Read Medieval Master Warlords Online
Authors: Kathryn le Veque
Dustin stirred in his 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 do not 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 apologies,” 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.
℘
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