Epilogue #2
“It is not,” she said. “They are my sons, too. I would know what you are planning to tell your brother about their treatment.”
He looked at her a moment. “They will never learn to become proper pages or squires if they are being coddled, Dustin. I was most specific to David in that regard.”
“They are not being coddled,” she insisted. “Since when is kindness considered coddling? They are still little boys, for heaven’s sake. Why must they be treated like men?”
“You do not understand, Dustin,” he said, gazing off across the bailey and seeing his brother approach. “I would speak to David alone.”
“Can the man at least wash the dust from his tongue before you lay into him?” Dustin asked annoyed.
“Leave us,” Christopher told her, annoyed as well.
She looked at him a moment, at his strong profile and his most beautiful blond hair with streaks of gray. “Do not talk to me like that. I am not a wench to be dismissed at your whim.”
He looked at her. “Nay, you are a countess, who is expected to obey her husband,” he said. “Leave us, please.”
She raised her eyebrow, seeing a way around all of this. Immediately, she went to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. He returned her kiss, the sweetness of it filling him as it always had. She pulled back and smiled at him through smoky eyes, pleased to see him reacting.
“You still cannot stay,” he whispered huskily.
She slapped him playfully and he laughed low.
She turned on her heel in a defiant blur of blond hair and fabric, marching away from him, but not before he planted a plate-sized hand on her behind.
She yelped and rubbed the assaulted area, but it was all in fun and she fought off a grin even as she continued on her way.
David came up on his brother and did not even afford him the opportunity to speak. “I know what you are going to say,” he exclaimed. “I know that look on your face and I do not like it. Your sons have not been treated any differently than the other pages.”
Christopher put his hands on his hips. “Then why did they tell me they take meals with you and sleep in their own bedchamber?”
“Because they do,” he snapped, although it was not in anger. “Emilie insisted until they are a year older. She says that they are still babies and….”
“Good Christ, David,” Christopher muttered, putting a hand over his face. “She sounds like Dustin. And you allow this?”
“Tell me, brother, when my own son comes to foster here at age six or seven, will you tell Dustin that he cannot eat at the table with the rest of the family?” David shot back, crossing his arms expectantly.
“Will you? The first time Dustin catches a glimpse of my little boy eating his supper from his lap in the corner, she will come apart at the seams. Trust me, for I have witnessed it and you, too, will be unable to deny her.”
Christopher glared at his brother, not unfriendly, before shaking his head in defeat. “Then I send them to Somerhill. I cannot risk their training due to family ties.”
“Oh, hell, you know Gabrielle will treat them the same way. Thank God she has not ruined Peter,” David insisted. “And Marcus will go along with her in everything. Nay, they are better off with me.”
“They are not,” Christopher snapped, agitated on his sons’ behalf. “Then I send them to Edward. He will train them to be proper pages.”
“You mean the new Earl of Wolverhampton?” David said tauntingly. “Jesus, he has been so involved in John’s court, he will not have the time to train the boys.”
“Ah, but he has Max with him and Max is as fine a trainer as ever lived, as you well know,” Christopher was suddenly relieved and satisfied with his own rapid decision. “Come the New Year, I send Curtis and Richard to Wolverhampton. I might take them there myself.”
“You have seen quite a bit of him, haven’t you?” David remarked.
Christopher nodded, clapping his brother on the shoulder as they moved for the castle.
He truly was glad to see him. “We have been working on a charter for John’s signature,” he said.
“The majority of earls and feudal barons have come together in the matter. Despite any disagreements or hatred, we all seem to have a common bond, we hate John.”
“What kind of a charter?” David asked.
Christopher waved his hand carelessly, he did not want to get into the specifics out here in the open, but later when there was more time to talk. “We call it the Magna Carta. Sean de Lara has drafted most of it. You remember Sean, do you not?”
David nodded. “The Shadow Lord? Of course. After he left your service, he went to serve John, or so we thought. I still find it difficult to believe he was a spy for William Marshal. Who would have known?”
Christopher wriggled his eyebrows. “Not me,” he replied. “Like you, we were all convinced he was John’s strongest supporter. The man was brilliant in his cover. But I shall tell you more about it later.”
David nodded, not really caring. He had never involved himself much in politics or scholarly pursuits. He left those things up to his brother, the Earl of Hereford and Worcester.
“I hear your new son is doing well.” Christopher changed the subject, talking about John was painful for him. “Emilie was near to bursting to tell us of him.”
David swelled with pride and Christopher smiled broadly at his brother. After three girls, this little boy was his pride and joy. “He’s incredible, Chris. Biggest damn baby I ever saw, and smart. He’s trying to sit up already.”
“Wait, little brother, you forget how large Curtis was when he was born,” Christopher reminded him, just to pop his bubble a bit. “He was so big we almost lost him and his mother.”
Easily the most painful and frightening time of Christopher’s life, but he could speak of it now without shuddering. David remembered well the panic and the grief. “Aye, he was as fat as a pig. But Daniel is bigger, see him and tell me if you do not agree.”
Christopher looked at him dubiously. “I will judge for myself,” he said as they mounted the steps to the keep. The winter sun overhead was bright but offered no heat, only illuminating the countryside brilliantly. Remarkably, there was no snow.
“By the way, Marcus and Gabrielle are joining us for Christmas feast,” Christopher said. “They are bringing Peter and should be here by tomorrow.”
“Excellent,” David said. “I haven’t seen Marcus in a year. How are he and his wife faring?”
“Well, he says,” Christopher replied. What happened eleven years ago was a faded memory in his mind, another chapter in life, and he had forgiven Marcus a long time ago.
They were still, as always, the best of friends, and David went on as if nothing had ever happened.
The human character was forgiving that way.
“He and Gabrielle are bringing the twins and their young son.”
David grinned, scratching at his head as he surveyed the dismantling of his caravan. Christopher crossed his arms, passing a gaze over the workings, as well.
“And Peter; Jesus, he’s going to outshine us all, isn’t he?” David said. “Marcus swears he has never seen the likes of him.”
Christopher nodded faintly. “ ’Tis only right that he be greater than his father. Curtis, Richard, and Myles will be just like him. They will all outshine the sun.”
“And Daniel,” David reminded him. “Between us we have five sons. A grand enough dynasty for the de Lohr name.”
“Indeed,” Christopher agreed.
“Who knew, Chris,” David murmured after a moment.
Christopher glanced at him. “What?”
David was still smiling. “Who knew we would end up like this? Married, with children, and lord of our own keeps. Who in the hell knew?”
Christopher shrugged. The very same idea constantly amazed him. “Sometimes I wonder if I shall awaken from this dream, cold and tired and old and alone. I never thought to achieve this heaven.”
“Nor did I,” David admitted fully. “Richard only lived to see our eldest children. I wonder what he would say to all of this.”
Christopher gazed at brother, his friend. “He would say that we have reached paradise.”
Dustin appeared in the doorway, her beautiful face with nary a line in it in spite of her thirty-four years and her body still voluptuous and supple even after birthing six children.
“Are you going to stand out here all day?” she wanted to know. “I have got a house full of children and dogs, and I demand you come in here and control them.” Then she eyed David with mock anger. “As for you, baron; you have turned my sweet sons into miniature soldiers.”
David made a helpless gesture. Christopher smiled at his wife and she blew a kiss in his general direction before retreating into the castle. “And that, dear brother, is my very private paradise,” he said softly.
David watched his massive brother lumber into the keep, pausing a moment before following him. He never thought he would see the day when Christopher de Lohr would be content with his life.
The greatest warrior who ever lived was an earl for nine years, and was, mayhap the mightiest earl in the realm.
Certainly he was the most feared. People still called him the Defender, although the title was empty.
Men still referred to him as the Lion’s Claw, even though they had passed into a new century and onto a new king.
But the man’s reputation stayed with him, drawing respect from every corner of the civilized world. They knew this man, this Defender.
But the Defender cared naught for the admiration.
His life as a warrior was past, the life a husband and father more demanding than he ever imagined, and far more satisfying.
This man, this Defender, who had struggled with war and deception and betrayal to persevere and overcome, this man who would pass into legend for his skill, when it was his generosity and forgiveness that was indeed legendary.
The beating heart of the de Lohr dynasty.
* THE END *