Medieval Master Warlords (74 page)

℘

CHAPTER ONE

Year of Our Lord 1192

The Month of September

Lioncross Abbey Castle

The Welsh Marches

              Lady Dustin Barringdon bit at her full lower lip in concentration. Climbing trees was no easy feat, but climbing trees in a skirt was near impossible.

              Her target was the nest of baby birds high in the old oak tree. Her cat, Caesar, had killed the mama bird earlier that day and now Dustin was determined to take the babies back to Lioncross and raise them.  Her mother, of course, thought she was mad, but she still had to try. After all, if she hadn't spoiled and pampered Caesar then this might never have happened. Caesar had no discipline whatsoever.

              She pushed her blond hair back out of her way for the tenth time; her hands kept snagging on it as she clutched the branch. But as soon as she pushed it away, it was back again and hanging all over her. She usually loved her buttock-length hair, reveled in it, but not today. Long and thick and straight. It glistened and shimmered like a banner of gold silk.

              Her big, almond-shaped eyes watched the nest intently. But not just any eyes, they were of the most amazing shade of gray, like sunlight behind storm clouds. Surrounded by thick dark-blond lashes, they were stunning. With her full rosy lips set in a heart-shaped face, she was an incredible beauty.

              Not that Dustin had any shortage of suitors. The list was long of the young men waiting for a chance to speak with her father upon his return. She truly didn't care one way or the other; men were a nuisance and a bore and she got along very well without them. Nothing was worse that a starry-eyed suitor who mooned over her like a love-sick pup. She had punched many idiots right in the eye in answer to a wink or a suggestive look.

              “Can you reach it yet?” her friend, Rebecca, stood at the base of the tree, apprehensively watching.

              “Not yet,” Dustin called back, irritated at the distraction. “Almost.”

              Just another couple of feet and she would have it. Carefully, carefully, she crept along the branch, hoping it wouldn't give way.

              “Dustin?” Rebecca called urgently.

              Dustin paused in her quest. “What now?”

              “Riders,” Rebecca said with some panic, “coming this way.”

              Dustin lay down on the branch, straining to see the object of her friend's fear. Indeed, up on the rise of the road that led directly under the tree she was on, were incoming riders. A lot of them, from what she could see.

              Her puzzlement grew. Who would be coming to Lioncross this time of day, this lazy afternoon in a long succession of lazy afternoons? The riders passed through a bank of trees and she could see them better.

              She began to catch some of her friend’s fear. There were soldiers, hundreds of them.

              “Rebecca,” she hissed. “Climb the tree. Hurry up.”

              With a shriek, Rebecca clumsily climbed onto the trunk and began slowly making her way up.

              “Who are they?” she gasped.

              Dustin shook her head. “I do not know,” she replied. “The only time I have ever seen that many soldiers was when my father….” She suddenly sat up on the branch. “My
father!
Rebecca, climb down!”

              Rebecca didn’t share Dustin’s excitement. “Why?” she exclaimed.

              Dustin was already scooting back down, crashing into her friend. “It is my father, you ninny. He has returned!”

              Rebecca, reluctantly, began to back down the scratchy oak branch. “How do you know that? Are they flying a banner?”

              Dustin hadn't even looked. She didn't have to. “Who else would it be?” She was so excited she was beginning to shake.

              The army was quickly approaching the ladies’ position. Thunder filled the air, blotting out everything else. Now, they were upon them.  Rebecca was down from the tree but Dustin was still descending.

              Dust from the road swirled about as several large destriers kicked up grit with their massive hooves. They had come up amazingly fast and Dustin found herself paying more attention to the chargers than to what she was doing. As the knights reined their animals to a halt several feet from Rebecca's terrified form, Dustin tried to get a better look at them.

              She was trying very hard to single out her father but her distraction cost her as she lost her grip on the branch. With a scream, she plummeted from the tree about ten feet overhead and landed heavily on her right side.

              Rebecca gasped and dropped to Dustin’s aid. “Dustin! My God, are you all right?”

              Dustin rolled to her back, now oblivious to the knights and men that were watching her. All she knew was that she could not catch her breath and her chest was so hot it would soon explode.  As Rebecca tried to get a look at her, one of the knights dismounted his steed and knelt beside her.

              “Breathe easy,” came a deep, soothing voice. “Where do you hurt?”

              Dustin could not talk. She could only manage to lay there and gasp for air. The knight removed his gauntlets and flipped up the faceplate on his helmet.

              “Take deep breaths,” he told her, putting his plate-sized hand on her abdomen, just below her ribs. “Slowly, slowly. Come now, slow down. That's right.”

              As Dustin’s shock wore off, tears of pain and shock began to roll down her temples and, for the first time, she opened her eyes and focused on the man with the kind voice. She was shocked to see how big and frightening he was. He gazed back at her impassively.

              “Are you hurt?” he asked.

              She shook her head unsteadily. “I do not think so,” she choked out. “I can breathe a little better.”

              He silently extended a hand, carefully pulling her up to sit. The first thing Dustin noticed was how big his hands were as they closed around her own.

              The knight continued to crouch next to her, his gaze still unreadable. Shaking the leaves out of her hair, Dustin gave him the once-over.

              “Who are you?” she demanded softly. “Where is my father?”

              “Who is your father?” he returned, ignoring her first question.

              Dustin had a bad habit of speaking first and thinking later. If these men were her father’s vassals, then they would have known her on sight.

              “Why, Lord Barringdon, of course,” she said, grabbing the ends of her hair and shaking them hard.  “Where is he?”

              For the first time the man showed emotion. His sky-blue eyes widened for a brief second and he abruptly stood up. She tried to look up at him, but he was so tall she had to lay her head back completely and she could not do that because her head was killing her. So she cocked her head at an odd angle, still looking up at him, as she struggled to her feet.

              The man didn’t help her rise, although he probably should have. He just kept staring at her.

              “Lady Dustin Barringdon, I presume?” he asked after a moment.

              His voice sounded queer. Dustin managed to stand on her own, putting out a hand to steady herself as the earth beneath her rocked. The knight reached out to balance her.

              “Aye,” she replied, pulling her hand away cautiously and taking a step toward Rebecca, who clutched at her. She eyed the man warily. “Who are you?”

              She had no idea why the man’s eyes were twinkling. His face held no expression, but she swore his eyes were twinkling.

              “I am a friend of you father's,” he said. “My name is Christopher de Lohr.”

              “Where is my father?” Dustin demanded yet again, excited to hear this man was a friend.

              The knight hesitated. “Is your mother home, my lady?” he asked. “I bring messages for her.”

              Dustin’s excitement took a turn for the worse.  She had asked the same question three times without an answer. She was coming to suspect why and her stomach lurched with anguish. 
God, no!

              “
Where
is my father?”

              “I will discuss that with your mother.”

              Dustin stared at him a long, long time. He gazed back at her, studying every inch of that beautiful, sensuous face. The gray orbs that met his blue suddenly went dark and stormy. She closed her eyes and turned away from him, beginning to walk back down the road. Rebecca, puzzled, yet not wanting to be left alone with a company of soldiers, ran after her.

              Christopher watched her go, knowing she must suspect at least part of the reason why he had come. When he began to hear soft sobs, fading as she continued down the road, he knew that her fears were confirmed. She knew her father was dead.

              He turned to his brother. “Get the men moving,” he said, mounting his destrier, but his eyes were still on the lady.

              Christ, but he was still reeling with surprise and pleasure at the discovery of Lady Dustin. She was beautiful. Damnation, he hadn't known what to expect. The entire trip home had been filled with dread and foreboding, but he could see his worries were for naught. Even if she was as stupid as a tree and as disagreeable as a mule, she was still beautiful. If he had to marry, she might as well be pleasant to look at. Any other qualities were superfluous.

              Slowly, the army followed several paces behind her. Dustin had never known grief before and discovered it to be the most painful thing she had ever experienced. The knight wouldn’t tell her where her father was and that in and of itself was confirmation of the worst. She wasn’t a fool. Sorrow overwhelmed her and she suddenly could not breathe again. Her sobs grew into raspy puffs of air and the ground began to sway again. Dustin was aware of a blissful, floating feeling as a strange blackness swallowed her up.

              Christopher saw her go down on the side of the road and he spurred his destrier forward. The animal came to a halt in a cloud of dust and he dismounted, pulling Lady Dustin’s hysterical friend away from the crumpled form in the grass.

              “What’s the matter with her?” her friend cried. “She's dying. The fall will kill her!”

              Christopher knelt down, noting the even breathing, steady pulse, but pale color. Mayhap the fall did contribute to this. He suddenly felt strangely protective, knowing that the woman was to be his wife. Wasn't it right for a husband to feel protective? It was the most peculiar sensation he'd ever experienced.

              “What’s your name, lass?” he asked the panting redhead.

              “Rebecca,” she replied, “Rebecca Comlynn.”

              Christopher nodded, turning back to the woman in the grass. “You will take us back to Lioncross, Mistress Rebecca. I will take care of Lady Dustin.”

              Rebecca started to protest but David grabbed her and seated her on his destrier before she could put up a fight. Christopher scooped up Dustin and managed to mount his own steed with surprising ease. She was light, this one, and small, too. Standing her full height she barely met his chest. She was little more than a child in his arms.

              He stole a glance at her as he gathered his reins. Her lips moistly parted, she looked to be sleeping in his arms. Her hair, so incredibly long and silken, hung all over them both and he had to pull it free from the joints in his armor a couple of times. He could feel lust warming his veins. Spurring his great warhorse, they proceeded on to Lioncross Abbey.

              Lioncross Abbey was so named because it was built on the sight of an ancient Roman house of worship and actually incorporated portions of two walls and part of the foundation.   Additionally, Arthur Barringdon had christened it Lioncross after Richard and the quest. Prior to Arthur inheriting the keep from his father, it had been named Barringdon Abbey. Some older people in the region still referred to it as such.

              The fortress sat atop a ridge overlooking a large lake and the deep purple mountains that marked the Welsh border could be seen in the distance. Thick banks of trees surrounded the fortress and made the region appear lush and fertile, even in the dead of winter.

              Christopher took a good look at what was to be his new home, verily pleased. It was a fine fortress, easy to defend, with a small village about a half mile to the north. He found himself growing more and more satisfied with each passing step of his horse. Aye, he was worthy to be lord of this. He already found himself making mental notes about the structure, what needed improvement and reminding himself to ask questions about the revenues. As fine a warrior as he was, he was an equally fine scholar and knew what it would take to make Lioncross a profitable keep.