The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  He had all he could take of her mouth and pulled her underneath him, turning his attentions to her plump breasts and slim torso. She writhed beneath him as his big hands moved about her, telling her wordlessly how glad he was that she was finally his wife.

  Dustin had realized something about Marcus’ lovemaking early on; he liked a bit of roughness, and he liked to put her in strange positions. Not that she minded, for it excited her as well. He put her knees up and plunged his face into her intimate place, his tongue caressing and lapping and stroking long and hard until she was nearly screaming with need. When she was dripping wet, he put her legs together and Dustin looked at him with great disappointment.

  “What’s wrong?” she panted.

  He grinned wolfishly. “Nothing.”

  Legs pressed together, he pushed them up so her knees were in her face, exposing the most private part of her to the ceiling. She could not see his face because her legs were in the way as she was nearly folded in half, but when she opened her mouth to question him further, she felt his huge member pressing against her and he slid easily in his full, hard length. Gripping her knees to keep her legs aloft, he pumped into her with sensual force and Dustin quickly realized she liked this a great deal.

  He thrust and thrust, his grunts of pleasure matching hers. She felt herself building quickly, wanting the explosion that came with the relief, but he suddenly stopped and parted her legs, pushing his body down onto her as she wound her thighs around him.

  “Is this the only way Chris made love to you?” he asked breathlessly.

  Her eyes were glazed with desire, nearly incoherent. “What do you mean? Did he make love to me atop, as you are? Nay, sometimes I made love to him, riding him like….”

  “Nay, that’s not what I meant,” he whispered, running his hand along the crack of her buttocks and coming to rest on her anus. “Did he ever make love to you here?”

  “No,” Dustin shook her head, curious but apprehensive at the same time.

  He smiled, kissing her chin, her neck. “Then you are a virgin.”

  “I am no virgin, Marcus,” she snorted. “I have birthed a child. I have been married before, and….”

  He snickered. “You are a virgin, here.” His finger wiggled into her anus ever so slightly and she squirmed, feeling uncomfortable but liking it just the same.

  “Do you… do you want to make love to me there?” she asked a bit fearfully.

  “Nay, honey, not if it makes you uneasy,” he pulled out the hard length of himself and drove into her again as if to emphasize his point. “I am perfectly happy where I am.”

  He thrust into her a couple of times, trying to regain his rhythm, but she stopped him. “If you want to….isn’t it right that a bride should be virgin for her husband?”

  He smiled. “What are you saying? That Christopher took your first virginity, so you are offering me your second?”

  She giggled. “Will it hurt?”

  “Did it hurt to lose it the first time?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Not really. Will I like it?”

  “Oh, I think so,” he whispered, thrusting into her again. Dustin turned herself over to him, trusting him with whatever he wished to do. He continued to make love to her as he was, drawing out his thrusts and making her so slick and wet she was sprawled beneath him like a wanton wench, begging him for more. When he was sure her anus was drenched with the moisture from her vagina, he withdrew and slowly inched into the puckered hole.

  Dustin’s eyes opened wide as he slowly drove into her, but she did not utter a sound. In fact, she was so aroused that she felt her climax start before he was even fully imbedded in her and he drove into her three times before spilling his seed. Gasping and calling his name softly, she wound her arms around his neck and he withdrew from her anus, driving once again into her vagina and feeling the last of their combined convulsions.

  Seated to the hilt as his arousal diminished, he was sure nothing on this earth was greater. He had found his happiness, his contentment, in everything.

  Dustin lay in his arms, her legs wrapped around him, feeling very naughty but liking it just the same. How was it that this man made her feel so wicked? She may not have loved him, but he made her feel daring and womanly. She fully intended to tell him her feelings, but somehow sleep claimed her before she could speak the words.

  Days passed and spring descended fully on Somerhill. Marcus spent nearly all of his time with Dustin and Christin, taking them into the small town, or down to the river, or off into the countryside for a ride. He was convinced that if he bombarded Dustin with his presence, that she would put Christopher behind her more quickly and begin to focus on him. He was positive that they could have a happy life together if she would only give him a chance.

  Try as she might not to, Dustin seemed to linger on Christopher constantly, especially when she saw Marcus with Christin. He was so loving and good with the babe that it made her heart ache to think what Christopher was missing. Yet she also began to see that he truly loved the both of them, selflessly, and she was moved. It was growing increasingly more difficult to fight off her growing feelings for Marcus. He was a kind man, a good husband, a wise father, and an exciting lover and she knew she would be happy with him if she would only let herself. But she could not seem to let her wall down completely, not even for him.

  News arrived from Lioncross in late April announcing the birth of Michael Christopher Myles Olmquist. Mother and son were doing very well and Dustin was thrilled that Deborah bore a son. She mentioned returning to Lioncross for the christening, but Marcus was vague and changed the subject. Dejected and somber, Dustin realized he would probably never let her return home. Edward had been right. Somerhill was now her world, and Lioncross was a memory. Marcus knew how she felt, but he could not risk taking her to Lioncross only to have her never want to leave.

  One bright day, Marcus took his wife and daughter into the land ablaze with spring flowers and set out lunch while Christin scrambled through the sweet grass. Dustin sat on the ground and watched her daughter play, taking leaves out of her little mouth as Marcus approached and offered her a bit of cheese.

  “Spring time is glorious this far north,” he commented, sitting down beside her and lounging back. “There is far more color than in the south.”

  “Oh, I do not know,” Dustin replied, taking a bite of cheese.

  “Lioncross is fairly colorful this time of year.”

  “Aye, but you are closer to the Welsh border,” he said. “London is so filthy and drab that the flowers refuse to grow.”

  She smiled. “How close are we to Scotland?”

  “Two day’s ride,” he said. “We have actually had a few marauders since I have been here, but they have kept to the woods.”

  Christin scooted past and Dustin reached out to tickle her tummy. Marcus smiled at the baby, catching the reflection of Dustin’s diamond ring in the sunlight and feeling his mood dampen. He reached out and took her hand, studying the ring.

  “If I bought you a diamond ring, would you wear it?” he asked.

  She pulled her hand away, guiltily trying to hide it. She wasn’t sure how to answer him. “I do not like diamonds, really. I only wore the ring because Christopher made me.”

  “Then take it off,” Marcus said shortly, immediately cursing himself for sounding so blunt. “I mean, he’s no longer around to force you to wear it. And you are married to me now, and I should like to see you wear my ring.”

  Her light mood was ruined. Her wedding rings were a sore point and they both knew it. “I do wear your ring, Marcus.”

  “On your right hand.” He sat up swiftly. “When are you going to stop holding onto Christopher? He is dead, Dustin. I have courted you for weeks and weeks now, praying that you would come to your senses, but you continue to live for a life gone by. You would do well to realize that.”

  So much for patience. Dustin hung her head, tears welling. “I do realize that. Why do you think I came nort
h, with you?”

  He stood up, agitated. “I do not know I truly do not know. You tell me, why did you come?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide with outrage. “Because you all but got down on your knees and begged me to come,” she reminded him. “You nearly killed David when he tried to stop you and threatened Edward at every turn. What choice did I have?”

  He looked at her for a moment; of course she was right. He had done everything but tie her to his horse. With a long sigh, he turned away.

  “Dustin, I want you to let me love you,” he said softly. “I thought I had enough love for the both of us, but I cannot continue to give and not receive. You have got to give just a little, honey.”

  She stood up. “I told you I would always love Christopher, Marcus. You knew that when you brought me here. I have never lied to you about that and I told you I needed time, but you continue to push me and eventually you are going to push me away from you.”

  He just hung his head and she felt sorry for him. Lord only knew how hard he had tried to make a life for her, to love her and care for her, and she knew she had been difficult.

  With a stab of pity, she went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She held her hands up, making sure he was looking down at them, and switched her wedding rings to the opposite hands.

  Marcus’ bright gold and garnet wedding band gleamed on the third finger of her left hand. He smiled weakly and clenched her hands against his tight stomach.

  “Don’t be angry, Marcus,” she said softly. “You have been more than patient and I hope you do not find out too late that I was not worth all of the grief I caused you.”

  He turned around and took her into his arms. “Never in a million years.”

  Christin, ignored, let out a whooping yell and they both turned to see her grinning happily back at them, chewing on a piece of harmless grass.

  “Is she my daughter, Dustin?” he asked softly.

  Dustin shook her head. “I see Chris in her, Marcus. The only thing that resembles you is the color of her hair.”

  He drew in a long breath and kissed the top of Dustin’s head. “There will be more babies for me; for us. And they will all look exactly like me.”

  “Never,” she scowled at him. “They will all be fair like me, not dark as the devil.”

  He grinned at her, nipping at her ear playfully and she pulled away, moving back over to retrieve her daughter before she began grazing like a cow.

  Marcus felt as if he had won a great battle that day. Little by little, Lady Dustin was slowly becoming his.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Christopher’s last evening in camp was a special night. Lizabetha and her host of silly adolescent friends sang a song in his honor and he applauded graciously at the end of the warbled tune. Simon, a poet at heart, said a special prose he had made up about the Defender and Christopher hid a smile as the boy told of greatly exaggerated exploits. When the boy came to a part where Christopher single-handedly captured a thousand Muslim soldiers, it was all he could do to keep from bursting out in laughter.

  But he was nonetheless touched by the show of respect from these people whom he had come to know over the past few months, and he shared a stew of venison and early carrots with Rob privately. The two of them sat in the doorway to his hut, watching the rest of the camp cavort around the fire and entertain themselves. The forest around them was dark and silent as they finished the last of the stew.

  “What now, baron?” Rob wanted to know.

  Christopher sat down his bowl. “I return home and pray I still have a home to return to.”

  Rob watched him for a moment. “You are worried about your wife?”

  “More than anything,” Christopher replied. “She’s been a widow nearly three months now, a wealthy widow at that, and it is difficult to say what’s happened in my absence.”

  “I am truly sorry we could not send word of your whereabouts,” Rob said. “I hope you understand I simply could not risk the well-being of everyone in camp.”

  Christopher waved him off. “I understand only too well, my lord, and your apologies are unnecessary. We all must do what we think is best, and even though I am not nearly in prime health, I must go home.”

  Rob nodded, taking a drink of stolen wine. “I wish I could go home.”

  Christopher looked at him, the faint firelight reflecting off his young face. “Someday you will. I swear it. And I shall take great delight in ridding your keep of the prince.”

  Rob grinned. “He seems to be rather fond of it, and Nottingham, I am told.”

  Christopher nodded in agreement. “After my affairs at home are settled, I promise you that I will seek Richard out and plead your case.”

  “I am loyal to Richard,” Rob said. “And to you, Defender, whether or not you regain my keep. But until I know that Richard won’t put a noose around my neck if I show myself, I would just as soon stay to Sherwood. I am rather fond of the place.”

  Christopher looked about him. “I had heard this place was haunted as a boy.”

  “Haunted with thieves and rabble,” Rob snickered. “And with an earl with no lands.”

  “John had no legal right to declare you an outlaw,” Christopher said firmly. “You were defending what was yours.”

  Rob shrugged. “That may have well been true then, but he has every right now. I have been stealing from his vassals for quite some time now and that, my friend, makes me an outlaw in the eyes of everyone.”

  “That may be true, my lord, but I shall still plead your case to Richard, and our king always listens to me,” Christopher said.

  Rob tried not to sound too hopeful. “We can only pray,” he said quietly, then picked up the bowls. “Well, I am feeling fatigued this night. I shall see you off on the morrow.”

  “My thanks, Lord Robin of the Hood,” Christopher stood up, too. “Were it not for you, I would not be alive, and I owe you my life.”

  “No, you do not,” Rob said with a faint grin. “What you have done and will continue to do more than makes up for what Marianne did for you. God must have been watching out for both of us that day when He brought you to us.”

  Christopher nodded, watching the young lord traipse back across the compound. He turned away, feeling his exhaustion but not sure if his excitement would allow him to sleep.

  He stretched out across his pallet, his mind roaming to Dustin as it always did at night, remembering the smell of her skin, the feel of her hair, thinking that within six days he would be at her side. It was almost too much to bear, as if tempting a starving man with food not quite within his reach. His ache, his longing, was consuming him, but eventually he drifted off to sleep.

  He was awakened that night by an unearthly howl and immediately he was up, feeling the surge of adrenalin in his veins. His breeches were barely fastened when Rob came barging into his hut.

  “Raiders, Chris,” he said breathlessly.

  Christopher yanked on his last boot and clutched his sword. “Raiders?”

  Rob simply nodded and rushed out with Christopher on his heels. At the far end of the camp, mailed men on horses were bearing down with torches in hand. The shouting, the noise that resulted from their appearance was frightening.

  But Christopher saw them immediately for what they were, and anger swept him. “Those are no raiders, Rob, they are John’s forces,” he said quickly. “Get Simon and Marianne into the woods. Hurry.”

  Rob, customary arrow pack slung over his left shoulder, disappeared into the camp and Christopher quickly mapped out a strategy. The soldiers were already beginning to burn and kill, moving through the village like a plague. He raced back inside his hut and grabbed everything he had come with, his tunic, his armor, his weapon and his scabbard. He knew the hut would be burned and he did not want to lose his possessions, and with his arms full he ducked back outside and made a dash for the woods.

  Nearly half the village was burned before he made another appearance. He emerged from the trees dr
essed to the hilt for battle; his armor secured and his stained tunic announcing just who in the devil he was. There was no mistaking Christopher’s banner, for it was one of the most recognizable in England. Dark blue and gold told everyone that this warrior was loyal to Richard.

  Even though he wasn’t mounted, he was a hell of an imposing sight. He marched straight up to the first mounted soldier and deftly disarmed the man before yanking him clear of his steed. As the fool lay dazed on the ground, Christopher put the tip of his sword against the man’s neck.

  “Return to your commander,” he said with deadly authority “Tell him to cease this raid by command of the Defender of the Realm, or he shall suffer at my hands personally.”

  The soldier snorted and blinked his eyes, frozen on the ground. “The Defender of the Realm is dead. Killed in battle three months ago. Everyone knows that.”

  “Have you ever seen the man?” Christopher asked.

  “Aye, I have.” the soldier said indignantly. “Tall bastard with blond hair and….”

  Christopher ripped off his helmet, fixing the man in the eye. After a moment, the soldier’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open.

  “It is you,” he gasped with fear and awe. “But they said…said you were dead. How is it you are here?”

  Christopher jabbed him in the neck to stop him from talking anymore. “Aye, it is me, and know I mean what I say. Return to your commander and tell him the Defender of the Realm is back from the dead. You will leave this place.”

  “But you defend outlaws,” the soldier snapped. “These scabs continue to commit crimes against the crown.”

  “Against John, you mean,” Christopher replied icily. “These people are no outlaws in the eyes of our king, I assure you. Go now, before I change my mind and remove your head from your body.”

  He backed off and the soldier rolled to his knees, regaining his shaky feet. Christopher corralled the man’s big-boned war horse and ripped off the green and black colors. He then swung himself astride the charger without the use of stirrups, although it had taken a bit of effort to do so, and pointed his sword at the soldier.