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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  She stared at it for a long, long time. “Why do you have his ring?” she finally asked.

  Edward snapped out of his trance. Around them, the bailey was completely silent and even with the hundreds of men, there was absolutely no movement. Filled with people, it was as quiet as if it were deserted.

  “I am so sorry, Dustin,” he whispered, his eyes filled with pain.

  The gray eyes came up, swallowing him whole. She stared at him until he felt uncomfortable. “What are you sorry for?”

  “He is gone,” Edward’s voice was tight with tears. “He is a soldier and he has died in battle, as so many others. But his knights have recovered his wedding ring, a keepsake that meant more to him than anything material he possessed.”

  Dustin stared back at him, the color draining from her face. No one moved or said a word, waiting for her to fly into a hysterical rage. After several moments, no rage was forthcoming. In fact, she had yet to move a muscle. She simply stood there, holding the ring before her face, staring at Edward as if he had just spoken to her in a foreign language. Some wondered if she had understood what he had said.

  “He has not,” she said simply.

  “He has,” Edward insisted gently.

  Dustin shook her head, her nostrils flaring and Anthony stepped forward. “He has, my lady,” he said quietly. “I saw the body myself. I retrieved the ring for you to keep.”

  Dustin blinked slowly, absorbing the words. It was almost as if she had become a statue, for she moved nothing but her eyes. It was clear that she was having a difficult time comprehending their words, her stunned mind struggling to process the truth.

  “It is not true,” she said again, but her voice was quivering now.

  Edward sighed faintly, putting his hands out to her. “Let me take you inside,” he murmured.

  She yanked away from him. “Do not touch me,” she hissed. Then, she looked at the men surrounding her, more than anger in her eyes. There was pure, unadulterated hatred there, a thousand accusations of blame firing out at them. “You are lying. You are all lying!”

  Max and Anthony passed concerned glances. “My lady, I swear that we are not.” Anthony tried not to sound as if he was pleading with her. “I saw him myself. I swear we would not lie about this.”

  The quivering in her voice had taken over her body. They could all see it in her face, in her movements. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled across the sky as another storm moved in and Dustin, with her husband’s wedding ring clasped between her fingers, lowered her arm slowly. With a lethargic, baleful blink at Edward, she stumbled back and turned, weaving unsteadily as she made her way back to the castle. The moment she hit the stairs, she collapsed in a heap.

  The knights came running. Edward picked her up and carried her, weeping, the entire way up to her bedchamber.

  *

  Dustin’s days were filled with pain. Too shocked to cry, her pain went beyond tears. In fact, her pain rendered her unable to do anything but sit and stare out of the window as if expecting Christopher to ride through the gates any minute. Her whole world was numb, mindless, and in total denial.

  The wet nurse from the village had to be re-employed because Dustin had stopped eating and Griselda knew she should not nurse. In fact, Dustin had ceased to do anything even remotely human and began to take on the cold, unfeeling characteristics of a stone wall.

  Everyone worried desperately for her, but she wouldn’t talk. Edward spent whole days with her trying to get her to open up, but she wouldn’t even acknowledge him. He seriously feared for her mental stability. Her feelings remained locked up inside her, building to the point where there was nothing else to do but explode.

  When the tears did come, they came in torrents. Days upon days upon days of hysterics, fainting deteriorated into breaking things and destroying her surroundings. She destroyed every one of her fine dresses and at one point cut her arms terribly when she broke a precious porcelain vase her mother had given her and ground the razor-sharp chips into her forearms.

  After that, Edward ordered someone to be with her at all times and Dustin turned into a surly, snapping bitch who hated the sight of anyone. The only person she would warm up to was Christin, and even then, all she did was hold the baby and cry.

  It was a miserable time for all of the occupants of Lioncross. Dustin was quite mad with grief, taking to wearing her peasant clothes again and ignoring anyone who said a word to her. Her sorrow and agony had turned her into a shell of a human being, neither feeling nor caring what went on around her. Her days were spent with her daughter or her garden; she had even let her rabbits go free because they reminded her of Christopher. Nothing mattered to her at all anymore. Her world was pain.

  One night after dinner, Anthony was sitting with her in the solar as she sat motionless by the hearth. Her gorgeous blond hair was a rat’s nest of filth and she had dropped quite a bit a weight to the point where she was almost skeletal. She did not look at all like the same robust woman they had come to know and love. It was a horrific sight.

  “How did he die, Anthony?” she asked.

  It was the first rational statement she had made in weeks. Startled, Anthony looked up sharply from the sword he was sharpening. Should he tell her? God, even he did not really know. He was extremely careful in how he answered her.

  “Truthfully, I am not sure, my lady,” he said. “We found him several days after his death and it was difficult to tell.”

  She absorbed this, still staring off into the flames. “John killed him.”

  “My lady?” Anthony inquired politely.

  She turned to him, her eyes clear. “John killed him,” she repeated. “It doesn’t matter how he died, because John killed him.”

  Anthony was careful in his reaction. “In a sense, he did.”

  Dustin turned back to the flames.

  Later after Dustin had gone to bed, Edward and Anthony were alone in the solar sipping fine French wine and Anthony expressed his concern for Dustin.

  “What are we going to do with her?” he asked Edward wearily. “I have never seen anyone grieve so hard or so long. She knew Chris was a soldier when she married him; she should have prepared herself for the eventuality of this moment.”

  “I doubt one can be truly prepared for the death of a loved one,” Edward replied. “However, I am worried for her also. Her mental health is unstable and she verges on total madness at times. Dustin was so strong I never thought to see this happen. She even keeps a distance from Deborah because she says the woman possesses ‘his’ eyes. I can only imagine she sees Chris every time she looks at his sister, but Deborah is understandably bewildered.”

  Anthony raised an eyebrow. “We all are. Edward, I am worried about her.”

  Edward sat opposite his friend. “There is nothing we can do” He shook his head sadly. “I wish David were here. He would be able to get through to her.”

  “David?” Anthony repeated, dubious. “After what happened, do you truly believe that?”

  Edward nodded firmly. “Aye, I do. David was jealous of Christopher and Dustin. With Chris gone, there is nothing to be jealous of anymore. They say that sometimes grief is the most binding of emotions, and I am sure David would be able to snap her out of this madness.”

  “Should we send word to him?” Anthony asked.

  Edward gazed off into the darkness of the room a moment, listening to the popping of the wood in the hearth. “If I know David, and I do, he is probably already on his way here. We will give him a week or so and if he still had not arrived, I shall send word to Canterbury.”

  Anthony nodded, downing the last of his wine and wondering why life for all of them had ceased to exist the moment Christopher’s life slipped away. There seemed to be the past, and only the past; there was no future at all.

  *

  Richard was coming to visit to express his sympathy to Lady de Lohr. And, not surprising, David was coming with him. Edward and the other knights rejoiced with this news, hop
ing it would be enough to bring Dustin out of her stupor. With each day that passed, she seemed to grow worse and they worried for her very life now. She was so thin and pale, nothing like the healthy, vigorous woman they knew her to be.

  The early March morning dawned amazingly bright and cheery. It was not long after sunrise that the sentries sighted an approaching army and the horn was sounded. Edward, knowing it to be Richard and David, hustled to find Dustin. He had purposely kept the information from her, afraid that if he told her she would fly into a fit. Now it was too late for her to do anything, so he sought her out in the garden.

  She was hoeing like a farmer, dressed in the peasant garb that she favored these days. Gone were the fine dresses, the hose, and the jewelry. She was back into her blouses and rough cloth skirts, with the black leather girdle trussed up as tight as it could go and even then, it was too loose. Her long hair was dirty, hanging almost to her knees as she chopped the ground furiously.

  “Dustin?” Edward had long since stopped addressing her as “My lady” or “Lady Dustin.”

  She did not look up nor did she answer him, as was usual these days. She continued to hoe. Edward continued.

  “Riders are coming, someone I think you might like to see,” he said. Then, he paused. “David is coming.”

  She stopped hoeing. Her head came up and she fixed him with her dull gray eyes. “David? Here?”

  He nodded and smiled timidly. “Are you pleased?”

  She blinked at him, mulling over the question. Was she pleased? Of course not. Nothing pleased her anymore. There was no pleasure in life. She hated everyone and everything, hated them for taking away her beloved. Her head went down and she started chopping at the ground again.

  “Nay,” she muttered. “Tell him to go away. He is not welcome here.”

  Edward’s smile faded. “He brings the king with him, Dustin. Richard is here as well.”

  She stopped again and her head shot up. “Richard is here?” She raised the hoe and her eyes flashed like lightning in a storm. “He is most certainly not welcome here. Tell him to go away or I shall take this hoe to him.”

  “This is Christopher’s home and Richard is most welcome,” Edward replied steadily. “You, as dutiful Lady de Lohr, will welcome the returned monarch. Go upstairs and change.”

  “Nay!” Dustin shouted. “I do not want him here; I do not want either one of them here. I hate them both. Tell them to go away, Edward, or I shall strike them down where they stand.”

  “Why?” Edward asked softly.

  “Why?” Dustin shrieked. “Because Chr…., my husband, is dead because of Richard, and David is not welcome in our home. That is why.”

  She could not even bring herself to say Christopher’s name and Edward could feel her pain. She hadn’t really spoken of her feelings in all this time and now he was coming to understand something; she blamed Richard, she blamed John; she blamed everyone. His heart was very sad for her with so much agony and no way to ease it.

  “Nonetheless, they are here, and I will not turn them out before they are fed and rested,” Edward said quietly. “If you cannot behave yourself, I will lock you in the abbey until they have left.”

  She threw the hoe to the ground and glared at him. “This is my home, Edward. Not yours.”

  He tried not to become angry with her. “Like it or not, you have a great station in this life. You have certain duties you may not shirk for any reason, Dustin. Christopher would take you over his knee if he heard you right now and well you know it.” He took a step toward her sternly. “Now go upstairs and bathe and put on a clean dress. I shall not have you meeting our king looking like a madwoman.”

  Dustin’s jaw worked as she slowly reached down to pick up the hoe, he could see that her palms were blistered and bloodied. “Go to hell, Edward.”

  She resumed her hoeing without another word and he turned with frustration for the house.

  By the time he reached the bailey, the gates were open and the army was filing in. However, he noticed immediately that it was not the king or David. The colors were and black and gold, and he realized with shock who had come.

  Marcus Burton rode into the bailey on a pure white steed, looking taller and prouder and stronger than Edward had ever seen him. The other knights turned out, eyeing him and his knights warily as they came to a halt in the center of the bailey. Jeffrey, sensing the tension, ordered the baron’s army to remain outside the wall. Marcus and six knights remained on horseback as the gate closed again.

  Edward was truly surprised. As he approached Marcus, the man tore off his helmet and his cobalt-blue eyes locked onto Edward’s gold ones.

  “Edward,” he said in his smooth voice. “ ’Tis good to see you again.”

  “And you, baron,” Edward replied steadily. “To what do we owe the honor?”

  He knew why Marcus was here; they all knew. It was a foolish question.

  “I heard of Chris’ passing and I came to express my sorrow to Lady de Lohr,” Marcus replied, somewhat subdued. “How is she faring?”

  “Terribly,” Edward said honestly. “She borders on madness, Marcus. You have never seen anything like it.”

  Marcus let his gaze wander over Lioncross. “May I see her, please?”

  “That may not be wise,” Edward said. “She does not want to see anyone.”

  Marcus leveled his gaze on Edward. “I would see her, Edward. I have ridden over a week to see her, and I will not leave before I have had a chance to speak with her.”

  Edward knew where this had been leading all along. From the look of determination on Marcus’ face, he knew exactly what his presence meant. Pleasantries were gone and now they were at the meat of the situation.

  “You have come here to take her,” he stated softly. “Haven’t you?”

  Marcus’ jaw flexed and he lowered his gaze, fumbling with his reins. “I have simply come to see Dustin.”

  Edward took two long strides and was upon him, gazing up at Marcus’ guarded expression.

  “Do not lie to me,” he hissed. “You heard Chris was dead and you could not wait to claim his widow.”

  Marcus’ eyes were like ice. “You make it sound heartless, de Wolfe,” he said. “I would offer her stability, protection, anything she desires.”

  “She has a child, you know,” Edward said. “She bore Chris a daughter in September. It would be an instant family, Burton. There is no longer simply Dustin to think of anymore.”

  “And I would love the child as my own,” Marcus replied without missing a beat. “It makes no difference to me.”

  “Stop thinking of yourself, Marcus,” Edward said heatedly. “Consider her feelings for a moment. She just lost her husband; do you truly think she wants another so soon? Give her time to heal, for God’s sake.”

  Marcus’ jaw began to tick again and he swung his leg over the destrier, dismounting in a jingle of armor; it was the latest and most expensive armor Edward had seen. He approached Edward until he was an inch from his face and lowered his voice so that only Edward would hear him.

  “I love her, Edward. I have always loved her, more than anything,” he muttered. “I have crossed the whole of England to see her and I am not leaving until I do. You can announce me or I can find her myself; the choice is yours.”

  Edward met his gaze with eyes as hard as stone. “ ’Tis no choice, Burton,” he growled. “You have given me an ultimatum and I do not take kindly to them.”

  “Then raise your sword and make your attempt to stop me,” Marcus said, glancing sidelong at the other knights. “I can take on all of you, even the de Velt twins. ’Tis only David that concerns me.”

  “David is not here,” Edward replied. “He left Lioncross around Christmastime.”

  Marcus’ face rippled with surprise but he caught himself. “All the better for me, then. Will you show me to Dustin or must I find her myself?”

  Edward eyed him harshly for a moment. “She is not as you remember her, Burton. Chris’ death h
as changed her a great deal.”

  “She is still Dustin,” Marcus replied evenly. “I shall always love her as such.”

  Edward glared at him a moment longer before turning on his heel. “Kessler, offer the baron’s men refreshment,” he told him. “We shall return shortly.”

  Edward took Marcus through the great hall of Lioncross and Marcus appraised the place, comparing it to his own keep, but his mind was focused on Dustin. He was so damned excited to see her that his stomach was taut with nerves. As they passed into the kitchens, a tall young man with a thin mustache met them and smiled inquisitively at Marcus. Edward stopped abruptly.

  “Marcus Burton, this is Gowen Olmquist, Deborah’s husband and Lioncross’ steward,” he said shortly.

  Marcus and Gowen barely had time to exchange pleasantries before Edward was forging onward, taking Marcus out into the small kitchen bailey and pointing to the iron-worked gate that led into the garden.

  “She’s in her garden,” he said with restrained anger. “I shall leave you to talk to her alone, but be aware that I will be within earshot. Bank yourself, Marcus; her mind is very brittle, as is her manner. Be shocked with nothing she says or does.”

  He turned sharply and marched away, leaving Marcus a moment to compose himself before seeing Dustin for the first time in a year. The anticipation was nearly too much to bear as he opened the garden gate.

  Even though Edward had warned him, he was still shocked at the sight of her. She looked like a prisoner, dressed in rags and hoeing the ground furiously. Her luscious hair hung in dirty clumps and she was far thinner than he had remembered. Disheartened, Marcus swallowed hard as he stepped forward.

  “Dustin?” he said softly.

  She hoed a split second longer before stopping. Slowly, her head came up and Marcus was distressed to see her gaunt, pale face. Still incredibly beautiful, but so terribly haunting. He smiled and her eyes widened.