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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Dustin rushed to him, throwing her arms around him and pressing herself against his back. She felt a warm hand gently grasp her arms and beneath her embrace, he began to shake with sobs.

  “Oh, Chris,” she murmured soothingly. “My love, my sweet husband, I am so very sorry. Please do not cry.”

  His sobs were unbridled, like a child’s, and Dustin’s face was soon wet with her own tears. She felt so guilty, so helpless, and so pained with his grief. She blamed herself for David’s departure one moment, yet knew the next moment she had done nothing. She continued to hold her husband tightly and croon to him soothingly, hoping she would be able to comfort him somehow. His deep tears cut her to the bone.

  He continued to stand by the window and weep and she allowed him time to grieve before pulling him away from the sill and sitting him in a chair. She then sat on his lap and cradled his great head against her breast, caressing him tenderly until his crying ceased. Even after he stopped, they continued to sit together for an endless eternity, lost in their own thoughts and both devastated from the loss of a brother.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “Chris!” Gowen came barreling into the great hall, a huge scroll of vellum in his hand. “Missives from London!”

  Christopher was up, moving to take them already. It was nearly a month after David’s departure and the snow on the January ground was enough to freeze the devil from hell. On the fresh rushes, Dustin was helping Christin sit up, and her eyes flew to her husband apprehensively as he took the parchment.

  Christopher glanced reassuringly at her as he broke Longchamp’s seal and read the message clear through. Unemotionally, he looked directly at his wife.

  “Richard is released and on his way home,” he said. “But John is drumming up more mischief in the north and I am ordered returned.”

  Dustin’s mouth opened in horror but she clamped it shut and rapidly lowered her gaze. Even as Christopher returned the missive to Gowen and ordered Leeton to prepare the men, his eyes were fixed on his wife.

  He moved around the table to the hearth where his wife and babe were playing, his heart already aching for the departure at hand. When he returned, there was no telling how old Christin would be or how much of her growing he would have missed. But that was nothing compared to the pain of separation he was already feeling for Dustin. She kept her blond head down, pretending to busy herself with the infant even as her husband loomed over her.

  “Dustin,” he said softly.

  It took a few long moments before she lifted her head and he could already see tears in the huge gray eyes. Without a word he scooped Christin into his arms and pulled Dustin to her feet, pulling her against him as he took the babe back to her nursery.

  Griselda was there, folding freshly washed linens. The old woman had elected to stay until Deborah’s babe was born in the spring. Meanwhile, she made an excellent nanny and had become an important part of the family.

  Christopher handed the old woman his daughter. “I believe she could use a nap.”

  Griselda took Christin, cooing and giggling to the babe as Christopher closed the door quietly behind them. Alone in the corridor with Dustin, he fixed her with a gentle smile.

  “Ride with me,” he commanded softly.

  He took her by the hand and down to the stables, where he saddled only his destrier and lifted her up onto the beast. Sans armor or any weapon, he galloped from the bailey and out into the cold, bleak countryside.

  The temperature was freezing, but Dustin was warm wrapped in Christopher’s arms. He let the dappled charger have his head for a couple of miles until finally reining him to a halt by the banks of a frozen stream. Dustin slid off and wandered to the water, studying the ice crystals absently.

  “I must leave by tonight,” he said. “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

  She shrugged. “I knew you would leave me again, someday. Only I hoped that someday would never come.”

  “As did I.” He swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted, giving the horse an affectionate slug. His eyes moved over the beast, which had matured considerably over the months. “You never did name my horse.”

  Dustin glanced back at the animal and he noticed with fascination that her eyes were the color of the landscape that surrounded them. “I have thought on it somewhat, and I believe a suitable name is Zephyr.”

  “Zephyr? A fitting name,” Christopher said with satisfaction. “He is indeed as wild and unpredictable as the wind. You have a knack for names, wife. And other things.”

  Wrapped in dark gray, Dustin only nodded faintly and turned her attention back to the stream. He came up behind her, enveloping her in his massive arms.

  “I am eager for Richard to meet you,” he said softly. “And likewise thank him for ordering me to marry you.”

  Dustin knew he was jesting but she did not feel like humor. “You would have him meet the woman that drove his mightiest warriors apart,” she said softly.

  His smile vanished. “You have done nothing,” he said. “Whatever happened with David and Marcus happened in their own hearts; you did nothing.”

  She turned in his arms, embracing him and laying her head against his chest. “I miss you already,” she said sadly. “Where are you going?”

  He held her close. “To London, and then north. I do not know exactly where,” he said softly. “It will be strange not having David by my side in battle. It was strange enough not having Marcus at the beginning of the campaign, but I got used to it. I suppose I will have to get used to David’s absence.”

  “Do you know where David is?” she asked softly.

  He sighed, caressing her back. “I heard tale that he had gone to Canterbury, but I am not sure. I expected him to go straight to Lohrham Forest, but he did not.”

  “Does he know anyone in Canterbury?” Dustin inquired.

  He smiled. “Aye, and so do you. Emilie Hampton.”

  Dustin looked up at him. “Emilie!” she gasped in realization. “Of course. Chris, do you think…?”

  He shrugged, cutting her off. “I do not know. David is not who I thought he was, so mayhap marriage is in the realm of possibility after all.”

  Dustin was delighted, hoping secretly David would marry Emilie and he and Chris would make up so they could all live happily at Lioncross. But she did not voice her thoughts, although her husband knew exactly what she was thinking.

  The sky above them opened up and a heavy snow began to fall. The wind kicked up and within a minute or so, white ice was swirling about them and growing stronger. Christopher hustled Dustin onto the destrier and mounted himself, although he knew they might possibly freeze to death before they reached Lioncross.

  “Is there a small farm or shelter where we can wait this out?” he asked her above the noise of the wind.

  Dustin thought a moment. “If I remember correctly, there’s a hunter’s shack back in the woods to the south,” she pointed in that direction. “As children, we would often play there and pretend it was our fortress to defend.”

  He reined the animal in the direction of the dead trees. “It will defend us now from the elements.”

  The shack was indeed there as she remembered, and Christopher carried her inside. It was neglected and run down, but at least they were out of the snow. Dustin felt a sense of giddy adventure with it all, alone with her husband in an isolated hut. Christopher flashed a grin at her as he gathered the old wood that was lying about and after several tries, started a fire in the dirty hearth. It was no time before he had stoked it into a roaring blaze.

  “Now, let’s hope we don’t choke on the smoke should the chimney malfunction.” He sat down next to his wife and pulled her into his arms.

  Dustin laughed softly. She cuddled against him, all alone in their private little haven. Outside the wind was vicious, but inside the old shack, they were warm and dry.

  “I would stay here forever with you,” she sighed contentedly.

  “Without Christin?” he asked.

 
“Her, too,” she said quickly. “You can ride back for her.”

  He smiled, feeling the warmth of the blaze. “On second thought, I agree with you,” he said. “I would stay here with you, alone.”

  He kissed the top of her head, her temples, and she closed her eyes at his touch. Her stomach lurched with excitement for she knew what would follow, and she could not stop herself from responding to him aggressively. He had wanted their lovemaking to be slow and tender, but Dustin turned on him like a cat in heat and he could not help but follow her fervor.

  She spread her cloak on the dirty ground and pulled him down on top of her, pulling his woolen tunic over his head and going to work on his under tunic. His fingers deftly undid the stays on her surcoat and it was no time before they were both naked, frolicking on the fur of the cloak.

  The passion between them was indescribable. With every touch, Dustin nearly wept with delight, and every kiss spoke thousands of unsaid words too deep to express. His hands kneaded her full breasts, wet with milk, and he lapped up the sweetness and then suckled her for more. She was ultra-sensitive because she was nursing, but it enhanced their lovemaking all the more. His mouth devoured every inch of the flesh on her torso and arms, moving to the secret place between her legs and making her writhe with desire. His tongue peaked her little bud, probed her slick depths eagerly before he took mercy on her and placed his organ at her threshold.

  He paused a moment, wanting to tell her everything that was in his heart, but she wouldn’t let him. She wanted him to show her what was in his heart, and he did. Driving into her hard enough to bring a scream to her lips, he rode her as hard as he ever rode his horse, bringing them both to a climax in mere minutes. Descending from heaven on a cloud of pure contentment, Dustin held him close and refused to let him withdraw. Within a half-hour, she turned him onto his back and rode him erotically until he exploded again in a scalding blast of seed. Four times in that afternoon, they climaxed one with the other.

  The snow let off enough toward late afternoon and he took Dustin back to Lioncross. Jeffrey and Leeton, greatly relieved to see them, recalled the three search parties they had sent out and were better able to focus on mobilizing the troops bound for London.

  As soon as Dustin was settled and he had a chance to check on Christin, Christopher joined them in the bailey in full armor, mentally turning himself from the loving husband and father to the battle-bound warrior.

  The Defender had returned.

  Dustin thought she was handling Christopher’s return to London quite well. But when it became apparent departure was imminent, she grew hysterical and took to her bed. When Christopher entered the bedchamber in full armor preparing to bid her goodbye he was verily distressed to find his wife huddled in bed, weeping into the pillows. He coaxed her out of bed and half carried her into the nursery where he could say his goodbyes to Christin.

  Dustin sobbed miserably as he kissed the baby and spoke softly to her, and she grinned her sweet little smile at him. His heart was breaking that he had to leave her, but he promised he would buy her some pretty baubles and toys in London. He also asked the babe to take good care of her mother, a silly statement that nearly brought Dustin to the brink of collapse.

  Leaving his daughter and fighting off the tears, he gently took Dustin into the vacant corridor and pushed her against the wall, wiping her eyes for her with a handkerchief.

  “Get hold of yourself, sweetheart,” he lectured gently. “I shall not leave you a weeping, quivering mass. Be brave for me, love. Please.”

  She was trying but every time she looked into his eyes, the tears started fresh. Finally, he gave up trying to calm her and took to holding her instead.

  “I really must go,” he whispered into her hair. “Will you watch me from the window?”

  She nodded unsteadily and he kissed her forehead. “That’s my girl,” he whispered. “Now, is there anything you want me to bring you from London? How about some new dresses? It has been a long time since you have had any new clothes.”

  She sniffed, looking thoughtful. “Why don’t you get Christin and I clothes to match?”

  He smiled brightly. “What a delightful idea. I shall do that.”

  She was pleased that he liked her idea. She smiled as much as she could at him and he kissed her gently. “I have got to go, sweetheart. I promise I shall return as soon as I can, and I am leaving Jeffrey and Edward here with you.”

  “Edward?” Dustin repeated. “But… I thought you wanted him in the battle.”

  Christopher shook his head. “I have Leeton as my right hand, plus Max and Anthony and the others. I shall not be lacking for knightly power,” he said. “Besides, even though Edward says otherwise, he is still afraid to brandish a sword. ’Twill be easier on him this way, although I have no doubt that he will protect you should the need arise.”

  Dustin nodded, running her hands over his face one final time, touching his features and memorizing them. “Be safe, my love,” she whispered. “Return to me.”

  He kissed her sweetly, leaving her standing in the corridor as he descended the stairs and disappeared into the foyer. When she heard the front door slam, she went into their bedchamber and stood watch by the window as his army moved out.

  Christopher was the last man through the gates. He turned and caught sight of her watching him and waved a massive, gloved hand.

  She waved weakly in return and he swung his charger about, disappearing though the gates and out into the snowy, dark night.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The stop in London had been for the sole purpose of picking up the crown troops, now numbering nearly three thousand strong. Christopher viewed his huge army with satisfaction, knowing they would surely quell John easily and he could return home soon. Richard was crossing the channel as he met with the jubilant justices, but Christopher could not wait for the king. John had to be controlled as he laid siege to the mighty stronghold of Gowergrove Castle.

  Richard’s return had indeed pleased Christopher, but with the focus his life had taken, he hadn’t felt the excitement he once would have. He no longer lived solely for his king, but for his family, and he wondered how well Richard would receive that knowledge. Christopher intended to step down from his title as Defender and become a mere baron once again, leaving the duties of the realm to a successor he would surely handpick. Marcus was the first man that came to mind.

  The troops were retrieved and the three thousand man army headed northwest to the great castle of Gowergrove, a favorite holding of Richard’s at the southern tip of Sherwood Forest. John had always had his eye on the fortress, and if Gowergrove were under his command, ’twould be near impossible to pass from southern to northern England without passing through his territory. Christopher had to secure the castle at all costs, and early on the eleventh day after leaving Lioncross, he lay siege to John’s troops at Gowergrove Castle.

  John’s mercenary army was dug in like a tick on a dog. The walls of Gowergrove were nearly thirty feet tall and the moat surrounding it was filled with nasty, rotting filth, very undesirable for the men-at-arms to go plunging into, to say nothing of the knights in their armor. Leeton set two hundred men to building ladders to mount the walls, but until that time, there was naught else to do but besiege Gowergrove with archers; fine Welsh archers whose accuracy was legendary.

  Three days into the siege, the ladders were complete and after a day and a night of attempts, they were finally able to cap the walls and the battle truly began. When the bridge went down, Christopher was the first man inside.

  The fighting went on for days. Long, exhaustive days. Christopher saw barely five hours’ worth of sleep and spent his entire time in the saddle dueling mercenaries. Ralph was nowhere to be seen, but he saw Sir Dennis on several occasions and made it his focal point to seek the man out and destroy him.

  The battle had spilled out into the surrounding areas and the moat was filled to overflowing with the bodies of the dead. Christopher had suffered tremen
dous losses, as had John, but he refused to withdraw because John’s army was considerably weaker. He knew it would not be much longer and he would have Gowergrove secured.

  As is usual in February, the winter weather turned extremely foul and the worst storm Christopher could remember doused them day and night. At night, the rain would turn to ice and pelt the armor like a thousand stones being thrown, but in the day, it was miserable freezing rain. The land outside the castle soon turned into a deep, mucky bog and the destriers were up to their knees in the stuff, making fighting extremely difficult.

  Christopher was exhausted, as they all were. One morning, he found himself fighting outside of the great wall, trying to help Leeton subdue a particularly hearty band of criminals. They were trying to steer them toward the moat, corner them in, but the unruly horde were proving to be most disobedient and Christopher was fed up with all of it. His frustration had reached a frenzied level when something huge and powerful tore into his body, plowing through his mall and shoving his breastplate aside as it invaded his midsection brutally.

  Stunned, Christopher’s hand flew to his left side and he was anguished to feel the shaft of a great spear protruding from his torso. The rain had begun to fall again, in great blinding sheets, washing his life’s blood down his saddle and onto the ground before it could collect on his armor.

  He still retained enough of his wits and reined Zephyr around, heading with speed for the trees. He wanted to be away from the battle zone so there would be something left of his body to return to Dustin. And he knew, with great remorse, anger, and agony that he was going to die. He had seen wounds like this before and they were always fatal.

  Christopher barely made it to the edge of the forest before weakness overcame him and he fell from his horse in a great, dying heap. He struggled through the haze of darkness that threatened to crawl further into the underbrush, his breathing coming in harsh gasps and feeling pain radiate throughout his body like nothing he had ever known.