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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “You do not have to, sweetheart,” he said softly.

  “We need to wrap those ribs, my lord.” Burwell boomed.

  Christopher shot the man a withering look. “I have won the joust and will accept what is mine.” His eye caught the horse as it cleared the arena and headed for the outlying area. “Considering the cost of victory, I would say the prince better award me the whole bloody treasury.”

  “I shall do it,” Dustin said hoarsely, letting go of David and brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face.

  The marshals went to the lists and, after a brief discussion with John and Ralph, waved Dustin and Christopher over. David and Marcus escorted Dustin up the stairs to the dais as Christopher made his way slowly toward the foot of the platform. John and Ralph were on their feet, scowling contemptuously at Christopher as he approached.

  Dustin watched her husband as he made his way toward the royal box and disengaged himself from Leeton and Dud. The crowd went mad as he walked the last few feet under his own power and halted, as tall and proud as he could manage, in front of John. Dustin found herself drawing comfort and strength from the cheers of the people as they showed their respect for the man they called the Lion’s Claw.

  Even with his battered body, his spirit soared to conquer the pain. The agony was not readable on face. He was, in every sense of the word, the champion and Defender of the Realm.

  Dustin moved beyond her shock and weakness. Before she realized it, tears were filling her eyes and spilling in hot streams down her cheeks. She wiped them away, but they kept reappearing and the more she wiped, the faster they seemed to fall. Marcus saw her quaking and leaned next to her ear to whisper words of encouragement. She sniffled and nodded quickly in response, stepping forward as a steward ushered her to John’s side.

  John was not in the least bit happy. Sir Dennis was fine after his vicious fall, but he had lost the bout nonetheless. The prince eyed Christopher, lifting his hands irritably to silence the screaming crowd.

  “It seems that the champion has returned from the quest as skilled as if he had never left,” the prince said with mock sincerity. “He has bested the finest England had to offer and for that, he will be duly rewarded.”

  The steward handed Dustin a ribbon made from red brocade, embroidered with gold thread into fantastic patterns. It was a beautiful ribbon, though hardly worthy of the pain and effort expended for such a tourney. She accepted it graciously and moved forward when John motioned to her. The tears were falling faster than ever, dripping off her chin and onto the top of her breasts, and the sobs began to rise as the prince lamely indicated that she pin her husband with the ribbon.

  Christopher’s heart was breaking. Dustin was trying so hard to be brave, to award him the prize, but she was quickly crumbling. He took a few stiff steps forward, standing at the very edge of the platform as she stood above him, shaking so badly that she could hardly place the ribbon on him.

  “It’s all right, Dustin, my love,” he whispered for her ears only. “Give me the ribbon and be done with it.”

  She heard him call her “my love” and she dissolved, the sobs coming forth like great choking sounds. He wanted desperately to reach up and cradle her against him, but his ribs were screaming with pain and he knew the action was impossible. He raised his hand and took the ribbon from her, for she was unable to go any further. With a quick nod to David, the man swept Dustin against him and Marcus moved close on her other side. They were moving for the stairs when Ralph moved before them, his oily face glazed with humiliation.

  He boldly glared at Marcus and David before his black eyes came to rest on Dustin. “Next time, my lady….,” was all he said. It was a challenge and a promise that could have encompassed any number of references.

  Dustin’s tears disappeared as she stared back at the sheriff. Anger and hatred filled her, racing up her spine until she was fairly hot with the stuff. No longer was she the weakened wife, she yanked herself from David and Marcus and moved to within an inch or so of Ralph’s disgusting face, her lips parting seductively as she looked him up and down, scrutinizing every inch of the hated face.

  Ralph found himself quivering at her closeness, wondering if she were going to strike him again, but her face was calm, even passionate. The gray eyes belied nothing as she looked him over and then came to rest on his.

  “To hell with you,” she spat so deliberately that there was absolutely no mistaking the meaning.

  Ralph actually swayed back as if her words had a physical effect on his person. Without another glance, Dustin stood straight and proud, and preceded David and Marcus from the lists.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Burwell was not gentle when he wrapped Christopher’s ribs. In fact, Christopher insisted his wife leave the room before the surgeon even started so that she wouldn’t hear his grunts or see his agony. Reluctantly, but without tears, she did as she was told and returned to the antechamber with Marcus and Dud. The surgeon required David and Leeton’s strength, as they remained behind with their liege.

  Someone closed the door to the bedchamber and Dustin wandered absently to the windows that overlooked the fading garden below. She didn’t know how long she stood there, picking at the lattice work that covered the windows and staring out at the sky, the trees, and the birds. George jumped onto the sill at one point and kept vigil with her, and Dustin passed the time playing with him and feeding him grapes.

  Alex and Harold, who had been sleeping underneath the wardrobe, wriggled out from underneath and happily jumped all over Dustin’s legs, vying for her affection. She would pet them and croon to the pups, but George was still deathly afraid of them so she didn’t pick them up. Instead, she tried to convince George that the little dogs weren’t trying to make a meal out of him.

  Marcus sat by the hearth, watching every move she made and hearing every word she said. He was trying so hard to fight down his feelings for her, but when he saw her like this, it was impossible. Every time she laughed at George, he was smitten anew and he began to realize with mounting horror that his infatuation had deepened to the point where it had grown into love. God help him, he was in love with her. With all of the women he had been with and had been courted by, the one woman he did fall for was a married one and he found it bitterly ironic.

  Somewhere in his train of thought he glanced up and caught her looking at him. She smiled when their eyes met.

  “What are you thinking, Marcus? You are a thousand miles away,” she said.

  He forced a smile. “Not really,” he said. “I was thinking on le Londe and wondering how he fared.”

  Dustin’s smile vanished. “Dead, I hope. What did he mean when he said he would take me and ten marks?”

  “I don t know,” Marcus lied. “Mayhap he was stating his price for beating your husband.”

  She turned back to George as he climbed onto her arm and toyed with her hair. “John could not give me to him, could he? I mean, if Christopher were killed?”

  “Nay,” Marcus said through clenched teeth. “Sir Dennis would never have you, I swear it.”

  She mulled over his statement seriously until George crawled onto her neck and she began giggling uncontrollably. She jumped up and began dancing about strangely, much to Marcus and Dud’s amusement.

  “What is the matter with you?” Marcus demanded.

  “He tickles,” she giggled, scrunching up her neck in an attempt to dislodge the monkey. “He likes my neck.”

  “Come here and let me remove him,” Marcus motioned to her, still seated.

  She twisted her way over to him and leaned over. Marcus unwound the uncooperative monkey from her hair and gently pulled him free. Dustin straightened and took the screaming monkey from his hands.

  “Thank you,” she said, petting George and setting him down on the table. He immediately scampered over to a bowl full of apples and began gorging himself.

  There was a knock at the door and Dud rose to answer it. Lady Deborah, her lovely pale fa
ce even paler, was in the archway with terror in her eyes. Dustin rushed to her.

  “Come in, Deborah,” she bade eagerly.

  Deborah hugged Dustin tightly. “Oh, Dustin, I saw everything. Is Christopher all right? Are you well?”

  “The surgeon is wrapping his ribs,” Dustin told her as Dud closed the door behind them.

  Deborah closed her eyes tightly for a brief moment and crossed herself. “God be praised he was not killed,” she said. “I have never been more terrified in my entire life.”

  Dustin nodded; she knew exactly how she felt. “Come and sit down.”

  Deborah smiled and bobbed a curtsy for Marcus, who acknowledged her with a vague nod. She and Dustin sat next to one another, yet neither woman said a word for a moment. Dustin felt a great deal of comfort from Deborah’s presence.

  “I did so want to go to you when Christopher was felled,” Deborah said. “But the countess would not allow it. She said it was better that I wait until the situation calmed.”

  “And she was correct,” Marcus said, eyeing Dustin. “We had our hands full with the injured baron and his unruly wife.”

  Dustin’s eyes narrowed at him. “Quiet, baron, or I shall break your other arm.” She turned back to Deborah. “Deborah, I do not want you to return to Bath. I want you to return to Lioncross with me. Would you consider it?”

  Deborah’s face regained some color. “Truly, Dustin?” she asked, thrilled. “I would like nothing better. To be with my brothers and my new sister-in-law would be wonderful.”

  “Honestly?” Dustin was surprised she gave in so easily. “I know you grew up in Bath, but I want you to come home with me. You do not object?”

  “Nay,” Deborah insisted. “ ’Twould be a wonderful dream.”

  Dustin smiled broadly, a bright spot in an otherwise hellish day. “Then I will speak to Christopher on it. How can he say no?”

  They hugged and smiled at one another, the conversation turning to other subjects and time passed by. Marcus sat and listened to them talk like geese in a gaggle, wondering how two women who had just met could find so much to talk about. It was amazing how well Deborah and Dustin got along, almost too good, he thought, but didn’t dwell on it. Deborah was a de Lohr and, in his mind, beyond any ulterior motive.

  Almost an hour later, the surgeon came from the room, eyeing Dustin critically as he rolled his sleeves down. She, as well as the two knights and Deborah, were on their feet anxiously.

  “Your husband has at least five broken ribs, my lady, as well as a shoulder that was gored and popped out of socket,” he said sternly. “I treated the wound on the shoulder and replaced it, but the ribs will take time to heal. I understand you are the only one who can control this man, am I correct?”

  Dustin looked as if she didn’t understand the question. “I… I can only try.”

  “Then try hard,” Burwell said. “The man must stay abed for a few days to allow those bones to soft-heal. After that, only light movement and plenty of food and rest. Will you do this?”

  Dustin nodded firmly. “Aye, my lord, I will.”

  “Good.” The surgeon stood away from the door. “Well, get in there to see him before he comes out here to find you.”

  She scurried past the doctor and nearly collided with David and Leeton as they were exiting the room. They moved out of her way and she proceeded into the room. Behind her, the door closed softly.

  Christopher was laying back on the pillows, his arm and ribs bound tightly together. His face was pale, but he smiled weakly at her as she approached the bed. She returned his smile with pure relief.

  “So you have five broken ribs?” she repeated softly.

  “Aye,” he replied, his voice weary. “But at least the shoulder wasn’t broken. I heard the surgeon. Just how are you planning to keep me abed for days on end?”

  Without intention, warm, passion thoughts filled her mind and erotic heat seared her veins. Even when she realized what she was feeling, she could not stop herself. Her eyebrow rose slowly and a seductive smile molded to her lips.

  “Any way I can, baron,” she said provocatively.

  He caught her tone with a good deal of surprise and pleasure. He laughed low in his throat. “I have but one good arm, my lady. You would take advantage of me in my state?”

  She crept onto the bed, her face glazed with desire and hunger; a direct result of the relief she was feeling that he was alive and on the road to recovery. Like a cat, she stalked toward him until both arms were braced on either side of his head and her soft body was hovering over him. Their gazes locked, a thousand soundless words of pleasure and thankfulness filling the silence as their eyes devoured one another.

  “I would take advantage of you, baron,” she whispered. “I would do anything I had to do to make sure you recover fully from this injury, and if that means making love to you all day and night, then so be it.”

  She could feel his hand moving up her back. “I look forward to my infirmary, then,” he said.

  Her lips came down on his with infinite softness, licking at his lips the same way he licked at hers. Their tongues met and engaged, tasting the sweetness that they had to offer and taking pure pleasure in life itself. Dustin felt his hand in her hair, holding her head down to him as he sampled his fill of her. When she did pull back, his huge hand was on her face, savoring her.

  “My sweet little love,” he whispered, kissing her again. “I am sorry for what happened. This is the first time I have ever been injured in a tourney.”

  She looked at his bandages, her hand running lightly over them. “ ’Tis not your fault, but that of that diabolical Sir Dennis. Do you know that he wanted ten marks and me to dispose of you? I was sitting there when he told Prince John.”

  Christopher’s eyes went from softly passionate to deep blue with fury. “He said that?”

  She nodded, putting her face in the crook of his neck. Christopher grabbed her head and pulled her back up to look at him.

  “He said that?” he pressed. “Exactly?”

  His expression frightened her. She hadn’t meant to anger him, only tell him what the man had said. “Aye, he said that exactly,” she said. “When he rode up to the prince before your bout, Dennis asked John if you were married. John pointed to me and then Sir Dennis said that he wanted me and ten marks.”

  Christopher’s hand went from gripping her head firmly to caressing her, as if he were forcibly trying to calm himself. His gaze lingered on her and she could see the fire in his eyes banking. She took to stroking his face tenderly, hoping he would calm down. In his present condition, there was nothing he could do about what was said. At least, not at the moment.

  Finally, he cracked a smile. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “Anything, husband,” she replied.

  His grin widened. “Would you shave this bloody beard? It itched something terrible today and nearly drove me mad.”

  She nodded. “If you wish it, of course.”

  He kissed her once, twice. “Go get my razor and soap.”

  She bounded off the bed, being careful not to jostle him too much. He noticed as she went to the cabinet that she was still limping a bit. “How’s your leg?”

  She shrugged, drawing out the necessary utensils. “Sore, but not overly. The wound wasn’t all that deep, but I fear I shall have an ugly scar on the top of my thigh.”

  “Your thigh could never be ugly, Dustin,” he said. “You could not be ugly if you tried.”

  She poured some water in a bowl and began to lather up the soap. “Do you know that I like you better with your beard?”

  “You do?” he asked, frowning. “But you said I looked handsome either way.”

  “You do.” She turned to him with the items in her hand. “I love you either way. But I like your beard best.”

  He smirked and shook his head as she sat down and proceeded to shave off his dark blond beard. She was careful and thorough and he wanted to know where, and on whom, she had practiced. She
laughed at him, ignoring his questions playfully, until his entire face and neck was as smooth as new skin. When she was done, she wiped him off and handed him the polished hand mirror.

  He eyed himself critically. “Hmmm,” he said critically. “I look like a fresh-faced squire.”

  “You look wonderful,” she said. “How old are you, anyway?”

  His eyes crinkled as he handed her back the mirror. “You do not know? No one has told you?”

  “No,” she set the mirror down. “I never thought to ask, and you never told me. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-five years,” he said.

  Her eyebrows rose. “You are? You are old.”

  He laughed. “You say that because you are only nineteen. Thirty-five isn’t so old.”

  “I shall be twenty on the first of December,” she told him. “That seems old to me.”

  “Your birthday is coming soon,” he said thoughtfully. “I am glad you told me. We will have a fine party for you.”

  She shook her head, grinning shyly. “Nay, no party. I do not want a party.”

  “And why not? Every young lady wants a party,” he insisted.

  She shook her head firmly. “No party, Chris. I would simply like us to spend it together, at Lioncross.”

  His smile faded. How could he promise her that when he wasn’t even sure where they would be tomorrow, much less a month from now? But that was what she desired and he would not deny her.

  “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he said softly.

  She put all of the items into the bowl and carried them back across the room. “When is the day of your birth, Chris?”

  “April,” he said. “The seventh.”

  “Good,” she said, setting the paraphernalia down. “I will always remember that.”

  He shook his head. “Birthdays are of no consequence. They simply remind us of how old we are growing.”

  She came back over to the bed and prepared to sit on it when she looked down and saw how dirty her surcoat was. She hadn’t noticed or cared until this moment.