Page 10 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)

CHAPTER NINE

Massington Castle

H e’d fought her.

And he’d won.

Elysande had retreated from Westley in humiliated silence, which had been difficult to watch. Olan knew she was a proud woman, and defeat at the hands of Westley was difficult for her to stomach.

It had been difficult for Olan to stomach, too.

Given that his vocation was the knighthood, it was strange that Olan didn’t truly have an aggressive bone in his body. He simply did what he was ordered to do, when he was ordered to do it, and given that Massington was a relatively peaceful castle, he could only remember one serious skirmish in the entire time he’d served there. There had been a rather large band of outlaws in the forest north of Massington, and they’d attacked one too many travelers before Marius finally ordered the woods cleared.

Emory had taken great delight in organizing a death squad, Olan included, to clear out the woods, but the outlaws took exception to the attack, and the next day they’d launched flaming arrows into Massington’s bailey, setting part of the stables on fire. Emory went after them again, with Olan and Harker beside him, and they’d finally managed to kill several of them.

After that, the outlaws scattered and never came back. That had happened several years ago and he’d not seen action since then, unusual in a country where warfare was a regular occurrence. But at Massington, that extremely heavily fortified castle, things were simply peaceful. Peaceful enough that Olan led a rather boring, if not safe, life and pined after his liege’s daughter. He’d made it obvious how he felt about her, but she’d always been coy about how she felt about him.

At least she hadn’t outright attacked him, like she had de Lohr.

Olan had sentry duty on this fine day, which was giving him a lot of time to think about the situation. Guards were walking the walls and he was supervising the gatehouse, which was quiet at this time, so his thoughts were centered on the turn his life had taken. He’d always known about the de Lohr betrothal, but he also knew that Elysande was so opposed to it that surely her father wouldn’t make her go through with it.

But he had.

Olan had gotten some satisfaction after Elysande attacked Westley when the man had arrived, but since then, it seemed that things had calmed down a little between them. He was disappointed about it because he was hoping Elysande would keep up the hostility. He was hoping she would fight for what he wanted. Or, at the very least, what she didn’t want. But the fight seemed to have gone out of her, which left Olan facing the fact that the woman he loved was going to marry another.

It hurt.

There was no denying that it was painful. But he wasn’t an aggressive man by nature, nor was he a hater by nature, so he couldn’t bring himself to be hostile toward Westley, who, by all accounts, was in an unhappy situation just as much as Elysande was. They both had parents forcing them into the marriage.

Olan could have been bitter about it, or angry about it, but he wasn’t either. He was simply… sad. Perhaps at some point that sadness would turn to resentment and rage, but for now, there was simply sorrow in his heart.

Great sorrow.

But there was something else with Olan, something more he kept buried deep. He wasn’t hugely loyal to du Nor and hadn’t been since he first became part of Marius’ army. He’d only sworn fealty because Marius was in need of a knight and he was in need of a job. They’d met in Birmingham, of all places, after Olan had lost his position with an old lord who had died and the man’s son had gotten rid of the men he considered too expensive to keep. That meant Olan was out on his ear, and he’d met Emory in a tavern, by chance, and Emory had introduced him to his father.

But there had never been great loyalty there, and most especially not since Emory died. Olan simply wasn’t the loyal type. His allegiance could be bought, and at this time, it was. He had a cousin at neighboring Hell’s Forge Castle, and the lord of Hell’s Forge, Samson Fitz Walter, liked to keep an eye on his neighbors. The man had spies all over Herefordshire and beyond. When de Lohr had arrived, Olan had sent word to his cousin and the two had briefly met up in a neighboring village. It wasn’t difficult for Olan to leave Massington unnoticed. He’d met with his cousin long enough to tell the man what he knew.

That the de Lohrs had come for a wedding.

By now, he was certain that his cousin had relayed the news to Fitz Walter. Olan’s agreement with Fitz Walter was to simply relay anything significant, any news that was deemed important, and he would be well paid for it. The visit of their liege was important, and the reason for his visit even more so. Olan knew that Samson had offered for Elysande’s hand and had been summarily rejected, so the fact that Westley had come to marry the woman Samson wanted would be important news, indeed.

It wasn’t as if Olan wouldn’t take some satisfaction out of Fitz Walter stopping the marriage or, better still, chasing Westley off. Perhaps that was why Olan had been eager to tell the man—to have someone else who could do the dirty work of chasing Westley de Lohr away from the woman Olan loved. But he didn’t think beyond that. Olan simply saw the immediate need of what was happening today.

He wondered if Fitz Walter would, too.

Westley de Lohr was there to take what they both wanted.

Elysande.

*

“I owe you an apology.”

Elysande had been putting away her protection, fumbling with a joint in the shoulder that had caused her some discomfort, when she heard the words. She knew who it was before she ever turned around, and even when she did, she quickly turned back to what she was doing.

“No need,” she said. “You were simply trying to teach me something I clearly have not grasped yet.”

Westley could hear the indignance in her tone. She was offended and he knew she should be. Feeling rather bad about what he did, he came into the armory and perched himself on a bench near the door.

“You were correct when you said that I was a bully during my days at Warwick,” he said. “I was the youngest of six sons. I had been pushed around and belittled and compared to my brothers all my life, so my way of dealing with that was to show my superiority at Warwick because I couldn’t do it at home. But just now, I sincerely wasn’t trying to bully you. I was honestly trying to help you.”

Sighing faintly, Elysande turned around. “You were not wrong,” she insisted quietly. “You showed me how fear can be paralyzing. I’ve just never had anyone do that to me before so, naturally, I argued the point. If it never happened to me, then how am I to know the truth?”

Westley smiled faintly at her, but with some regret. “That is because you are their lady,” he said. “No one wants to hurt you or frighten you. They simply want to serve you and be kind.”

“But not you.”

He laughed softly. “I do not want to see you hurt or injured,” he said. “The way I came on to you with the sword… That is a deadly move. If that had been in battle, you would be dead. And that would be most… regrettable.”

There was something sweet in that statement, something that made her cheeks flush hotly. Horrified, she turned around and pretended to fuss with her protection.

“Are you certain you were not seeking some sort of vengeance for my having attacked you yesterday?” she said. “Just to teach me a lesson?”

He snorted. “Lady, I did not bathe and shave simply to come out this morning and teach you a lesson,” he said. “You might have said you cannot smell me anymore… can you?”

Back still turned to him, she grinned broadly at his question. “And if I can?” she asked.

He began smelling his tunic, his armpits. “Can you really?”

She laughed softly and turned around again. “Nay, I cannot smell you,” she said. “Why are you so worried about it?”

“Because I do not want to drive you away,” he said. “This entire situation is precarious enough without my smelling like a goat.”

“Who told you that you smell like a goat?”

He frowned and looked away. “My mother.”

“I see,” she said, noting that he did look well groomed this morning. His blond hair was clean, and possibly even still a little damp, and he’d shaved off that scruffy beard. The man cleaned up extremely well. “I suppose she would know. But I do not smell you, so that is a good thing.”

He looked at her then. “A very good thing,” he said. “I do not wish to offend you.”

“You have not.”

“Good,” he said. But he eyed her a moment before continuing. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

He threw a thumb in the direction of the area where they had fought. “Why are you having your knight train you?” he asked. “You do not really intend to answer the call to arms if needed, do you?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because being a warrior is not something you simply learn in a few lessons,” he said. “Men are trained from childhood for such a thing. There is much more to it than squaring off against a knight who will not truly fight back. In fact, if that is all they have done for you, then they have done you a great disservice.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because they’ve not shown you the truth,” Westley said. “If you think every man who goes up against you is simply going to hold a sword while you chop at him, then they have let you believe a lie.”

She scratched her chin. “I just went up against a man who knocked me to the ground and nearly killed me,” she said. “I am fairly certain I just got a real taste of what battle is like.”

He grinned reluctantly. “Not even close,” he said. “But better than what you’ve been taught.”

Elysande pondered that statement for a moment before making her way over to him and sitting down on the same bench. There was a couple of feet between them, but she wouldn’t look directly at him and he wouldn’t look directly at her. They seemed to do a lot of side-eyeing, each one trying to figure out what the other one was thinking.

Or feeling.

Elysande finally broke the ice.

“You ask me why I want to train as a warrior,” she said softly. “The truth is that I lost my brother a couple of years ago in an accident. He was my father’s heir. Emory was the knight of the family, the shining star. My father put all of his hopes on Emory and in my marriage into the de Lohr family. He thought that Emory would produce strong sons to carry on the du Nor name, and he thinks that I will have at least a dozen de Lohr sons who will also bear du Nor blood.”

“Only a dozen?” Westley dared to look at her, thinking that she was even more beautiful at close range. “That seems like a small number.”

She looked at him in mock horror. “Is that what you expect?” she gasped. “No wonder I was so opposed to this marriage. Somehow, I must have known that is what you would want.”

He grunted, lifting his shoulders. “Too many?”

She laughed ironically. “About six or eight too many.”

He frowned. “Do you mean to tell me you will only bear four or six sons?”

“What if they are daughters?”

He shook his head. “I am not rich enough for all of those girls,” he said. “They must be male.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I do not think I can choose what sex the child will be.”

He was still looking at her, now biting off a smile. “We will pray heartily that they will be sons.”

Elysande giggled. “I would wager that you will build a shrine dedicated to the prayers for male children.”

“How did you guess?”

Her laughter grew, and he let his smile bloom. He studied her a moment, noting the dimples in her chin when she smiled and the way her nose wrinkled.

It was enchanting.

“You are beautiful when you smile,” he said. “I do regret thinking you annoying those years ago. You have changed a great deal.”

Her cheeks were starting to flame again. She was completely unused to compliments. “You should not have any regrets about that,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the color of her face. “I was annoying. But I followed the squires around for a reason.”

“What reason?”

“Because I missed my brother,” she said, her voice softening. “Emory fostered at Norwich Castle, where my father fostered, but I was not allowed to go there. He found a place for me at Warwick where my mother fostered, but I did not want to learn what the young ladies learned. I wanted to do what the boys did. What Emory did.”

Westley could see the emotion in her face as she spoke of her brother. “Then training to be a warrior is not something new to you,” he said. “Even back then, you wanted to fight with the lads.”

“I did,” she said. “But they would not let me, so I was forced to learn feminine pursuits. And even upon my coming home, my mother insisted that I only indulge in ladylike tasks. She would not let me engage in anything Emory was doing. It was only after he died that I decided to follow in his footsteps. That is really all I was doing… trying to emulate my brother. I was even trying to please my father, who has been inconsolable since Emory’s passing. That is why he drinks.”

They had veered onto a subject of great emotion for Elysande, one that seemed to be a difficult admission for her. Given how Westley had said cruel things about her father and his drinking yesterday, he was coming to feel quite contrite about it.

He could see now that he’d been wrong.

“Forgive me for being unkind about your father yesterday,” he said quietly. “Everything I said yesterday was unkind. My only defense is that I was angry. I’ve said it before—when I become angry, I speak before I think. But it was very harsh of me.”

She waved him off. “You just had a woman attack you for no reason,” she said. “I think you are entitled to a little anger and hostility.”

“I did not mean what I said, any of it.”

Elysande looked at him, eyes twinkling. “You are not the bully I remember.”

“And you are not the annoying little waif I remember.”

“That is a good thing, is it not?”

He nodded. “Verily,” he said. “It means that we can start fresh with our observations.”

Elysande liked that idea and, truth be told, was relieved that he was willing to do such a thing. In her case, it also made the marriage almost palatable. She would be marrying someone she didn’t know, but in her experience since yesterday, she would like to know him.

Perhaps Westley de Lohr would make a good husband after all.

“In the spirit of starting fresh, will you tell me something about yourself?” she asked. “Other than that you become angry and speak before thinking, I mean. We hardly know one another, and that is the truth.”

He chuckled softly. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything. Anything at all.”

He cocked his head thoughtfully. “Very well,” he said. “I will tell you something if you will tell me something.”

“Agreed.”

He hunted for something that might be of interest to her. “My favorite dish is stewed chicken.”

“Mine is carrots,” she said, smiling. “I love carrots and onions, boiled together.”

He nodded. “Tasty,” he said. “Chicken and carrots and onions are even more tasty.”

She laughed. “Now I know what to feed you to make you happy,” she said. “But tell me of a vice you have. Something you cannot live without.”

That didn’t take much thinking on his part. “I am very fond of horses,” he said. “I have too many.”

“How many?”

He shrugged. “Six warhorses,” he said. “They are frightfully expensive, but I do not spend my money on anything else. I spend it on my horses.”

“And you keep them at Lioncross Abbey?” she asked.

He nodded. “I have claimed one entire side of the stables as my own,” he said. “My brothers and sisters all have their own homes, so I am the only one of my father’s children still left at Lioncross. I suppose that means I can get away with more because I am the only one, although my mother is not afraid to deny me my wants. You’ll understand when you meet her.”

“Is she terrifying?”

Westley grinned, looking at her. “She’s a tiny woman and looks quite placid, like a countess should,” he said. “But then she opens her mouth and we all run.”

Elysande burst into soft laughter. “I have a mother like that.”

“Do you?”

She nodded. “I do,” she said. “You met her last night.”

“She seemed quiet enough,” he said. “Although she really only spoke to my father, so I suppose I will have my own experience with her at some point.”

“You will,” Elysande said. “Just as I will have my own experience with your mother.”

“She is coming here, you know.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Truly?”

Westley nodded. “She is coming to make sure I do not back out of this marriage.”

“Do you plan to?”

“Do you ?”

Elysande started laughing again. “Can you not simply give me a straight answer?” she said. “It is not difficult. Either you will or you won’t.”

He fought off a grin as he looked away. “I’ve not yet decided.”

Her laughter came to an unnatural halt. “Is that so?”

He looked at her again, grinning. “I’m not going to admit anything until you do.”

She turned her nose up at him. “I shall not admit anything either.”

“Then we are at an impasse.”

He was snorting. She could hear him. She was struggling hard not to grin when a figure suddenly appeared in the armory doorway. Because the sun was behind them, it was difficult to make out who it was.

Until it spoke.

“Here you are!” A man, older and smelling of ale, stumbled into the armory, glaring at Elysande. “I have been looking everywhere for you. Why did no one tell me Hereford and his son had arrived?”

Elysande stood up, followed by Westley. “We did tell you, Father,” she said, irritation in her tone. “We told you but you were far gone with drink. We decided to wait until you were able to sleep it off before reminding you.”

Marius du Nor scowled at his daughter. He was about to retort when it occurred to him that a very big man was standing next to her.

His scowl deepened.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Westley remained cool in the face of the man’s aggression. “I am Westley de Lohr, my lord,” he said. “Shall I fetch my father for you?”

Marius looked him up and down as he realized who the man was. He seemed to calm down a great deal. “Christ, you’re a beast,” he muttered. “I saw you once when you were younger. You were a big lad, but not this big. So you’ve come to marry my daughter, have you?”

Westley’s eyebrows lifted slightly. That was a question he and Elysande had been dancing around. They both knew that they were greatly opposed to this marriage. At least, they used to be. But the truth was that things had changed since yesterday. Westley still really didn’t want to get married to anyone, but knowing he couldn’t get out of this betrothal, he was rather glad that it was to Elysande. She wasn’t as bad as his mind had made her out to be, and he hadn’t thought he’d ever feel that way toward her, but he did.

Looking at Elysande, he answered.

“Aye, my lord,” he said. “I have. Without reserve.”

Elysande’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

He took his attention off Marius to look at her. “Truly,” he said, a smile spreading across his lips. “I hope that is agreeable.”

Elysande’s cheeks flushed the predictable red. She stammered over her words for a few seconds before letting out a chuckle of delight. “It is,” she said. “If you are, then I am.”

“Ella,” Marius snapped, interrupting what was a touching moment between them, “go into the keep. Go in there and remain there. I must speak with Westley and his father and I do not want you present.”

Elysande’s expression became one of concern. “Why not?” she asked. “I am involved in this, Father. I have a right to know what is said.”

Marius was displeased with her lack of obedience. “I told you to go,” he said sharply before turning to Westley. “Where is your father? Let us find him. There is much to discuss.”

“Indeed, there is much to discuss,” Christopher said, standing in the armory doorway with Esther beside him. “We saw you come from the keep, Marius. I was told you were not feeling well.”

It was an unexpected appearance. Even Westley was surprised to see his father. Faced with Christopher de Lohr in the flesh, Marius seemed to falter in his reply.

“I do not know who told you such things, my lord,” he said, his manner properly respectful. “I am well enough.”

“Well enough and reeking of wine,” Elysande muttered.

Marius heard her. Instantly enraged, he whirled on her. “What did you say?”

Elysande wasn’t afraid of her father. For all of his anger and bitterness and posturing, he’d never once lashed out at her. He wasn’t the hitting kind. But his rage could be quite intimidating at times.

“I said you reek of wine,” she said. “It is not a secret that you have drowned yourself in barrels of wine since Emory’s death, Father. If you think no one knows, then you are mistaken. Everyone knows. Lord Hereford arrived yesterday and you were sleeping off a binge in your solar and could not greet him. He had a right to know.”

Marius was shocked and embarrassed. His face turned red and his mouth worked as if he wanted to say something, but nothing would come forth. It wasn’t as if she’d said anything untrue. But he had hoped she wouldn’t speak so openly of family business.

Especially when it involved Marius.

“I will not explain myself,” he said, though he could not look at Christopher. “We must all do as we must to live another day. But now that you are here, my lord, and your son is here, we have terms to discuss for this betrothal.”

Christopher had some pity for a man who had lost his only son, so he didn’t think too harshly of him and the fact that he really did reek of wine.

“The terms have already been established,” he said. “You have asked me at least four times over the past several years if Westley was ready to marry and I have put you off. But I have decided this marriage will no longer be put off. It will take place tomorrow morning.”

Of course, neither Westley nor Elysande had known that, nor did they know that it was a plot concocted by Christopher and Esther to see if the truce between Westley and Elysande was real enough. Westley appeared surprised at his father’s announcement, looking at Elysande to see what her reaction would be, but she didn’t seem to have much of one. When she caught him looking at her, she nodded. It was faint, but unmistakable.

That was good enough for Westley.

“We are agreeable,” he said. “But shouldn’t you wait for Mama?”

Christopher was pleasantly surprised that Westley was giving him absolutely no trouble at all with the coming nuptials. If that was the test of the validity of the truce, then it was evident that the truce was real. Westley, the man who had nearly beaten his brothers up when they tried to restrain him from running away from his wedding, seemed quite compliant about it, as if it was no trouble at all. And Elysande… She wasn’t attacking anyone. She, too, seemed amenable to the idea.

Truthfully, Christopher was a little stunned.

“There is no telling how long your mother is going to be on her business,” he said to Westley’s question. “She instructed that you should marry immediately upon your arrival, so that is what we shall do. I am certain Lord Ledbury is agreeable also.”

Marius looked at his daughter, who didn’t seem rattled by Hereford’s command. He’d been sober enough to know, at times, that she was opposed to the marriage, but her feelings were inconsequential to him. Still, he was hoping she wasn’t going to put up a fight, but she was calm enough.

“Well?” he said, resigned and ill with an aching head. “If you have something to say about this, say it now and get it over with. Or are you going to let him do it for you?”

He was gesturing to Westley. Put on the spot, Elysande felt her cheeks threatening to flame again, but she fought it. Westley was looking at her, his eyes glimmering with warmth, and that gave her courage to do a complete turnabout in front of everyone who knew she was opposed to the marriage.

Westley included.

“I am agreeable,” she said, as if daring anyone to disagree with her. “And if you must know, Westley and I have discussed things, Father. As we told Mother and Lord Hereford last night, we have come to a truce. There is no reason not to. It is not as if either of us can refuse this marriage, so we must make the best of it.”

She smiled at Westley when she finished, which was a good thing. Otherwise, he might have thought her “we must make the best of it” comment suggested she really didn’t want to go through with it after all. As if there was still some measure of rebellion there. But she seemed positive enough about it, so he didn’t take offense. Truth be told, maybe there was still a tiny measure of rebellion in him, too, but every time he looked at her lovely face, it diminished just a little bit more. Soon, it would be nothing at all.

He was looking forward to that moment.

“Good,” Christopher said, interrupting the soft expressions that Westley and Elysande were passing between them. “Lady Ledbury will send for a priest and we will have a prayer mass on the morrow. Marius, you and I must speak of your daughter’s dowry and the title that is included for my son. I should like for him to be Lord Staunton by day’s end tomorrow.”

Marius, who was starting to feel a little sick now that the alcohol had worn off and his head was throbbing, simply nodded. “I have the necessary documents for it,” he said, licking his dry lips and turning for the door. “Let us retreat to my solar to discuss. Bring your son.”

Esther accompanied her husband out of the armory, followed by Christopher. Westley was supposed to follow but hung back, turning to Elysande.

“Well,” he said, “it seems that it is done.”

She nodded, her features tinged with warmth as she gazed at him. “Aye, it does.”

“Are you happy?”

“Are you?”

He snorted. “Can you not give me a straight answer, woman?”

He was pretending to be irritated, but it was obvious that he wasn’t. Elysande grinned. “I am not un happy,” she said. “And you?”

“I am not unhappy, either,” he said. “I must go with my father now, but I will see you when I am finished. Mayhap we can continue our conversation.”

“I would like that,” she said.

“Where may I find you?”

She shrugged, taking a step out of the armory and gazing toward the north side of the bailey. “Near the troop house, I suppose,” she said. “I will be with Olan and Harker.”

“Training?”

She nodded. “Aye.”

He took a deep breath, looking as if he had something to say but hesitating to do it. He looked to the north, where the big troop house was, seeing men moving about.

“May I tell you something?” he finally said.

She looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

“I asked Harker not to train you anymore,” he said.

Elysande was not pleased by that bit of news. “Why not?”

“Because I want to,” he said. “My lady, I will not ask you not to do what you want to do, because clearly this is something you feel strongly about, but let me teach you properly. Will you at least let me do that? As your future husband, who wants the best for you?”

She wasn’t truly upset when he put it that way. No one had ever truly wanted the best for her, and it was a rather good feeling. But she was curious about Westley’s position on the subject.

“You do not think Harker is teaching me properly?” she asked.

Westley didn’t want to disparage the man. “It is just as I told you,” he said. “He serves you. I am afraid he may not be teaching you all of it in order to spare your feelings or keep you from getting hurt.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him but thought better of it. “I was going to say that you are wrong, but clearly, you are not,” she said. “After what happened earlier, you may be right.”

“I do not think it is because they do not take you, or the training, seriously,” he said. “But I do fear they are not teaching you like they should. If you are going to do this, you must do it right, because I would be greatly distressed were you to become hurt for lack of proper instruction.”

Elysande thought his concern was sweet. “Very well,” she said. “If you promise to teach me correctly.”

“I will teach you correctly.”

“And will you show me how to stand up to a man who tries to do to me what you did earlier today?”

“You mean stand up to a man who is charging you?”

“Aye.”

He nodded, a glimmer in his eyes. “I will teach you how to use your mind and not your muscle,” he said, tapping his head. “You can beat a man my size if you think it through. And that does not necessarily mean swinging a sword better than he can. It means outsmarting him.”

Elysande liked the idea. “Then I will wait for you to finish with my father and we may proceed.”

Westley nodded, prevented from replying when Christopher called to him, motioning him to follow. Westley glanced at his father, returning his focus to Elysande for a brief moment.

“Until later, Lady Elysande,” he said softly.

“Ella,” she said with equal softness. “You may call me Ella.”

He flashed a smile. “Then you must call me Westley,” he said. “Or West. I will answer to whatever you choose to call me, Ella.”

“Even Goat?”

He burst out laughing. “Aye, even that, although I would be greatly insulted.”

She was grinning. “Then I shall not call you that, I promise.”

“Good.”

With that, he gave her a wink and stepped through the doorway, heading after his father, leaving Elysande rather breathless with that display. The wink, the tone of his voice, was something she’d never experienced before.

And it had her heart racing.

With a grin, she sank back into the armory lest her men see her grinning like a fool. Knowing there was to be a wedding tomorrow— he r wedding—had her thinking about things she’d never thought about before. Like clothing. She was to marry a de Lohr, after all. She couldn’t wear her usual broadcloth. Unfortunately, she really didn’t own anything very fine.

But her mother did.

With that in mind, Elysande headed for the keep.