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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The missive announcing Christopher’s resurrection had been nothing short of a blinding shock. Marcus would not have believed it except that one of Richard’s personal knights delivered it and vouched on behalf of the king that the Defender was, indeed, alive. Marcus had raged for an hour after reading it, accusing the king of subversion, and went so far as to throw the knight from his keep. But he recalled the knight an hour later, sat down with him in the great hall of Somerhill, and questioned him most of the night. Only then had he been satisfied that Christopher de Lohr somehow, someway, had returned from the dead. It was as sickening as it had been astonishing.

  After his disbelief had settled into edgy acceptance, his focus inevitably turned to Dustin. Marcus purposely kept the missive contents from her, simply waiting for the right time to tell her, but it never seemed appropriate. Truth was, it had taken him a long time to advance their relationship to what it had become and he knew the moment he told her that her first husband was alive, it would dash it all out the window. He loved Dustin too terribly to risk that until it was absolutely necessary. Selfish, he knew, but he didn’t care. But now, three weeks after he received the missive, the time was upon him.

  The army came to a halt about a quarter of a mile from the fortress and set up siege lines; Marcus could see the careful battle lines from where he stood. It was classic de Lohr tactics. After the lines were drawn, two riders broke off from the main body and thundered towards the gatehouse. Marcus ordered the gates open, ushering in the riders. Marcus saw very shortly that is was Christopher and Richard. He met them in the outer bailey, his big body tense and unfriendly.

  The silence between the three of them was uncomfortable and electric. No one seemed to want to speak first or even move; it was a standoff, each man waiting for the other to break. Christopher finally flipped up his visor and met Marcus’ cobalt-blue eyes for the first time. For Marcus, it was a distinct shock looking into the eyes of a dead man.

  “You cannot have her,” he growled.

  “Dammit, Marcus,” Richard snapped. “What kind of greeting is that?”

  Marcus cleared his throat, glancing at Richard and then back to Christopher. “I am pleased to see that you are not truly dead.”

  Christopher snorted rudely. “Somehow I doubt that. Where is my wife?”

  “My wife is inside,” Marcus corrected him coldly. “I did not tell her you were coming.”

  “What?” Richard gasped before Christopher could speak. “She does not know we have arrived?”

  “Nay,” Marcus was dangerously close to insubordination as he spoke to his king. “In fact, she does not know Christopher is alive. I did not tell her.”

  Christopher flew off his destrier, his boots thumping against the earth and his big body posturing angrily.

  “You bastard,” he hissed. “You filthy, lowlife bastard. I ought to….”

  Richard bailed off his destrier in time to grab hold of Christopher. “Easy, baron, easy,” he said, looking to Marcus again. “That was most unwise of you, Marcus. And selfish.”

  “Selfish?” Marcus repeated as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Sire, I beg to differ. ’Twas a choice I made for the sanity of my wife, who is with child and quite easily upset.”

  Christopher visibly swayed in Richard’s grasp and Richard glanced uneasily at the man; the veins on his neck throbbed erratically and his pale lips were open in shock. Christopher didn’t look at all well. With a long look at Marcus, he pulled himself from the king’s grasp and struggled to compose himself.

  Marcus was so torn it was unbelievable. Christopher had been his best friend, once, but now he was his sworn enemy. Yet he couldn’t help feeling vastly relieved to see the man alive, in spite of everything. He had a difficult time believing things had deteriorated the way they had, but truthfully the only thing that mattered was Dustin. She made him blind to everything else.

  Richard’s gaze lingered on Christopher with some concern before returning his focus to Marcus. The meeting wasn’t going at all well, and these men who had once been like brothers were seething with hatred. It was disheartening, on so many levels. Richard struggled to keep the meeting from deteriorating even more.

  “May I see Lady Dustin?” Richard asked after a moment.

  Marcus braced himself. “I would ask that you not, sire.”

  “That is of no matter to me,” Richard said, more firmly. If Marcus was going to be difficult, then so was he. “This is not a request, baron.”

  Marcus ground his jaw, knowing he could not deny his king. “I shall retrieve her for you, then,” he said with strained politeness. “Would you come inside?”

  Richard tugged at Christopher but Marcus put out a hand. “Not him,” he said pointedly. “Just you, sire.”

  Christopher turned to face Marcus. “I am coming and nothing short of God can stop me.”

  “I can stop you,” Marcus said through clenched teeth.

  Christopher flared and Richard found himself caught in the middle, ordering both men to stand down. But it was like trying to separate two raging bulls so he bellowed to one of the nearby soldiers and sent the man back to the army for reinforcements. Richard spent his time pushing Christopher one way and literally kicking Marcus the other until, thankfully, a pair of knights came charging into the dusty bailey and leapt from their destriers. Richard turned Christopher over to Edward and Anthony, to keep the man calm, before turning his attention to Marcus.

  Richard was exhausted and edgy, frustrated that Marcus was being so stubborn. More than that, it made him physically ill to see how much hatred there was between the two former friends. His patience was gone.

  “You are making this most difficult, Marcus,” he said in a low voice. “Stop being so bloody obstinate and gain us entrance to your keep before we burn the damn thing down. Am I understood?”

  Marcus eyed Richard, resigning himself to the inevitable. “As you say, sire.”

  Before he moved to do the king’s bidding, there was a clatter of footsteps on the great stone stoop and Dustin appeared out of the keep. She gazed with excitement over the group, too caught up with the arrival of an army to even look at the banners or at the men. She had been out by the beehives with Iris in the kitchen yard, not even imaging the old woman was purposely detaining her. But an errant soldier had told her of the approaching army and she had run off before Iris could stop her.

  They all looked at her, including Christopher. Had Edward not been holding onto him, he would have collapsed in a heap. Never had he seen her look so beautiful, so incredibly healthy and sound and whole. Dressed in a simple yellow surcoat that revealed her blossoming belly, he was weak with the sight of her. His mind went blank and all he wanted to do was run to her and take her in his arms, never to let her go. After months of waiting and dreaming, it was almost too much for him to take in his weakened state. Tears found their way onto his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them and didn’t care.

  “Marcus?” Dustin gasped, her gray eyes alight as she looked at him. “Who has arrived? Why did not you tell me? Oh!” Her eyes suddenly fell on Richard and she curtsied, surprised. “Sire, I did not know… oh, my goodness… I apologize I was not here to greet you.”

  Richard smiled weakly at the woman who was tearing his kingdom apart. “Lady de…,” he caught himself, “Lady Dustin, you look lovely, as always.”

  “Thank you, sire,” she said pleasantly, amazingly, still not bothering to look at any of the knights that had accompanied the king. “Truly, forgive me for not greeting you personally, as my husband did not tell me you were arriving. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

  Richard was at a loss for words. Dustin was smiling expectantly at him and he honestly could not answer her. Marcus, too, seemed momentarily stumped. Dustin passed an irritated eye to Marcus, waiting for a reply. But no one spoke until a soft, deep voice suddenly filled the air.

  “Greetings, Dustin.” Christopher pushed past Edward and Anthony, only a few feet away from her, his sky-
blue eyes drinking in her face. He wiped at his wet cheeks, smiling when she turned to him. Their eyes met, and it was magic. “You look wonderful, sweetheart. It is so good to see you.”

  She heard the voice, and then she turned and saw the face. After that, she remembered little. She remembered thinking she was dreaming, seeing Christopher walk toward her as magnificent as she had ever remembered him, and then thinking that she was losing her mind. Was it possible that his ghost was haunting her, come to punish her for marrying Marcus?

  She could only stare at him as he loomed over her, seeing him yet not seeing him, and then her entire world went blissfully, peacefully, welcomingly black.

  *

  Dustin awoke with a hysterical gasp, tears flooding from her eyes as she sat bolt up in the bed. Warm hands steadied her and she could hear Iris’ soothing voice before she even focused her eyes.

  “I saw him!” she wept hysterically. “I saw him, here. He was here and if I reached out, I would have touched him.”

  “I know, peapod,” Iris said soothingly. “Lay down and calm yourself.”

  But Dustin was having fits. “Christopher was here, at Somerhill. Why did I see him, Iris? Why?”

  “Because he is here,” Iris replied steadily.

  She and Sara were the only people in the room; the men were down in the grand hall screaming and yelling at each other. Never had Iris seen so much hatred and anger and emotion, and she was frightened. With King Richard in the middle of it, the situation was larger than she could even comprehend. But Marcus had left it up to her to break the news to Dustin because he was fully intending to rip Christopher’s throat out.

  “He is… what?” Dustin breathed in horror. “What are you saying?”

  Iris fixed her with a patient look. “I am saying that Baron de Lohr is indeed here, in the grand hall. It seems that he was not killed in battle after all, merely wounded. He has returned to claim you and Marcus refuses to let you go.”

  Dustin was overwhelmed; stunned, shocked, beyond comprehension were all too light a term. She was shaken to her soul, her disbelief so great that she almost passed out again, but she controlled herself. She began to breathe unevenly, clutching at her throat as the news sunk in. He was alive and come for her? Alive? Alive? Alive?

  Iris tried to stop her from leaving, but Dustin’s mind was too far gone with shock and anticipation. She only knew she had to get to Christopher. With bare feet, she tore from the room with Iris and Sara shrieking after her and raced down the corridor to the stairs. She took the stairs much too quickly and nearly tripped on the bottom step, but she recovered and kept going. All that mattered was seeing Christopher. She had to see him or die trying.

  Dustin could hear the shouting in the hall, the angry words, and things banging about. She blew into the room like a madwoman, with her surcoat gathered around her knees, and her hair wild as she desperately sought out Christopher. She was terrified that she had been lied to, that he really wasn’t alive, and that she was simply going mad.

  But that wasn’t the case. Her knees went weak when her gaze fell on him several feet away, standing near the hearth. Their gazes locked and Dustin could feel the emotion pouring out of him, into her, and vise verse. Without a word spoken, she knew everything that was in his heart and it filled hers to the brim, exploding in a burst of gladness like she had never experienced. She gasped at the sensation of joy, of adoration, but she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw that Marcus was moving toward her. She bolted away from him, throwing out her hands to stop him, and he indeed came to a halt. She didn’t want his intrusion. Dustin refocused on Christopher, making her way haltingly towards him.

  “Is it truly you?” she breathed. “Or am I dreaming again?”

  Christopher’s goblet went clattering to the floor and his arms opened up for her, his heart bursting with agony and elation. She threw herself into his arms in a mass of hair and material and pregnant belly. Her hysteria returned tenfold and he fell to his knees with her in his arms, his face buried in her hair, with the smell of it making him faint. He simply could not believe he was holding her again, feeling her, and touching her. Good Christ, how long had he waited? How long?

  Christopher’s tears came and his deep sobs joined her high-pitched weeping. Cries from the soul filled the room. He held her so tightly that she could not breathe, but it was joyful suffocation. It was a moment that Dustin thought would never come and if she smothered for it, then she was glad to. His huge arms enveloped her, with one plate-sized hand at the back of her head swallowing up her skull.

  Even though he was real and breathing in her arms, Dustin still could scarcely believe it. If this was true insanity, if she had indeed crossed the threshold, then she would be content to be a lunatic the rest of her life. There was such bliss in it.

  There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Battle-hardened warriors dashed away tears, turning away from each other so no one would know of their weakness. Richard stood a few feet away, his own throat constricted with sobs as Christopher and Dustin wept together.

  Edward was sobbing openly with his hand over his mouth. Anthony had tears running down his ruddy cheeks as he put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Above, on the loft overlooking the great hall, Iris and Sara were weeping in one another’s arms and were joined by several serving wenches who had heard the yelling. One would have had to have been dead not to have felt the very depths of the emotion involved.

  Time was stilled for just a moment, a warm sliver in the span of ages opening just for them, allowing them a second chance in life. Love had conquered, consumed, and persevered until Christopher and Dustin were where each rightfully belonged, in one another’s arms.

  Only Marcus wasn’t weeping. He was so consumed with anguish and jealously that he turned his back on the scene, racing for his sword. Blackness clouded his vision, pure and simple, and he would have it out with Christopher here and now. By tonight, Dustin would be a widow either way.

  Dustin clung to Christopher as if she were afraid he was going to disappear. They were both on their knees, clutching each other fiercely, afraid to move or speak. Dustin finally pulled back after a few minutes, running her hands all over his wet face, touching him to make sure he was real. His stubble scratched her hand and he kissed her palm as she dragged it over his mouth, closing his eyes to feel her again.

  “Oh my God, Chris,” she wept. “Are you real? Are you true?”

  He kissed her fingers, her mouth. “As real as rain, sweetheart. Christ, Dustin, I am so sorry. Please, my love, forgive me for putting you through this.”

  She kissed him eagerly, feeling his scratchy beard with delight and even laughing with the glee of it. Her emotions were beyond description.

  “Do you still love me?” she begged hoarsely.

  He focused on the face, the eyes. “More than my own life, Dustin. I will love you in this life and beyond.”

  She put her hands on either side of his massive head and he kissed her with sweet urgency until she put her hand over his mouth. “Say the words, Christopher.”

  “I love you,” he whispered against her cheek, closing his eyes with the bliss of it. “I love you, Dustin, with everything I am. Know that I will always love you, no matter what.”

  She giggled, quickly returning to sobs as he kissed her with all of the reverence they both felt. It was then he realized they were both kneeling on the floor and in her condition, he wanted her off the ground.

  “Get up, sweetheart,” he staggered to his feet and pulled her with him. “You should not be on the floor.”

  Dustin struggled up with him but immediately noticed the change in him. “You have lost weight,” she cried softly. “Oh, Chris, what happened? Why did they tell me you were dead?”

  He pulled her close, not ever wanting to let her go. “Because they thought I was,” he murmured. “I was wounded in battle and they mistook Leeton’s body for mine. But let’s not get into that now. There will be all the time in the world later
. Just let me hold you. Where’s Christin?”

  “In her nursery,” she told him, running her hands over his face again. “She is looking like you more and more. She is even starting to walk.”

  He kissed her hands, his whole body shaking with emotion and glee. “I have missed her terribly,” he murmured sincerely. “She probably won’t even remember me.”

  “She will,” Dustin whispered, kissing his mouth again. “She loves you.”

  She pressed against him, sniffling, laboring to gain control of her emotions. The shock of it still wasn’t over, but she was starting to understand that he really had returned to her and her hysteria was being replaced by overwhelming joy.

  Christopher glanced over her head at Richard, smiling at the man’s red-rimmed eyes. The other knights had moved discreetly over to the other end of the room, allowing them some privacy, and he was grateful. He did not even notice Marcus was missing until the man charged back into the room, brandishing his broadsword and armor.

  “Let my wife go,” he ordered Christopher. “Prepare to meet your God, baron.”

  Christopher’s smile faded and Dustin whirled around as if she could protect him with her swollen body. Instantly the mood of the room changed.

  “No, Marcus!” she cried.

  “Marcus, put down the sword,” Richard put himself between the concerned parties. “Put it down.”

  Marcus flipped up his visor. “Sire, that man holds my wife and I will defend what is mine.

  “She is his wife,” Richard reminded him.

  “She’s mine,” Marcus shot back. “The child she carries is mine.”

  “No, it is not,” Dustin said deliberately, seeing the look of disbelief in Marcus’ eyes. She felt a good deal of pity for him, and guilt for herself, but she was selfishly unconcerned for Marcus at the moment. “Marcus, I was pregnant when I came here, only I was afraid to tell you. I let you think the babe was yours, but it was not. It is Christopher’s.”