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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She allowed him to settle her, but her eyes were glued to her husband as he strode away across the busy arena. They were barely seated when Marcus found himself the object of several young women’s attentions, all in a rush of giggles and perfume.

  Dustin lost sight of Christopher and turned her attention to the flock of young ladies fawning over Marcus, cooing like silly sappy fools about his arm, lamenting the fact that he would not be competing. Dustin sighed irritably, if there was anything worse than a cow-eyed man, it was a cow-eyed woman. She turned her back as Marcus politely fended off his admirers.

  The arena was alive with knights and horses and servants. Banners of nearly every great house in England whipped about in the brisk wind that was picking up, blowing the dead leaves across the field. Dustin’s fear for her husband was gradually replaced by the building excitement as the competitors prepared for the great meet ahead. She quickly lost her anxiety as she eagerly watched a knight’s last practice with his new joust pole, or mayhap a few final light blows against another knight. Everyone was busy, making ready for the events in one form or another.

  Marcus found it very strange to be watching the games from the stands. He had never in his life watched a tournament from this vantage point and realized he was very restless. He tried to concentrate on various opponents, evaluating them as if he were actually going up against them, but the constant stream of female admirers were distracting and he was losing his good nature. The more the stands filled with various houses and nobility, the more women seemed to occupy themselves with the great Marcus Burton.

  Dustin was peppering him with questions, but she was a welcome diversion. Her view of life, of the world, in general was refreshing and he was happy to answer her inquiries. But no sooner would he respond to her than another lady was tugging on his arm, vying for his attention. He began to wonder if sitting in the stands was such a wise idea, if he continued to be as distracted as he was, he would not be able to keep an eye on Dustin.

  Dustin, over all of her excitement, could see Marcus’ irritation. The women about him were fluffy little chits with shallow brains and even shallower hearts, and she suspected that there was only one way to get rid of them.

  “Do you want me to fight them off?” she asked.

  He turned greatly amused eyes to her. “Hopefully that will not be necessary,” he responded, then eyed a particularly busty woman as she approached him with a smile. “Yet, on second thought, I may have to accept your gracious offer.”

  Dustin eyed the woman, too, a few feet away. “I think I know a way to be rid of them,” she said. “Do most of these people know who I am?”

  “A few, not all,” Marcus replied. “I doubt the women have made the association that you are Chris’ wife; those gossipy little whores. They come up to me in groups and then retreat to tell their friends, and then their friends move in. Why do you ask?”

  Dustin grinned a mischievous grin. “Go along with me, Marcus, whatever I do.”

  Before he could respond, she bounded onto his lap and threw her arms around his neck. “Of course I shall marry you, Lord Marcus. We shall be ever so happy at Somerhill and…!” She suddenly looked up at the busty woman innocently. “Greetings, ladies. Congratulate me!” She fixed Marcus with as sweet and loving expression as she could muster. “The baron and I are to be married immediately. Tell everyone we will have a big, expensive wedding. Won’t we, darling?”

  Marcus was watching her with astonishment but didn’t miss his cue. “Of course, my love, whatever you say.” For good measure he kissed her loudly on the cheek.

  The big-chested woman was appalled and outraged. She took a step back, glaring at Dustin’s smirking face, and put her handkerchief to her lips as if to stop the scream of shock rising in her throat.

  Dustin just beamed up at her, pulling Marcus’ face into the soft curve of her neck. “Remember, tell everyone. Marcus Burton is no longer a free man, and I am the jealous sort with a belt full of daggers that I am quite good with.”

  The woman shrieked, nearly stumbling over her own feet in her haste to leave. Dustin’s fake smile turned into a real one and Marcus tore his face away from her silky neck, not because he wanted to but because he knew if he kept it there any longer, Dustin might become suspicious.

  “There,” she said smugly. “That should take care of that.”

  She climbed off his lap and took her seat, gloating at her cleverness. Marcus, however, was still a bit stunned. Having her so close, so sweet, so warm against him only served to reinforce his desire for her. For a brief, clandestine moment he actually held her, actually put his face against her incredible skin and the faint scent of roses permeated his nostrils.

  Marcus was a strong man, but he was not perfect. His want for his liege’s wife was multiplying and he was having a devil of a time controlling it. He knew her actions were innocent, but they had provoked the banked flames in him nonetheless.

  “Thank you,” he managed to say. “Mayhap that will keep the foolish birds away from me.”

  “The rumors will spread like wildfire,” Dustin agreed. “At least for today, they will believe it. Only when they see me with Christopher will they become confused and then, eventually, discover our game.”

  “Are you really good with a dagger?” Marcus teased. “You are damn good with a mace.”

  “Oh? You noticed, did you?” Dustin shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. “I can handle a dagger, too, I suppose. Why? Do you want me to follow through on my threat?”

  He laughed. “No, truly, you have done quite enough.”

  Something over Dustin’s shoulder caught Marcus’ attention and he stiffened. Dustin saw his expression and whirled around to see the prince and Ralph mounting the stairs to the lists, surrounded by a dozen elite guards.

  Marcus rose, his face like stone as he watched John and Ralph make their way to their seats, a few feet from where he and Dustin sat. As Ralph and Marcus glared daggers at each other, John extended his hand graciously to Dustin.

  “Lady de Lohr, how lovely you look.” he loudly exclaimed.

  “I’m so pleased your husband allowed you to grace me with your company.”

  Dustin realized she was shaking as she rose and placed her hand in the prince’s, watching him with veiled disgust as he kissed her palm. But the prince didn’t bother her nearly as much as Ralph did; standing a mere few feet away, she felt his presence like a harsh December wind. Every time she looked at him her leg began to throb unbearably, reminding her of what happened last night.

  Ralph’s face was one massive bruise. He stopped glaring at Marcus long enough to focus his beady eyes on Dustin.

  “My lady,” he greeted skeptically, his eyes roving her body. “You look entirely healthy and whole.”

  Dustin, twitching, could not hide her contempt. “No thanks to you, sheriff, but at least I am alive.”

  Marcus, seeing an invitation for an explosion, gently grasped Dustin by the arms and pulled her down to sit once again.

  John eyed Marcus. “You know, for my champion, you do not seem to be inclined to wear my colors.”

  “I wear no colors today, sire, for I am not competing,” Marcus replied steadily.

  “Yet you sit with Lord Christopher’s wife,” the prince pointed out.

  “As do you, my lord,” Marcus returned.

  John pulled back a bit, rethinking his strategy. He scrutinized Marcus once more before leaning back in his chair in a relaxed motion.

  “I must say I was quite disappointed to learn of your injury,” he said without sincerity. “In fact, I found myself searching for another champion right away and although I found no one of your caliber of skills, I was able to find a suitable replacement.”

  Marcus gazed back impassively, wondering who had been foolish enough, besides himself, to champion the prince. “Anyone I know, sire?”

  “Possibly.” John let his gaze wander out over the arena until it came to rest on a group of men underneath a massive oak tree just
outside the perimeter of the field. Marcus and Dustin followed his eyes, immediately spying the black and green colors of the prince. Beside her, Marcus visibly stiffened.

  “Good Christ,” he muttered.

  Before Dustin could ask him what he meant, John glanced over at the two of them, looking rather pleased with himself. “His name is Sir Dennis le Londe.”

  “Dennis the Destroyer,” Marcus hissed. “The man is no champion, sire, he’s a butcher.”

  “And he’s worth every penny,” John shot back. “Although I paid him far less than what I paid you, Burton. He and two of his men, along with three of my elite knights, will be competing for my glory.”

  Mercenaries. Marcus felt his chest swell with disgust and anxiety. Dustin, her eyes wary, tugged at his arm.

  “Who is that man?” she asked.

  Marcus controlled himself, for Dustin had only recently quelled her fears and anything he said could send her off on another fit of terror. “A mercenary, Dustin,” he said quietly. “He fought with the French in Palestine a year or so back and was known for his….aggressive fighting.”

  What he didn’t tell her is that the man single-handedly destroyed two Muslim settlements, mostly women and children, under the guise of peace. He was a completely brutal, unscrupulous man and Marcus wished to God he were fighting in these games for the simple pleasure of humiliating the bastard.

  He didn’t know if Christopher was aware of Dennis’ presence, but one thing was certain; Christopher was going to have his hands full. If the baron believed these games to be an easy victory, the stakes had suddenly changed.

  “Is he good?” Dustin’s voice broke into his train of thought. “He cannot beat Christopher, can he?”

  Marcus’ jaw ticked. “No.”

  Ralph came alongside of John, taking a seat to the left of the prince and placed himself nearly next to Dustin. “What did you expect, Burton? The prince must have a champion, and a fine one can be bought for the right price,” he said. “And after Lord Christopher rendered me quite unable to compete yesterday, I was forced to make other arrangements.”

  Marcus bit back several harsh retorts, cursing himself for ever becoming involved with these two jackals. “So you hire three bloodthirsty mercenaries to compete in a field of honorable knights.”

  “Exactly,” Ralph said with a fake smile. “I would wager to say that de Lohr will have to fight for his trophy, don’t you think? ’Twill not be the easy ride he would have believed it to be.”

  Marcus’ big body tensed and he fought down the urge to rant and yell and destroy everything within his reach. Dustin, however, had not caught on to his concern as she continued to watch the prince’s champion prepare.

  “Look at his helmet, Marcus,” she said, leaning into him. “It has horns on it. And his horse’s armor has spikes all the way around.”

  Marcus’ cobalt blue eyes were as dark as midnight. “I know.”

  He glanced at Dustin after a minute, her beautiful face openly surveying the field. He was so thankful that his fears had not rubbed off on her, but he found himself more and more apprehensive by the moment. Jesus, what if Christopher were indeed killed in front of her? As ruthless and conniving as le Londe was, anything was possible. Christopher had told him, in jest, to be the highest bidder should he in fact perish and Dustin was put on the block. He knew now that if anything did happen, Somerhill be damned. He would take Dustin and flee the country.

  The marshals were taking the field and the stands were filled to overflowing. The air fairly bristled with excitement now as the knights were beginning to form two lines in anticipation of the pageant of colors that would begin the tournament. Dustin could see her husband’s knights but she did not see him.

  “Where’s Chris?” she asked Marcus, pointing to the knights.

  Marcus, still under a cloud of doom and gloom, managed an ironic chuckle. “He doesn’t like the pageantry or the pomp, so he lets David and the others soak up the adoration,” he said, then turned to Dustin. “But just you wait; it has been over three years since the population has seen Chris in a tournament and they will welcome him back with open arms; they love him.”

  Dustin, with a look of surprise, looked back over the stands at the hundreds of people waving their hands and kerchiefs and yelling for their favorite champion.

  “Truly?” she faced front again. “I didn’t realize he was so popular.”

  “Oh, Dustin, there is none more so,” Marcus said fervently. “Chris has been the reigning champion of the joust and hand-to-hand since he was twenty-two. Only in his absence have there been others, but the king has returned to regain his crown and the crowd will go mad for him.”

  Dustin smiled faintly, a prideful smile. “What about you? How well did you do?”

  He shrugged and looked over the field again. “I have fought Chris seven times on the field,” he said. “I have beat him twice in the joust and thrice with my sword. I am the only one who’s ever come close.”

  “And you are very good,” she said agreeably, eyeing his bandaged arm underneath the mail. “I am sorry you will not have a chance to improve your record.”

  “If I improved my record, it would be at your husband’s expense,” Marcus reminded her with a smile.

  She brushed a stray bit of hair off her face, openly studying his arm again. “Will you ever be able to use it again?”

  “Only God can say for sure,” he replied. “The feeling is there and the bones will heal. ’Twill be up to me to work it back to strength.”

  She shook her head, her hand lingering on his arm for a moment longer before she folded it in her lap and turned her attention back to the field. Marcus stared at her until the trumpets heralded the start of the games and the crowd roared with enthusiasm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The joust was first and the knights drew lots to see who would compete against each other in the first round. After the opening bout, Dustin had already had enough. One young knight nearly lost an arm, and her fear for Christopher returned full measure. He was not scheduled to go on until almost the end of the round, and her anxiety was making her mouth dry and her hands tingle painfully.

  Marcus, cool and calm, sat impassively as he watched, commenting on every right or every wrong move. By the third bout, she was ready to throttle him if he spewed forth one more gem of criticism.

  David’s turn was up and he neatly disposed of his opponent on the first run. Dustin cheered wildly for him, yelling like a roughhouse wench until Marcus yanked her back into her seat. She shut up, but she continued to grin and wave at David until he waved back.

  Edward was up two bouts later, taking on one of John’s mercenary knights. Two passes and two hard hits later, Edward ended up on his arse and was automatically disqualified. Shaken, he made his way from the field under his own power and the crowd acknowledged him politely. Leeton came immediately after him, taking down the Earl of Warkworth’s captain with one powerful blow. He was quite triumphant until he learned he had caved the man’s chest in and, an hour later, the man died.

  Dud won his bout as well, up against the formidable Earl of Norwich. It took four passes to take the earl down, and even Marcus roared his approval when the earl clattered to the ground in a thump of armor.

  As long as Christopher’s men were winning and unharmed, Dustin was ecstatic. She screamed and hollered, much to the disapproval of John and Ralph. Ralph even went so far as to admonish her to be neutral since she was awarding trophies, but a deadly look from Marcus shut him up.

  John’s champion, Sir Dennis, broke the neck of the man he was jousting against by bringing his pole up at an angle in the very last seconds before they clashed and caught the man in the neck.

  Everyone in the stands heard the snap and the knight was dead before he hit the ground. The entire crowd shot to their feet in horror and Dustin gasped aloud, her hand to her mouth in disbelief.

  Sir Dennis pranced around the ring, gloating in complete disrespect of the dead
knight even as his comrades hurried out to the field to take the body away. Dustin was sickened, for all she could see was Christopher laying there, dead. Marcus gently sat her down once again and she found herself turning to him for comfort. She was terrified.

  “Well, well, accidents will happen,” John said carelessly.

  Dustin looked at him with scorn, preparing a sharp reply, but Marcus whispered in her ear and she bit her tongue.

  Christopher’s bout was next. Dustin’s attention was riveted to his imposing form as he rode out onto the field on his great white destrier. At the very moment the animal’s hooves hit the brown dirt of the arena, the crowd knew their champion had arrived and went absolutely mad.

  Even though Marcus had forewarned her, Dustin was still startled when the roar went up. Beyond excitement or any other rational feeling, she could do naught but stare at him as he accepted his pole from his squire and moved it to a comfortable position.

  “Oh, lord,” she moaned. “Marcus, I cannot watch this.”

  He grinned at her; she was as white as a sheet. “Be brave, Dustin. There is none better at this than your husband.”

  She stared at Christopher for a moment longer before turning away and shutting her eyes tightly. “I cannot look. Who is his opponent?”

  “Sir Stephen Marion,” Marcus answered.

  “Him?” She jerked her head around to look again and then just as quickly looked away. “Christopher said he was a pompous fool.”

  “He is,” Marcus agreed. “But he is an excellent knight. This should be an exciting bout.”

  “Cease,” she snapped, covering her eyes with her right hand.

  Marcus laughed softly, enjoying her terror. “Here comes the marshal,” he commented.

  “Do not tell me anymore,” she ordered, pressing her hand tighter against her eyes.

  He leaned closer to her. “He’s holding up his flag and the knights are preparing their poles.”