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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Hello, honey,” he said. “It has been a long time.”

  The hoe fell out of her hand and she straightened, brushing her ratty hair from her face. “Marcus?”

  He nodded, taking a few timid steps forward. Dustin took a step backward and he stopped.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked in awe.

  “To see you, to see how you are,” he replied. “I came to tell you how sorry I am about Chris.”

  She shook her head faintly. “You ran away,” she said softly. “He was so worried about you. He went off to fight John and he was angry because you did not fight with him.”

  Marcus’ smile faded. “I had to leave, Dustin. I….something happened unexpectedly and I had to leave.”

  “You mean you made love to me and fled in guilt,” Dustin said, remarkably clear-minded. “Aye, Marcus, I know what happened that night. I thought I had dreamed it, but I knew soon enough that I hadn’t. ’Twas good that you left.”

  He lowered his gaze. “ ’Twas never my intention to take you, Dustin,” he said, reliving that night so long ago. He had lived on the memory for over a year. “I went into your bedchamber that night to talk to you and in your sleep, you thought I was Christopher. I could have stopped it from happening, but I did not want to. I have always loved you, Dustin. You know that.”

  “Is that why you are here? To tell me you love me?” Dustin asked, then smiled ironically. “I do not want to hear this, Marcus. The only man I will ever love is dead, and I do not want anyone else. I am sorry you have come all this way for nothing.”

  “Think on it, Dustin,” Marcus said softly. “I can offer you protection, companionship, and my undying devotion. And your daughter; I would be her father-figure.”

  Dustin stiffened, flooded with memories of how much Christopher had loved his daughter.

  “You shall never be her father, Marcus,” she said, rather angrily. “Her father is dead.”

  “Mayhap so,” Marcus said hoarsely. “But I would love her as if she were my own.”

  Her eyes snapped to him but she bit her tongue. She didn’t want to argue with him and she surely didn’t want to hear of his proposal. In fact, she felt nothing for the man as she gazed at him. Not even friendship. There was no feeling at all. As she stood there, trying to figure out how to get rid of him, Griselda brought Christin out into the bright sunlight and Marcus’ jaw dropped.

  At six months old, the babe had his black hair and Dustin’s gray eyes. The old woman passed the child over to her mother and left the three of them standing in uncomfortable silence.

  Marcus’ eyes were wide at the black-haired infant. “Dustin…?” he began timidly.

  “I do not know!” Dustin snapped harshly, bouncing Christin when the baby whimpered at the sharpness of her mother’s voice. She softened her tone. “I do not know, Marcus.”

  Marcus’ mouth was hanging open. “But… the hair. And the shape of her face,” he stammered.

  “My mother had black hair,” Dustin shot back. “And her eyes and her face are as mine. She…she is Chris’ child, Marcus.”

  He forced himself over the shock and approached the two of them, holding out a timid finger to which Christin gleefully latched on to.

  “She has my hair,” he said softly.

  Dustin did not answer. Marcus smiled at the baby and was rewarded with a wide grin, displaying two new teeth. “Can I hold her?” he asked.

  Dustin bounced the baby a moment longer before reluctantly handing her over. Christopher had been very timid with his daughter at first; Marcus held her with great confidence that made her heart jump strangely. Christin grabbed his nose and stuck her hand in his mouth. He was delighted.

  “What’s her name?” he asked.

  “Christin,” Dustin replied sullenly, torn between Marcus’ joy in the babe and the guilt that was sweeping her.

  “Christin,” Marcus repeated. “What a pretty name. Jesus, she’s beautiful. She looks just like you.”

  Dustin looked away from him, emotions within her numb heart stirring again. Christin cooed and gurgled and Marcus was instantly attached to her. He continued to play with her even as Dustin meandered over to her hoe and picked it up. He watched her pick it up and begin scratching at the dirt again.

  “Come home with me, Dustin,” Marcus said softly. “You shall love Somerhill. There are lots of children in the village and Christin would have playmates, and it would be a fresh start for you. Away from Lioncross and its memories.”

  Dustin hoed haltingly at the thawing ground, her misery becoming evident. “I do not know, Marcus,” she whispered. “This is my home and I belong here. It is Chris’ home.”

  “And look what it is doing to you,” he said with more firmness. “You are wasting away with grief. You must get away from this place.”

  Her head snapped up and she prepared a sharp reply, but the sight of him holding her happy, gurgling daughter brought tears to her eyes and the hoe fell to the ground. As her hands went over her face, Marcus went to her and wrapped her in his free arm.

  Dustin went to pieces. To feel a massive, strong, warm arm around her once again threw her back into Christopher’s arms and she allowed herself to imagine, for a second, that it was he who was holding her.

  The more she wept, the tighter Marcus’ grip became and her arms found their way around his waist. She could hear him comforting her softly and felt him kiss the top of her head at least twice. She also felt a different pressure on the top of her head and heard Marcus scolding Christin softly for eating her mother’s hair. It was comical and she actually laughed, lifting her head to see that Marcus was smiling as well as he unwound her hair from Christin’s death grip.

  Edward was standing by the kitchen door with a birds-eye view of what was going on in the garden. He could see Marcus holding Dustin and Christin, and he was seized with a great anger. Anthony and Jeffrey joined him.

  “I want him gone,” Edward growled. “I do not care how, but I want him out.”

  “Why?” Anthony asked. “He’s the only one who’s gotten Dustin to respond in any way. Look; she’s actually smiling.”

  Edward gritted his teeth. “The bastard comes swaggering in here to collect Dustin as if she was a prize,” he seethed. “I shall not stand for it. And neither would Chris.”

  “Chris would want her to be happy,” Jeffrey said quietly. “I have known Lady Dustin longer than anyone. If she wants to go with this Marcus, and in your judgment he is a just, fair man, then I know her mother would have no objection. She only wished for Dustin’s happiness also.”

  “Marcus Burton has a reputation second only to Chris,” Anthony told him. “Richard loves the man. He is as fair and just as they come. But you never told me he was in love with her, Edward.”

  Edward did not answer for a moment. “Verily,” he replied faintly. “As much as Christopher, at least. But she only had eyes for her husband, and now Marcus sees this as his opportunity.”

  Anthony watched them for a moment before turning away. “If she will be happy with him, then I am sure Chris would approve.”

  Edward shook his head, eyeing Marcus and Dustin menacingly. “She is Chris’ wife,” he said.

  “And Chris is dead,” Jeffrey said, slapping him on the shoulder as he followed Anthony back into the kitchens.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Marcus stayed on for several days, trying desperately to convince Dustin to return north with him. He would much rather have her agreement in the matter, but whether or not she consented, he intended to take her with him. He was resolute that he would not leave without her.

  Even with Marcus’ presence, her habits changed little. She bathed at least now and brushed her hair, but her clothes were still of the peasant style and her appetite was nil. Marcus went into town and ordered three new dresses for her as a surprise and ordered pretty accessories to go with them, hoping to brighten her spirits. She was so sullen and depressed all of the time that it broke his heart to see her moping a
bout. At first, taking her with him had been completely selfish, but the more he stayed on to observe her situation, the more he was convinced that it would truly be in Dustin’s best interest. He only hoped that he could convince her that it would be best, also.

  But Dustin wanted little to do with him other than conversation. She kept a cool distance, keeping her protective wall up with him at all times because she knew how easy it would be to succumb to him. He would give her what she was so desperately seeking, comfort, love, protection, but the problem was that she wasn’t seeking those things from him; she wanted her husband. Any touch from Marcus would be compared to Christopher, and with any kiss she would close her eyes and pretend it was her husband. Marcus was a man who could stand on his own merits, no doubt. He was so much like her husband it was frightening – strong, incredibly handsome, powerful, and brave. Had she never met Christopher, Marcus Burton would have been the love of her life.

  But the fact remained that he wasn’t. Marcus surprised her with the dresses one night after supper and Dustin showed little interest, although she did thank him sincerely. Beautiful clothes reminded her of her husband because he had taken such delight in seeing her dressed to the hilt. She tried to explain her reasons to Marcus but she doubted he could understand. She could see that he was hurt by her reaction and she was sorry, but it did not change her feelings.

  Nearly a week after his arrival, Dustin appeared one morning in his bedchamber. It was well before dawn and he was startled to see her standing next to his bed, dressed in a soft white nightshift. There were circles under her eyes and he wondered if she had slept at all.

  “What is wrong, honey?” he asked with concern.

  Dustin opened her mouth but nothing came out. Hot tears began to spill from her eyes and she angrily wiped them away.

  “I….I had a nightmare again,” she whispered, embarrassed and exhausted.

  He pulled the coverlets back. “Come here, with me.”

  She shook her head hard and jumped back. He swung his huge legs over the side of the bed. “Then tell me,” he said gently. “What was the dream about?”

  She was shaking. “Chris,” she whispered. “Ever since he died, I have had the same dream every night. I dream that I am just awakening in the morning, and it is bright and lovely and the sun is streaming in through the windows. He’s lying next to me with his arms around me, and I can hear him talking about something, I never know what.” She cracked, sobbing pitifully. “I can smell him, Marcus. I can smell his skin and feel its texture, and I feel so warm and content. And then I wake up to a cold, empty bed and I feel as if my grief is new. Every time I feel as if my heart is being yanked out and smashed. I cannot take it anymore.”

  His eyes were soft with sympathy. “Of course you cannot.” He opened his arms to her. “Come here, Dustin. Let me comfort you as I have so wanted to do.”

  She stopped fighting him for the moment and allowed herself the luxury of his comfort. He was warm and soft and wonderful, and in no time she was asleep in his arms.

  Marcus held her well into the morning hours. She slept limply, dreamlessly, and he knew it was because she felt safe with him. He would chase all of her bad dreams away. She curled up against him, her face pressed into his chest and he knew right then that he was taking Dustin back with him on the morrow. No one had taken charge of her since Christopher’s death, they had all let her run her life her way and she was going to kill herself if she continued. Someone had to take charge of her, and that someone would be him.

  Late in the morning he tucked Dustin into his bed, kissing her temple sweetly and allowing himself to feel some happiness. He had what he had come for. Washing his face, he donned his clothing and set out with determination.

  Marcus took over Lioncross that day. Not since Christopher had left had it run with such purpose or fortitude. All of Christin’s belongings were packed as well as everything Dustin owned. Bedding, linens, carpets, everything was loaded into two wagons that were secured in the bailey. The army camping outside the wall were given orders to prepare for departure.

  Edward was furious that Marcus was taking over Lioncross as he was. But Marcus was a baron and technically Edward was of a lesser station, so there was very little he could do. He certainly did not want Dustin to leave, but as he saw it, he only had two options; either talk some sense into her or hope that Richard arrived before they left. Even with the latter, he could not be certain that Dustin would stay. Richard loved Marcus and was most likely to grant him anything; even the dead Defender’s wife.

  Edward cornered Dustin in the afternoon when she went out to her garden. As she had done day after day, she began to hoe and he stood by silently and watched.

  “Are you really going to go with him?” he asked her.

  Dustin hoed absently. “I guess so. I am so confused, Edward, I do not know what to do anymore,” she looked at him. “This is my home. It is Chris’ home and I do not want to leave, but I almost feel like I have to. Staying here day after day, seeing the things we loved together, cuts me to the core. Mayhap if I go with Marcus, I shall clear my mind and see things more rationally.”

  “He wants to marry you, Dustin,” Edward said, his voice low. “Who’s to say that once he gets you to Somerhill that he will ever let you return to Lioncross? Will you indeed marry him?”

  Dustin shrugged. “I do not know, Edward I do not know anything anymore.”

  Edward sighed, feeling the situation slipping away from him. “Do you love him?”

  “Nay,” Dustin shook her head. “I shall never love anyone but Chris. I have told Marcus that, but he doesn’t seem to care.”

  “Is it fair to give the man false hope by returning home with him, then?” Edward pressed quietly.

  “I have never given him any hope whatsoever,” Dustin insisted. “I have made it very clear that I will only love Christopher. But Christin needs a father, and I will eventually need companionship. I like Marcus, Edward. He is a decent man and he was my husband’s best friend.”

  Edward leaned against the wall, running a weary hand over his brow. “There is nothing I can say to stop you?” he asked. “I think you are acting rashly. I think Marcus is making your decisions for you.”

  The hoe dropped. “No one makes my decisions for me,” she said sternly. “But I must decide what is best for myself and for Christin. I am sorry if you cannot accept that, Edward. But Lioncross is mine now and I would hope that you would run it ably in my absence. Gowen will still keep the books, but you are in charge of the castle. And have no doubt that I will return.”

  He gazed at her, a hundred thoughts tumbling through his mind. He knew she wasn’t thinking properly and that Marcus was very persuasive. The man had caught her in a weak moment and somehow had convinced her that returning to Somerhill was best for her.

  But Christopher was gone, never to return. Mayhap it was for the best that Dustin go with Marcus and start a new life for herself and for Christin, away from the grief and memories that were slowly killing her.

  “Then I will say nothing more than to wish you complete happiness, Dustin,” he said after a moment. “Chris would want you to be happy.”

  Her eyes filled with tears and she bit her lip. “I know,” she whispered. “Lord, Edward, sometimes I do not think I can go on anymore. His absence is like a huge gaping hole in my soul, never to heal and I swear to you that sometimes it is all I can do to keep from killing myself. But I promised Chris that I wouldn’t if anything ever happened to him, and I should not like to be spanked in Paradise in front of the heavenly hosts for disobeying him. ’Twould be most embarrassing.”

  He grinned. “No doubt. And knowing Chris, he would stop at nothing to take his hand to your behind.”

  She brushed a tear away. “Did they tell you how he died? They won’t tell me. And where is this Gowergrove Castle that I might visit his grave someday?”

  Edward’s smile faded. “Archers, I believe, felled him. Zephyr, too; they found them together. Gow
ergrove is at the southern tip of Sherwood and should you decide to go there, I would wish to go with you and pay my respects, also.”

  She nodded, absorbing the information with a blustery sigh. Now that she had some idea as to how he died, she felt a strange sense of peace. But it did nothing for the ache in her heart.

  “I miss him so, Edward,” she murmured. “Will the pain ever go away?”

  He put his arm around her shoulders comfortingly; this Lady Dustin sounded more like the lady he had grown to know, not like the crazy, irrational creature that had been raging about the keep for weeks.

  “In time it will fade, that I promise,” he assured her. “But it may never truly go away.”

  Dustin sighed, letting him comfort her for a moment. Marcus entered the garden, then, and they could both see the possessiveness in his expression.

  “What goes on here?” he asked mildly.

  “Nothing,” Dustin said, letting go of Edward. “We were speaking of Lioncross and other things.”

  Marcus eyed Edward with a great deal of suspicion, much to Edward’s annoyance. “Good God, Marcus, we weren’t plotting,” he snapped. “We were saying our goodbyes, considering you are planning on leaving tomorrow.”

  Marcus’ gaze was cool at the sharp tone but he let it slide. “Come along, Dustin,” he said. “I want you to make sure everything you will need or want is packed.”

  Dustin preceded him from the garden, but Marcus paused at the gate to throw Edward another hard glance.

  “She is mine now, de Wolfe,” he hissed. “You would do well to remember that.”

  He moved away, leaving Edward fuming.

  Before sunset that evening, an approaching army was sighted and Edward knew that it had to be Richard and David. There was no other alternative. With renewed vigor, he ordered the dinner portions doubled and the remaining unoccupied bedchambers prepared. He waited until everything was moving smoothly before seeking Marcus out.

  As he suspected, he and Dustin were holed up in Lady Mary’s solar playing a game of Fox and Hounds. Marcus kept her very much to himself and very isolated from the others. Edward could not help the satisfaction that crept into his voice.