The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  There was someone beside him and he recognized Leeton, rushing at him in panic.

  “Jesus, Chris,” Leeton’s voice cracked. “The bloody bastards got you. Oh, Jesus, let me see!”

  Christopher tried to wave him off, knowing any attempt to save him was futile, but Leeton roughly yanked off his breastplate and shoved his mail aside.

  “A spear,” Leeton spit with contempt. “Goddamn cowards could not get you with a sword, so they took to hurling spears. I have got to get this out.”

  Christopher started to shake his head, but he was far too weak to do anything but utter a strangled yelp when Leeton yanked the spear from his guts. Bright red blood gushed freely as Leeton slapped a few rags of linen on the spot, knowing they would be nearly useless against such a flow. He already felt the loss of his liege deeply and his handsome face was pale with sorrow.

  “Leeton,” Christopher groaned, grabbing at him.

  “Aye, Chris, I am here,” he said, grasping Christopher’s hand and holding it tightly.

  Christopher could barely speak. “Take….take my wedding ring,” he whispered. “Take it back to my wife. Tell her….tell her what happened and tell her my last thoughts were of her. And tell her I love her, Leeton. I love her with all my heart.”

  Leeton, a seasoned veteran, found himself choking back tears. “Chris, I….”

  “Take it!” Christopher tried to yell, but he had not the strength to press his point. His life was fading away and his strength with it.

  He held up his left hand. Leeton hesitated for a tormented moment before ripping off the gauntlet and pulling off the ring. He did not know who was the more miserable; him or Christopher. He wanted to scream, to yell, to demand that God show pity and take him instead, but he could only focus on his liege with tears in his eyes. Christopher, satisfied that his last wish would be carried out, let his hand fall to the ground. His blue eyes closed and there was a faint smile on his lips.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Leeton heard a horn and turned his head in the direction of the battle. “Chris, they have got the mercenaries boxed in. I have got to go, but I swear I shall be back. Do you hear me? I shall be back. I shall find Burwell and return. He will save you.”

  Christopher weakly grasped his wrist. “No one can save me, Leeton,” Christopher murmured. “You and I both know this is the end of me. One more thing….find David and tell him that I am sorry for everything. Tell my brother than I love him and ask him to take care of Dustin and Christin for me.”

  Leeton could not stop the strangled sob, but he nodded his head furiously. “Aye, anything you say,” he said tearfully, grasping Christopher’s shoulders with his big hands. “Just… please hold on. Burwell ought to have something to patch up that hole.”

  Christopher did not reply; he had already slipped into unconsciousness and his breathing was slowing. Swallowing hard, Leeton took one last look at his liege, his grief overflowing, wishing he was not the one charged with the horrible duty of informing Lady de Lohr of her husband’s passing. Already, he felt the agony to his bones.

  But he would do what had been asked of him in one last show of obedience. He would have much rather stayed with Christopher as he breathed his last, but more pressing duties were calling and he answered reluctantly. Leaving Christopher lying beneath the trees to protect him from the rain, he put the wedding ring on his left hand for safekeeping and mounted Zephyr. His own destrier, suffering a huge gash to the chest, was left grazing on the edge of the forest.

  Leeton reined Zephyr in the direction of the battle, taking one last glance at Christopher’s still form under the trees. Dear God, it wasn’t fair. Christopher was The Defender, entitled to immortality, deserving of divine grace. To die fighting the bastard prince was unworthy of such a great man, and Leeton felt a great surge of anger wash over him.

  Leeton swore to himself that he would find Ralph and Dennis and John and run each one of them through on Christopher’s behalf. If it took him the rest of his life, he would do it. Every one of those bastards would pay for what they had done to his beloved liege and friend. And with each stroke of the sword into their flesh, he would be sure to mention Dustin’s name.

  He made it several hundred yards from the wall, fighting alongside other knights in the blinding rain. Aboard Zephyr, the men thought he was Christopher and the fighting was furious. They were inspired by him. Yet they were not the only ones who thought he was Christopher; a barrage of crossbows unleashed arrows as plentiful as rain, and Zephyr went down in a scream of agony. Leeton tried to bolt free, but the horse fell quickly and with all of his armor, he was weighted severely. There was no chance for him to escape.

  Twenty-five hundred pounds of horseflesh buried him face-first in the mud, and in Leeton’s last wild thoughts, he never imagined he would actually drown on the field of battle.

  *

  The battle for Gowergrove was over.

  Crown troops victoriously let Richard’s pennant fly from the walls and took to killing any remaining mercenary soldiers. Word of The Defender’s death hit everyone hard, as hard as if their own beloved father had been taken from them, and they were committed to doing everything they could to make John’s army pay. As the men moved slowly and lethargically about their duties, as exhausted men usually do, disbelief filled every face.

  Anguish and grief were hand in hand among the men, and especially the knights. But none were harder hit than Christopher’s personal stable. They set about their tasks mechanically, although each and every one of them had taken the time to view the body in the mud, half-buried underneath his destrier. Seeing had to be believing, yet none wanted to believe.

  “We lost Leeton, too,” Max mumbled, gazing down on the body of their great liege. “Has anyone even seen him?”

  “Nay,” Sean de Lara replied, turning away from the rotting corpse underneath the horse. Sean had remained in London when Christopher had gone to Lioncross last year, but then rejoined Christopher when the man had come to London to collect the crown troops. He had been by the baron’s side for weeks. “He is probably buried underneath this muck, somewhere. I saw his horse three days ago, over by the line of trees.”

  Anthony de Velt had shown an amazing amount of responsibility in the past three days. A rotting hand, a wedding ring around the left finger, was jutting up out of the rancid mud and he reached down and plucked the gold band free. “For Lady de Lohr,” he said softly. “She will want to keep it. Now, we must bury the body.”

  “We are not returning him to Lioncross?” Max stood up from his crouch and faced his brother. “To be buried on his soil?”

  “Max, if we bring this sickening corpse back to Lioncross, you know Lady Dustin is going to want to view her husband,” Anthony said pointedly. “We will try to prevent her, but you know she will gain her way. Do you truly want her to see Chris in this state? It will drive her insane.”

  Max glanced down at the corpse, so bloated and unrecognizable that the skin was splitting on the head where the helmet was restraining it. The only thing of any recognition was the blond hair, and the ring.

  “Nay,” he said after a moment, crossing himself and uttering a prayer. “God, no.”

  Anthony nodded curtly. “Then set up a detail to dig Chris a grave. Leeton one, too, if we can find his body. Pick a nice place, perhaps on that little rise up there.”

  Max tore his gaze away from the body and motioned to Guy de la Rosa. “Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s get to it.”

  Sean and Anthony were left gazing down at the grisly scene. “What in the world happened?” Sean asked. “I mean, look at the way the horse has fallen. Impaled through the heart, he is. Is it possible it fell on Chris and he drowned in the mud?”

  Anthony shrugged. “Mayhap we shall know after we free the body. Meanwhile, we have a whole keep to clean up.” He glanced over at the men-at-arms who were beginning a funeral pyre and he stomped off in their direction. “Hey! You men over there! Do not burn bodies so c
lose to the keep unless you want to render everyone in the castle ill!”

  He was off shouting, leaving Sean standing a depressing watch over the remains of his liege. The thought that The Defender was gone was so overwhelmingly bleak that the man hesitated to believe another day would dawn over England.

  He glanced at the sky above, bleak and gray. That was the world to him at the moment without his liege, bleak and gray and colorless. He could not stand to look at the body anymore; with a sting to his eyes, he went to help the others dig graves.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Word of the Defender’s passing spread through England like wildfire. Ralph and John, having been at Nottingham when Sir Dennis had brought them the news, partied for three days. Lady Gabrielle, on John’s arm, wept through the night. Surely nothing could save England now.

  Richard disembarked at the Tower to be met by the justices, welcoming him home to English soil with one breath and notifying him of the current situation with the next. John held fourteen castles and Christopher de Lohr was dead, killed in battle at Gowergrove Castle. Deeply distressed and seriously exhausted, Richard had shed public tears at his brave friend’s passing. Sir Philip de Lohr, disembarking with Richard, crossed himself and went immediately to Winchester Abbey where he prayed for two straight days.

  David, now betrothed to Emilie Hampton and serving Lyle Hampton, heard from the earl of his brother’s passing. His pain was so great that Lyle ordered David locked in his room with a constant guard on his person, terrified his future son-in-law would take his own life. He knew of Christopher and David’s falling out, and he furthermore feared David would never be the same.

  A violent argument between two brothers would now never be resolved, and David was inconsolable. Even Emilie could not bring him out of his depression. But David was made of strong blood, and after his initial shock and pain dulled, he kissed Emilie goodbye and set out for London to see Richard. He knew the king would want to see him, but his stay in London would be short. After that, he vowed to continue to Lioncross and beg Dustin’s forgiveness, hoping she would allow him to comfort her. And mayhap, she could comfort him as well. He could not deal with the fact that Christopher had gone to his grave hating him.

  Marcus Burton even heard of Christopher’s death and Richard’s return by way of a traveling Scot lord. Holed up at Somerhill, Marcus had had virtually no contact with the outside world, shunning missives and denying entrance to any outsiders. The less he knew of London and the ways of the world, the easier it was to forget about Dustin. He had been fairly happy for the past year at his new keep, ruling the baronetcy fairly and justly; he was greatly loved by his vassals. He had even selected a woman he thought would make an excellent mother for his sons, but the moment he heard of Christopher’s death, everything was dashed.

  The pain and loss he felt was overwhelming and he spent two days in his solar, drinking away his guilt and pain. But when the liquor dried up, so did he, and he immediately decided to set forth to Lioncross. With Christopher gone, he planned to do what he had always wanted to do. He would claim Dustin, and woe to any man who would try to stop him.

  Richard, John and Ralph… he cared not for their problems anymore. With each passing moment, the only thing of importance to him was Lady Dustin de Lohr. Somehow he knew Christopher would approve of him taking care of his wife and, by God, he would not only take care of her. He would worship the ground she walked on. How could Christopher want for anything more than that?

  The only person who had not immediately heard of Christopher’s death was his wife. Dustin went about her business every day, taking care of her growing daughter and running Lioncross with Gowen. In the morning she would see to the day’s needs, and in the afternoon, she would till the frozen ground in the garden in preparation for the spring plant. She was happy as she tried to keep busy, easing the pain of separation from her husband, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that he would return home to her. She had grown confident in his ability to stay alive and counted the days until his return. She could hardly wait to hold him.

  Late one afternoon in February, the returning army was sighted. Dustin was in her bedchamber with the maids when she heard the cry go up from the wall, and all three of the women raced to the window to catch sight of the approaching troops. They could see the blue and gold of Christopher’s banners in the distance.

  Glee surged through Dustin. Chasing the maids out, she donned her very best surcoat, one of burnished gold that Christopher loved so much, and carefully brushed her long hair. She wanted to look good for him and make him glad that he had returned to her. In her excitement, she called into the nursery and had Griselda dress Christin in a clean frock so the baby could greet her father properly.

  All of Lioncross was in an uproar. Edward was in the foyer, moving to the front doors when Dustin hung over the balcony overhead and yelled at him not to detain her husband with a bunch of silly war tales. There would be time for that later. He grinned and waved her off, joining Jeffrey in the bailey. He noticed that Jeffrey’s’ face was grave.

  “What’s wrong?” Edward demanded, still smiling from Dustin’s comments. “How can you possibly have a sour face on this day of days?”

  “I count only five knights,” Jeffrey said. “And I do not see the baron’s horse.”

  Edward shrugged. “Mayhap he remained in London. Richard is, after all, returned and I am sure there is much to discuss.”

  Jeffrey shrugged in agreement, but his sense of uneasiness did not dissipate. In fact, as the huge gates yawned open and the knights spilled in through the opening, his apprehension increased. He did not know why; mayhap it was simply an overactive feeling on his part.

  Edward wasn’t concerned in the least as the knights rode in. He did, however, notice Leeton was missing and that concerned him a bit, but not overly. The knights rode directly to him, reining their weary mounts to a halt in the dusk.

  “Max and Anthony,” Edward greeted pleasantly. “Good Lord, don’t tell me Chris was detained in London with Richard. My lady is going to have fits.”

  Anthony dismounted, followed slowly by the others. By their sheer movements, Edward was alerted and his heart leapt into his throat. Without a word, they had conveyed much. Edward’s smile vanished.

  Anthony removed his helm. When his brown eyes met Edward’s, there was nothing more to say. His expression said everything. Edward’s face went as white as plaster and he felt bile rise in his throat.

  “Oh….no, Anthony,” he breathed. “Please… Chris is not coming home, is he?”

  Anthony dug into his tunic and with the most reverent of gestures, held Christopher’s wedding ring out to Edward. The man simply stared at it, unable to make a conscious decision to move and do anything with it. It was almost as if he were not truly grasping what he was seeing.

  Jeffrey finally took the ring. “How did it happen?” he asked quietly.

  Anthony did not look anything like the man who had left Lioncross a mere month earlier. He looked older, more haggard.

  “The last day of the battle for Gowergrove,” he said quietly. “We are not sure how it happened, but we found him in two feet of mud buried beneath his horse. You understand there wasn’t much left to bury, Edward. We buried him on a rise overlooking Gowergrove. We did not want to bring him back here for….her….to see.”

  Edward blinked and two fat tears rolled down his cheeks, dashed away by his shaking hand. “You did right, of course,” he said softly. “And Leeton? He perished also?”

  “Aye,” Anthony nodded wearily. “We never did find his body. With the rain and mud, ’twas nearly impossible. Then when the mud dried up before we could completely clear the field of battle, there was no chance to find him.”

  Edward wiped his hand across his face. “God be merciful,” he breathed, trying desperately to compose himself. “Does Richard know?”

  “All of England knows,” Anthony replied. “We had to stop in London to leave off the crown troops,
and Richard had declared a day of mourning. Sir Philip is inconsolable. I do not even know if David knows.”

  “No doubt he does by now, if he is in Canterbury,” Edward replied, struggling for his composure. “I wonder if he will return to Lioncross now that….”

  Anthony’s eyes widened and Edward stiffened, knowing Dustin had been sighted. He knew he should rush to her and take her inside to deliver the news, but he could not seem to move his legs. It took all of his energy to turn around and face her as she descended the stairs, a quizzical smile on her lips. When he saw the smile, he nearly snapped.

  “Where is Chris?” she asked curiously, glancing about. Then, she looked annoyed. “Do not tell me he stayed behind in London with Richard. Why could not he have come home first?”

  No one could answer her; all of their tongues were glued to the roof of their mouths. Edward tried to force himself to move forward, to return her to the keep, but he could not make his body obey. Dustin’s mouth pressed into an irritated line as she waited for an answer and he knew he had to say something, but he simply couldn’t find the correct words, praying to God to give him the strength to tell her that her husband was never coming home.

  “So is it a surprise and he’s sworn everyone to secrecy?” She put her hands on her hips. “Well, somebody had better tell me or no one is going anywhere. Where is he? Did he go to Canterbury, by chance? I shall kill him if he attends David’s wedding without me.”

  Jeffrey was the first to move, and even he did not say a word. He thrust his hand at Dustin, an object between his fingers. She glanced at it and smiled, thinking it to be a gift from her husband. But the moment she snatched it away to examine it, she knew what it was. Her smile fled and her knees went weak. God help her, she knew what it was.