Page 13 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)

CHAPTER TWELVE

L ady Ledbury had come into the hall and introduced herself to Lady Hereford before she had been called out again. It had been a brief appearance that could have been construed as rude, but Dustin wasn’t offended by it. She was rather glad for it because that left her, Christopher, Brielle, and Christin at the dais alone, enjoying meat pies, warmed wine, and good conversation. It was a pleasant moment in an otherwise unpleasant trip thus far.

Marius’ whereabouts were unknown, and men were just starting to trickle in for the evening’s meal. While Dustin, Christin, and Brielle finished their meals and relaxed with some of Marius’ excellent wine, the conversations revolving mostly around Christin’s eldest sons and potential wives, Christopher had eaten very little because he wanted to wait for Westley and hopefully Marius. He had no idea where Westley was, and was wondering if he should send one of the de Lohr men out to look for him. He was pondering that very thing when Lady Ledbury returned, marching all the way to the dais.

And she did not look pleased.

Dustin caught sight of the woman.

“Ah, Lady Ledbury,” she said, her belly full and quite possibly too much drink in her veins. “My daughters and I were just wondering if you had another daughter or a niece somewhere. My grandson is in need of a wife.”

As Brielle burst into snorts of laughter, Christin moved quickly to circumvent her mother’s matchmaking.

“Andrew is not in need of a wife at this moment,” she said, mostly to Esther. “He has just celebrated his day of birth and is, mayhap, old enough to start considering a wife now.”

“Old enough?” Brielle said, incredulous. “Chrissy, the man has seen thirty years and seven. He is older than West.”

As Christin turned around to shush her mouthy sister, Esther focused on Dustin. “And it is about your son that I come, Lady Hereford,” she said stiffly. “I must ask you a question, and I should expect an honest answer.”

Finally, Dustin was starting to catch on to the woman’s uptight attitude. She looked at her curiously. “I shall always give you an honest answer, Lady Ledbury,” she said. “What did you wish to ask?”

“Did your son impregnate Lady Daventry’s daughter?”

Brielle, who had been mid-gulp with her wine, nearly choked on it as Dustin eyed Esther. The mood around the table, peaceful and warm only moments before, now plummeted. Suspicion was in the air. Setting her own wine down, Dustin stood up to face the accusation.

“Nay,” she said slowly. “He did not. And I would be very careful with what you say next when it comes to Westley. If it is anything unkind, you’ll not like my reaction.”

Esther was still clearly furious. “Then why did you go to Daventry?” she asked. “Word has reached my ears that you went to give Cedrica de Steffan money to keep quiet about her de Lohr bastard lest it impede your son’s marriage to my daughter. What truth is there in this rumor?”

Dustin was growing angry. Angry and a little drunk, which was a bad combination. She was first and foremost angry with Westley for putting himself in this position, but she was also furious with the de Lohr escort because she knew the word must have come from them. It was not a coincidence that her party arrived from Daventry at the same time the rumor was going around. She knew that soldiers liked to gossip. That was simply the way of things, how news reached people. But in this case, this was not news to spread.

It was a struggle to fight down her rage.

“Cedrica de Steffan is a trollop,” she said flatly. “She and her father conspired to coerce Westley into a marriage with Cedrica because no decent man will have her. So, they lied about Cedrica being pregnant. I went there to discover the truth of the matter and was told, by Lady Daventry herself, that her daughter and husband had lied. If you do not believe me, ask Lady Daventry. She will tell you. Is that enough of an explanation for you? Or should I use smaller words so you will understand?”

Esther’s fury was cut short with Dustin’s quite logical explanation, but it was sparked again by the insult.

“Where my daughter’s life and future happiness is concerned, I have every right to ask the question,” she said hotly. “You will notice I asked about it. I did not accuse your son of it, nor did I accuse you of hiding it. But you should have told me about this. Did you think I would not hear?”

Dustin sighed sharply. “I do not care what you hear,” she said. “And you did, indeed, ask your questions in a most accusing and outrageous tone. Even if your words did not convey your belief in his guilt, the timbre of your voice most certainly did. And my journey to Daventry is none of your affair. It is between my husband, myself, and Lord Daventry. You are not part of that equation.”

Esther wasn’t going to back down. “Mayhap I am not, but my daughter is,” she said. “Why would they accuse Westley of such a thing? Was he courting Cedrica when he was betrothed to my daughter?”

“He was not courting Cedrica, Lady Ledbury,” Christopher spoke up. He had to or his wife was going to start throwing punches. “But, much like your daughter, he did not wish to be married. Your daughter attacked Westley the moment he came through the gatehouse, and I did not indignantly challenge you over the fact, though I could have. I understood the situation where it pertained to Lady Elysande, as you should understand the situation where it pertains to Westley. He was simply acting out. He did not court anyone, but I would be lying if I said there were not a few maidens who caught his attention. But nothing more than that.”

Christopher’s words calmed Esther down, but Dustin was riled up with the new information.

“Elysande attacked Westley?” she said to her husband, aghast. “When were you going to tell me this?”

Christopher held up a calming hand. “There was no reason to tell you,” he insisted softly. “The situation has resolved itself. They are both agreeable to the marriage now, so it is of no consequence.”

Dustin frowned, preparing to argue, but Christin spoke up. “Where is Westley?” she asked no one in particular. “And where is Lady Elysande?”

Christopher shook his head. “I do not know where he is,” he said, turning his attention to Esther. “Is he with your daughter?”

Esther shook her head. “Ella is in her chamber,” she said. “I was told that she has heard this rumor and was… upset.”

Christopher grunted with regret. “Lady Ledbury, you may believe my wife when she tells you that the Daventry situation was simply a greedy man and his greedy daughter trying to trap West into marriage,” he said, moving away from the table. “I suggest you go and tell your daughter that while I try to find Westley. If the two have had words, then there is no telling the state he is in.”

“I will go with you, Papa,” Christin said, quickly moving after her father. But she glanced over her shoulder at her sister. “Stay with Mama, Brie.”

She held out her hand in a motion that suggested Brielle try to keep their mother calm. Sort of a tamping-down motion with her open palm, something that indicated the suppression of a rising anger. Brielle understood, moving between her mother and Esther to ease the two of them down and ensure they didn’t fall out in any way.

It wouldn’t do for the mothers of the bride and groom to perform fisticuffs.

Christin caught up to her father by the time he departed the great hall and headed out into the night. The bailey was lit up by the aura of dozens of torches as a cold, clear night descended. Men were on the walls, vigilant, and they were gathered at the gatehouse. That was usual at Massington, as the only real way to enter the place was, indeed, through the gatehouse because of all of the earthworks beyond the walls.

But Christopher wasn’t looking at any of it. He was focused ahead, on the tower that housed visitors, where he and Westley had been staying. Christin walked alongside him, noting that his gait seemed slow. Now that Brielle had said something to her about him, she was noticing everything. Maybe he really was looking pale and poorly, and because she saw him daily, she simply hadn’t noticed. Now, she was paranoid.

“Where are we going?” she asked him.

He pointed to the tower. “That is where West and I have been housed,” he said. “We will look for him there first.”

“And if he is not there?”

“Then we summon de Lohr men and scour the grounds for him.”

That seemed like enough of a plan. The tower room turned up empty, however, and as they were heading back to the gatehouse to send a runner for the de Lohr escort, which was scattered, Christin happened to glance over at the keep.

“Papa,” she said, pulling him to a halt. “Let’s look in the keep. He might be there.”

Christopher nearly refused but thought better of it. It wouldn’t hurt to inspect it for his own peace of mind. “He should not be in there,” he said. “His betrothed is presumably in there, which would make his presence inappropriate.”

Christin shrugged. “It would not be the first time West has broken rules.”

Christopher grunted, conceding the fact. “True.”

They continued over to the keep in relative silence, although Christin could hear her father’s breathing. He sounded winded. Stop imagining things! she scolded herself. The entry to the keep loomed before them, with wooden stairs leading to a first-floor entry above. That was fairly typical in most castles, as wooden stairs could be burned and the keep sealed in the event of an attack.

Christin led the way up the stairs, as her father seemed to be slowing down. In fact, it took him quite some time to get up the steps, and by the time he hit the top, he was nearly panting. Concerned, Christin opened her mouth to ask him how he was feeling, but Christopher spotted something through the cracked-open door.

“West?” he said.

Christin spun around to see her brother sitting on the bottom step of the mural stairs leading to the upper floors. The torches had been lit inside the keep, giving off a goodly amount of light, so it was no trouble at all to see him clearly. She followed Christopher into the keep, right up to Westley as he sat on the stairs.

“What are you doing here?” Christin asked before Christopher could. “We have been looking for you.”

“Why?” Westley asked, seemingly unconcerned. “I am waiting for Lady Elysande to come down the stairs, though she has taken quite a long time. Do women always take this much time to dress?”

Christin and Christopher looked at one another in confusion. “Then… you have not spoken to her?” Christopher asked. “Recently, I mean?”

Westley stood up, stretching because he’d been sitting for so long. “I spoke to her before she went up the stairs,” he said. “Why?”

Christopher wasn’t sure how to answer him because the timeline of what he knew and what was happening didn’t match up. “And you haven’t seen Lady Ledbury?” he asked.

Westley shook his head. “Not for quite some time,” he said. “Why are you asking these questions?”

“Because somehow, rumors of why Mama was at Daventry have gone around Massington,” Christin told him. “Lady Ledbury was in the hall just now demanding to know if Cedrica de Steffan was pregnant with your child and if Mama had gone to Daventry to pay the family off. She was quite upset about it.”

Now Westley was showing some concern as he realized why his sister and father were asking questions.

“Damnation,” he spat. “How did she find out?”

Christin gave him a wry expression. “How do you think?” she said. “None of us would say anything, of course. The escort must have spoken about it, and it not only got to Lady Ledbury, but also to Lady Elysande. Lady Ledbury said her daughter was most upset about it.”

It occurred now to Westley why Elysande hadn’t come downstairs. The more he thought about it, the more upset he became.

“Christ,” he grumbled, running his fingers through his hair in a fraught gesture. “She did not know about it when she went to her chamber to change her clothing. I would stake my life on that. So she must have been told while she was dressing.”

Christin, too, could see what had happened. “She undoubtedly had a maid helping her, a maid who would have repeated what she’d heard,” she said. “I am sorry, West. I know that—”

Suddenly, Westley was bolting up the stairs with Christin running after him, calling to him and begging him to slow down. Christopher was moving slower, also calling to his son, pleading with him to show restraint. By the time Christopher finally reached the level where Elysande’s chamber was located, Westley was at the door, knocking on it gently, asking her to open it. Christin, standing a few feet behind him, turned to her father and sadly shook her head. Christopher stood there for a moment, catching his breath, before going to his son and pulling him away from the door.

“Step back,” he said quietly. “Back, Westley, back. Stay with your sister. Let me speak to your betrothed.”

Westley wanted to argue with him, but Christin pulled him back, away from the door. When Christopher was certain that Westley wasn’t going to try to charge again, he went to the door and stood near the seam where it met the frame.

“Lady Elysande?” he said loudly. “This is Lord Hereford. I realize my presence outside of your door is not entirely appropriate, but given the circumstances, I hope you will forgive me. We have just been informed that a rumor regarding Westley and Lord Daventry’s daughter has reached your ears and that you are understandably upset. As I am a man of principle, and I do not lie, I hope you will believe my words when I tell you that the rumor you heard was, in truth, a plot by Lord Daventry and his daughter to force Westley into a marriage. She was not pregnant. What you heard was simply gossip and most of it was wrong. I swear this upon my oath.”

He waited for some measure of a reply for a few moments, turning to look at Westley as he stood there with Christin. His son had an expression on his face that Christopher had never seen before, something between hope and fear. That truce that Westley had with Elysande seemed to be more than a truce at that point. Christopher had hoped for at least a peaceful existence between the pair even if they didn’t agree with the betrothal, but the expression on Westley’s face told Christopher that it was more than just a ceasefire.

Something more had been established.

Something… hopeful.

If that was the case, then Christopher felt sorry for Westley, who had never really had any one woman he was fond of. He loved women in general, of course, and had had his share of female companionship, but the woman he was to marry didn’t seem to be part of that general crowd.

She was evidently different.

Realizing that, Christopher knocked on the door again. “My lady?” he said again. “Did you hear me?”

There was a long pause before a muffled voice came through the door. “I hear you, my lord,” Elysande said. “Thank you for your explanation. I believe you.”

“Will you open the door?”

Another pause. “Forgive me, but I am not feeling well,” she said. “Please accept my apologies, to you and your lady wife. I will see you on the morrow, if I may.”

Christopher moved away from the door and went to his son. “If you let her sleep on this news without explaining the situation from your perspective, any building trust might be lost,” he muttered. “Tell her the truth, West. But be kind. This is a delicate situation.”

Westley nodded and headed over to the door. Christopher pulled Christin with him toward the stairs, and they descended a few steps before Christopher came to a halt and Christin with him. Together, they monitored the situation from afar as Westley sank to his buttocks against the door, hanging his head as he pondered what he was going to say to Elysande now that his father had her attention.

This was an important moment.

He didn’t want to make a mess of things.

“Ella,” he said, lifting his voice, “I think it is fair to say that two days ago, we would have both welcomed this news as a way to break our betrothal. The Elysande who charged me when I came through the gatehouse would have been very happy to hear this. But I suspect the Elysande of today was not happy to hear it. I think it upset her greatly, and for that, I am deeply sorry. Please know that I would never deliberately hurt you, by deed or by word. That is the truth.”

He waited a few moments for her to reply, but when it became clear she wasn’t going to, he continued.

“I will tell you the truth of the situation because you deserve it,” he said. “I will tell you here and now that I will never lie to you. That is dishonorable, and I am not a dishonorable man. What my father told you about the situation is the first time I’ve heard of the plot to trap me into marriage, but it makes sense given the circumstances. The truth is that I have spent the past ten years pretending our betrothal did not exist. I like women and they like me. Cedrica de Steffan was a woman I kept company with on occasion, but there was no deeper connection between us. She was lively, a little stupid, and pretty to look at, but that was all she meant to me. She and her father sought to trap me into marriage because I bedded her. I am sorry if that hurts to hear, but I did. I cannot lie to you about it. So, they had every reason to try to trap me into a marriage. My mother went to Daventry to get to the bottom of their claims and uncovered a plot, evidently. You know as much as I about that. But the truth is that there was an entanglement.”

Over on the stairs, Christin frowned deeply, upset that her brother had told Elysande about the depths of his relationship with Cedrica, but Christopher silently eased her. He thought Westley was on the right path even if she didn’t. As they were gesturing to one another, Westley continued.

“Ella, I cannot erase the past,” he said. “I wish I could, but I cannot. I can only tell you how sorry I am, and if you are hurt, I will do all that I can to ease it. It is no secret that I did not wish to be married, nor did you, but that has changed. You have changed my mind. You are brilliant and beautiful and you make me laugh. I’ve never had anyone make me feel the way you do. I want to feel that way for the rest of my life, and I swear to you, from this day forward, that you will be the only woman I give my attention to. I’ve never given my heart to anyone, in fact. It is yours if you want it—if I earn the right to give it to you. You have my word on that.”

He fell silent again, hoping she might say something, but she, too, remained silent. He could, however, feel the door move a little. That meant she was against the door, listening to him, and the realization made him smile. If he couldn’t break her down with his apology, then perhaps he could break her down with something else. Anything to get her to open the door and forgive him.

He had to try.

“In my family, there is a saying,” he said. “I have several brothers and everyone says that Curtis is the strong one, Roi is the smart one, Myles is the fearless one, Douglas is the wise one, and Westley is the lively one. Do you hear that? I am the lively one. I got that reputation for being entertaining in any given situation, I suppose. As a child, I used to make up songs to sing to my siblings, and I shall make one up for you now to prove to you that I meant what I said. Let me prove I have listened to you, that I am interested in you and only you. Although I hope you enjoy it, I will warn you to prepare for something inherently terrible.”

At that point, he happened to glance at his father and sister in the stairwell. He could see their heads and little more. Christin was shaking her head emphatically, while his father seemed amused. Westley had sung many a silly song for his father as a child, off-key and clumsy, but Christopher had always loved them.

His father’s expression gave him courage.

Lifting his voice, he sang slightly off-key to a rambling melody.

My admiration for you is like the most lovely carrot and your face reminds me of a charming horse.

Together, my dearest, we are like chicken and gravy.

Oh, my darling Ella,

My lovely carrot aficionado

My charming onion lover

The perfect companion to my chicken-loving soul.

On the stairwell, Christin clapped her hands over her face, mortified, while Christopher struggled not to laugh. Westley could see his father grinning and it spurred him on.

Oh, my darling Elysande,

Your feet are like sweet shoes on a summer day.

You are the most fearsome queen to every walk Massington.

Your charming horse face.

Your gravy soul.

Your sweet heart.

Your fearsome, queenly being.

How could I ever look at another when our lovely admiration for one another is so strong?

You are the perfect companion to my chicken-loving soul.

He ended the last verse rather loudly, beating out a drum rhythm on the floor with his hands. Over on the stairs, Christopher grinned broadly, making an applauding motion, as Christin drew a finger across her neck in a gesture that suggested she wanted to slit her brother’s throat. But Westley was grinning at them both, gearing up for another verse, when the bolt on the door was suddenly thrown. Christopher and Christin nearly killed themselves trying to move out of sight when the oaken panel opened and Elysande stood on the other side.

Westley had to face her on his knees because she’d opened the door so swiftly. He hadn’t had the opportunity to stand yet. Elysande stood there, looking at him in disbelief.

“That,” she said after a moment, “was the worst song I have ever heard.”

Westley was properly contrite. “I am sorry,” he said. “I never said I had any talent, only that I liked to create songs. I shall try to do better, I promise.”

Elysande started at him grimly for a moment longer before breaking down into fits of laughter. She’d held it back as long as she could, but it was too much for her. She began to howl.

“We go together like chicken and gravy?” she gasped.

Realizing she wasn’t angry with him, Westley climbed to his feet, smiling at her as she laughed. “Can you think of anything that goes together better than that?” he asked.

Tears were beginning to stream down Elysande’s cheeks. “And I have a horse face?”

“A charming horse face. I told you I love horses. I meant it as an honor, truly.”

She couldn’t stop laughing. “God’s Bones, Westley,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “That truly was the worst song I have ever heard, but it is also the best one.”

His eyes were gleaming warmly at her. “It was, mayhap, both,” he said. “But it served its purpose. It opened your door.”

She nodded as she struggled to calm down. “It was magic,” she said. “No one has ever sung a song to me, much less a song like that.”

She started laughing again, and Westley began to chuckle alongside her. “Give me time and I’ll sing many more just like it,” he said, but he quickly sobered. “I truly am sorry for the anguish and embarrassment the rumors surely caused you. Please know that.”

Elysande was still wiping her eyes, but she sobered as well. “I believe you,” she said. “Your father’s testimony and your apology mean a great deal. If we are being perfectly honest about entanglements, then I have one of my own to confess.”

He, too, was completely sober now, bracing himself. “Oh?”

She nodded. “You should know that Olan has a great deal of affection for me and I have not discouraged it.”

“De Bisby?”

“Aye.”

He tried not to feel territorial or jealous. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “Do you return his feelings?”

She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I never have, but I deduced that if I had to marry someone, and that someone was not you, then I would marry Olan simply because I know him. He is gentle and kind and boring. But I do not have feelings for him.”

Westley believed her. He could see that she was being earnest. “Then there is still a chance for me.”

“After that song, there is every chance for you.”

A smile spread across his lips. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate the opportunity.”

“And I do not have to worry about Cedrica coming between us?”

He shook his head. “Nay,” he said, quickly frowning. “She was nothing more than someone to pass the time with. She cannot compare to you.”

“Then we shall move forward with honesty between us.”

“Always, Ella. I swear this to you.”

“And I swear it to you, also.”

“Will you come to the hall now and eat? My mother is anxious to meet you.”

Elysande’s smile faded. “May I beg off?” she asked. “I have nothing suitable to wear and my head really is aching. If we are to be married on the morrow, then I should at least like to be rested. I will meet her then.”

“As you wish,” he said. “May… may I bring you a meal and eat with you? I will sit out here on the landing and you may eat in your chamber. With the door open so you can see me on the landing, if you wish. But I should like to eat it close to you.”

It was a very sweet plea, and Elysande didn’t have the heart to refuse him. “Aye,” she said. “But you do not have to bring my meal. I can summon a servant and…”

He was already moving for the stairs. “Nay,” he said. “I will do it. I will return shortly.”

He disappeared before she had a chance to reply. He was being eager and accommodating, relieved that something that could have been a barrier in their marriage had been worked through. Elysande understood that the man had had a life before her, much as she’d had a life before him. They were going to have to be accepting of that and move forward with the understanding that there would be no more suitors, no more ladies to keep company with.

Just each other.

And she was quite content with that.

But the chicken and gravy love ballad would be her favorite for the rest of her life.