The de Lohr Dynasty

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Dustin nodded emphatically. “It is,” she said. “Do you remember how ill I was when I first came to Somerhill?”

  Marcus well remembered that time. “I do.”

  Dustin felt Christopher’s massive hand move to her belly and she put her own hand over it. “I am sorry I deceived you, Marcus,” she said sincerely, “but under the circumstances, I thought it best to let you believe what you would.”

  His cobalt-blue eyes stared back at her miserably. “I suppose I knew you were pregnant,” he said softly. “Whether or not Christopher is the true father, I accepted the child as mine. It is my child, and you are my wife.”

  “I am Christopher’s wife,” she said earnestly. “You know that; you have always known that. He is my husband, dead or alive.”

  Marcus slammed the faceplate down and raised the sword and Dustin bolted forward, suddenly furious.

  “So help me, Marcus Burton, if you harm Christopher, I shall hate you for the rest of my life,” she snarled. “Do you hear me? I shall despise and loathe you, and I shall kill myself if you try to touch me. Do you understand me?”

  The sword lowered slightly. “Do not say that.”

  “It is true!” she shrieked. “I shall hate you forever, Marcus. I want Christopher. He has returned to me, and I want him. Can you not understand? As badly as you want me, I want him.” Her last three words were deliberate and stressed.

  “Dustin,” Christopher came up behind her. “Leave him be, sweetheart. He must do this, as I must.”

  She whirled to Christopher, seeing that he was donning his helmet. “Nay!” she gasped. “I forbid you! Christopher, I just got you back. I am not going to lose you now.”

  “You will not,” he said evenly.

  From the shadows, Anthony suddenly came charging forward, sword in hand. Marcus didn’t hesitate as he engaged Anthony head-on, landing a clean strike to the groin within the first four blows. Mortally wounded, Anthony fell to the floor in agony.

  The room sat in stunned silence, realizing Marcus was deadly serious about fighting for Dustin. Dustin, too, realized Marcus meant what he said, but she was horribly shocked to see that he had gored Anthony. She watched Edward drag Anthony across the floor, leaving a thin trail of blood.

  “Marcus,” she said, scared and incredulous. “You killed him!”

  Marcus did not reply and Richard moved forward, eyeing the two men severely. “How is it that we have come to this?” he wondered quietly. “My very best knights, dueling each other over the love of a woman. How in the hell have we come to this?” He looked down at Dustin. “My lady, sometimes I wish I had never heard the name Barringdon. You, dear woman, have come closer than anyone to toppling my throne.”

  Dustin felt guilty as sin, lowering her gaze. Richard hadn’t meant to blame her, though, and put a fatherly hand on her arm. His gaze fell on Marcus and then Christopher.

  “I do not relish what this has come to, but I had better let you two fight it out or there will never be peace within my ranks.” He pulled Dustin along with him, out of the line of fire. “Get on with it then, and I shall await the victor with Lady Dustin in another room.” So much for the glorious speech he had prepared to give at this moment; he knew any words would be wasted on them. The die was cast and nothing he said would make any difference.

  But Dustin wasn’t ready to go. She pulled away from Richard and rushed to Christopher. “Nay,” she cried softly. “Do not do this. Christopher, I do not want to lose you again. I could not take the pain, not when I just got you back.”

  He flipped up his visor and kissed her with painful sweetness. “You won’t, sweet love. Go with Richard.”

  Dustin could not believe this was happening. To have him in her arms for mere minutes and then suffering the threat of death again was too much to take. She started to cry again, but he kissed her tears away.

  “Nay, Dustin,” he murmured, his lips on her face. “No tears.”

  He gently turned her toward Richard, but instead, she veered toward Marcus. He observed her coolly as she approached.

  “If you win, Marcus, you lose everything,” she whispered viciously. “You will not have won a wife, but an enemy for life. Leave well enough alone and we can remain on good terms, but kill Christopher, and I will turn your life into a living hell.”

  He gazed at her a moment. “Would it be so terrible to remain with me?”

  “Not if I loved you,” she said honestly. “But the man I love is alive, Marcus, and I want to be with him. Why is that so difficult for you to understand? I certainly do not want to hurt you, for you have been more than generous, but would you truly want a wife who did not want you?”

  She saw pain in his eyes and she reached out to touch him. “Marcus, the time we have shared has been wonderful and I shall always have fond memories of Somerhill. But my place is with Christopher, and you must find a wife who will worship the ground you walk on. But that wife isn’t me.”

  She turned to gaze adoringly at Christopher as Richard moved forward and took her with him. The rest of the knights and officials cleared out after them. Alone in the room, Christopher and Marcus faced off.

  “You did not have to kill Anthony,” Christopher said, posturing defensively.

  “I did. He wanted to kill me,” Marcus replied.

  Christopher suddenly stopped his advance. “Marcus, what would have become of us if Dustin did not exist?”

  Marcus stopped, too. He thought a moment. “I suppose we would still be the best of friends, carousing Windsor and bedding wenches.”

  Christopher head bobbed in a nod. “Do you remember the Countess of Ixloe?”

  Marcus nodded. “Absolutely. The biggest tits I have ever seen.”

  Christopher snorted. “She paid you as if you were a common whore.”

  Marcus snorted in return. “And you got a sable cloak out of her.”

  “Better than money,” Christopher insisted. “Or what about the time we got into that fight in Constantinople? In the beer house?”

  Marcus lowered his sword and raised his faceplate. “Those idiots deserved it. French bastards, insulting Richard as they did.”

  “Richard beat the hell out of them,” Christopher said, lowering his own sword, grinning. “He always intimidated the hell out of me after that, although I never let on. And David; Christ, do you remember when David bedded that ambassador’s daughter?”

  Marcus laughed, warming to the conversation, all but forgetting his hurt and anger. “Hell yes, I do. We had to smuggle him out of the city because there was a damn price on his head.”

  “We were clever bastards, weren’t we?” Christopher’s eyes twinkled, his smile fading as he fixed on the man he had loved like a brother. “What in the hell happened? One minute you were my best friend, and the next minute we are preparing to kill one another.”

  Marcus’ smile faded, too. With a grunt, he sat heavily on the nearest chair. “We fell in love with the same woman.”

  “Is that it?” Christopher sat across from him, wincing when his armor jabbed his scar. “I thought it would be something much more complicated than that to make us want to kill one another.”

  Marcus sighed heavily. “I do not want to kill you, Chris. But I love Dustin.”

  “As do I,” Christopher said softly. “She was my wife first, Marcus. The children are mine, no matter how much you love them. I do not want to die; I do not want you to die. I am sorry for all of this, I truly am, and I appreciate the fact that you took my wife and child as your own. God only knows not many men would do what you have done, and I am deeply thankful. But I am back now, and I want my family. You would kill me for wanting what is my right?”

  Marcus met his gaze a moment before looking away. After several long seconds, he slapped his leg in defeat. “I love her, Chris. I have always loved her.”

  “And she loves me,” Christopher returned gently. “I shall not share her with you, my friend. You shall have to find your own wife.”

  Marcus gazed ba
ck at him, resignation and hurt written in his eyes. After a moment, he let out a hissing sigh and turned his head. “Sometimes I wish I had never heard the name Dustin Barringdon, either.”

  “Then that is where we part opinions,” Christopher replied. “I cannot imagine my life if I had not married Arthur’s daughter.”

  They sat together a long while in silence, each man to his own thoughts, Christopher wondering if Marcus was still going to fight him. He hoped not, for he would surely kill his friend. It might take some time, but he had no doubt he would be the victor. His heart ached for the friendship they used to have, for the way things used to be.

  “I shall let you take Dustin on one condition, then,” Marcus said finally. “That you leave Christin here with me.”

  Christopher was surprised. “Why would you say that?”

  Marcus cleared his throat, dropping his gaze. “I think…I think she is my daughter, Chris, and I shall tell you why. You may want to kill me after you hear this.” He stood up. “The night I left London, do you remember you asked me to watch over your wife while you met with the justices?”

  “I do,” Christopher nodded, seriously curious.

  Marcus swallowed, finding this confession harder than he once thought. “Dud left me alone with Dustin, and if you recall, she had been very angry with me over her miscarriage. Hell, Chris, I had to talk some sense into her, so I went into her bedchamber hoping to have a few words with her.” His voice was quiet. “It was almost black in the room; I could scarce see my hand in front of my face. When I knelt down to wake her, she thought that I was you and immediately pulled me onto the bed with her. I could have stopped her, but I am guilty in that I was far gone in love with her and I did not want to stop her. She thought it was you the entire time, Chris. She kept calling your name, but I didn’t care. I took her and I did not regret it. But I left London because I could not bear to see her with you after that.”

  Christopher’s face went hard with shock and anger but he kept his customary composure. “And you think Christin is your daughter?”

  “She was born early, wasn’t she?” Marcus said. “She has dark hair, like me. Dustin isn’t even sure if she’s your daughter.”

  He stared at Marcus a moment. “Then she did, in fact, know it was you who took her that night?”

  “She said she thought she dreamed it, and I assured her that she did not,” he replied. “I never meant to betray you, Chris. But I could not help myself.”

  Christopher looked away, those events suddenly rushing back to him with amazing clarity. He remembered well when Dustin accused him of making love to her, and he had insisted that she had only dreamed it. Damnation! Then it hadn’t been a dream, after all. He remembered her moods, how bitterly she had hated Marcus. All of it suddenly became clear and he felt distinctly less benevolent toward his friend. To think that his sweet little daughter may, in fact, not be his after all spread anguish in his heart. And he felt doubly foolish for denying the very fact to his brother. Had David been wiser than he when it came to Dustin? Had he been right all along?

  “I see,” he rose stiffly, feeling his anger rise. “Damn, Marcus, was David right? Should I have killed you the very first time you kissed my wife? Would that have spared me all of this pain and anguish?” he focused on Marcus. “I trusted and respected you till the very last, Marcus. But from what you have just told me, any last shred that existed is gone. Hell, even as I rode here with Richard, I was hoping beyond hope we could remain friends, but I see that you have rendered that quite impossible. I always knew you to be cunning and sly, but never against me. You have betrayed me, Marcus, beyond repair.”

  Marcus looked deeply saddened and guilty. He knew Christopher was right and he was disgusted with his lack of control. But the fact remained his motives had been true, even if his tactics weren’t.

  “I can only apologize, Chris. ’Tis your right to accept or reject it,” he said.

  Christopher paused a moment. “I reject it. And Christin goes with her mother.”

  Marcus looked away a moment, feeling the grip of his sword in his hand. “Then I guess there is nothing left to say. I have enjoyed our friendship, Chris, in spite of everything.”

  Christopher had returned to the hard Defender, his face emotionless as he secured his helmet and lowered his faceplate.

  “Now I must do what I should have done a year ago,” he said. “May God have mercy on your soul, Marcus.”

  Marcus lowered his visor, not the least bit apprehensive. “And on yours, Christopher.”

  The Defender of the Realm faced off against Richard’s mightiest general. Each man knew the other’s skills and weaknesses, having fought with each other long enough to know his opponents responses. When the first blow came, from Christopher no less, the clash of blade upon blade shook all of Somerhill to the very rafters.

  *

  Instead of feeling weakened, Christopher had never felt so powerful. It was as if he had never been injured, and Marcus fought as if his right hand had never been crushed. Blow upon blow slammed against each other with unimaginable strength, their teeth rattling and their heads jarring at the force. But this was the fight of their lives, as if all of the preparing and practice that they had gone through their entire lives was now suddenly coming to bear. This was the pinnacle they never thought to achieve, yet were just the same.

  They plowed their way through the great hall, grunting and snorting with effort, tearing the place apart until it looked as if a platoon of thieves had gone through it. The only thing remotely spared was the massive oak table, but it had suffered greatly in the clash.

  Christopher’s stamina was holding very well as he slashed away at Marcus, all of the anger and pain of betrayal finding an outlet through the serrated broadsword. He would have much rather beaten Marcus to a pulp with his fists, but David’s words kept ringing true in his ears; you should have killed him when he first lay hands on Dustin. He would not make the same mistake twice, as much as it pained him.

  Marcus deftly danced around a huge cabinet, pulling it down behind him and it crashed with a deafening roar to the ground. Christopher acted as if it wasn’t even so much as an obstacle, he charged over it, smashing through the wood as he plowed his way to Marcus. Broadswords met with the stone wall, emitting a shower of sparks as Marcus dodged Christopher’s fury.

  All of Somerhill was in hiding, waiting until it was safe to come out. Everyone knew that Lord Christopher and Lord Marcus were going at it, and the knights purposely kept all of the soldiers outside in the outer bailey, as far away as they could from the fighting. Edward was nearly frantic to get inside, but Sean and Nicholas restrained him uneasily. Several feet away, Sir Stephen, Dud and Sir Dalton eyed Lioncross’ knights with a mixture of suspicion and regret. The tension in the air was tangible.

  Marcus took the offensive well into the bout, hoping that Christopher had tired himself out enough to the point that defeat might be in sight. He charged headlong at the Defender and they both went tumbling down a short flight of stairs, ending up in a dimly lit corridor that led to the small chapel where Marcus and Dustin were married. It was fairly dark and their blows met with each other a good deal more than they had out in the well-lit main hall. Christopher landed a particularly vicious strike to Marcus’ torso, in the weak point where the breastplate met the lower body armor, and blood stained the mail.

  It was a bloody nick, but not too severe, and Marcus strove onward, fighting Christopher for all he was worth. The power, the strength coming from a man who was declared dead not four months ago was amazing; in fact, he hadn’t seen Christopher stronger in spite of his weight-loss. If anything, he was more agile than ever.

  With renewed determination, Marcus met the onslaught and countered.

  *

  “I cannot stand this anymore,” Dustin whispered painfully. “I do not hear them. Where did they go?”

  Richard cocked a well-trained ear. “I still hear them, but they have moved away from us. Aye, th
ey are both still alive.”

  Dustin clutched her stomach. “Oh, lord, I think I am going to be ill. Why are they doing this? Why?”

  Richard smiled ironically, his gaze averted. “For a reason I never thought I would see. For the love of you.”

  “But I only love Christopher,” she insisted. “Why does Marcus insist on going through with this battle? If he wins, I shall hate him until I die.”

  “Men do strange things when they are in love,” Richard said vaguely.

  Dustin looked at the king, forgetting about her own anguish for a moment. “This distresses you greatly, sire. You love both Christopher and Marcus, don’t you?”

  “As if they were my brothers,” Richard replied wearily. “Oh, my lady, the stories I could tell you of them, their bravery and devotion to me. To see it come to this is unbelievable.”

  Because of her. All of this, because of her. Richard was losing his throne and the two men who could help him regain it were fighting over her. She felt guilty and worthless. Mayhap if she had died in childbirth, the wrongs would have righted themselves. Christopher and Marcus had loved each other, once. And that love was gone because of her. All of this was her fault.

  Mayhap if she left, things would go back the way they were. But where would she go? Her father had been a friend of the Earl of Wrexham. Mayhap he would take her. What of Lord Sedgewick? She could go and live with him and Anne, and serve as Anne’s lady. Mayhap if she explained the situation, they would take her in. But she would swear them to secrecy; Christopher must never know where she went. For all he would know, she had run away and disappeared.

  Hot tears stung her eyes; she loved Christopher so much that she could not stand to be away from him, yet she would have to put her feelings aside. Lord, she had only this day learned he was alive and now she was considering leaving him. But the value of his life and Marcus’ life was more important than her feelings, and considering she had caused all of this havoc, she did not deserve anyone’s love. Besides, Christopher could not truly be happy with her; all she had done was cause dissension and misery among him and his men.