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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Now, my lord?”

  Christopher was gruff. “Tomorrow at sunrise he had better be on my doorstep,” he said. “And tell him if I have to go hunting for him, he will be in a greater mess than he already is.”

  Dud knew that Marcus was in for a row from the look on Christopher’s face. He also knew better than to argue. Nodding smartly, he quit the antechamber and shut the door behind him.

  Christopher bolted the door behind the man, wondering what in the hell Marcus was thinking to have left Dustin unprotected. Retreating to the bedchamber, he went inside and softly shut the door.

  It was so dark that he stumbled into the bedframe and stubbed his toe, biting off a curse as he quietly removed his clothing. Or, at least, he thought he was doing it quietly; he ended up hitting his elbow on the wardrobe and muffling a groan. He took his boots off and was removing his breeches when he heard Dustin stir.

  “You are loud enough to wake the dead,” she said sleepily. “Hurry and get into bed before you end up breaking something.”

  He grinned in the darkness although she couldn’t see it. “I think I broke my arm against the wardrobe.”

  “That is not an illustrious injury for a man of your stature,” she giggled. “Tell people you broke it fighting off one hundred angry men.”

  He snorted and felt his way to the bed. “I will make up a good story, have no doubt,” he said as he fell onto the mattress and pulled the covers up. “I am sincerely sorry to have awoken you.”

  Dustin snuggled against him as he settled in. “Twice in one night,” she murmured. “At least it was worth it the first time. I wonder if it will be worth it again.”

  He pulled her up against his chest, settling down for sleep. “Twice?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

  Dustin’s eyes were closed, already half-asleep. “Do not tell me you have forgotten already,” she muttered. “How could you?”

  “Forget what?”

  His chest was next to her face and she kissed him softly. “Now do you remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  She put her hand on his thigh, moving across it seductively until she came to his flaccid manhood. She gripped it, gently but firmly, and began to stroke him.

  “This,” she whispered, kissing him again. “Shall we go a second time tonight?”

  Her hand to his manhood instantly inflamed him but he put his hand on hers, stopping her from working him into a frenzy.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head, “but you know as well as I do that we cannot do anything for six more weeks. The midwife said so.”

  She laughed softly. “That is not what you said earlier.”

  “I was not here earlier,” he said, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, whatever you think we may or may not have done, you must have been dreaming. Pity; I would have liked to have joined you.”

  Dustin’s eyes opened, staring out into the darkness. Her head came up. “You do not have to deny it,” she said. “I will not tell the midwife, I promise.”

  He could barely see her silhouette against the backdrop of the dying fire. “Sweetheart, I swear that you were dreaming.”

  “I was not!”

  “Aye, you were,” he said, reaching up to pull her down against him. “There is no shame in a vividly erotic dream. It happens all of the time.”

  “It does not happen to me,” she insisted, although she let him pull her down to him again. “Chris, you were here. We made love. Do you truly not remember any of it?”

  Christopher was growing amused. His wife was having hot and sexual dreams and refused to admit it. He hugged her tightly.

  “If I said I remembered, will you go back to sleep?” he asked.

  Dustin could sense that he was laughing at her and she was not humored in the least. “Why are you laughing?” she demanded. “ ’Tis not funny at all.”

  He started chuckling, then. “I am flattered,” he purred, his hands moving down to caress her naked buttocks but just as quickly pulling away. “I thought men were the only ones who dreamed of sex.”

  “I did not dream of sex.”

  “Admit it. You did.”

  She was pouting now, torn between knowing what happened but now perhaps thinking it did not happen at all. More than that, she was confused. Was it really possible to have such dreams? Shifting against her husband, she could smell his familiar musky scent mingled with the faint smell of sandalwood. Christopher had soap that smelled of sandalwood that he had brought back from the Holy Land, and the scent reminded her strongly of him. It was soothing and comforting, and she began to calm down.

  Perhaps he was right, after all. Perhaps she had only dreamt it. As she settled against him and sighed with contentment, her nose itched and she brought up a hand to scratch it. As she did so, she caught a whiff of pine. It was strong and distinctive, unexpected in this safe haven of their bed chamber for one very good reason; Marcus smelled of pine.

  Dustin’s eyes flew open and her heart began to thump against her ribs. She sniffed her hand again, discreetly, and was again assaulted by the smell of pine. Growing increasingly confused, perhaps frightened, she carefully rolled over, away from Christopher, so that they were spooning. It also gave her a chance to smell her arms, which also seemed to have the faint scent of pine on them. A distinct sense of foreboding swept her.

  “Chris?” she whispered.

  He was nearly asleep. “Aye?”

  “Where…,” she began, stammered, and then started again. “Where were you tonight?”

  He yawned. “Attending business,” he said vaguely. “Why do you ask?”

  She didn’t want to tell him. Not in a million years did she want to tell him, but she had to know something first. She struggled to be clever about it.

  “Was David here as my protection?” she wanted to know.

  He sighed faintly, sleepily. “He was not,” he replied. “Dud and Marcus were left to protect you.”

  So Marcus had been here. Dustin felt sick all over, thinking about what Christopher had referred to as her dream, remembering it in such detail that she knew it had not, in fact, been a dream. She remembered every touch, every sensation, and every move and, in hindsight, she should have realized something was different about it. The more she remembered, the sicker she became.

  It had been so very dark in the room when he had appeared. He had whispered and she had naturally assumed it to be Christopher. Who else would have come into their bedchamber? She had been half asleep and happy to see him, and had pulled him into bed with her. Christopher, or more correctly, Marcus had never said a word. He had simply ripped his clothes off and made wild and passionate love to her.

  His touch had been electric, almost brutal, but she had loved every minute of it. It had been exciting beyond words. It was as if…as if there had been no love involved whatsoever and they were acting on animal instincts. When he had mounted her, it had been with power and brutality and when he had climaxed, it had been with the instincts of a rutting bull. No real emotion, but simply blind and crazed attraction.

  Oh, Lord, she thought with horror. She could smell the pine on her body, reminding her every second of the horror of her unknowing infidelity. Her stomach lurched and the tears came, and she threw herself out of bed and slammed around in the darkness, searching for the water basin. She could hear Christopher behind her, wanting to know what the matter was, as she found the basin purely by touch and vomited into it.

  Dustin continued to vomit even as Christopher climbed out of bed and put his hands on her soothingly, pulling her hair out of the way so it would not get soiled. His soft words and gentle hands threw her into hysterics that she could not explain away. All Christopher knew was that she was ill and he wanted to send for a physic but she would not let him. She allowed him to help her back into bed and cover her up, where she quickly fell into a fitful sleep.

  It wasn’t a dream, was her last coherent thought. Oh, God, it wasn’t a dr
eam!

  Dustin remained in bed, sick and distraught, for nearly a week.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The New Year came and went. The justices had sent two envoys to see to Richard’s well-being and to see to negotiations with Henry and Philip Augustus. While they were waiting for news on that front, Christopher’s spies informed him that, indeed, John and his mercenary army were holed up at Nottingham Castle and that it appeared the troops were preparing to mobilize. Toward the end of January, Christopher began to mobilize his own troops in anticipation of John’s first move.

  Marcus had disappeared the night of Dustin’s vomiting fit and no one had been able to find him. A month of worry and fear went by as to his whereabouts. As a last resort, Christopher sent a messenger to Somerhill on the chance that Marcus had retreated to his new holdings and the messenger was fortunate enough to lay eyes upon Burton himself. But the new baron was taciturn and inhospitable, and would not allow the messenger into his fortress. So the messenger returned to London with the news, and Christopher began bombarding Somerhill with missives and messengers.

  But Marcus had yet to respond to Christopher’s missives and ignored all of Christopher’s pleas to return to London. Christopher was at a loss to understand the man’s behavior and would have liked to go north himself and beat the stubborn man to a pulp, but he could not risk leaving London with John preparing to strike. Moreover, he would have to pass fairly close to Nottingham to gain his way north to Marcus’ keep and he would not hazard the possibility of getting captured or cornered by John’s buffoons. But he simply could not understand Marcus’ attitude, nor did he have the time to decipher it. Either Marcus was with him, or he wasn’t, and he was deeply saddened and puzzled that it was most likely the latter.

  Marcus’ absence cast a dark shadow over Christopher and his knights, for they all felt as if a piece of the puzzle was missing. Although no one knew for sure why Marcus had deserted them without a word, they suspected it had something to do with Dustin. No one voiced their opinions, not even to themselves, but they were all of the same belief. There was no animosity towards her, for there was nothing to be bitter about since Marcus’ decision was his own, but each man wished that Marcus would come to his senses and forget about the woman.

  Dustin, of course, had put him completely out of her mind. He didn’t exist to her as far as she was concerned and she was happy he was gone. Her focus, love, and attention was solely on her husband, fearful if she didn’t keep him completely in her thoughts and mind, her guilt would consume her. Although she hadn’t knowingly responded to Marcus, still, that night of passion those weeks ago had wracked her with turmoil. She loved her husband with all that she was, and Marcus had been persistent in threatening to destroy that. She hoped she never saw the man again.

  ’Twas the beginning of February, bleak and cold. Dustin had seen very little of her husband for the past several days. She and Deborah would busy themselves as much as possible and they were even allowed a good deal of freedom to roam the castle now that John was vacated, but still, Dustin missed Christopher terribly. Yet she had grown a little in her time at Windsor, and she knew something was in the air without her husband even telling her. She’d never seen a battle, nor even been near one, but she knew that Christopher was preparing the crown troops for a big clash with the prince.

  True, she’d heard all of the rumors there were to hear. It would seem that every gossip at Windsor always ran to her with the latest to discover if she could confirm or deny anything, which she never could because Christopher rarely told her anything. In spite of the fact that her husband was closed-lipped about his affairs, she had learned a great deal about what was transpiring. It never seemed to be the right time to question him about anything when he returned to her at the end of the day because they saw each other so infrequently that she did not want to waste her time with him on rumors and gossip.

  This particularly icy night he returned to their apartments unusually fatigued. His face was chapped and red from the weather and his brow seemed to be permanently furrowed. Dustin, dressed in a luscious robe of pale yellow silk, tried to make sure his meal was perfect, but even that didn’t seem to snap him out of his mood. He ate silently, only speaking to insist she sit on his lap the entire meal.

  His moods were growing darker and darker these days, just like the weather. Dustin played with his hair as he ate, her eyes raking over him appreciatively. She found herself living her day around him, his face always on her mind, and the taste of him on her lips. She fully realized that the fiercely independent Lady Dustin Barringdon had become the highly dependent Lady de Lohr, but she didn’t care. She lived for him, and only for him.

  “I want to show you something,” she suddenly bound off his lap, hoping to cheer him up. “Watch Hal.”

  Obediently, the medium-sized dog came trotting out of the bedchamber. Harold had become quite attached to Christopher and he, strangely enough, found himself attached to the stocky mutt with the big jaw. The animal was also inordinately strong and protective, and he was verily pleased to have him protecting his wife. No one could get within a few feet of Dustin without Hal barring his huge teeth.

  “Now, watch,” Dustin said, snatching George from where he was enjoying a piece of fruit on top of a small table, and set the monkey on Harold’s back. With a nudge, Harold trotted off with George clutching the dog’s neck, looking like a miniature horse and rider. Dustin giggled gleefully as Harold rounded the room with George perched stiffly on his back.

  Christopher wiped his hands on a cloth and smiled wearily at the trick. “I shall have a saddle made for him at once,” he said. “George looks positively terrified on his bare back.”

  Harold stopped in front of Christopher and wagged his tail, accepting with relish the tidbit Christopher tossed to him. Then, with George still clinging to his back, he trotted off into the bedchamber once more.

  “Is that what you have been doing with your time? Saddle-breaking my dog?” he asked.

  Dustin always thought it funny when he referred to Harold as “my” dog. For a man who wanted nothing to do with the pups, he had changed his mind fast enough when he discovered the animals could be beneficial.

  “What else am I to do? I have been bored out of my mind with you gone all of the time,” she said, sauntering back over to him and curling up on his massive lap. “I have missed you terribly, husband.”

  He wound his arms around her torso. “I know, and I have missed you, too. But I have been very busy.”

  “And very secretive,” she said, instantly sorry she had. She hadn’t meant to sound as if she were prying. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “I have not been secretive on purpose,” he said. “ ’Tis just that I have been extremely busy and when I see you, I do not want to talk about the trivia of the day. I want to talk about you, about us. What did you do today?”

  Dustin shrugged. “Nothing much. Deborah and I went for a walk about the grounds, but that was all,” she said, suddenly perking up. “I nearly forgot. I saw the Earl of Fenwark today across the courtyard. Do you suppose Lady Gabrielle is with him?”

  He gave her a reproving look. “I thought we agreed about Lady Gabrielle, Dustin.”

  She pursed her lips. “I know, I know, but with the prince gone from Windsor, I thought well, I’d hoped….”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, sweet, ’tis no good. Remember what happened to Lady Gabrielle the last time you two met.”

  She swallowed, indeed remembering the woman’s bruises. Then, she shrugged again. “I did like her, Chris. She was a nice lady.”

  He kissed her cheek soundly and stood up, depositing her on the floor gently. “I know, but you have Deborah now to keep you company. You’d better forget about Lady Gabrielle altogether.”

  He removed the last of his leg armor and stretched with exhaustion. His heavy linen shirt landed on the floor for the maids to wash and Dustin found her want for him rising as she watched him strip off his cl
othes. It had been over six weeks since her accident and, true to his word, he had not touched her. But she could stand it no longer; tonight, all of that would change.

  She followed him into the bedchamber, closing the door softly behind them. Harold and Alex were curled up in front of the hearth, sleeping, as he passed by them and to the large basin. As he washed himself, his glorious back to her, Dustin let the robe fall to the floor and, nude, slipped under the coverlets. She had been planning this evening all day, having taken a leisurely bath and washed her hair earlier. Clean and smelling like a bed of roses, she hoped it was enough to entice him out of his fatigue. The longer she waited, the more she began to tremble with anticipation.

  He came over to the bed, drying his face with a linen towel. “Why are you in bed already? I thought we might play a game of Fox and Hounds.”

  She raised a slow, provocative eyebrow at him and suddenly threw back the covers, revealing her luscious body to him in the soft light. “I thought we might play a different game.”

  He froze, staring at her beautiful shape. “It has been seven weeks, hasn’t it? Christ, I’d lost count after the first two for it seemed like an endless eternity.” The towel went sailing and his breeches were already half-off; it was miraculous how his fatigue suddenly disappeared. “Are you sure, sweetheart? Are you up to this?”

  She reached up and pulled him down even as he struggled to free his feet from his breeches. “More than up to it, husband. I want you to make love to me all night.”

  The breeches were off and his lips were on hers, his exhaustion vanished at the warm softness of her flesh. She moaned in response as his huge hands latched onto her breasts, giggling against his fervent lips and he smiled as he kissed her eagerly.

  Truth was, with everything on his mind, he had nearly forgotten about the sweetest thing a man could taste; his very own wife. He thought he had banked his urges quite well until he saw her nude form in front of him; then, it was as if he had no control whatsoever.