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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Dustin would have done anything to get Christopher out of his predicament. Anything at all. Then the first crazy idea that popped into her mind was the one she went with. With a scream that would have made many a woman proud, she suddenly clutched her stomach and buckled her legs.

  “My God!” she cried out. “The baby…..something is wrong.”

  All men were afraid of pregnant women, and the battle-hardened soldiers of Nottingham and Richard’s forces were no exception. All eyes snapped to her, even the soldiers on the wall who had heard her, and for a brief moment, confusion reigned in all of them. Christopher, seized with panic, shot to his feet and started to run for his wife, but Ralph was closer.

  The sheriff saw the Defender on a dead run toward his wife and panic of his own set in. Using a pre-arranged signal, he raised his arm with the yell of a barbarian, signaling the archers on the wall to let loose their arrows. Dustin, still clutching her stomach, really did scream as a rain of arrows cascaded down in Christopher’s direction. Ralph was suddenly on her, bull-dogging her and the two soldiers back inside the small door. The last glimpse Dustin had of her husband was of him being slammed with a hundred arrows.

  The battle started in that split second. Richard sounded the battle cry and his troops moved, their yells filling the humid summer air and the sounds of unsheathing swords deafening.

  Dustin, shrieking and crying, was dragged into the bailey and hastily thrust into the arms of several waiting guards.

  “Take her to my room,” Ralph yelled above the noise of the infant battle. “Keep her there until I come for her.”

  Dustin could not fight, she was far too stunned with witnessing what she was sure had been Christopher’s death. How could he have survived the hail of arrows? Her mind went to mud and her knees collapsed, and she felt herself being lifted and carried into the dark coolness that was Nottingham.

  She welcomed the blackness of unconsciousness as it swallowed her up.

  *

  Christopher was very much alive. His reinforced armor had protected him from the arrows and even now he was mounting his destrier and swung the animal in the direction of the massive gates. His troops were taking the walls and he and his knights were able to focus on breeching the door.

  Edward was beside him with two hotly burning torches in his hand. “We can set fire to the gates, my lord. With this heat, they will burn in no time.”

  Christopher nodded, motioning for him to hand off a torch to David, and together the two of them set to burning the rope trappings of the gates. Marcus gouged out great holes in the wood for David to ignite, speeding up the process. With the ladders going up on the walls and the gates igniting like kindling, Christopher stood back and waited for his opportunity to tear Nottingham apart.

  He could not even think about Dustin or he would surely go mad. He had to keep his wits about him or he would be no good at all, and there were too many people depending on him. Nay, he would have to keep a clear head and wait for the gates to burn down and only then would he allow himself the luxury of thinking of his wife. Only when he was able to do some good would he let thoughts of her fill his brain.

  “What happened to Dustin?” Marcus rushed up to him, his charger dancing and snorting.

  Christopher rolled his eyes in defeat; just as he was gaining control of himself….. “I do not know, Marcus. It could have just been the excitement of everything.”

  Thankfully, Marcus did not pursue it and Christopher was able to return his focus to the gate. As was usual with old wood, it began to go up quite nicely in spite of the rain of arrows around the perimeter of Nottingham that prevented them from moving much closer. Already, the men-at-arms were racking up casualties due to the arrows and Christopher ordered his men to fall back from the backside of the fortress. With the gates burning, he would form ranks to charge in once the gates were down.

  *

  Inside Nottingham, chaos ruled. Ralph and Lord Bruce were positioning the troops to protect the bailey and the castle from the breach, but they were having a hell of a time with all of the peasants running about. Moreover, and most importantly, Dennis le Londe was nowhere to be found.

  “Where in the hell is le Londe?” Ralph sputtered to anyone who could answer him. Several of le Londe’s men were assisting at the moment and were unable to answer, feeding Ralph’s anger.

  “I am going to gut him when I find him,” he said between clenched teeth, cuffing a soldier who was foolish enough to bump into the sheriff. “That lazy bastard has seen his last day of comfort within John’s protective company, I vow it.”

  Lord Bruce, too old to do much fighting, followed Ralph around breathlessly. “Mayhap he is in hiding. At any rate, we shall have to handle this onslaught between us.”

  Ralph looked at Bruce scornfully. “You are no good to me, old man. I need le Londe. When this is over with, I am going to kill him myself.”

  A young soldier ran up to Ralph, scraping the ground. “The prince demands your presence, Lord Sheriff.”

  Ralph hit that soldier, too. “Tell the prince I am trying to protect his bloody hide,” he snapped, then thought better of it. “Tell the prince I am indisposed at the moment. Inform him that Richard’s troops are burning the gates and that I expect them to be breached soon.”

  The young soldier, his jaw bruised, bowed again and was gone. Ralph paused a moment in disgust, watching the boy run away and shaking his head with the damn foolishness of everything. He was missing the commander of the troops, the prince was demanding his presence like a spoiled child, and on top of everything Lady Dustin had apparently taken ill.

  Damnation, why did everything bad always happen to him?

  *

  The bridge took a long time to burn. It was well after sunset before Christopher, Marcus and David were able to dislodge enough of the cinder to allow a man to pass through. But the hole was only big enough for one man, and Christopher demanded by rank to be the first one through. Yet Richard outranked even him, and Christopher found himself following his king through the smoldering opening.

  As they expected, they ran headlong into a skirmish line of mercenary troops. Richard took the full brunt of the line, yet Christopher and Marcus, followed by David and Edward and the rest of the knights, were quickly there to defend their monarch. Limbs were hacked off, heads were severed by sheer force of sword power, and the mercenary troops began backing off quickly.

  With every step they took back, another man from Richard’s force pushed in through the breech. It wasn’t long before there were several hundred crown troops inside the outer bailey, fighting in such close quarters that there was barely room to move.

  Christopher was smashed up against Marcus and Edward, fighting a seasoned group. But his mind was already moving to the castle where his wife was and he was increasingly desperate to get to her. She was trapped in the hulking structure, extremely ill, and he could not stand it anymore. He had to get to her.

  “I am going for the castle!” he yelled to Marcus over the noise. “Take command here.”

  “You cannot go it alone!” Marcus yelled back. “I shall cover your back.”

  “Nay!” Christopher boomed. “Richard needs you here. I must do this alone.”

  Marcus speared a mercenary soldier in the throat before answering. “You cannot take on the whole goddamn castle, Chris. Let me come.”

  “I am coming!” David ran over two soldiers as he reined his horse next to his brother; he had heard the entire conversation. “If anybody is assisting Chris, it is me.”

  A fresh wave of enemy troops rushed them and Christopher found himself fighting off several men at one time. He would parry and thrust with amazing speed and skill, goring one man and cutting off his comrade’s head with the same stroke of the blade. The fighting was furious and wild, but Christopher’s cool demeanor never wavered. Never was there a finer warrior in the heat of battle.

  With the wave of soldiers subdued, Christopher turned his biting, kicking charger for
the castle. Richard was several feet away, under control with Edward and Sean at his side, and Christopher was confident that the king was well-protected. With that peace of mind, he knew he had to get to his wife.

  Marcus saw Christopher break free and head for the inner bailey. He muttered a curse as he impaled another mercenary soldier with his broadsword, fully intending to follow Christopher into the castle.

  The further Christopher rode from the heat of the battle, the less the resistance became. The gates to the inner bailey were completely gone, he noticed, allowing him to pass through unhindered. A few soldiers engaged him, but nothing of importance, and he thanked God that luck was on his side. It would seem that the majority of the mercenary soldiers were at the frontline, trying to prevent the mass of crown troops that were pouring in through the gutted front gate.

  The battle was raging behind him and he was consumed with reaching his wife as he bailed from his destrier, taking down two soldiers who tried to prevent him from entering the castle. More soldiers dashed into the doorway just as Christopher was preparing to enter, and he raised his sword to brace himself for another go around. But, as quickly as they appeared, the soldiers were gone and Christopher did not ask why. He simply raced into the cool interior of the castle, intent on keeping to the shadows and moving fairly undetected.

  He had barely rounded his first corner when somebody grabbed him from behind. His sword came up, crashing down against another blade of equal strength. He heard Marcus grunt.

  “Goddammit, I knew you were going to do that,” Marcus said frankly.

  Christopher felt relief flood him, but also irritation. “I told you to stay with Richard.”

  “Aye, you did, but I did not listen,” Marcus said. “Besides, Richard is well-protected with David and Edward. You need me more.”

  Christopher scowled. “All right, then. But keep quiet.”

  Marcus did as he was told and they made their way up a flight of stairs to the second floor of Nottingham Castle. “Do we know where we are going?” Marcus asked dryly.

  “She has got to be up here, somewhere,” Christopher’s eyes trailed the length of the corridor. “We shall simply have to check every room until we find her.”

  Marcus wiggled his eyebrows but said nothing, following Christopher closely as they made their way down the hall. It was silent and dim, wall sconces offering the only light. At a junction where one corridor met with another there were four or five bodies in front of them, mercenary soldiers, all bearing Prince John’s colors.

  Marcus stepped away from Christopher slowly, sword raised, with his eyes never leaving the menacing group. “I shall take the ugly one.”

  “Which ugly one? Be specific,” Christopher snapped, although there was no mistaking the mirth in his voice.

  It was as it had been for three years in the Holy Land, two men, the best of friends, fighting side by side and knowing each other as well as they knew themselves. It was the familiar feelings of camaraderie that they never thought to feel again.

  “The ugly one on the right,” Marcus snapped back lightly. “In fact, I shall take both of the bastards on the right.”

  “You bloody coward, leaving me with the rest,” Christopher grumbled.

  Marcus grinned. “You are the one with the reputation, earn it.”

  They looked at each other for a split second, silent words passing between them, knowing exactly what was to come next. They had done it together a thousand times before.

  At the same time, they raised their swords and let out a spine-chilling yell, charging at their opponents like crazed men. It rarely failed; the enemy soldiers were startled just enough to give Christopher and Marcus the advantage, and they cut down two men before ever engaging in a sword fight. Yet even the broadsword battles were short-lived; Marcus disposed of his man a split second later than Christopher.

  “You are getting slow in your old age,” Christopher commented.

  Marcus opened his mouth in feigned outrage. “You only had one. I had two.”

  “Cease your complaining,” Christopher said, looking around to make sure there were no more soldiers waiting to ambush them. “You always did like to complain.”

  Marcus shrugged and motioned to the corridor. “After you, sire.”

  Christopher eyed him arrogantly. “As it should be.”

  Marcus chuckled, following Christopher’s lead down the hall. It was so strange, yet so completely natural for them to be fighting together, jesting their way through it as they had done for three years in Richard’s service. The fighting between them, the anger and hatred, seemed like a god-awful far away dream. It was now as it should be, as it has always been. It was as if the Christopher and Marcus that had fought over Dustin were two completely alien people.

  Now, things were normal again. And they were two men on a mission.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Ralph had a plan. He would destroy de Lohr once and for all. When it was apparent that the gate was going down, he had vacated his post and raced into the castle, moving immediately for the prince’s rooms.

  John was dressed in travelling clothes and surrounded by his elite guard. He knew that Richard was coming to kill him and he was terrified. De Lohr, Burton, and Lady Dustin were completely forgotten as he struggled to keep himself from falling into fits over the swing in luck. Everything had happened so bloody fast that his head was still spinning, yet he knew that he must leave this place if he were going to survive.

  He had hoped to use Lady Dustin as a bargaining tool to keep Nottingham, but those plans were long forgotten. John was fabulous at making big plans but was terrible at following through. At this very moment all he was concerned with was his own hide. Nothing had worked out to his advantage, not one damn thing.

  Ralph found his liege chomping at the bit and he personally escorted the prince down the winding staircases to the cavernous underground of Nottingham. There was an escape route through one of the dug-out tunnels that led to a shielded exit in the wall. John was adamant that Ralph go with him, but Ralph was firm. He had unfinished business to attend to. Promising to meet up with Ralph at Tickhill, Prince John was ushered out of the fortress covertly by his elite mercenary guard.

  With John being skirted to safety, Ralph could better concentrate on the de Lohrs. His plan was to confiscate Dustin and her babe, taking them the same route as the prince and leaving Nottingham. He still felt firmly that they had the advantage of keeping Lady de Lohr as hostage, although the siege on the castle was in direct conflict with that reasoning. Mayhap it wasn’t a wise idea after all, and mayhap Lady de Lohr served no purpose other than a nuisance. But Ralph knew one thing for certain; Christopher de Lohr loved his wife desperately, and Ralph was determined to wreak misery on that man.

  Dustin sat in Ralph’s bower wringing her hands nervously. She could hear the sounds of battle far below and tears of fear were still in her eyes for her husband. She refused to believe she had seen him killed. Surely he was on his way to rescue her even now. She was shaking with terror and fatigue, and her mind invented terrible scenarios of what was transpiring outside, around her.

  Thank God Christin went to safety. If her daughter were still in Nottingham, surely she would be mad with grief right now. As worried as she was for herself and for Christopher, she was also terribly worried for Gabrielle. She hadn’t seen her friend since Ralph had so cruelly separated them and she worried for the woman’s safety.

  The door to the bedchamber jolted and Dustin was seized with panic; she knew it to be either John or Ralph come for her. But in the same breath she remembered that she had feigned illness for Ralph’s benefit. Hoping they would have some pity on her, she threw herself back on the bed and grabbed her stomach, moaning softly.

  After a jerk and a pop, the old door flew open and in came Ralph, his thin face flushed. Dustin eyed him through slit eyelids, moaning loudly this time. Ralph marched up on her and snatched her wrist barbarically.

  “Get up,” he wheezed.


  Dustin yelped in surprise as he yanked her off the bed and pulled her toward the open door. Forgetting about her ploy, she began to twist and fight, beating his arm with her free fist.

  “Let go of me!” she demanded.

  Ralph was in no mood to fool with her. Hauling off, he hit her across the face with a mailed glove, leaving a huge scrape already oozing blood. Dustin’s hand flew to her face, stunned.

  “Do not resist me,” he seethed, spittle forming on his lips. “I have had enough of you and enough of your bastard husband. Where is your daughter?”

  Tears stung her eyes, but her anger superseded her pain. “Go to hell,” she spat. “I will not tell you anything!”

  With a grunt of frustration, he exited the room and yanked her so hard after him that he nearly dislocated her shoulder. Dustin grunted and almost tripped, but she caught herself and started to fight Ralph with everything she had.

  Dustin’s shrieks and grunts filled the deserted hall as Ralph literally dragged her after him. For his wiry build, he was amazingly strong and Dustin was having a hell of a time against him. She tried grabbing onto chairs, portieres, anything that would anchor her against the force of the sheriff. But Ralph would simply pull with all of his might and dislodge her, and she would trail after him cursing and fighting.

  He pulled her down a small spiral staircase to the second floor of the castle and she tripped on purpose, crashing into the man and nearly sending both of them to the bottom in a heap. Angered, he cursed and took another swing at her, but she ducked and kicked him in the thigh. Nothing happened against his armor, but the gesture satisfied her just the same. Undeterred, Ralph persevered onward with his fighting prisoner, determined to reach her rooms and collect the babe de Lohr.

  He reached her chamber, tossing her inside viciously. Dustin flew with the momentum and crashed against the bed, fortunately, not hard enough to hurt her. Her eyes were spitting venom as Ralph raced to the small crib where Christin had slept.

  “Where is she?” he demanded, his jaw ticking and his face sweaty. “Where is the damn baby?”