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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Emilie sensed some sadness in that statement. She squeezed his hand reassuringly. “They most certainly would have,” she said. “But since they cannot be here, would you permit me to be proud of you? You carry my favor, after all. It is my right.”

  He smiled at her. In fact, he couldn’t seem to stop smiling at her. With his free hand, he reached up, cupped her sweet face, and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured against her flesh. “I am honored.”

  Emilie closed his eyes to his kiss, bathing in its glory, before turning her head and capturing his lips with her own. He wanted to kiss her cheek but she wanted more. Letting go of his hand, she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly as his big arms wrapped around her slender body. She was overwhelming him, holding him so tightly that she was nearly strangling him, when the door to the solar suddenly opened.

  “Emilie!”

  It was Lyle. Emilie let David go, jumping back, and falling onto her arse in the process. David, also startled by Lyle’s swift appearance, reached down to help her to her feet but Lyle wasn’t alone; Christopher was with him and, behind Christopher, was Brickley. Brickley, seeing Emilie wrapped up in David’s arms, began to charge into the room but Christopher threw a block into the man that sent him staggering into the wall. Meanwhile, Emilie was on her feet, rushing for her father.

  “It was my fault,” she said. “I kissed him! He did not kiss me; I kissed him. I threw myself at him shamelessly! You will not blame him, Papa!”

  Lyle reached out and grasped his daughter, pulling her back and away from the knights. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen with Brickley charging and Christopher shoving, so he pulled her away, towards the hearth and clear of the scuffle.

  But Brickley stopped charging, instead, standing where Christopher had smashed him against the wall, holding on to the shoulder that had rammed into the stone. He’d injured it. Christopher stood between Brickley and David, his focus on Brickley.

  “Just what did you intend to do?” Christopher growled at him. “Were you going to try and thrash my brother? Did you not think I would stop you?”

  Brickley, far from the amiable man they all knew, was glaring at Christopher and David. “Of all the low things to do,” he snarled at David. “You were trusted with Lady Emilie, unescorted, and this is what you do?”

  David had enough. He marched up behind his brother, avoiding the big hand that came out to grab him, and charged Brickley. Brickley tried to tuck in low to take the brunt of David’s rush, but instead of throwing his body weight behind the charge, David leapt into the air and came down right on top of Brickley as the man ducked low. He clobbered him right over the head with an elbow and Brickley collapsed, half-conscious, on the floor.

  That was all David intended to do, especially in front of Emilie. He wasn’t going to let the man get the better of him twice; there was a measure of pride at stake now. He circled Brickley for a moment before Christopher pulled him away.

  “That is for the blow you dealt me last night,” David said, his tone deadly as his brother grabbed him and pulled him back. “If you think to try and attack me again without consequences, think again.”

  Emilie gasped with shock, hands to her mouth, as Lyle put his arms around her. They were both watching the exchange with a good deal of fear and surprise. “David,” Lyle said, softly but firmly. “No more. It is best that you leave now.”

  Emilie, still startled at the sight of Brickley wallowing on the floor, turned to her father. “It was not David’s fault, Papa,” she said. “He was defending himself from Brickley. Brickley tried to hurt him again!”

  Lyle knew that; he had seen what had happened as well. He knew the score. His main purpose at the moment was restoring some order to the house and that meant removing David de Lohr.

  “I know,” he said, trying to ease her. He looked at David and Christopher. “David, if you please.”

  Christopher was pulling his brother to the door, who still had Brickley in his sites. David was waiting for the man to rise up, at which point he would kick him straight in the face. He was finished being tolerant of Brickley’s wild jealousy. In fact, David had some jealousy of his own and he wasn’t about to let Brickley antagonize him. But he let Christopher pull him away, towards the door. His focus, for a moment, turned to Lyle and Emilie.

  “I apologize, my lord,” he said to Lyle. “But I am not going to let the man beat on me and not respond. I know you understand that.”

  Lyle sighed heavily, distressed at the entire situation. “I do,” he said. “But it would be best for you to leave now.”

  David’s focus turned to Emilie. “My lady,” he said. “My apologies for upsetting you.”

  Emilie was looking at David, her face aglow with warmth. “You did not,” she said. “It was good of you to come and see me today.”

  “It was my pleasure, my lady.”

  Emilie’s features turned to sorrow now, the realization that he was leaving. “You… you are always welcome to visit me, David. Remember that you promised.”

  He managed to smile weakly at her. “It is a promise I intend to keep.”

  Emilie returned his smile, both hopeful and sad in her reaction. Already, she missed him. David could see it in her face. His gaze lingered on her a moment before turning away, but not before he realized that he had left his helm on the table over near the hearth. He pointed to it, indicating he intended to collect it, and moved to retrieve it. His gaze was still on Emilie when he picked it up and plopped it on his head.

  And that’s when he felt it….

  Cold, mushy something. He had no idea what it was but he wasn’t about to pull it off his head and look. He had been instructed to leave and leave he would. Moreover, he was rather afraid to know what was in his helm, now squished into his hair. The first thing that popped into his mind was Emilie’s admonition about Elise – you must be very careful of Elise. The girl must have been a sorceress to sabotage his helm because she never left his sight upon entering the solar. Yet there was unquestionably something in his helm.

  Damnation….

  But he hid his concern well. He remained calm as he and Christopher quit the solar and headed out into the yard beyond where their horses and knights await.

  Edward and Leeton were there when Christopher and David approached, and they watched with great curiosity when David suddenly stopped, bent over at the waist, and pulled his helm off. There was something brown all mashed into his hair and when he lifted up the helm to look into it, he groaned with disgust. They could all smell the stench. Christopher, Edward, and Leeton wanted to know what it was and when David explained what he thought had happened, there was a brief minute of shocked silence.

  That silence was followed by laughter so loud and sincere that Edward nearly choked.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  March 1193

  Windsor

  Christopher paced the floor of John’s audience chamber calmly enough, but inside he was as cagey as a cat. He was almost frantic to know why John had called an audience of Richard’s loyalists, he and the justices and a few close advisors of the absent king. Yet even as he wondered, he knew the reason and his stomach tightened in response, word must have come about Richard. He didn’t know why his instincts told him that, but he knew it just the same. All of the justices sat or stood in relative silence, waiting in the chill of the ornate audience hall, their minds riveted to the same thought, they knew why they were here, too.

  William Marshal watched Christopher pace, his aged face creased with fatigue and worry this night. Whatever the reason they had been summoned, it could not be a good one and he would not let his concern show.

  “Would you sit down, Chris? You are going to wear a hole in the damn floor,” he said quietly.

  Christopher eyed William, slowing his movement but not sitting. William raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I realize that you believe sitting in John’s presence is a sign of submission, but force
yourself,” he said with suppressed sarcasm, trying to lighten the mood a bit. “You are making me nervous.”

  Christopher continued to eye him doubtfully but did as the elder man asked and took a seat next to him. William relaxed back into his chair, eyeing Christopher’s stiff body with faint amusement. He shook his head and smiled; Christopher hated John more than any of them, and for good reason, and was preparing to shoot to his feet the moment the prince entered the room. He might as well still be standing for all of the relaxing he was doing on his arse.

  “Tell me, how is your wife?” William asked.

  “Well, sire,” Christopher replied. “Her appetite and vigor have returned, thankfully.”

  William nodded. “Well and good,” he eyed Christopher. “Any thoughts on returning her to Lioncross?”

  Christopher shrugged vaguely. “Thoughts, of course, but no action.”

  William nudged the big man with an elbow. “You’d miss her too much, wouldn’t you?”

  Christopher lifted his shoulders again, not meeting William’s knowing gaze. “I’d rather have her here with me.”

  William laughed softly; Christopher was not a man to admit attachment to anything or anyone other than Richard, even though it was painfully obvious his wife had usurped their king in the Defender’s heart. Yet before William could goad him further, a small door behind the throne swung open and Ralph marched through. He hadn’t taken two steps when Christopher was on his feet, his huge body coiled with anticipation.

  Everyone rose out of pure protocol when John entered the room, waving benevolently at the group of men and followed by his closest advisors. Christopher eyed the small group of seedy, shady characters, even if they were some of England’s most noble blood. Bringing up the rear was none other than Sir Dennis le Londe.

  He spied Christopher and gave him a wolfish sort of smile. Christopher met the expression with an unreadable face, wishing he could get the man alone just long enough to snap his neck like kindling. They never had gotten along, merely tolerated one another because they were fighting for a common cause. Dennis was a devotee of Philip Augustus, as passionate about his king as Christopher was for Richard. Since Richard and Philip Augustus despised each other, it was only natural for Christopher and Dennis to feel the same way. What had happened in the tournament had not increased Christopher’s loathing, but simply reinforced it.

  John took his seat, adjusting his robes as a woman would fuss over her surcoat. The justices sat and waited patiently while John deliberately stalled, conferring with various men around him before finally clearing his throat and facing the expectant throng.

  “Loyal vassals of Richard,” he began. “I am afraid ’tis bad news I must give you. I received word from the continent today regarding Richard’s whereabouts and well-being and, I am sorry to say, the information is most disturbing.”

  Christopher braced himself mentally, not daring to glance at William Marshal but so wanting to. John continued.

  “On December 12, Richard was captured by forces of Duke Leopold. He and Emperor Henry are holding our king hostage and the inclination seems to be that they will demand a ransom for him, a ransom I am sure we as a country cannot meet.” He was relishing the open reaction of some of the justices. “As Richard’s heir, ’twould seem that England would be mine in that case.”

  William rose beside Christopher, eyeing John with disbelief. “Is Richard well?”

  “He is healthy and whole, as far as we are told,” John replied without a hint of distress.

  “Then ransom or not, sire, Richard is King of England until his demise,” William said evenly.

  “But England needs a king who is not being held prisoner,” John said, trying to control the temper that threatened to flare.

  “Richard cannot rule from a cell.”

  “Richard is king,” William repeated. “The throne of England is his. And it is quite possible that we may deliver the requested ransom; has any amount been discussed yet?”

  John’s jaw ticked. “Nay, not yet,” he replied quietly. “But surely it will be overwhelming and the royal coffers are already near to bone dry. There will be no way to pay it.”

  “Begging you pardon, sire, but how do you know?” William said. “Richard has many loyal, wealthy vassals and it is quite possible that the booty will be raised. Mayhap we should wait and see what Leopold and Henry demand before we draw any conclusions.”

  John was thoroughly agitated. Already the meeting was not favorable in his behalf, as he had hoped. William Longchamp, Richard’s chancellor, suddenly bolted from his seat, wringing his hands behind his back.

  “How dare they take Richard prisoner as if he were a common thief,” he raged. “By what right do they possess the power to take our sovereign hostage?”

  “They consider Richard a criminal, my lord, as you well know,” William said steadily, hoping Longchamp would calm down and realize now was not the place for dissension amongst Richard’s ranks. “We have known that for a long while now, yet it changes nothing. Leopold and Henry the Lion hold Richard and we must deal with them.”

  Christopher was surprisingly collected. He crossed his massive arms over his chest, listening to Marshal’s voice of reason.

  “Would an armed incursion be possible, my lord, were we to find out where they are holding him?” he asked William quietly.

  “I will not allow it.” John shot out of his chair, shaking his fist at Christopher. “You will not take an army into the empire to free my brother. Such acts could be deemed provocative and before we would realize it, we would be at war with the entire empire.”

  Christopher’s gaze was cool on John. “We are already at war with Henry, so to speak,” he said. “He has captured our king. Would you not consider that act the least bit provocative?”

  John’s mouth worked furiously. “No armed excursion, de Lohr. I forbid it.”

  “You cannot,” Christopher responded flatly. “You have not the power. Only the justices can deny me.”

  The veins on John’s neck bulged. “But I am the bloody prince and heir to the throne. ’Tis well within my royal right to approve or deny the use of crown monies and power.”

  “The troops are mine, as pursuant Richard’s decree,” Christopher reminded him, wondering how long it was going to be before John was having seizures on the floor. “Your use of them is limited.”

  “They are crown property and I am the crown,” John shot back.

  “But you are not king.” How Christopher loved to say that. “They are Richard’s troops and he has given the responsibility to me in his absence. Why must we go over this, sire? You read the missive and know full well the royal appointment. ’Tis not up for discussion, and certainly not with me. I am simply following Richard’s orders.”

  John was bordering on another fit and Ralph leaned closed to his liege, whispering in his ear until John visibly relaxed. All in the room watched as he regained his seat with mounting control over himself. He seemed to calm with amazing speed and Christopher wondered what in the hell Ralph said to him, but not really wanting to know.

  “My brother will never leave captivity alive, you know,” he said finally. “Philip is akin to this kidnapping, and he and Henry want him dead almost as badly as they want money. Mayhap they will decide that his death is more important to the good of the free world after all. ’Twill be interesting to see if there is a ransom demand at all.”

  A rapid change of attitude, no doubt to throw the justices off-guard. Christopher raised an eyebrow at the prince, but William remained impassive.

  “Mayhap, sire,” he replied. “I suppose we will find out in due time. Was that all you wished to speak with us about?”

  John stared back at William, mulling over the question, before letting out an ironic snort. “I should think it would be enough, yet you do not seem overly concerned. It is possible you care not what happens to your king or that you have become accustomed to running the country in his absence?”

  W
illiam smiled wryly. “I both care what happens to our king and look forward to his return, sire. As do you.”

  They all knew the final three words to be a flat-out lie. John merely turned away, this meeting had not gone favorably in the least and he was eager to be done with it. He had expected outrage, pleading and cursing at the very least, but the seams of Richard’s governing body were strong and showed no signs of deficiency. Informed of their lord’s fate, they were now sure of his whereabouts and grimly determined to resolve it. John was not at all pleased with the show of strength, yet it did not mar his plans. He had an army waiting for him in Nottingham, he had hoped Richard’s captivity would allow him a fairly bloodless route to the throne, but he could see that it was not going to happen.

  So be it, then. He would take what was rightfully his by force.

  There would be no better opportunity.

  *

  Canterbury Castle

  Early May

  “John’s mercenary army has moved to the heart of England,” Lyle said, his tone somewhat subdued. “I have received a request from William Marshal to send men and material northward. It seems that John has embedded his mercenary army at Nottingham Castle and we must do all we can to stop him from taking England by force.”

  Brickley was listening without much enthusiasm. He had been the one to bring this missive to Lyle from an exhausted messenger bearing Marshal colors, so he knew the contents of the missive would be important. That concerned him. Now, with the contents revealed, he knew without question that he would be the one to lead the troops northward and he simply didn’t want to go.

  “With Richard presumed dead, I am not entirely sure why John needs to form an army to take with is rightfully his,” he said. “I do not understand why we must fight him if the throne belongs to him.”

  In the small solar at Canterbury Castle where Lyle administered his business, the man stood near the hearth for the light it provides as he read a rather large piece of vellum. It was a square room, with massively thick walls and small lancet windows, and it was a rather lush chamber with fur rugs on the floor and two big tapestries against the walls to keep the iciness of the old red stones out of the room. It even had a precious glass window with colored pieces of glass in it, overlooking the bailey. The hearth that Lyle stood next to was taller than he was.