Page 2 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)

CHAPTER ONE

Two Years Earlier

Year of Our Lord 1249

Lioncross Abbey Castle

T he blow caught him off guard.

Curtis ended up flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling and laughing so hard that he couldn’t catch his breath. In fact, he was starting to see stars because of it. He heard a crash beside him and saw Roi go headfirst into a wall in a blow that nearly knocked the man silly. But Roi was grinning. Curtis had seen that much. As Roi stumbled over and reached down to pull Curtis off the floor, they were both laughing so deeply that Roi ended up stumbling to his knees as Curtis sat up.

The entire situation was hilarious.

At least, for them.

Over near the door, their younger brothers, Myles and Douglas, were wrestling with the source of their amusement. Their father, Christopher, had dictated that Westley should clean up because the entire family was departing for Massington Castle, but Westley would rather run away than do what he was told. He was not going to depart for Massington, he’d said, and he didn’t want anything to do with a betrothal that had been agreed upon when he was eighteen years of age. A betrothal to a young woman with a family fortune and a pedigree that went back centuries, but she had been the bane of his existence when they’d been younger and he wanted nothing to do with her.

Nothing!

He’d emphasized that point by trying to storm out of his father’s great solar, and his father, annoyed with his youngest son’s tantrum, had ordered the brothers to restrain him. Even now, Christopher was seated over near his enormous oak table, the one with the legs carved into proud lions, and watched with displeasure as his youngest son nearly flattened both Curtis and Roi when they moved to capture him. But Douglas and Myles weren’t going down so easily.

They thought it all great fun.

Four laughing men and one snarling one.

It was ridiculous.

“West,” Christopher said patiently, wincing when Westley’s big foot caught a chair and smashed it to kindling. “Westley, stop your foolishness. It will do you no good.”

Curtis and Roi were up now. Douglas and Myles had Westley mostly restrained, so Curtis got in behind him and grabbed him by the back of his head, all of that long blond hair wrapped up in Curtis’ big hand in a most effective way. But Westley resisted, refusing to shout in pain, refusing to acknowledge he was quite possibly already defeated in his quest to leave the solar.

But there was no possibility that he was going to surrender.

“Papa, I told you that I am not going to marry her,” he said through clenched teeth. “It is out of the question.”

Christopher gazed at him steadily. “I never asked you a question,” he said flatly. “I told you what you would do. Now you shame me by this display of idiocy?”

“I have a right to marry whom I want to marry.”

“Whom do you want to marry?”

“ Not Elysande du Nor!”

Christopher sighed heavily, eyeing the four brothers who now had their youngest sibling gleefully restrained. It was a stalemate at that point, and Christopher thought that maybe the older brothers were having too much fun at Westley’s expense. He had historically been such a pain in their backsides that any chance to teach him a lesson was happily taken.

Too happily.

As Christopher watched, Myles slapped Westley on the cheek, perhaps a bit too hard, so Christopher knew he had to call an end to the brotherly vise before a real fight broke out. He finally nodded to Curtis, a silent command, and the eldest brother immediately released Westley, followed quickly by the others. Westley pulled away from the group, indignant, and shoved Douglas back by the chest when the man could not control his grinning. As he angrily eyed his brothers, fists balled, Christopher caught his attention.

“West,” he said, “what is the source of this reluctance?”

Westley rubbed the back of his head where Curtis had yanked on his hair. “What do you mean?”

“Precisely that. Why do you not wish to marry her?”

Westley frowned. “Do I truly have to explain this again?”

“I am afraid you must.”

Westley sighed sharply. “I’ve told you all of this before,” he said. “She made my life miserable when we were young. Do you not recall this? We fostered together at Warwick Castle when I was young, and for two years she made my life miserable. She would pull my hair, steal my shoes, and a host of other things. The girl is a demon!”

Christopher tried not to grin, fighting the urge because Westley was being so dramatic. “You had seen sixteen years and she had seen merely eight. How much lasting damage can such a young girl do?”

Westley rolled his eyes. His history at Warwick Castle was well known. All of the de Lohr brothers had begun their training at smaller castles, but the tradition was to graduate them to Kenilworth when they reached puberty. However, instead of Kenilworth, Westley had gone to the equally imposing and politically strategic Warwick Castle because Christopher, a man who had guided the path of England since the reign of King Richard, wanted Westley to have a different experience than the rest of the family. Christopher was afraid that if Westley had followed the pack to Kenilworth, as the youngest de Lohr he would never be able to stand on his own. He would forever be the youngest brother of Myles and Douglas and Roi and Curtis, always existing in his older brothers’ shadows.

Always trying to match their accomplishments.

Therefore, Christopher had wanted him to have something all his own when it came to his training because he needed the confidence of not having brothers to live up to. Westley was the emotional sort, a man of great charisma and humor, but he could also be explosive, as was being demonstrated at this moment. Little Westley was still under the shadow of his oldest brothers as they hovered around him, waiting for him to try to run again. With a wave of his hand, Christopher sent them out of the solar, leaving him alone with Westley.

He eyed his most resistant son.

“What is the issue, West?” he asked seriously. “You have known about this betrothal for years. You have had plenty of time to accept the situation. Why are you so opposed to it?”

Westley sighed sharply. “I suppose I thought it would be dissolved,” he said. “Long betrothals often are. I’ve seen it happen before.”

Christopher shook his head. “Not this one,” he said. “You do realize that Elysande’s father, Marius du Nor, is Lord Ledbury and Staunton? It is a powerful fiefdom.”

“I know.”

“He is also the Duc de Nevele,” Christopher said. “A duc , lad. Our original contract called for you to inherit the Staunton landed title, but after the death of his heir a couple of years ago, everything will go to you when you are married to his daughter. It is a title that is greater than my own.”

Westley knew that. It wasn’t as if the du Nor family was impoverished or without substance. He could hear the hope and pride in his father’s voice as he spoke of his youngest son inheriting a duchy, something that would outshine every male in the de Lohr family. Not that it wasn’t attractive, but in order to gain it, Westley had to sell his soul to the devil.

A devil named Elysande.

“Where is that duchy, anyway?” he asked, sounding as if he really didn’t care.

But Christopher knew there was a seed of interest or his son wouldn’t have asked. “Flanders,” he said. “It is quite large, from what du Nor has told me, and quite rich. Their primary industry is horses.”

“Horses?”

“Muscular, beautiful Flemish warmbloods,” Christopher said. “Selling those big black steeds to warlords has made Marius richer than God.”

Horses, Westley thought. He remembered hearing that, long ago, but the truth was that he’d purged any knowledge he’d ever had about the du Nor family, including the betrothal. Out of sight, out of mind, and he really had hoped his father would find him a better match at some point. But that hadn’t happened. Still, he had a great love for horses and a better eye for horseflesh than most, so he’d be lying if he declared he had no interest in that particular industry now that his memory had been refreshed. He probably had more interest than he should.

But he was still hesitant.

Christopher’s expression suggested that he sensed something more to the situation than met the eye. The Westley he knew was obedient to a fault, so the man’s abject resistance told him that there was something more to it.

Perhaps something more… sensitive .

“Is there another woman?” he asked quietly. “West, I know you have a love of women, so it would come as no surprise if there were someone else you wanted to marry, but if there is, I am not aware of her.”

Westley was shaking his head even before his father finished speaking. “Nay, it’s not that,” he said. Then he cocked his head. “Well… mayhap not entirely that. But there is Cedrica.”

“De Stefan?”

Westley nodded and averted his gaze. Suddenly, he was much calmer than he had been since entering the chamber. The mood had cooled, his brothers weren’t waiting to pounce on him, and it was just him and his father.

The man he loved most in the world.

The man he could always talk to, no matter what.

“I did not know you were serious about Daventry’s daughter,” Christopher said, sitting back in his chair and eyeing his son. “You never seemed to be.”

By this time, Westley was facing the lancet windows that overlooked the enormous bailey of Lioncross Abbey Castle. He’d been born here, as had all of his siblings save Peter, the eldest son. Peter had been the result of a relationship between his father and another woman long before Christopher had met Dustin, his wife. The love of his life. Westley loved his parents deeply and never wanted to hurt or shame them.

But there was a time for everything.

Even a moment Westley had hoped would never come.

“Papa,” he said, sighing heavily, “there is something you should know.”

“What is it?”

Westley closed his eyes, briefly, in a moment of pain. When he opened them again, there was pain there. “Cedrica and I have been keeping company for the past few months,” he said. “She is pretty and kind. Mayhap a little dimwitted at times, but she is submissive and obedient. A good lass.”

“And?”

Westley grunted softly. “And you should know that I have bedded her,” he said reluctantly. “Daventry does not know this, of course, and Cedrica and I were just having a good time, but… but she thinks she might be with child.”

Christopher’s eyes closed for a brief moment also as he struggled against rage that threatened to bubble up out of his chest and blow off the top of his head. He ended up putting his fingers against his forehead, trying to rub away the pain that was already starting to throb. Westley always gave him a headache. But this was more than an aching head.

It was a stab of fury.

“You bedded the Earl of Daventry’s daughter and now she may be carrying your child?” he managed to spit out.

Westley turned to look at him. “Aye,” he said. “Papa, I am sorry. I am so very sorry. But you should also know that Cedrica has taken others to her bed. I am not the only one.”

His tone was half pleading, half defiant. Christopher had to put both hands on his face to keep the shout of disbelief in his mouth where it belonged. He just sat there, hands on his face until he was sure he wasn’t going to spew a stream of curses in Westley’s direction, before finally lowering his arms.

“And that is your defense?” he said. “When Daventry comes to cut your bollocks from your body, you will tell the man that his daughter spread her legs for others, so you should not be punished? Is that it?”

Westley shook his head. “I do not know what I should do,” he said honestly. “I only found out two days ago when I went to visit her.”

“You said you were going to Coventry to see a particular horse seller.”

“I lied. For that, I am sorry.”

“So am I.”

“I wanted to seek your counsel about this before you told me about Massington.”

“And that is why you contest this marriage?”

“Aye.”

A heavy silence settled as the truth behind Westley’s resistance was revealed. Like a naughty secret, it had been brought into the light and the reality of it was not pleasant. Westley watched his father as the man sat at his table, lost in thought, clearly trying to decide the worst of all punishments for his fool of a son.

Not that Westley blamed him.

The situation with Cedrica was a dark secret he’d hoped he would never have to tell his father because he was hoping she was wrong. Or if she wasn’t wrong, perhaps she would confess that Westley wasn’t the father at all. All Westley knew was that he seemed to be perpetually disappointing his father, something he didn’t want to do but seemed to have a talent for.

Once again, he felt like a failure.

Westley found himself studying the man he most wanted to emulate. Christopher was quite elderly, and, being that he was the youngest son, Westley had been born when his father had seen more than fifty years. Both Westley and the youngest daughter, Olivia Charlotte, had been born when their father was considered elderly. That meant that these days, Christopher was extremely old even by the day’s standards, a Methuselah who had lived through four kings and hundreds of battles. His mane of golden blond hair had turned white years ago, as had the trim beard that he’d always had. No one seemed to remember him without it, not even his wife. The man before Westley was the greatest knight of his generation, a man who was a living legend.

A living legend that Westley had disappointed.

“Papa, I do not know what to say,” he finally muttered. “I do not make excuses. I am willing to face the consequences. But please… please do not hate me for this. I could not bear it.”

Christopher glanced over at him. “West, there is no hate in my heart for you,” he said. “You know that. It is not as if you have not done what every man I know has done.”

“Impregnated a woman?”

Christopher snorted. “Nay, you idiot,” he said, a grin flickering on his lips. “Bedded a woman you were not married to. You are young and virile. I understand that. But we are in a bit of a quandary if Daventry’s daughter is, indeed, with child and the child is yours.”

“I have thought on this,” Westley said, wanting to contribute a solution to the situation he’d created. “I have money and I could offer to send Cedrica to France, where she could have the child and leave it there. No one need know.”

Christopher eyed him. “I do not want a de Lohr grandchild in the care of someone I do not know or trust, or worse, placed with peasants who cannot feed it,” he said. “Although I understand what you are saying, I will not lose control of a child if he, or she, bears my blood. We will bring the child back and say it is a foundling or something. And Daventry will undoubtedly want compensation.”

Westley knew what he meant. “I do have money, but not great wealth,” he said. “I can offer him what I can bear to part with.”

Christopher shook his head. “I will pay him,” he said. “You needn’t worry about that. He would not be the first father who had to be paid off because of a compromised daughter and he will not be the last. But he will probably want something more.”

“Like what?”

“My sworn allegiance,” he said. Then he grunted. “And I cannot stand the man, so if you had to fornicate with someone’s daughter, why not do it with someone I at least like?”

Westley sensed some humor in that question. “Mayhap next time.”

That wiped any hint of peace off Christopher’s face as he jabbed a finger at his son. “There will not be a next time,” he said. “You are going with me to Massington and you will marry Elysande du Nor, as we have agreed to.”

Westley could see that his father’s anger was back again. “But—!”

Christopher cut him off sharply. “There will be no questions or resistance from you,” he said. “You are contractually obligated to marry Elysande and I do not care if she vexed you as a child. That does not matter. She is a woman grown now and you will learn to tolerate her. Do you understand me?”

Westley was starting to turn red in the face. “I understand you,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I—”

Christopher interrupted him again. “Resist me and I will take you over to Daventry myself this very day and tell him what you have done,” he growled. “You can marry Cedrica and spend the rest of your life with a woman who more than likely will not be a good wife to you. If she does what you say she does, then you will spend your life wondering if your sons are your own and not a stable servant’s. Is that the life you wish?”

Westley’s jaw was grinding. His father had him cornered and they both knew it. “Nay,” he said slowly. “It is not.”

“Then shut your lips and obey me,” Christopher said, standing up. When he rose to his full height, he was an incredibly imposing man with an air of authority unmatched anywhere in the known world. “We leave for Massington today, so prepare for the journey. Your mother is coming with us and she will not be disappointed.”

Westley was down but he wasn’t out. He had a temper, something he had difficulty controlling at times. “You can threaten me with Daventry,” he said. “You can threaten me with whatever you like, but that does not mean I will go willingly. It means you are forcing me to do something I do not wish to do.”

“Of course I am,” Christopher said. “And you will do it.”

Stubborn Westley made an appearance. “And if I do not?”

Christopher came around the table, eye to eye with the son who had not inherited his height. At six feet and a few inches, he was not the tallest of the de Lohr brothers, but he was built like a bull and had enormous shoulders. Those attributes made Westley as formidable as his father by sheer breadth and size.

But not this time.

“If you do not,” Christopher said, eyes narrowed, “then I shall tell your mother what you did to Cedrica. You may be able to survive me, lad. But you will not survive her.”

Westley eyed his father hatefully. Nothing the man threatened was untrue. Westley’s mother was a cyclone of immense power and ruled Lioncross with an iron fist. It had always been thus. Before he could open his mouth, however, the solar door swung back on its hinges and two women entered.

Westley found himself facing off against his older sisters, Christin and Brielle.

At first glance, any normal man wouldn’t have thought that an issue of any kind, but Westley knew different. Christin, years ago, had been a trained spy and assassin, a rare female operative in a secret guild known as the Executioner Knights. It was how she’d met her husband, in fact, another agent with the Executioner Knights and perhaps the world’s greatest assassin himself.

Alexander de Sherrington, known as Sherry to his friends, was nothing to be trifled with.

Nor was his wife.

Therefore, Christin was formidable in any given situation, but this particular situation was made worse by the fact that Brielle, a mere eighteen months younger than Christin, was also a trained warrior. All of the de Lohr daughters—four of them—had been trained to fight, only Brielle had taken it a step further. She could fight and joust and do anything else she put her mind to, so the sisters were now evidently united against their youngest brother, so much so that Christopher was on his feet.

He didn’t like the mood of the chamber.

“You were not sent for,” he said to his daughters. “Why are you here?”

Like good hunters, neither Christin nor Brielle would take their eyes off Westley. “Curtis told Mama what Westley has done,” Christin said. “She thought he might be fighting with you, so we came to lend a hand.”

Meaning they had come to defend their elderly father, which had Westley on edge. He didn’t trust his sisters not to try to jump him, so he backed up, fists curling into balls, waiting for the attack. Christin and Brielle may have been women, but they were de Lohr women. That made them different, like Valkyries. But Christopher put himself between his children, effectively stifling any potential violence.

“We are not fighting,” he told his daughters. Then he pointed to the door. “Get out. I appreciate that your mother sent you here to save me, but please get out.”

Christin’s line of sight with Westley was broken when Christopher intervened and she found herself looking at her father. “Papa, I do not mean to argue with you, but you know what the physic said,” she said. “You must not exert yourself, and if Westley is causing you unnecessary worry, then he must be removed.”

She meant every word of it and was prepared to carry it out. Christopher looked at his daughters, two of the strongest women he knew. They had their mother’s fire and his strength. Christin had inherited Dustin’s short stature, however, while Brielle had inherited his height. She was tall and long-legged and strong.

Christopher put up his hands to calm them.

“We were not fighting or arguing,” he assured them. “I am not under any undue strain.”

Brielle, who was armed, lowered her sword and frowned. “Papa, I came all the way from Pelinom when Mama wrote me and told me about your health,” she said. “I have watched you play with my younger children most happily since I have been home and you have seemed to be doing so well.”

“I am,” Christopher insisted. “I am quite well.”

“But you had a sinking episode two months ago that caused your hands to be weak and your head to ache,” she said. “Mama was certain you were dying.”

“Your point?”

She lifted her hands, frustrated. “I do not want to see you die!” she said. Then she moved around him, motioning to Westley. “West, get out of here. Stop harassing Papa. And whatever he has told you to do, you will do. Do not cause him any trouble.”

Westley stayed well away from his armed sister even though he was more than a head taller and a hundred pounds heavier. “I have not harassed him,” he said, though he was doing what he was told. “We were having a serious conversation, one that you have interrupted.”

“Do it later,” Brielle said, waving her hands at him as if to sweep him out of the chamber. “Get out of here and let Papa rest.”

Westley did as he was told, but he came to a halt just shy of the door because he realized he didn’t want to leave. He was so used to being the little brother taking orders from his big sister that he’d moved automatically.

But he stopped himself.

He wasn’t going to listen to her this time.

“As shocking as it must seem to you, I happen to have serious matters also,” he said. “This is a private matter between Papa and me, and I do not appreciate your barging in and ordering me about.”

Brielle sighed sharply. “What matter?” she said. “That you do not wish to marry Elysande du Nor?”

Westley frowned. “What do you know about it?”

Brielle shrugged. “What do you think our brothers are talking about out there in the entry?” she said. “You are betrothed to Elysande and you do not want to marry her. Why not?”

Westley didn’t like being questioned. “If you knew anything about her, you would not be asking me that question.”

“ I know something about her,” Christin chimed in. “I know that she is a remarkable woman. My sons think so, in fact.”

Westley thought that was a ridiculous statement. “Which ones?”

“Andrew and Adam.”

Westley rolled his eyes. “They are married, Christin,” he said. “Why are they even looking at another woman?”

“They knew her before they were married,” Christin said. “West, her family is a patron of St. Peter’s Church in Leominster. Curtis knows the family well, since that is his demesne. Do you not even know this?”

Westley shook his head and moved away from the door. “I do not know and I do not care,” he said. “This is between me and Papa.”

“And me.”

The voice came from the door, and they turned to see Dustin standing there. Lady Hereford, Dustin Barringdon de Lohr, was gazing steadily at Westley. She and her son shared similar facial features and eye color, though Westley’s leaned toward blue while Dustin’s were a pale shade of gray. It was really blue, but it looked gray in most light. Her hair, with streaks of silver in it, was braided and wound around her head. The woman was ageless and beautiful, small and full-breasted, but she projected nothing but strength and determination. Attention on her son and husband, she stepped into the chamber.

“Brie,” she said quietly, “Chrissy, you may leave. Thank you for your assistance.”

Dustin’s soft command was the only thing that was going to remove Christin and Brielle from the chamber. Brielle backed out, unwilling to turn her back to her volatile brother, while Christin jabbed a finger at him, silently commanding him to behave himself, before slipping from the room. Once they were gone, Dustin closed the door quietly.

“You did not have to send them after me,” Westley said. “Papa and I were having a private conversation.”

Dustin eyed him. “Curtis is out there with a lump on the back of his head and Roi has a knot on his forehead where he hit a wall, I am told,” she said. When Westley opened his mouth to defend himself, she lifted a sharp hand. “Silence. You will not speak. You have done too much speaking and now it is time for you to listen. Are you listening, Westley?”

When she used that tone, Westley knew he was sunk. He glanced at his father, whose expression suggested that Westley deserved everything he was about to get. In fact, he turned away and headed back to his table as Dustin faced off against her enormous, and stubborn, son.

“Now,” she said quietly. “Westley, I will come to the point. There is a time in our lives when we must all do what we are told. Your time has come. You will marry Elysande du Nor, as you have known for years, and there will be no more said about it. Resist or continue this foolishness and your father will send you far to the north, where you can fight the Scots on a daily basis and wish you were back on the marches with your family. You will be miserable and exiled and I will not regret that your father has sent you there because, as it is, you are showing the man incredible disrespect. Is that what you intended?”

Westley had to think carefully on his answer. “Of course not,” he said. “But this is not a marriage I want.”

“Why not?”

Westley was hesitating, wondering if he should tell her about Cedrica, when Christopher spoke up. “Because there is a concern,” he said. “He may have impregnated Cedrica de Steffen.”

Dustin looked at her husband sharply. “Lord Daventry’s trollop of a daughter?”

Christopher nodded, extending a hand in Westley’s direction to convey that their son knew about the trollop part firsthand. Dustin’s eyes widened as she returned her attention to Westley.

“Is this true ?” she hissed.

Westley had never felt more remorse in his life than he did when he nodded to his mother’s question. He could just hear her shock and disappointment in her tone. “Aye,” he said after a moment. “That is what Cedrica has told me.”

Dustin’s jaw began to flex. “And there is every possibility that she is telling the truth?”

Westley nodded his head and hung it. He couldn’t look at his mother any longer. Dustin, however, was looking over her big, handsome, positively stupid son as the wheels of thought churned in her brain. The reality of the situation was weighing more heavily upon her by the second, the ridiculousness of it, the scandalous nature of it, and most of all, the truthfulness of it—there was every possibility that Cedrica de Steffan was lying to capture a de Lohr husband.

That was the first thing that came to mind.

In fact, she could see this situation for what it was already.

“You played into her hands, West,” she finally muttered. “Cedrica de Steffan’s father cannot find a decent husband for her because of her reputation, and you played right into her hands when you bedded her. I am certain she was not a difficult conquest, was she?”

Westley could hear the contempt in his mother’s tone and shook his head, still unable to look at her. “Nay,” he said, barely above a whisper. “She was not.”

Dustin sighed heavily and turned away, contemplating the situation. She was cunning and political and she knew how to take care of any given situation. Even one involving a son who thought more with his cock than with his brain. Westley had matured into a fine man, but he was making a few serious mistakes along the way. A mistake that Dustin was going to have to correct if there was any hope of salvaging his life and reputation. Forget the fact that he was a grown man who had made his own decisions. In this case, she was going to have to make a decision for him.

If what he said was true, he’d gotten himself into a hell of a mess.

“And you are certain she is even pregnant?” she said, turning to him. “Has she given you any proof?”

Westley shook his head. “Nothing but her word.”

“She does not have a rounded belly?”

“Nay.”

“Does her father know any of this?”

Westley shrugged weakly. “I do not know,” he said. “If he does, he’s not said anything to me about it.”

“Only she has spoken of it.”

“Aye.”

Dustin deliberated on that a moment longer before speaking. “Then I will deal with Cedrica de Steffan,” she said. “But you will marry Elysande du Nor and we will never speak of this situation again. Do you understand me?”

Westley did look at her then. “What do you mean, you will deal with her?”

Dustin waved him off. “Never you mind,” she said, looking to her husband. “Take him to Massington and have the wedding mass the very day he arrives. Do not wait for me. I have business to attend to.”

Christopher was looking at her with some surprise. “What are you going to do?”

Dustin didn’t answer him. She moved to the solar door and opened it, only to see her children still gathered in the entryway. Her gaze sought out her daughters.

“Brie?” she said. “Chrissy? We are going to Daventry. There is a woman we must see.”

That command had Christopher on his feet. “ What are you going to do?” he asked again. “Why are you taking the warriors with you?”

Dustin looked at him then. “I am going to throw out the rubbish,” she said. When he lifted his eyebrows, she simply waved a hand at him. “A figure of speech. I will inform Cedrica de Steffan and her father that they’ll have no de Lohr husband because I will find every man that Cedrica has ever bedded. Chrissy and Brie are going to help me and I will bring them right to Daventry’s doorstep. I’ll also bring the priests from St. Peter’s Church in on the situation, something I’m sure Daventry does not want. I’ll get Westley out of this predicament if I have to shame that family all over England, but one thing is for certain—if Westley does not marry Elysande and do it immediately, then he will have to face my wrath when I return. If he thinks he is man enough to do that, then I invite him to try.”

Christopher looked at Westley, who was looking at his father as if the man could save him. “Nay, sweetheart,” he said after a moment, his attention returning to his wife. “That will not be necessary, I am certain. He’ll do as he is told.”

Dustin’s eyes were like cold steel as she looked at her youngest son. “After what I must do for him, he’d better.”

Westley required no further convincing after that.

They were on the road to Massington within the hour.