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

by Kathryn Le Veque

  David raised his sword, fighting back his considerable anger. If he lashed out and tired himself at the beginning, then Marcus would show no mercy and finish him off in his fatigue.

  “I do not blame her,” he said. “I have never blamed her. She’s young and impressionable. But I fully blame you.”

  “As you should,” Marcus gripped his sword with two hands on the hilt, preparing for the first strike. “You may try to kill me if you think you must, David. I am ready.”

  David did not reply. Instead, he came hurtling down from the stairs and met Marcus with the force of his fury. Metal met on metal, screaming at the pressure and sparks flew into the damp air of the abbey.

  Marcus was fully prepared for the onslaught, and for David’s fury. A whole year of anger and resentment and jealousy was releasing itself. David was faster than any man alive with a sword, but he could be reckless. Marcus, however, was far more controlled and more powerful than his opponent. It was dark in the abbey, working to neither man’s advantage as they plowed their way through pieces of old furniture and bounced off the walls.

  David tripped at one point and staggered against the stone wall, narrowly averting being decapitated by Marcus as the big man descended on him with all of his might. The clang of broadsword against broadsword echoed loudly and roused a few servants, instantly panicked at the fight in the abbey and Richard was awoken from a deep sleep.

  Angry as hell, the King of England grabbed his serrated broadsword and marched for the bowels of the abbey. He had no doubt as to who was doing the fighting.

  *

  Marcus and David stood before Richard in the grand hall, a few of the king’s officials surrounding the tired monarch as he glared back at his disobedient vassals. He was so damn tired all he wanted to do was sleep, but instead, found himself breaking up a serious fight. Had he not intervened when he did, David de Lohr would now be preparing for his burial.

  “I know why you were fighting,” Richard said in a low voice. “I need no explanation. And from what I am told, it was a long time in coming. But I will tell you this now; I will hear no more of fighting between you two. There is no one in this world I am at peace with, including my brother, and I shall not stand for any goddamn fighting within my own ranks. I should like there to be just one minute measure of stability in my life right now, gentle knights, and I should like it to start with my loyal warriors, or I swear I shall take Lady Dustin with me and keep her at Windsor if you two cannot make peace with each other. Is that understood?”

  Marcus and David nodded simultaneously. “Aye, sire.”

  “Good,” Richard exclaimed, eyeing them both critically. “I will ask one thing, however; who started it?”

  David piped up before Marcus could speak. “I did, sire. I sought Marcus out.”

  “David, you know better than to cause trouble.” Richard jabbed his finger at him. “Good Lord, you are just like your father. Hot-headed and aggressive. But I will tell you now, no more of it. Christopher, thank God, controlled himself better than most men and you should have learned from him. And Marcus; you are David’s superior officer. You should not have responded to his challenge.”

  “I was given little choice, sire,” Marcus responded. “It was either defend myself or die.”

  Richard shot David a withering look. “Get hold of yourself, Sir Knight. Come to grips with your grief and the future will work itself out. It does not need your interference.”

  David lowered his gaze, his jaw ticking. Marcus didn’t dare look at him, both of them feeling like naughty children being caught with their hand in the candy jar. Marcus didn’t hate David, but he hated the animosity he was creating. If David would only surmount his guilt and anger, he was sure his feelings would calm.

  “Back to Canterbury with you on the morrow, de Lohr,” Richard said finally. “Go back and marry your Emilie and I will hear no more about you and Marcus Burton.”

  “Aye, sire,” David said softly, bowing as he quit the hall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Canterbury Castle

  July Year of our Lord 1194 A.D.

  Brickley was on watch towards the end of this clear and rather warm day, as spring was beginning to warm and the summer months were on the horizon. The countryside was in bloom and the town, having recovered from the terrible rains of the spring and early summer, was still bustling, even at this hour. Shops were being closed for the night and the smell of cooking fires filled the air.

  Brickley was on the wall walk near the gatehouse. From this position, he could see the ward of Canterbury easily and he could see the road leading to the gatehouse easily as well. The men were about to change shifts on the walls and he watched a senior sergeant deal with a young man who was evidently ill but still trying to assume his post. Brickley recognized it as a farm boy he’d recruited last year, the same boy whom Nathalie had her eye on.

  In fact, the farm boy was a young man of fifteen years, uneducated but wise, who was very quick to learn the methods of soldiering. Brickley had taken the young man under his wing as of late because he saw a good deal of his own son in the young man, whose given name was Payn. Nathalie, unskilled in the art of flirting, simply called him ‘farmer’ but in spite of that, Nathalie and the lad had struck up a friendship of sorts. Brickley could not have been more thrilled that her thoughts were off of him and onto the young farm boy, who was slightly younger than she was. He continued to watch as the sergeant tried to send the young man away but Payn was resolute to do his duty, even coughing and wheezing as he was.

  Brickley finally caught the sergeant’s attention and waved the man off, who shrugged and allowed the young man to fill his post. Brickley was moving over to Payn to see just how sick he really was when he caught sight of a rider heading towards the gatehouse.

  Even with the sun setting and the shadows cast, Brickley could still see rather clearly and he noted right away that there was something familiar about the knight. Something quite familiar. A sense of foreboding settled about him as he watched the horse and rider approach, something ominous. He could feel the mood increase the closer the rider came and suddenly, recognition dawned. He flew down from the wall faster than he’d moved in a very long time.

  Brickley came off of the narrow stairs leading down from the wall and nearly shoved over a soldier who got in his way. There was purpose in his movements, but there was also rage. Utter and complete rage. He bellowed for the portcullis to be lifted and kicked at the thing when it didn’t move fast enough. The chains pulling up the heavy iron fangs creaked and groaned, and by the time Brickley had enough clearance to duck underneath it, the rider was nearly upon them.

  “Halt!” Brickley said, throwing out a hand. “Stop right there, David. Come no closer.”

  David reined his big white horse to a halt. He was in full armor, complete with helm, and he was not wearing an identifiable tunic. He had worn the de Lohr tunic his entire life and for a short period, the yellow, gray, and black Canterbury, but on this day, he simply wore a light colored woolen tunic of no discernable color. Even so, he was still recognized because of his snow-white horse. He flipped up his visor, his concerned and stubbled face in full view.

  “What is wrong?” he asked Brickley.

  Brickley knew this moment would be coming. He had been waiting for it ever since David fled and Emilie, after having too much wine once night, had spilled the situation between her and David. Lyle and Brickley had listened with some shock, and perhaps anger, trying to be understanding of a man who had just lost his brother and felt there were other priorities in his life than the woman he was betrothed to. Lyle was far more understanding of it than Brickley was. In fact, Brickley had seen it as his opportunity.

  Aye, he was an opportunist. Emilie felt that David did not feel she was important enough to marry and was convinced that David was returning to Lioncross to marry his brother’s widow. Therefore, Brickley had permitted his feelings for Emilie to come forth again, hoping that, this time, she wou
ld be wounded enough or weak enough to respond to his suit. It was something he had prayed for daily.

  But Lyle had quickly caught on to what Brickley was doing. He was still very much a supporter of David and told Brickley to leave Emilie alone. Brickley obeyed, but it was all for show. He hadn’t really listened at all. He just became less obvious about it in front of Lyle.

  But it hadn’t exactly worked in his favor because whatever Emilie had thought of David’s actions, it was clear that she still loved him. That made Brickley angry. He was finished watching David de Lohr ruin Emilie’s life and, in a sense, his life as collateral damage. He wasn’t going to let the man toy with her any longer. Therefore, Brickley was prepared for the moment when David returned to Canterbury because he knew for a fact the man would return. He always did. And then he always left again, breaking Emilie’s heart.

  It wasn’t going to happen again.

  Now, David had returned, as Brickley had feared, and there was a show down going on in front of Canterbury’s portcullis. Brickley refused to let the man pass.

  “Did you marry your brother’s widow?” he asked bluntly.

  David’s brow furrowed. “Of course not,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  David, who was in no mood for Brickley’s antics, leaned forward on the saddle. “I am here to see my betrothed,” he said. “You are standing in my way.”

  Brickley didn’t move. “Emilie does not want to see you,” he said. “Turn around and go.”

  David saw where this was going. With a heavy sigh, he dismounted his horse and faced Brickley on his feet. “I am not going anywhere,” he said flatly. “Where is Emilie?”

  Brickley had a height advantage on David but that was all. Everyone in England knew that there was no one faster with a sword than David, so Brickley was already very much on his guard. David hadn’t so much as made a move to unsheathe his weapon but Brickley knew he would probably do it and spear Brickley through the heart before he even saw it coming. That was his fear of David and he tried not to show it.

  “She is inside the keep,” Brickley said. Then, he forced himself to become a bit more conversational and not feed off of his anger so much. “David, she had made it clear she does not want to see you. You must respect her wishes.”

  David crossed his big arms, folding them over his chest as much as the mail and heavy garments would allow. “I will hear it from her and not you,” he said. “Surely you can understand that.”

  Brickley’s jaw ticked. After a moment, he hissed. “Why can you not simply leave her alone?” he asked. “You have been in and out of her life since you met her. You come back, make promises, and then something always happens where you find yourself leaving her again, and leaving her in tears. Do you have any idea how distraught she was when you left this last time? I realize you were grieving your brother, but for Christ’s sake, you needed to give a thought to the living as well. To Emilie, in fact. She thinks you have gone back to marry your brother’s widow.”

  David learned a lot in that slightly-hissed rant. He sighed heavily again, shaking his head. “I sent her several missives,” he said. “Did she read any of them or did you intercept them again?”

  Brickley shook his head. “I did not intercept them,” he said. “I did not need to. I gave her every one and she burned every one without reading it.”

  David grunted unhappily. “That is unfortunate,” he said. “Go and get her, Brickley. Bring her out here so that I may speak with her.”

  Brickley shook his head. “I will not,” he replied. “I will not see you hurt her again.”

  David lifted his eyebrows. “Or what?” he asked. “Or you will kill me? I invite you to try, Brickley, I really do. Your attempts to protect Emilie are admirable but this is none of your affair. If you will not go and get her, then step aside or I will be forced to move you.”

  Brickley could see that something terrible was coming but he didn’t back down. He couldn’t. But he was starting to see his life flashing before his eyes and he didn’t like that.

  “Why can’t you simply go away?” he wanted to know. “Surely your brother’s empire and the politics of England will take enough of your time. I have no idea what you are dealing with and I am sure it is all quite difficult, but life has been peaceful here the past few months while you were away. You bring chaos here when you come and we do not need it. Emilie doesn’t need it. You have hurt her badly, David. Do the honorable thing and leave.”

  David moved to unsheathe his broadsword and he swore he could hear a collective gasp from the soldiers on the wall, now watching his confrontation with Brickley. The blade from David’s expensive sword gleamed in the late afternoon sun, flashing bolts of lightning for all to see. David stood there a moment, looking at the razor-sharp weapon.

  “When I left here, I went to London to meet with Richard,” he said. “I discovered that my brother’s body was left at Gowergrove, buried with his men. Therefore, Richard was not returning the body to Lioncross in spite of the rumor you heard. But he was going to my brother’s castle to pay his respects to his widow so I accompanied him, along with my uncle who was one of the men who had gone to escort Richard home from captivity. Yet when I arrived at Lioncross… well, as you said, dealing with it was all quite difficult. And do you know that they all knew I was at Canterbury? Someone must have told them, although I did not find out who. Mayhap… mayhap my brother simply knew I would return to Emilie. He knew of my feelings for her. In any case, after I arrived at Lioncross, I tried to kill my brother’s best friend because the man is determined to marry my brother’s widow. I tried to stop him. Richard sent me away because of it.”

  Brickley couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for the turmoil of David’s life since his brother’s death, but that was frankly not his problem. David’s issues were his own. Brickley was only concerned about Canterbury and what happened here. He didn’t want David to throw everything into turmoil again.

  “I have already told you that you have my sympathies for the passing of Chris,” he said. “But that does not change the fact that I do not want you back at Canterbury.”

  David looked up from his sword. “What does Lyle say?”

  Brickley seemed to lose some of his stubborn defiance. “This is not Lyle’s decision,” he said. “It is mine.”

  David was too weary to be standing here arguing with a jealous man. “I see,” he said. “Where is Lyle?”

  “Inside.”

  “Does he know I am here?”

  “He does not.”

  David was starting to think that perhaps only Brickley didn’t want him here. Furthermore, it was quite possible he was lying about Emilie. Perhaps she did read his missives and perhaps she did want him here. He would only know that if he was able to speak with her and, so far, Brickley wasn’t about to let that happen.

  “Move aside, Brickley,” he said. “I will not tell you again.”

  Brickley took a defensive stance as the men on the walls hunkered down, trying to jockey for a better position to watch the coming sword fight. With David de Lohr involved, in promised to be spectacular.

  “I will not.”

  David’s features will like stone. “Are you sure you want to take that stance with me?”

  Brickley’s jaw ticked. “I will take any stance necessary,” he said. “I am to blame for this, you know. I should have let Dennis de la Londe kill you that day of the mass competition at Windsor but I foolishly saved your life. Had I to do it all over again, knowing what I know now, I would have let him kill you.”

  It was an insult that brought consequences. David’s first strike sent Brickley onto his arse and from there, the fight was on.

  *

  “What are you doing down here?”

  Lyle was at the top of the stairs that led down into the storage vaults below Canterbury’s keep. He asked the question of Emilie, who was standing on the floor below him with a pair of kitchen servants,
a large fatted torch lighting up the vault and sending black smoke up to the ceiling. Emilie turned to look at her father when she heard his voice.

  “The mice are into the grain again,” she told her father. “They chewed through the sacks and now it is spilled out all over. We need to have barrels, Papa. Can the wheelwright make some for us? Otherwise, we are going to lose a good deal of stores.”

  Lyle couldn’t really see what she was looking at so he shrugged his shoulders. “And we have to do this right now?” he asked. “I am hungry. Where is the evening meal?”

  Emilie grinned at her father. “Papa, you are worse than a child,” she said. “Sup will be ready at the usual time. You need not worry.”

  Lyle wasn’t too pleased; being hungry always made him irritable. He could smell the food but there was nothing on the table, nothing prepared, so he came hunting for Emilie and found her down in the store room. He was greatly annoyed.

  “Then come out of there and make it so,” he told her. “Where are your sisters?”

  Emilie came closer to him up on the narrow stairs that led down into the storage area. There used to be only a ladder but so many servants had hurt themselves lugging items up and down the ladder that Lyle commissioned a set of narrow stairs to be built out of stone. There was even the rarity of a railing built into them so it would be more difficult to fall off.

  “The last I saw they were with Lillibet,” she said patiently. “You know that Lillibet has had them making tunics for the poor for the past few months, ever since I told her what they did to… when the put horse dung in his pillow. You know that Lillibet has been putting their wicked energies to good use as of late.”