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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She was trying very hard to single out her father but her distraction cost her as she lost her grip on the branch. With a scream, she plummeted from the tree about ten feet overhead and landed heavily on her right side.

  Rebecca gasped and dropped to Dustin’s aid. “Dustin! My God, are you all right?”

  Dustin rolled to her back, now oblivious to the knights and men who were watching her. All she knew was that she could not catch her breath and her chest was so hot it would soon explode. As Rebecca tried to get a look at her, one of the knights dismounted his steed and knelt beside her.

  “Breathe easy,” came a deep, soothing voice. “Where do you hurt?”

  Dustin could not talk. She could only manage to lay there and gasp for air. The knight removed his gauntlets and flipped up the faceplate on his helmet.

  “Take deep breaths,” he told her, putting his plate-sized hand on her abdomen, just below her ribs. “Slowly, slowly. Come now, slow down. That’s right.”

  As Dustin’s shock wore off, tears of pain and shock began to roll down her temples and, for the first time, she opened her eyes and focused on the man with the kind voice. She was shocked to see how big and frightening he was. He gazed back at her impassively.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  She shook her head unsteadily. “I do not think so,” she choked out. “I can breathe a little better.”

  He silently extended a hand, carefully pulling her up to sit. The first thing Dustin noticed was how big his hands were as they closed around her own.

  The knight continued to crouch next to her, his gaze still unreadable. Shaking the leaves out of her hair, Dustin gave him the once over.

  “Who are you?” she demanded softly. “Where is my father?”

  “Who is your father?” he returned, ignoring her first question.

  Dustin had a bad habit of speaking first and thinking later. If these men were her father’s vassals, then they would have known her on sight.

  “Why, Lord Barringdon, of course,” she said, grabbing the ends of her hair and shaking them hard. “Where is he?”

  For the first time the man showed emotion. His sky-blue eyes widened for a brief second and he abruptly stood up. She tried to look up at him, but he was so tall she had to lay her head back completely and she could not do that because her head was killing her. So she cocked her head at an odd angle, still looking up at him, as she struggled to her feet.

  The man didn’t help her rise, although he probably should have. He just kept staring at her.

  “Lady Dustin Barringdon, I presume?” he asked after a moment.

  His voice sounded queer. Dustin managed to stand on her own, putting out a hand to steady herself as the earth beneath her rocked. The knight reached out to balance her.

  “Aye,” she replied, pulling her hand away cautiously and taking a step toward Rebecca, who clutched at her. She eyed the man warily. “Who are you?”

  She had no idea why the man’s eyes were twinkling. His face held no expression, but she swore his eyes were twinkling.

  “I am a friend of you father’s,” he said. “My name is Christopher de Lohr.”

  “Where is my father?” Dustin demanded yet again, excited to hear this man was a friend.

  The knight hesitated. “Is your mother home, my lady?” he asked. “I bring messages for her.”

  Dustin’s excitement took a turn for the worse. She had asked the same question three times without an answer. She was coming to suspect why and her stomach lurched with anguish. God, no!

  “Where is my father?”

  “I will discuss that with your mother.”

  Dustin stared at him a long, long time. He gazed back at her, studying every inch of that beautiful, sensuous face. The gray orbs that met his blue eyes suddenly went dark and stormy. She closed her eyes and turned away from him, beginning to walk back down the road. Rebecca, puzzled, yet not wanting to be left alone with a company of soldiers, ran after her.

  Christopher watched her go, knowing she must suspect at least part of the reason why he had come. When he began to hear soft sobs, fading as she continued down the road, he knew that her fears were confirmed. She knew her father was dead.

  He turned to his brother. “Get the men moving,” he said, mounting his destrier, but his eyes were still on the lady.

  Christ, but he was still reeling with surprise and pleasure at the discovery of Lady Dustin. She was beautiful. Damnation, he hadn’t known what to expect. The entire trip home had been filled with dread and foreboding, but he could see his worries were for naught. Even if she were as stupid as a tree and as disagreeable as a mule, she was still beautiful. If he had to marry, she might as well be pleasant to look at. Any other qualities were superfluous.

  Slowly, the army followed several paces behind her. Dustin had never known grief before and discovered it to be the most painful thing she had ever experienced. The knight wouldn’t tell her where her father was and that in and of itself was confirmation of the worst. She wasn’t a fool. Sorrow overwhelmed her and she suddenly could not breathe again. Her sobs grew into raspy puffs of air and the ground began to sway again. Dustin was aware of a blissful, floating feeling as a strange blackness swallowed her up.

  Christopher saw her go down on the side of the road and he spurred his destrier forward. The animal came to a halt in a cloud of dust and he dismounted, pulling Lady Dustin’s hysterical friend away from the crumpled form in the grass.

  “What’s the matter with her?” her friend cried. “She’s dying. The fall will kill her!”

  Christopher knelt down, noting the even breathing, steady pulse, but pale color. Mayhap the fall did contribute to this. He suddenly felt strangely protective, knowing that the woman was to be his wife. Wasn’t it right for a husband to feel protective? It was the most peculiar sensation he’d ever experienced.

  “What’s your name, lass?” he asked the panting redhead.

  “Rebecca,” she replied, “Rebecca Comlynn.”

  Christopher nodded, turning back to the woman in the grass. “You will take us back to Lioncross, Mistress Rebecca. I will take care of Lady Dustin.”

  Rebecca started to protest but David grabbed her and seated her on his destrier before she could put up a fight. Christopher scooped up Dustin and managed to mount his own steed with surprising ease. She was light, this one, and small, too. Standing her full height she barely met his chest. She was little more than a child in his arms.

  He stole a glance at her as he gathered his reins. Her lips moistly parted, she looked to be sleeping in his arms. Her hair, so incredibly long and silken, hung all over them both and he had to pull it free from the joints in his armor a couple of times. He could feel lust warming his veins. Spurring his great warhorse, they proceeded on to Lioncross Abbey.

  Lioncross Abbey was so named because it was built on the sight of an ancient Roman house of worship and actually incorporated portions of two walls and part of the foundation. Additionally, Arthur Barringdon had christened it Lioncross after Richard and the quest. Prior to Arthur inheriting the keep from his father, it had been named Barringdon Abbey. Some older people in the region still referred to it as such.

  The fortress sat atop a ridge overlooking a large lake and the deep purple mountains that marked the Welsh border could be seen in the distance. Thick banks of trees surrounded the fortress and made the region appear lush and fertile, even in the dead of winter.

  Christopher took a good look at what was to be his new home, verily pleased. It was a fine fortress, easy to defend, with a small village about a half mile to the north. He found himself growing more and more satisfied with each passing step of his horse. Aye, he was worthy to be lord of this. He already found himself making mental notes about the structure, what needed improvement and reminding himself to ask questions about the revenues. As fine a warrior as he was, he was an equally fine scholar and knew what it would take to make Lioncross a profitable keep.

  Dustin stirred in hi
s arms and he was reminded of his burden. He looked down at her just in time to see her lids opening, slowly, as if a curtain rising. Again, he was entranced with the bright gray eyes and noted the thick lashes as she blinked. She was staring up at the sky as if trying to remember where in the world she was when her gaze fell on him. She blinked once, focused on his pale blue eyes, and then sat up so fast he had to throw his arm down on her to keep her from pitching herself right off of his horse.

  “Put me down!” she hollered.

  “Steady, my lady,” he said. “We’re almost back to your keep.”

  Her head snapped to the horizon where Lioncross indeed loomed. She began to struggle against him and he could not understand her panic, but he relented and let her slide to the ground.

  She took off like a rabbit, her skirts up around her thighs as she pounded down the road. That incredible mane of hair waved behind her like a banner. Rebecca, not to be left behind, jumped from David’s destrier and ran after her.

  David reined his steed alongside his brother’s, both of them watching the racing figures. “Now, what do you suppose that is all about?” David wondered aloud.

  Christopher shook his head. “I have no idea,” he replied, then grinned at his brother. “What think you of my new keep?”

  David nodded his approval. “Exceptional. As is your new bride.”

  Christopher cocked a blond eyebrow. “I am surprised as well,” he admitted. “Lady Dustin Barringdon looks nothing as I imagined.”

  “With a name like Dustin, I had no idea what to think,” David snorted.

  “Nor did I, little brother,” Christopher agreed.

  They entered the outskirts of the little village, passing an interested eye over the small buildings and tradesman’s shacks. It smelled like sewage and livestock, and bits of dust kicked up in the occasional breeze. The road leading to Lioncross was a wide one and peasants scattered to stay clear of the approaching army. Christopher’s horse accidentally crushed a chicken and sent a woman wailing, much to his displeasure.

  Finally, the jewel of Lioncross loomed before them. The gates of the fortress yawned open before them and he halted the caravan with a raised arm.

  “This will cease,” he indicated the open gates. “With Wales so close, these people are fools to leave themselves vulnerable.”

  Beckoning David forward with him, he left the rest of his troops outside the gates. There was one bailey to Lioncross, a huge open thing used for a myriad of purposes. He studied it intently, already noting what needed changing, as he and David rode for the massive double doors of the entry.

  Sentries met them at the base of the front steps. Christopher announced himself and his purpose, and waited while one of the guards disappeared inside. He reappeared several minutes later followed by another man dressed in mail and portions of plate armor.

  The knight studied Christopher with piercing dark eyes. He was not particularly tall, but Christopher could see the muscles on the man. He was a seasoned warrior. His face was severely angled with a sharp nose and a sharp mouth. Immediately, he sensed hostility.

  “What is your business here?” the man demanded in a strong Germanic accent.

  “I am Sir Christopher de Lohr,” he repeated, matching the man’s tone. “I bear a message for Lady Mary Barringdon from King Richard.”

  The man looked Christopher up and down, taking a step toward him. “Give it to me and I will see that it is delivered.”

  “I have been instructed by our king to deliver it personally,” Christopher said evenly. “I would deliver it now.”

  The man didn’t say anything but continued to glare until Christopher finally had enough of his animosity. Dismounting without permission, he removed two scrolls of parchment from his saddlebags and walked deliberately to the soldier, holding out one of the missives for him to see.

  “Richard’s seal,” he stated in case the soldier was blind. “Twould be unwise of you to go against our king. Now move aside or escort me in; ’tis all the same to me.”

  The soldier stared at the seal, knowing it for what it was. He tore his eyes away and looked at Christopher again, but this time, with less hostility.

  “You scared the devil out of Lady Dustin,” he said in a low voice. “For that I should gut you right now, but because you bear the missives from our king, you shall be spared.”

  Christopher almost laughed. David, in fact, did, drawing the soldier’s angry glare. The battle lines were already being drawn.

  “What is your name?” Christopher demanded of the warrior.

  “Sir Jeffrey Kessler,” he replied. “I am captain of Lioncross while Lord Barringdon is away.”

  Arthur had made no mention of a captain but it was of no matter. Christopher would dismiss the man as soon as he wed the fair Lady Dustin and put David in charge of the men.

  “Gain us entrance, Sir Jeffrey,” Christopher requested, but it sounded suspiciously like an order.

  Jeffrey’s gaze lingered on Christopher before complying, just long enough to emphasize he could not be ordered around by a stranger. Christopher followed, somewhat hesitantly, wondering if he shouldn’t bring a contingent of men to protect him against any trickery from the Germanic knight.

  He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword just in case as he followed the man into the dark and musty keep beyond.

  *

  Dustin stood in her mother’s drawing room, pacing endlessly by the oilcloth-covered windows. Lady Mary, unflappable as always, continued to calmly work on a piece of needlework, ignoring her daughter’s sighs and grunts of worry.

  “Why don’t you change your dress, dear?” her mother said calmly. “We have visitors.”

  Dustin glanced down at her surcoat. It wasn’t even really a surcoat, it was just a dress made from faded brown linen, and a darker brown girdle that would have emphasized the magnificence of her breasts had the white linen blouse not been so over-sized. Dustin never gave any thought to her clothes, mostly concerned with the other aspects of her busy life. As long as they were clean and functional, it was all that mattered.

  “Why?” she asked, rather clueless.

  Her mother put the sewing down. “Because you look like a peasant waif,” she said patiently. “Look at your slippers, they are dirty, as are your hose. Please change into something more appropriate.

  “Appropriate for what?” Dustin wanted to know. “Appropriate to hear of father’s death?”

  “Do not raise your voice, please,” her mother said quietly. She was a pale woman with black hair hidden beneath a wimple. She’d never been particularly well and had spent the majority of her life reclining one way or the other. It was a great contrast to Dustin’s vigor. “You shame your father dressed as you are. Please go and change.”

  Dustin grunted in frustration and turned to her mother to argue until she realized the woman’s hands were shaking. Her heart sank with despair for her mother’s feelings. She knew how much the woman had loved her father. She forgot her own feelings as she focused on what her mother was surely feeling.

  “I am sorry, Mother,” she said, forcing down her lofty pride as she went to kneel by her chair. “I did not mean it. The truth is that the knight never actually said father was dead. I really do not know why he is here.”

  Mary stroked her daughter’s blond head. “I know,” she smiled gently. “Now, please, go change your clothes. That would please me.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you? Wine, perhaps?”

  “Nay, my dear. Hurry along now and do as you are told.”

  With a reluctant nod, Dustin rose and moved for the door. She crossed the threshold and turned the corner only to run headlong into a broad, armored body.

  It was a strong impact. Dustin shrieked, jumping back as if she’d been burned as her eyes flew up to face her accoster. The same sky-blue eyes that she had seen earlier smoldered back at her, now with something more than mere politeness. Now, there was something appraising there.

  “My a
pologies,” Christopher said.

  Dustin nodded unsteadily as Jeffrey led Christopher into the drawing room, leaving Dustin standing in the corridor with her hand on her throat, wondering how a mere gaze could make her feel so vulnerable. De Lohr’s eyes were piercing and consuming, something she’d never experienced before. It was an odd sensation. Coming back to her senses, she rushed to her bedchamber to do her mother’s bidding.

  Ready or not, she wanted to hear what the man had to say.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dressed in a soft blue surcoat that, even with its simplicity, was just about the nicest surcoat she owned, Dustin scurried back down to her mother’s drawing room. The full blue skirt was fitted around her slim waist with a black girdle and a snug-fitting white blouse, much more flattering to her figure than the usual sloppy dresses she bound about in. Her cascading hair was pulled back to the nape of her neck and secured, revealing the sweetness of her face. But Dustin truly didn’t care how she looked; she’d only cleaned herself up and changed clothes to please her mother.

  Eager to get back to the center of action, she took the great stone stairs two at a time and nearly ran across the foyer and into the solar.

  What she saw upon her arrival shocked her. Her mother, face in her white hand, was obviously crying. Jeffrey, pale and drawn, stood next to her. Anger flared in her chest and she turned accusingly to the strange knight.

  But what confronted her unbalanced her completely. The knight had taken off his helmet, revealing a great crown of dark blond hair slicked back against his skull. His features were rugged and masculine, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache embraced his square jaw. He was indeed handsome, in her opinion, but she angrily chased those thoughts away. The fact remained that this man had said something terrible to upset her mother.

  “What goes on here?” she demanded.

  Jeffrey attempted to answer but Mary cut him off. “Come in here, Dustin. Please sit.”