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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He was trying to be gentle, to pace himself but, Christ, he wanted her so badly he found himself being rough. Yet Dustin didn’t complain; in fact, she encouraged him and even yanked his hair cruelly as he suckled a nipple, causing him to raise his head up and she descended urgently on his lips with her own strong drive. The rougher he became, the more she liked it.

  Suddenly she rolled him over on his back, her hot little lips blazing a scorching trail all over his broad chest, peaking his nipples with her tongue and grunting with pleasure the whole while. He groaned with his own satisfaction as she moved down his abdomen before closing on his engorged organ with relish. Yet he could stand no more than a second or two of her ministrations; winding his fingers in her wild hair, he pulled on her hard enough to bring a scream to her lips.

  He was fearful that he had been too rough, but his fear turned to overwhelming lust and desire when he saw her gazing up at him with a grin to seduce God himself. He’d never known his wife to enjoy brutality in their lovemaking but, Christ, he was loving it, too.

  Dustin was on her back before she realized it, whispering words of encouragement as he fell atop her and positioned his great shaft at her threshold. He was trying to be gentle, but she simply would not allow lt. He knew it was likely to pain her a great deal when he entered her, but her legs were wrapping themselves around his thighs and he could feel how slippery she was, throwing him over the edge into oblivion. As Dustin told him in no uncertain terms what she wanted him to do to her, Christopher coiled his rock-hard buttocks and drove into his wife like a great battering ram.

  Dustin cried out with the thrill of pleasure-pain, her nails digging crescent-shaped wounds into the flesh of his arse. He was unstoppable, thrusting into her hard enough to rattle her teeth, feeling her tightness enclosed over him, so pleasurable it was painful.

  She rose to meet his every thrust, crying out his name and begging him to move harder, swifter, and hotter. He was absolutely mad with his wife, filling every corner of his mind until nothing else in the world existed but her. His plunges became more forceful, his hands squeezing her breasts, the sweat of his body mingling with hers until he finally climaxed in a great searing blast of convulsions. He heard her soft screaming pants and he knew she had achieved her own pleasure, their pulsing muscles interacting with each other, responding one to the other. The warm glow that was descending on them was almost visible.

  He held her tightly, not withdrawing, overwhelmed with the passion between them. Never had he made love to a woman with such blind desire and force, and he found he was actually astonished with the drive they shared. The seven weeks had been well worth the wait to have it peak in such a glorious fashion.

  “Dustin de Lohr,” he growled into her ear. “You are a reckless, wanton wench.”

  She pulled her head up, smiling through her tousled hair. “You make me that way, husband. I have been dreaming of your magnificent body for seven long weeks.”

  “I know, you told me six weeks ago,” he teased her. “Was this more wonderful than your dream?”

  Dustin was suddenly struck with the remembrance of Marcus. Lord, she’d almost forgotten and inadvertently Christopher caused all of the pain and guilt and confusion to flood over her again. But she was strong and fought it for all she was worth. She threw her arms around his neck tightly, hoping if she held on firmly enough, that Marcus’ memory could not disturb her.

  “More wonderful than anything in this world,” she whispered fervently. “Promise me it will always be like this, Chris.”

  “If I have anything to say about it, it will,” he kissed her cheek. “You are choking me, sweet.”

  She loosened her grip but didn’t let him go, laying her head back to look him in the eye. His gaze was loving and warm, drinking in her face just as she was devouring his.

  “You are going away, aren’t you?” she whispered after a moment.

  He blinked at the rapid change of subject. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Do not be evasive with me. I have heard the rumors, I know John has a large army and is preparing to strike King Richard’s holdings, holdings which you will have to defend.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “When are you leaving?”

  She could see his expression become unguarded. “Dustin….”

  “Please tell me,” she begged. “I am not a silly, simpering female who will fall into swoons like a weakling. Just be honest with me, Chris, please. I want to know when I will be losing you so I can prepare myself.”

  After a moment he reached out and stroked the stray hairs away from her face, tracing a finger over her lower lip. “I do not know exactly when,” his voice was hoarse. “But soon. Mayhap within the next week or so.”

  Dustin suddenly felt like crying, but she had promised to be strong. Her sweet Christopher fighting against the evil bastard John, possibly dying for a king who had never actually ruled England from English soil, angered her to the point of madness. But she had promised to be strong, and she intended to keep that promise. Even if it killed her.

  “Are you going north to Nottingham?” she asked. “My grandsire is housing John’s troops, is he not?”

  He nodded slowly, kissing her hand. “He is, and north we will ride when John moves.”

  “Are you taking David and Edward and Leeton?” she asked.

  “I must,” he replied. “And Marcus, too, if I can ever get through to the man.”

  Dustin was glad Marcus was gone. It was much easier for her to recover without having to deal with his face every day, and without having to face an additional level of guilt. If he were gone it was easier to pretend nothing ever happened.

  “Marcus’ keep is far north of Nottingham,” Christopher was saying. “ ’Twould be a good thing to launch an attack against John from two fronts, me from the south and Marcus from the north. But Nottingham is so damned fortified, we must wait until we know John is moving his army from the protective walls. ’Tis the only way to destroy him – out in the open.”

  Moving off the subject of Marcus, Dustin’s guilt shifted to her grandfather, a man she had never even met, and his loyalty to John’s cause. She wondered if Christopher blamed her somehow for causing so much grief.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered.

  “For what?”

  “For my grandsire’s evil nature, for helping John,” she said softly. “Lord, Chris, Ralph is my cousin. Doesn’t that make you angry or repulsed?”

  He shrugged. “Why should it? You cannot choose your relatives, sweetheart, and you certainly are not responsible for bloodlines.”

  “I consider you a noble Barringdon, Dustin, not a Fitz Walter.”

  “I am a de Lohr,” she whispered.

  He grinned. “Aye, you are, aren’t you?”

  They kissed sweetly, lingeringly. Kisses of love grew into kisses of desire and they made love until the dawn.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Christopher left shortly after the sun rose for the troop field. Dustin slept until mid-morning, rising happy and full of spirit. She took a quick bath with rosewater and dressed in a heavy surcoat of pale blue silk with the cross Christopher gave her being the only piece of jewelry she wore. Her mood was light and gay and the maids kept passing her giddy glances as they went about their daily routines.

  Deborah joined her later, excitedly telling her that she had heard rumor that a merchant from Venice was in the forecourt and suggesting they go down to see his wares. Having nothing else to do, Dustin agreed.

  With the weather being so miserable outside, several merchants were moved into the lower foyer of Windsor. There was no mistaking the merchant from Venice, dozens of women were ogling over his wares and bolts and bolts of exquisite material were stacked in neat rows.

  Deborah immediately delved into the material while Dustin sniffed at the vials of perfume. Deborah eagerly asked Dustin’s opinion of several fabrics and colors, but Dustin would merely shrug, Deborah knew much more of fashion and taste than she. While De
borah began to barter with the merchant, Dustin lost interest in the perfumes and turned her attention to the people who were filling the foyer and grand hall. From the corner of her eye, she spied the Earl of Fenwark several feet away inspecting feminine goods.

  Dustin watched the average-sized man pass an eye over the wares, wondering hopefully if Lady Gabrielle was with him. But he seemed to be quite alone and Dustin found her courage to go and ask him of his wife; after all, Christopher never actually saw the earl beat his wife, so therefore he could only speculate about her bruises and the reason behind them. Mayhap he was wrong. And since Dustin hadn’t talked to Lady Gabrielle since their first meeting, she could simply pretend she hadn’t seen the bruises on the countess. Christopher would be angry she had disobeyed him, but she wanted to try and speak with the earl for the sake of Lady Gabrielle.

  She walked right up to the earl and curtsied deeply. When she rose, she noticed his scrutinizing gaze on her.

  “My lord earl,” she said. “I am Lady Dustin de Lohr; I believe you know my husband. I saw you had come to Windsor yesterday and wondered if your wife had accompanied you. She and I met at the tournament in October and I enjoyed her and the Lady Isobelle very much.”

  The earl was impassive and rather cold. “She did not accompany me, Lady de Lohr, for good reason. My wife passed away after Christmas.”

  Dustin was shocked. She took a step back from the earl, her hand going to her throat in an unconscious gesture. “Oh….my lord, please accept my condolences,” she stammered helplessly. “I am…I am speechless, sire, truly. Was she taken suddenly ill?”

  His lip twitched in a most frightening manner, disturbing Dustin all the more. “Nay, my lady,” he said. “She fell down a flight of stairs and broke her neck. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  He pushed past her as if she were a leper, leaving Dustin coming to grips with her dismay and sadness. She watched him move toward the merchant from Venice, saying something to his aide and then laughing merrily with the man. His callous attitude and stone-cold manner turned her heartache in to growing anger.

  Deborah saw her sister-in-law’s face and quickly moved to intercept her before Dustin said or did anything rashly.

  “Let’s go, Dustin,” she said steadily. “I have what I want.”

  “Did you hear him?” Dustin seethed. “His wife is dead and he cares not a lick.”

  “I heard him.” Deborah was growing nervous, she was not nearly strong enough to control Dustin if she went into a rage. “I am tired. Let’s go back to the apartments. Please?”

  Dustin started to nod her head when she caught sight of Lady Isobelle several feet behind the earl. Without a word to Deborah, she pushed through the shoppers toward the fat woman.

  “Lady Isobelle,” she curtsied quickly. “I am Lady Dustin de Lohr, I met you and Lady Gabrielle at….”

  Lady Isobelle’s eyes fell on Dustin with alarm, then quickly banked. “Of course I know you, Lady Dustin,” she said quietly. “Please; you mustn’t….”

  Dustin ignored the woman, bent on finding out more about her friend’s death. “What happened to Lady Gabrielle?” she asked. “Her husband said she fell down the stairs?”

  Lady Isobelle’s cheeks flushed and she kept glancing nervously at her brother, who happened to be facing away with his back to her. She took out her handkerchief and fanned her face. “Aye, she fell,” she stammered. “There was… she was dead before she hit the floor.”

  Dustin’s face went gentle with sympathy. “I am so sorry, Lady Isobelle. She was a very nice lady and I am sorry she is dead.”

  Lady Isobelle nodded shortly and whirled away from Dustin, thrusting herself through the crowd blindly. It seemed to Dustin that she was desperate to get away from her. Puzzled and saddened, she turned with Deborah and retreated from the foyer.

  The halls were busy with the inhabitants of Windsor, walking the halls because they were unable to go outside in the freezing rain. There were soldiers lining the corridors, all of them acknowledging her in some way as she passed. It was a very common occurrence since her husband commanded the troops and she was used to it now, but when it first started happening, she had been embarrassed at the attention.

  There was a spread of bread, wine and cheese in the grand dining hall since it was close to the nooning meal. Dustin and Deborah gathered as much as they could carry and found a cozy window seat in a deserted corridor to share their meal.

  “Do you think Marcus will return?” Deborah asked before Dustin had even taken a bite.

  Dustin kept her gaze averted. “ ’Tis difficult to say. Chris says he cannot get through to him, whether he means literally, I do not know. Mayhap Marcus doesn’t want to come back.”

  “But why?” Deborah lamented. “Did I say something to send him away? Was I too forward with my feelings?”

  Dustin glanced up at her sister-in-law, sweet, faintly pretty, feminine. Marcus would have a good wife in Deborah. “I do not think you were at all. Mayhap….mayhap he wasn’t happy here, or mayhap he was overly desperate to see his new keep. I simply do not know, Deb….Chris doesn’t know, either.”

  Deborah gazed out of the window, miserably chewing on a piece of cheese. “He doesn’t like me,” she said sadly, then looked at Dustin. “He likes you, though.”

  Dustin knew her eyes were wide with surprise. “Why do you say that?”

  Deborah shrugged, picking at her cheese. “I have heard the gossip, Dustin. ’Tis hard not to. I didn’t believe any of it until I began to see the way he looked at you.” When Dustin shook her head vigorously, Deborah put up a placating hand. “I know you do not return his feelings. Christopher has made himself blind to Marcus’ desire for you, probably because he respects the man so much. I suppose as long as Marcus didn’t act on his feelings, Chris would feign ignorance. David hates Marcus for the dissension he has caused within Christopher’s ranks.”

  Dustin’s eyes were guarded; she didn’t know what to say. Deborah smiled softly. “How can I blame him for loving you? You are so beautiful and you do not even know it. I wish I were more like you, Dustin.”

  Dustin did speak, then. “You are mad. ’Tis I who am envious of you, Deborah. You are refined and lady-like and elegant, everything I am not. I could never be like you in a million years. My daughters will have to learn to be a lady from you, because I certainly cannot teach them anything but how to ride a horse and how to tend a sick animal.” She touched her sister-in-law’s hand gently. “ ’Tis you who are beautiful and do not know it.”

  “Then I will trade you some of my beauty for some of yours,” Deborah quipped, and Dustin giggled in agreement.

  They were finishing the last of the bread when they heard footsteps coming down the hall, rapid steps. They glanced up to see Lady Isobelle bearing down on them, her fat face worried. Dustin stood up.

  “Lady Isobelle!” she greeted in surprise.

  Lady Isobelle put up a hand. “I have no time, my lady. I have come to tell you a few things, items you must pass on to your husband.”

  Dustin nodded quickly, stunned at the urgency of the woman. “Of course. What is it?”

  Lady Isobelle glanced around anxiously as if to make sure they were alone, and Dustin and Deborah found themselves doing the same. Anxiety settled over them.

  “Lady Gabrielle didn’t fall down the stairs; the prince fancied her so my brother gave her to him as a gift,” she whispered quickly. “Sweet Gabrielle is at the mercy of a madman. It is simply easier to tell everyone that she is dead so he will not have to tell the truth of what he has done.”

  Dustin’s eyes widened and she gasped in horror, but Isobelle wasn’t finished. She grasped Dustin by the wrist.

  “Know this; my brother has threatened to kill me if I so much as look at you,” she said quietly, urgently. “He holds a great deal of hate for Richard and for your husband, my lady. But the most important news you must carry to your husband is this: I heard my brother speaking with other men, men loyal to John, and I h
eard him say that John is planning to lay siege to Tickhill before the week is out.”

  Dustin was rather overwhelmed at all of the news. She swallowed hard, feeling herself being unwantedly sucked into covert political dealings. “I will tell him, Lady Isobelle, I swear it,” she said. “But why…why are you telling me this and betraying your brother?”

  “Because my brother is vile and corrupt, and sweet Gabrielle must be helped,” she said passionately, pulling her cloak about her tighter. “My brother and his army are riding to John’s aid this night; your husband must be made aware.”

  Dustin could see what a great risk this woman was taking and she forced herself to swallow her apprehension and put on a brave front. “I shall go and tell him now. Thank you, Lady Isobelle. Truly you are very brave.”

  Lady Isobelle nodded shortly and glanced about her again. Satisfied she hadn’t been followed, she swept away from Dustin and went back down the corridor. Dustin took a few steps further into the hall, watching the rotund woman as she slipped down the way. An intangible darkness swirled about them, as if they had been made privy to the plans of Lucifer himself and Dustin felt an unconscious chill run over her.

  “What was that all about?” Deborah gasped, suddenly standing behind her.

  Dustin shook her head faintly, still watching the cloaked figure. “We must find Chris. He should be at the barracks.”

  “Do you believe her, then?” Deborah demanded softly. “Who is she?”

  “The Earl of Fenwark’s sister,” Dustin replied. “Damn the man. He whored his own wife to the prince. Christopher said he was evil and I should have listened. My Lord, what if….”

  She started to turn toward her sister-in-law when a bloodcurdling scream filled the still air of the corridor. Both women whirled around to see Lady Isobelle being stabbed repeatedly by a shrouded figure in black. Astonished and horrified, they continued to watch in frozen terror as the assailant cut Lady Isobelle brutally, not even stopping when the woman fell to the ground. The pounding was merciless and driven, speaking of unmentionable hatred and anger.