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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  David waited about as long as he dared, finally donning his helmet and heading for the door just as the bedchamber door opened and Christopher exited, not looking the least bit sheepish.

  “Well? Is she coming?” David demanded, fumbling with his gloves.

  Christopher shot him an impatient glance as he went to his squire. “She is,” he said, forcing the words out. “Go and make sure the preparations are complete. I shall escort my wife down to the field.”

  David snorted and Christopher glared at him menacingly, conveying silent threats of pain and death to his brother should he laugh at him. David bit his lip and feigned a serious look.

  “Edward and Leeton are at the field, I am sure,” he said, fighting off a bad attack of the giggles. “I shall wait for you and your lovely wife.”

  Christopher ignored him as his squire helped him with his armor. Dustin’s two fat maids bustled in and out of the bedchamber, carrying in hot water and linens and other things. The young squires sitting against the wall watched with great interest as the women scurried in and out, back and forth, digging into the massive wardrobe in the antechamber at one point and retreating with a pile of cloaks.

  “How is her leg?” David asked, watching the competent young squire handle Christopher’s leg armor.

  “‘A mere scratch, she says, to quote a more experienced warrior,” he replied, shaking his leg to adjust the greave. The armor settled down over his boot. “If she bleeds to death up in the lists, then it is her own fault.”

  “Are you going to let her award trophies?” his brother inquired.

  Christopher tugged at the tunic as his squire straightened his breastplate. “I already told her that she could,” he said, looking at David. “As much as I loathe the idea of her anywhere near John and Ralph, there is naught they can do to her with Marcus by her side or with thousands of people as witness.”

  David stood with his legs braced apart, arms crossed, watching the squire finish his brother’s dress. David had seen his brother in armor for as long as he could remember, and words that came to mind this day were imposing… indestructible… power… fearless. Defender of the Realm and Richard’s Champion. His brother was all of those and more.

  “Chris, with all of the excitement, I forgot to tell you that Deborah is here,” David said after a few moments. “I saw her in the dining hall last eve. She’s a damn woman grown; I never would have recognized her if she hadn’t come to me first.”

  “Deborah?” Christopher looked surprised, then nodded with sudden understanding. “Of course; how could I have not realized? The Earl of Bath is here. Christ, I shall have to seek her out and see if your words are true. How old is she now – seventeen? By the way, have you seen anyone from Lohrham?”

  “Nay,” David answered. “They probably arrived late yesterday, as did the rest of the competitors who weren’t already here.” He grinned suddenly. “It shall be a rout, Chris. Lohrham’s knights are all old warriors who fought with father and Uncle Philip. There are only a few worthy knights in the contest worthy of your skills, most of them having recently returned from the quest.”

  “And not even they can defeat me,” Christopher said with customary arrogance, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “You are correct in your observation, little brother. This tourney will be a rout for Richard’s forces.”

  His squire was securing his sword when Dustin entered the antechamber. All male eyes in the room, young and old alike, were glued to her like flies to honey. She wore a surcoat of rich royal blue silk, the same color as Christopher’s tunic. The flattering lines along her bosom and shoulders brought out the beauty of her neck and torso, and she had pulled her hair back softly to reveal her heart-shaped face.

  She smiled as she approached her husband, noticeably limping. “Do you like it? It matches your colors.”

  Christopher was deeply pleased. He smiled faintly, touching her gently under the chin. “The color makes your eyes as dark as storm clouds,” he said softly. “Aye, I like it a great deal. Never have my colors looked so good.”

  She grinned triumphantly and Christopher had to chuckle; she was always as happy as a child when she got her way.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she curtsied coyly, lowering her lashes. She was becoming quite practiced with her feminine gestures, for they came naturally to her.

  Christopher grinned openly at her, holding out his hands for his squire to pull on his gauntlets. Dustin stepped back as the tall lad silently and deftly pulled on the gloves. She eyed the young man curiously, now at close range. She had never been this close to him before and she was interested.

  “I have never met your squire, Chris,” she said. “Would you introduce us?”

  Christopher looked as if the idea had never occurred to him. The squire stopped what he was doing, his cheeks flushing bright red as he looked up at his liege.

  “Darren, this is my wife, the Lady Dustin de Lohr.” He looked at his wife and turned the boy to face her. “Dustin, this is Darren Ainsley, son of Lord Robert Ainsley. Darren served with me three years on the quest. His father served Richard.”

  Dustin nodded to the embarrassed young man. “Is your father still in the Holy Land?”

  The poor squire looked as if he were going to die from sheer fright. “Nay, my lady, he perished over a year ago,” he answered, his voice cracking.

  “How terrible,” Dustin said sincerely. “Then it would seem that you and I have something in common.”

  “Aye, my lady,” the boy nodded rapidly, his eyes too shy to meet hers.

  “How old are you, Darren?” she asked.

  “Seventeen, my lady,” he replied, then added, “I was sent to foster at Lohrham Forest when I was seven years old. Lord Christopher took me as his squire when I was twelve.”

  Dustin smiled at him and Christopher felt the boy sway under his grip. As amusing as it was to witness Darren’s abject terror, time was pressing.

  “If you are ready, then, we shall proceed to the field,” Christopher said.

  As Dustin nodded, he let go of Darren, positive the lad would collapse without the support. He didn’t, but bolted for the corner as if he had been burned, gathering Christopher’s weapons and shield hastily. Christopher had to smile to himself; he barely remembered the same fear when he had been a lad barely over the threshold of manhood, speaking to a beautiful woman for the first time. But no woman he had ever seen nor spoken to had ever compared with his wife, so he felt doubly sorry for Darren on that account.

  “Do you think I will need my cloak? I do not think I will need it.” Dustin was rattling at David, who simply shrugged.

  “Bring it,” Christopher ordered. “The day may grow chilly.”

  “But the sun is shining,” Dustin pointed out, “and this silk is heavy. I will not need my cloak.”

  Christopher picked up the deep blue cloak and threw it at her. “Take it.”

  She dropped it on the floor purely from spite, smoothing her surcoat primly. “I do not want to,” she said disagreeably. “The silk is warm enough. Besides, it will cover up this lovely dress and I want to show it off.”

  He glared threateningly at her, about to suggest that her surcoat gave an ample view of her lovely breasts and that the cloak would cover her from lustful eyes, but he didn’t want to upset her. Instead, he sighed heavily and picked the cloak up.

  “Take it or you do not go,” he said in a low, even tone. She scowled but took it, for she was wary of the level of his voice.

  The squires preceded them from the room, the boys laden with Christopher and David’s shields as well other implements. Dustin fastened the cloak around her shoulders and took David and Christopher’s arms. Outside in the hall was a full company of soldiers lining the walls, snapping to attention when they exited from the antechamber and Dustin startled at the loud salute as they greeted the baron. They were all Christopher’s troops, their sharp blue and gold tunics indicating such, their mail polished to a sheen.

&nbs
p; It was extremely impressive, even to her. Twenty-four soldiers escorted her, Christopher and David down from the apartments and through the bulk of the castle. There were very few people in the castle, most of them either getting ready for the tournament or already down at the field, and the cadence of synchronized boot falls echoed loudly in the cavernous halls as they made their way outside.

  Dustin gripped the elbows of the two knights, almost running to keep up with the pace that had been set and her chest swelling with the enormous pride she was feeling. She could not keep the cocky smile from her lips.

  She glanced up at her husband, so tall and strong and powerful that he was nearly surreal. His helmet was on and his visor lifted and it was impossible to see most of his face, but she stared at him anyway. She could not describe the pride filling her veins, proud that he was hers, that all of this loyalty was theirs, that her husband and his knights were the envy of the whole of Windsor.

  “How’s your leg?” his helmeted head looked down at her.

  Truth was, it ached a great deal but she forced a smile. “Not too bad.”

  “Are we walking too fast for you?” he asked.

  She didn’t want to be a bother, especially when she had put up such a fuss earlier. But her expression gave her away and before she could answer he was barking orders at the sergeant to slow the pace. Slower, and much better for her, they continued on to the arena.

  The lists were already filling up with women in gaily decorated dressed and men with brightly colored tunics and shoes. The royal box was decorated with flowers and ribbons and silks, but John and Ralph were nowhere to be seen.

  *

  That was where David had departed from his brother. As soon as his brother’s wife was settled in the lists to watch the coming spectacle, that was David’s clue to go about his business. Dustin was with Marcus, precisely where she should not be, while Christopher pretended that is best friend did not lust after her. But in David’s opinion, while Marcus watched over Dustin, someone needed to watch over Marcus. That was his fierce protectiveness of her talking again.

  But he kept his mouth shut about it. It was frustrating for David to watch, as his priority was his brother. He only wanted the best for the man but it seemed as if Christopher resisted him at every turn these days, as if nothing he could say or do was right. Once, Christopher had even accused his brother of being jealous of the relationship between Christopher and his wife. Perhaps that had been true once. Perhaps it still was; David’s infatuation had banked to a healthy appreciation but it wasn’t gone completely. Still, Dustin had enough attention from Burton. She certainly didn’t need David’s attention, too.

  David headed down the stairs of the lists, moving out into the avenue that was busy this morning because of the coming games. He was coming to think that he was the only one seeing things clearly these days, but his brother didn’t think so. Christopher was caught up in too many things at the moment, a new wife being the least of the issues. As they had seen last night, John was starting to make his grab for power now that Richard had been declared missing. It was only a matter of time before things grew worse.

  They would have to be on their guard constantly from now on.

  And that included the tournament slated for today. David never even had the chance to tell his brother what had happened with Lyle Hampton the night before, but he supposed it really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was the tournament that the prince had scheduled before he even knew of Richard’s disappearance because they were all coming to suspect the prince would now use the event to display his might and mastery of England. He would display what kind of ruler he was about to become, a ruler who found gladness in his brother’s absence.

  A man who was ready to conquer.

  And that meant conquering Richard’s loyalists, who had come to London for the tournament, the biggest of its kind in many a year. Everyone would be here, competing, and it would be a particular showcase for the House of de Lohr. Being so closely linked to Richard, a man whom both David and Christopher considered a personal friend, it was inevitable that all eyes would be on the big blue de Lohr lion banner as the king’s champion took on the prince’s henchmen. David was ready for the competition and he hoped his brother was, too. But he feared the man’s attention would be divided with a new wife in the lists. And divided attention could be deadly.

  Women.

  David shook his head at the idea of just how much a woman could distract a man. Of course, he wasn’t that kind of man. There was no woman on earth beautiful enough or luscious enough to distract him. He had a will of iron and was a knight to the bone, a de Lohr, which meant he came from a long line of knights including an ancestor who had come to the shores of England with William, Duke of Normandy.

  The House of de Lohr went way back, into the age of Darkness, into that time when men fought men with disorganization and raw brutality, men who ruled their own small kingdoms amidst a land that was ruled by many such men. Even then, in those dark days, the House of de Lohr of Forneaux-le-Val was a powerful house to deal with and even the Duke of Normandy, a man known also as William the Bastard, took notice. It was William who coaxed the de Lohrs to follow him, and follow they did.

  They were still following William’s descendants. The House of de Lohr and the crown of England were synonymous with each other. Therefore, unlike his brother, David wasn’t apt to let something like a woman get between him and his duty as a knight. The mere thought that a de Lohr should be so distracted was shocking.

  Lost in thought, David walked down the avenue. As he walked, pondering what was to come this day, he happened to catch a glimpse of another knight heading in his direction.

  David recognized the figure. This October day was cold and bright, and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight as Brentford le Bec headed in his direction. A tall man with dark hair and bright blue eyes, le Bec was an excellent knight and someone David had known for years. That friendship had come in handy last night when le Bec had helped him go after those who had attacked Christopher’s wife. David lifted his chin in greeting when le Bec lifted a hand.

  “How is your brother’s wife this morning?” Brentford asked.

  David threw a thumb in the direction of the lists. “She seems to be well enough,” he said. “She is already in the lists, waiting for the tournament. Chris is talking about sending her away from London after this, some place safe, until this situation calms. He fears for her safety with John’s unpredictability.”

  Brentford cocked an eyebrow. “From what I hear, your brother and the Earl of Canterbury were lucky last night,” he said. “I heard this morning that the Earl of Norwich and the Earl of Warkworth both lost men last night. Norwich’s sister was even badly injured.”

  David grunted unhappily. “Jesus,” he cursed softly. “What of your liege, Lord Derby? Did he suffer serious damage?”

  Brentford shook his head. “Fortunately, we did not,” he said. “And, as you saw last night, neither did Bath or William Marshal. But I have heard that several lesser barons left early this morning, unwilling to compete and in fear of their safety. Today’s tournament maybe lightly attended.”

  David simply shrugged although he was disheartened to hear that Richard’s ranks would be low. “Possibly,” he said. “I am going to tend to my horse even now and take a look at the field conditions. Maybe we can see just how many of Richard’s supporters have remained. Will you come with me?”

  Brentford went along. The wind was starting to pick up, tossing dead leaves about in the street as they passed by businesses and homes, as there was a substantial town built up around Windsor. There were other knights in town, men of nobility, moving to and from the castle on their business, and there were vendors in the street trying to catch all of the spectators as they headed to the tournament field. Old women sat on the side of the road, selling cheap favors for the women to give to knights.

  In spite of the harrowing night, the m
ood of the day was somewhat festal. A tournament such as this was rare in these times and there was a steady trickle in from the countryside as people arrived in town for the festivities. As David and Brentford progressed down the avenue to a gated area that would give way to the east end of the tournament field, they were focused on some of the knights of various houses they were seeing, men who had a particularly dark look about them. They were nearing the eastern field gate when they heard a voice coming from behind.

  “David!”

  David and Brentford came to a pause, turning to see a man with dark hair and golden-hazel eyes jogging up behind them. Sir Edward de Wolfe, also one of Christopher’s close friends and a knight in the de Lohr entourage, came to a halt when he reached David and bent over, breathing heavily and coughing. When he stood up, it was with his hand over his heart.

  “God’s Bones,” he grunted. “I have been running all the way from the castle.”

  David frowned. “I thought you were already at the field,” he said. “Who is seeing to the men?”

  Edward coughed and gasped. “Leeton,” he said. “He has the men in-hand. One de Lohr knight is enough. He did not need me there as well.”

  David was still frowning. “Were have you been, then?”

  Edward wiped the sweat from his brow. “Back at Windsor,” he said. “God’s Bones, I should not have run that entire way. I am not meant to exert myself so.”

  David shook his head, unsympathetic, and continued walking with Edward and Brentford now following. “Poor Edward,” he said sarcastically. “You are not much good for anything. But you had better do well in the tournament today. Much depends on it.”

  Edward was still out of breath as he followed. “Possibly more than you know,” he said. “I’ve heard rumor this morning that John has hired mercenaries to compete as legitimate knights. He’s paying them gold crowns to badly injure or kill Richard’s supporters.”