pleased. He smiled faintly, touching her gently under the chin. “The color makes your eyes as dark as storm clouds,” he said softly. “Aye, I like it a great deal. Never have my colors looked so good.”

  She grinned triumphantly and Christopher had to chuckle; she was always as happy as a child when she got her way.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she curtsied coyly, lowering her lashes. She was becoming quite practiced with her feminine gestures, for they came naturally to her.

  Christopher grinned openly at her, holding out his hands for his squire to pull on his gauntlets. Dustin stepped back as the tall lad silently and deftly pulled on the gloves. She eyed the young man curiously, now at close range. She had never been this close to him before and she was interested.

  “I have never met your squire, Chris,” she said. “Would you introduce us?”

  Christopher looked as if the idea had never occurred to him. The squire stopped what he was doing, his cheeks flushing bright red as he looked up at his liege.

  “Darren, this is my wife, the Lady Dustin de Lohr.” He looked at his wife and turned the boy to face her. “Dustin, this is Darren Ainsley, son of Lord Robert Ainsley. Darren served with me three years on the quest. His father served Richard.”

  Dustin nodded to the embarrassed young man. “Is your father still in the Holy Land?”

  The poor squire looked as if he were going to die from sheer fright. “Nay, my lady, he perished over a year ago,” he answered, his voice cracking.

  “How terrible,” Dustin said sincerely. “Then it would seem that you and I have something in common.”

  “Aye, my lady,” the boy nodded rapidly, his eyes too shy to meet hers.

  “How old are you, Darren?” she asked.

  “Seventeen, my lady,” he replied, then added, “I was sent to foster at Lohrham Forest when I was seven years old. Lord Christopher took me as his squire when I was twelve.”

  Dustin smiled at him and Christopher felt the boy sway under his grip. As amusing as it was to witness Darren’s abject terror, time was pressing.

  “If you are ready, then, we shall proceed to the field,” Christopher said.

  As Dustin nodded, he let go of Darren, positive the lad would collapse without the support. He didn’t, but bolted for the corner as if he had been burned, gathering Christopher’s weapons and shield hastily. Christopher had to smile to himself; he barely remembered the same fear when he had been a lad barely over the threshold of manhood, speaking to a beautiful woman for the first time. But no woman he had ever seen nor spoken to had ever compared with his wife, so he felt doubly sorry for Darren on that account.

  “Do
you think I will need my cloak? I do not think I will need it.” Dustin was rambling on. David simply shrugged.

  “Bring it,” Christopher ordered. “The day may grow chilly.”

  “But the sun is shining,” Dustin pointed out, “and this silk is heavy. I will not need my cloak.”

  Christopher picked up the deep blue cloak and threw it at her. “Take it.”

  She dropped it on the floor purely from spite, smoothing her surcoat primly. “I do not want to,” she said disagreeably. “The silk is warm enough. Besides, it will cover up this lovely dress and I want to show it off.”

  He glared threateningly at her, about to suggest that her surcoat gave an ample view of her lovely breasts and that the cloak would cover her from lustful eyes, but he didn’t want to upset her. Instead, he sighed heavily and picked the cloak up.

  “Take it or you do not go,” he said in a low, even tone. She scowled but took it, for she was wary of the level of his voice.

  The squires preceded them from the room, with the boys laden with Christopher and David’s shields as well other implements. Dustin fastened the cloak around her shoulders and took David’s and Christopher’s arms. Outside in the hall were a full company of soldiers lining the walls. They snapped to attention when they exited from the antechamber and Dustin startled at the loud salute as they greeted the baron. They were all Christopher’s troops, their sharp blue and gold tunics indicating such, their mail polished to a sheen.

  It was extremely impressive, even to her. Twenty-four soldiers escorted her, Christopher and David down from the apartments and through the bulk of the castle. There were very few people in the castle, most of them either getting ready for the tournament or already down at the field, and the cadence of synchronized bootfalls echoed loudly in the cavernous halls as they made their way outside.

  Dustin gripped the elbows of the two knights, almost running to keep up with the pace that had been set and her chest swelling with the enormous pride she was feeling. She could not keep the cocky smile from her lips.

  She glanced up at her husband, so tall and strong and powerful that he was nearly surreal. His helmet was on and his visor lifted and it was impossible to see most of his face, but she stared at him anyway. She could not describe the pride filling her veins, proud that he was hers, that all of this loyalty was theirs, that her husband and his knights were the envy of the whole of Windsor.

  “How’s your leg?” he asked, as his helmeted head looked down at her.

  Truth was, it ached a great deal but she forced a smile. “Not too bad.”

  “Are we walking too fast for you?” he asked.

  She didn’t want to be a bother, especially when she had put up such a fuss earlier. But her expression gave her away and before she could answer he was barking orders at the sergeant to slow the pace. Slower, and much better for her, they continued on to the arena.

  The lists were already filling up with women in gaily decorated dressed and men with brightly colored tunics and shoes. The royal box was decorated with flowers and ribbons and silks, but John and Ralph were nowhere to be seen. David excused himself and Christopher positioned the color guard personally.

  “What are you doing?” Dustin asked, watching him place the men in strategic places about the stands.

  “Making sure each man has an unobstructed view of you,” he replied, distracted. “Marcus will act as your personal protector and these men will assist him. Their duty is to you and you alone.”

  Dustin watched the strong, silent soldiers take their places, a little overwhelmed that all of the men were assigned to her. The early morning sun was remarkably warm and she was heating up rapidly underneath the cloak, so she removed it as her husband placed the last of the guards. Finally, he turned to her.

  “That should be sufficient,” he said, his eyes raking her bare shoulders and chest. He almost forgot himself, but cleared his throat and continued. “You will sit up there.”

  She turned and looked to see where he was pointing, noting that there were several chairs in the royal box.

  He continued, “Marcus should be here momentarily, and I do not want you straying from him.” He grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Do you understand me?”

  “Aye,” she nodded. “Will I see you at all?”

  “Of course, sweet. I shall be fighting for the honor of Richard and England, out there on the field,” he said, smiling. “And then, of course, you will award the trophies to me.”

  She smiled in return, her eyes suddenly growing concerned. “You shall be careful, won’t you? Promise me that you will not get hurt.”

  “I promise,” he replied sincerely. “Do not worry about me.”

  “I do worry,” she said insistently. “I cannot help it. I have heard that tournaments can be very dangerous.”

  “Not to me,” he snorted, bending down to kiss her when she eyed him dubiously. “And there is one thing more.” He fumbled under his tunic and was digging beneath his mail while Dustin watched him curiously. Finally, he drew forth a black silk pouch and proceeded to open it with his thick fingers.

  “Do you remember I told you that I wanted to buy you a proper wedding gift, something you would wear and remember me by?” he asked softly.

  “Aye,” she said. “But you bought me the diamond ring and I think of you every time I look at it.”

  He smiled warmly at her. “Close your eyes.”

  She did as she was asked, feeling something heavy and cold lay against the white skin of her bosom like a great block of ice.

  “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he ordered quietly.

  She did and immediately looked down to see what he had placed upon her. Her breath caught in her throat when she observed a large golden cross, inlaid with glittering sapphires and strung upon a beautiful gold chain. It was simple and elegant, entirely gorgeous, and she turned it over and over in her hands as she admired it.

  “Oh, Christopher,” she gasped. “It’s lovely.”

  “Do you like it?” he watched her expression and could only read joy.

  “Oh, I do,” she exclaimed, her face lighting up with a huge smile. “I shall never take it off, I swear it. But why do you give it to me now, in front of everyone, where I cannot thank you properly?”

  His great gloved hand caressed her cheek and her heart fluttered at his warm, loving gaze. “You thank me properly by being my wife, by bearing my colors, by your beauty and your spirit. ’Tis the greatest thanks I could receive.”

  “I will thank you later in private, nonetheless,” she promised quietly.

  “I will live on that vow the rest of the day,” he said, turning as a knight roared by on a gaily colored destrier and the crowd applauded loudly.

  “Who is that?” Dustin asked.

  “Sir Stephen Marion,” he replied. “A pompous fool if there ever was one.”

  Dustin watched the knight remove his helmet and acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, eyeing her husband as he pretended to ignore the cries. “Lord, he’s a handsome devil,” she teased.

  Christopher tightened his gauntlets. “Not after I get finished with him,” he said. “Take your seat; Marcus should be here shortly.”

  “Where are you going?” Dustin grabbed his arm, suddenly afraid to let him go.

  He put a hand over hers. “I must prepare, sweetheart.” He could read the anxiety on her face and patted her hand reassuringly. “Do not worry. Enjoy yourself. This will be exciting, I promise.”

  He tried to steer her toward her chair, but she balked. “Wait; I haven’t given you a favor.”

  “Aye, you have,” he said, holding up his left hand. “I wear it on my finger.”

  “But…it’s just a wedding ring,” she grappled for her surcoat. “Let me give you a real favor you can carry in your gauntlet.”

  “This ring means more to me than any slip of material, Dustin,” he said softly, stilling her hands. “I really have to go now.”

  Again he moved her toward her se
at but she stopped dead in her tracks like a stubborn old horse. “Kiss me.”

  His brow furrowed. “I cannot, sweet. I have got my helmet on and….”

  “Kiss me, please.” She was insistent.

  He sighed, wondering what was bringing on this case of nerves. True, she had never been to a tournament before, but she was acting as if he were going to his death. With thick fingers, he unlatched his helmet and removed it. Before he could take another breath, she grabbed his mailed head and planted an urgent, hard kiss on his bearded lips.

  “Dustin, what’s the matter with you?” he demanded quietly.

  “Nothing,” she insisted, still holding his head. “It’s just that I have never been to a tourney before and I know there is always a chance that you could…”

  “Do not say it or you shall curse me,” he warned lightly. “My sweet love, I have been competing in tournaments since I was twenty years old and I have yet to be injured in one. You worry overly.”

  She started to pout but he thankfully caught sight of Marcus rounding the stands. “Look, there’s Marcus,” he said quickly before she could stall further. He waved at the man. “Marcus!”

  Marcus caught sight of them as he entered the lists, his eyes warming at Dustin. She looked absolutely beautiful in the dark blue surcoat. Christopher took her hands from his head and kissed them before placing them on Marcus’ arm.

  “Take her before she convinces me not to compete,” he said. “I have yet to see to my horse or to my men.”

  Marcus’ hand closed over her two small ones. “Why? What’s the matter?”

  “She’s afraid,” Christopher said, putting his helmet back on. “She has never been to a tournament before and she’s concerned that I will end up impaled on a pole or some other sort of nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense,” Dustin insisted hotly.

  Christopher and Marcus passed glances and Marcus began to lead her toward their seats. “Aye, it is,” Marcus said. “You are in for a great treat, my lady. Tournaments are a test of skill and tactics, not a fight to the death.”