The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “He lied to me,” he said simply.

  Dustin’s head came up, fear filling her veins. Even if she carried no feelings for the man, she could not let her husband kill him.

  “You will not kill him, Christopher. I would as soon throw myself on your sword.”

  “This matter is between my knight and me,” he said.

  “Nay, it is not.” Her rage was surging again. “I am as involved as either one of you. If you kill him, then you must kill me as well. For that matter, mayhap I should return to Lioncross and kill the serving wench you bedded. The one who carries your bastard.”

  She ended bitterly and his eyes snapped to her. “She does not carry my child,” he said.

  Dustin simply turned away from him, still undoing her stays. She was too exhausted, too emotional, to say anymore. She blocked him out, unable to cope.

  Christopher sat there as she undressed, digesting everything that had happened that evening, trying to regain his shattered composure. As shocking as her confession was, and as stunned as he was that Marcus had lied to him, it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart that Dustin had betrayed him. He could deal with Marcus, but handling his feelings for his wife was a matter he had never had to confront before.

  Love was pain and weakness, and this example was living proof. He moved past his wife, heading through the antechamber and to the front door. Opening it, he barked orders to one of the dozens of soldiers guarding the hall and the man took off running. With his knights still in the dining room, he wanted extra soldiers guarding his wife.

  He left to seek out Marcus. It would seem that there was much to discuss.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Christopher found himself out in one of Windsor’s elegantly manicured gardens by the massive motte, sitting in the cool air staring out into nothingness. He was so consumed with emotion that he was absolutely useless.

  He had intended to find Marcus, but somehow he had gotten sidetracked on his way to the great hall and had ended up outside, his mind filled with Dustin and the myriad of feelings he had for her.

  She had confessed, she had apologized. She had forgiven him for his indiscretion, and compared to what he had done, hers was barely mentionable. After all, she had not lain with the man and he was sure of that. With all of the admissions, he was sure she had told him everything because she was not very good with concealing her emotions. He was furthermore sure that what had happened between her and Marcus was not planned and not premeditated, for he knew her enough to know she was incapable of planning such indiscretions; she was far too innocent.

  Which was most likely her problem; she became giddy with Marcus’ overbearing attention and allowed it to happen without thinking. Yet how could he blame Marcus? The man knew a beautiful woman when he saw one and probably kissed her before thinking, even if she was his liege’s wife. That thought frightened him, for if Marcus committed such a sin with full knowledge, then it must mean he was more than infatuated with Dustin. Mayhap Edward was right after all and Marcus was truly in love with Dustin.

  Christopher kicked at the dirt, frustrated and tired and miserable. Miserable because he loved her and could not tell her, miserable because she wouldn’t believe him, anyway. He was frustrated with this tremendous distraction while he was supposed to be on a mission from the king, and he was tired because his mind was working too hard trying to sort itself out.

  Across the garden came a tall, dark figure. Christopher heard the footsteps and saw the shadow, knowing his sword was a mere inch or so from his hand. Edward’s face came into focus under the soft moon glow.

  “Why in the hell are you out here?” he asked, sitting on the stone bench beside Christopher. “I should think you would be in bed with your wife.”

  Christopher didn’t say anything for a moment. “She told me that she and Marcus shared a kiss.”

  Edward wasn’t surprised, but he was concerned. “And? God, Chris, you didn’t hurt her or….”

  Christopher rolled his eyes wearily. “In Christ’s name, of course not. She is sound and whole, probably asleep with thirty-five soldiers guarding the door and the halls. She is perfectly safe.”

  Edward let out a sigh of relief. “I knew you would not touch her, but sometimes we do strange things in anger.” He looked long at his liege. “What about Marcus? Are you going to call him out?”

  Christopher’s jaw ticked. “I do not give a damn about Marcus,” he hissed. “It is Dustin I am concerned about. I do not know what I am going to do with her.”

  “What do you mean ‘do with her’?” Edward asked, his brow furrowed.

  Christopher hissed a long, exasperated sigh and stood up, stretching his legs. It was going to take courage to say what he was trying to spit out and he struggled with it.

  “You were right, Edward, about everything,” he finally said. “You knew….how I felt about my wife, but God help me, I cannot bring myself to admit it or say it, even to myself. As I sit here wallowing in misery, I realize that it has taken something of this magnitude to bring me to grips with my feelings for Dustin.” He shook his head in defeat. “The woman will be the death of me, Edward. John already knows she means a great deal to me, but if he finds out that she is becoming my reason for living, then he will use that against me and if anything ever happened to her, I would lose what is left of my mind.”

  Edward smiled faintly. “I never thought I’d ever hear you say you love her.”

  “I have not,” Christopher almost shouted.

  Edward grinned broadly. “Yes, you have, in your own way. Tell her and draw strength from her, Chris. She loves you, too.”

  He shook his head hard. “She wouldn’t believe me. She would think I am telling her simply because I know that is what she wishes to hear.”

  Edward watched him pace. “Why does she frighten you?” he asked.

  Christopher stopped. “Because she holds my life in her hands and she does not know it. Love frightens me, for it is a weak man’s disease and I do not wish to catch it.”

  “Too late,” Edward said frankly. “And you are so wrong. Love is the most powerful strength of all. Remember your Bible, Chris; there is no greater strength. You fought in the Holy Land for the love of God and it made you invincible.”

  Christopher shrugged. “I fought for my love of Richard, and he made me what I am. But what I feel for my wife is so unexpected and overwhelming. It overshadows even my devotion to Richard. How is that considered strength?”

  “It will be what you make of it,” Edward stood up. “You may use it as your life’s blood, or you may spend the rest of your life cowering from it. You are married to that young lady for better or worse, for the rest of your life. The fact that you have fallen in love with her is more than anyone could ask for. Do not you realize how fortunate you are?”

  Christopher eyed Edward a moment before turning away, his pacing slowing but his body rigid and agitated.

  “Do you truly believe Marcus is in love with her?” he asked.

  Edward shrugged. “Who can say? But I believe so. Mayhap the only way you can find out is by asking him.”

  Christopher shook his head vehemently. “If he were to say yes, then I would most certainly kill him. And I need Marcus, Edward. He is the best knight in the realm and I need him.”

  “Nay, you are the best knight in the realm,” Edward corrected him. “You and Marcus are so much alike that it is frightening. Talk to the man, Chris, I implore you. If you do not, this madness of yours will eat at your soul and destroy you from within.”

  Christopher kept his head bowed, watching his feet. “I cannot have this conflict, Edward. Not when Richard’s throne is at stake.”

  “Is it?” Edward asked quietly.

  Christopher finally sat down, heavily. “Marcus said that the barons in the north are very opposed to John, yet some of the upper nobility support him because they are as deviant as he is. With Richard gone, the entire country feels as if their king has deserted them and dissatisfact
ion grows. It is difficult at this point to say who has the edge in loyalty, but both Marcus and I feel that one thing is certain, if John makes a move for the throne, then it will throw the entire country into civil war.”

  “What of Richard’s betrothed?” Edward asked. “Mayhap if she were to assume her rightful place….”

  Christopher waved him off. “She is a child, Edward. And she is not yet the queen. Nay, unfortunately, John is gaining power and Ralph along with him. Do you know that he bestowed upon Ralph the title of Sheriff of Nottingham?”

  “I heard rumor,” Edward said distastefully. “Richard has a marshal, now John must have a sheriff.”

  Christopher sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his great blue eyes staring off into the darkness.

  “How do I allow myself to become involved in these things?” he muttered. “Such a simple matter as taking a wife has grown into my greatest concern when, in fact, my greatest concern should be for my king. Sometimes I think I should board a merchant vessel and sail off into the world, and leave all of this mess behind.”

  “And leave Dustin here?” Edward asked softly.

  Christopher paused a moment before shaking his head. “Nay,” he whispered. “I would take her with me and pray that someday she overcomes this hatred she bears. Mayhap someday she would consider me a fine husband.”

  “She doesn’t hate you, and she is deeply proud of you,” Edward told him, rising to his feet. “Go to her, Chris, and surmount your pride. ’Tis the only way.”

  Christopher nodded faintly. “Mayhap.”

  Edward stretched the weariness out of his lanky body. “If you are finished with your emotional crisis, let us return to the dining hall and show John that Richard’s presence is indeed heavy at Windsor.”

  Leave it to Edward to put things into perspective. Without an argument, Christopher rose, silently, his mind on his wife as he followed Edward to the great hall of Windsor. He was, in truth, glad for Edward’s presence. The man always had the ability to calm him, to help him to see reason. Christopher was frankly concerned how he was going to react when he saw Marcus and was glad for Edward’s presence. At least the man would provide a buffer between him and Marcus should the situation grow ugly.

  Unfortunately, Marcus was the first man he saw upon entering the hall. Oblivious to Christopher’s thoughts, he went right to him.

  “Is Lady Dustin all right?” Marcus asked with concern.

  Edward glanced at Christopher, but his liege was expressionless. “She is in bed,” he replied.

  “Good,” Marcus issued a sigh of relief. “When I forewarned you about Ralph and John’s plans, I neglected to tell your wife. I hope the shock was not too great.”

  The man is digging his own grave, Edward thought. Discreetly, he left the two men standing near the door, alone, but didn’t go far. He wanted to be close in case the conversation deteriorated.

  Seeing Edward move away from the corner of his eye, Christopher was much calmer than he thought possible. He crossed his arms, his gaze lingering over the crowd that was now up and dancing to minstrels.

  “Considering Ralph spoke the truth, her shock wasn’t so great more than she is simply distraught,” he said, his eyes then falling on his knight. “She told me what happened at the inn, Marcus. More than anything, she is deeply concerned for you. It would seem that she does not want me to kill you.”

  Marcus met his gaze for an eternal moment, frozen in time, no feelings nor reaction forthcoming. He wasn’t really surprised that Dustin had confessed. In fact, he felt rather relieved by it. Oddly relieved.

  “Is that what you plan to do?” he asked quietly.

  “Nay,” Christopher replied, as steadily as he could manage. “But I would like to know why you lied to me.”

  Marcus sighed faintly and averted his gaze. “I do not recall lying to you, Chris,” he said softly. “Specifically, I told you I did not ravage your wife, and I didn’t. We shared a small, stolen kiss for which I am completely guilty, and nothing more. It was over almost before it began.”

  Christopher’s big body tensed as he studied Marcus’ profile, but it occurred to him that he was right. He never actually denied kissing Dustin; he only denied ravaging her. His anger was fed because of the small technicality upon which Marcus was basing his answer.

  “Why, Marcus?” he finally managed to whisper, his pain breaking through and hating the fact that he sounded so hurt. “Why did you do this?”

  Marcus met his liege’s eyes, his composure slipping because of what he heard in Christopher’s tone.

  “I do not know,” he murmured. “Mayhap the three days I spent with your wife proved to be too much for me. I told you I thought she was absolutely beautiful, and I believe my infatuation with her got the better of me. I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Chris, for everything. You know me well enough to know I am an honorable man.”

  “I thought I did,” Christopher said. “I trusted you and you betrayed me.”

  Marcus’ jaw ticked with the severity of his words. “ ’Twas never my intention. I can only beg your forgiveness.”

  Christopher held his gaze a moment longer before looking away. Marcus, too, looked away, his eyes distant and painful.

  “Do you have feelings for my wife?” Christopher asked quietly.

  Of course I do. Marcus had been grappling with them ever since he kissed her. But he had a suspicion that this honesty would not be well received.

  “ ’Twould be futile, my lord, for she cares only for you,” he said quietly, “and I am a man unaccustomed to futility.”

  “Pretty words, Marcus, even for you,” Christopher said. “But you did not answer me.”

  Marcus sighed softly, forming his answer carefully. “I told you that I am infatuated with her, but that is all. It will pass.”

  “What if it does not?” Christopher asked. “Will I find myself being challenged by you in the future, the prize being my wife?”

  “Nay, my lord, I would never do that,” Marcus insisted softly. “She is your wife, in the eyes of God and England. I would not, nor could I, take her from you.”

  Christopher was more hurt now than when he had entered the room. His anger was banking, manifesting itself into sorrow. He had trusted this man, his dearest friend, and he had been betrayed.

  “Do you love her, Chris?” Marcus asked after a moment.

  Christopher didn’t look at hm. “I do not see how that is any of your affair.”

  “It isn’t,” Marcus said. “But I think had this incident been more a matter of pure honor, I would be lying on the floor right now in a pool of blood. Yet I see a look in your eye now that I have never seen before, a great pain. If you did not love her, you wouldn’t be so agonized nor indecisive.”

  Christopher clenched his teeth. “She is my wife, Marcus. Of course I am hurt by this, but at least she confessed. I had to drag it out of you.”

  Marcus knew that was the closest thing to an admission as he would get. “Shall I seek another liege?”

  “Nay,” Christopher said shortly, regaining some of his composure. “I need you, Marcus, and we must hold together if for nothing else than for Richard’s sake. No woman will drive us apart.”

  Marcus bowed shortly. “As you say, my lord.”

  The air between them grew stiff and formal, as if there was an understanding between them yet the camaraderie had vanished. Christopher was distrustful of Marcus’ intentions, and Marcus resented his liege for the one thing he truly desired; his wife. It was a horrible circumstance, one they both struggled with.

  From the best of friends to distrustful comrades, the fall from grace was a painful thing, indeed.

  *

  Later on that evening, Marcus walked alone through the corridor heading toward his chamber, feeling distinctly saddened and ashamed. He was so caught up in his thoughts, wandering, that he was genuinely shocked to see Dustin emerge from the darkened corridor.

  Dustin came upon Marcus, her beautiful face pa
le and furrowed. She was dressed in some sort of simple surcoat, wrapped in a heavy shawl. She looked ill and lost.

  “Dustin?” he asked softly, deeply puzzled. “What in the hell are you doing out here? Where’s Chris?”

  “I do not know,” she said wearily. “He has not returned and I was concerned. Are you all right?”

  She was looking him over for injury and he knew what she meant. “I am fine,” Marcus reached out and took her arm, turning her around in the direction she had come. “Let me take you back.”

  Dustin allowed him to lead her back down the hall. Truth was, she was feeling terrible and sickened, and was grateful for the assistance. But she was desperate to find Christopher for he had left so abruptly that she was terribly worried.

  “I told him,” she said softly, leaning into his arm. “I am sorry, but I had to. ’Twasn’t fair to lie to him.”

  “I know,” Marcus replied quietly. “We have spoken of it.”

  “Does he hate you?” Dustin looked up at him. “He hates me, you know. He left me alone in our room. He just… left. He never wanted a wife and I am sure now that he is doubly sorry.”

  Marcus shook his head. “That is nonsense,” he said, helping her up the stairs. “He does not hate you, and he does not hate me. He is grieved, ’tis all.”

  “He took a serving wench to his bed right after we were married, you know,” she mumbled, tired and defeated. “When I found out I was hysterical. He hadn’t even bedded me yet, but I forgave him. Why can he not forgive me?”

  “He will, Dustin,” Marcus murmured. “He will forgive us in time.”

  She stumbled and he paused, lifting her into his big arms and carrying her the rest of the way down the hall. There were several soldiers in the hall and Marcus lay into them.

  “Who’s in charge?” he bellowed.

  The soldiers snapped to attention, the voice of Sir Marcus Burton sending bolts of fear through them.

  “Crag Armitage,” one soldier replied firmly. “He is inside with the baron now, my lord.”

  Without another word, Marcus pushed past the soldiers and kicked open the door to the antechamber.