“The food is very good,” she replied, trying to keep the distain from her voice. “Thank you for asking.”
Hugh looked relieved and turned back to his meal but Lollardly growled at him.
“Foolish whelp,” he rumbled. “The lady does not want to hear your ridiculous wit.”
Hugh glared at the hairy priest, a man who had known him since birth. “I was making conversation, old man.”
“You were making an ass of yourself.”
The knights snorted at Hugh’s expense, which only seemed to inflame him. But the laughter faded into awkward silence and Devereux returned her focus to her meal.
“Did the old woman recover?” Davyss’ voice beside her was low and sultry. When Devereux turned to him, puzzled, he clarified. “The old woman who became ill when I was there. Did she recover?”
Devereux nodded in realization and swallowed the carrots in her mouth. “Ah,” she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “She did not recover as far as I know.”
Davyss nodded, watching her mouth as she spoke; she had the most beautiful mouth, one he remembered as being particular delicious. “I would imagine The House of Hope does not exist simply to provide food to those who need it. I imagine tending the ill is just as important.”
She could see he was genuinely trying to carry on a conversation and her heart softened towards him, just a little. “We have more ill than we can handle,” she replied honestly. “A surgeon from town comes to help a few days a week, but much more is needed. We have an entire section of the building that is dedicated to the ill. In fact, we seem to have become the place of choice for the destitute to give birth to their children.”
Davyss’ eyebrows lifted. “How many children are born there on a daily basis?”
“’Tis hard to say; but we have at least five or six born every week.”
“Then you are an expert midwife.”
She looked at him before answering, knowing that midwifery was considered an inappropriate skill for noble women. It was unseemly and lowly. She couldn’t tell if there was disgust in his voice or not.
“The surgeon usually delivers the baby if a midwife is unavailable,” she replied evenly. “But if no one is available, then I am not ashamed to admit I have delivered my share of children.”
His hazel eyes twinkled. “I would not expect that you would be.”
“What?”
“Ashamed.”
She wasn’t sure how to reply but his gaze was warm upon her. Uncertainly, she lowered her gaze and resumed her meal. As she ate, she was unaware that Davyss was making eye contact with every man at the table, silently ordering them to find their meal and evening’s entertainment elsewhere. Hugh was the last to go, ignoring his brother’s request until Davyss kicked him in the shin under the table. Hugh grunted with pain, causing Devereux to look up from her food and peer strangely at him. He smiled wanly and excused himself, his gaze shooting daggers at his brother as he quit the table. At that point, Devereux realized that she and Davyss were alone and her eyebrows lifted at the sudden silence.
“Was it something I said?” she quipped. “We appear to have been abandoned.”
Davyss grinned. “Well and good. I find that I do not wish to share you with anyone tonight.”
She looked at him; her spoon was halfway to her mouth but she lowered it without taking a bite. Her gaze upon him was intense.
“My lord,” she said quietly. “May I speak freely?”
Davyss collected his cup, leaning back in his seat as if getting comfortable for what was sure to come.
“I wish you would.”
She nodded. “Very well,” she thought carefully on her words. “This is the first time that you and I have seen each other since our wedding. Our parting at that time was not the most pleasant.”
His smile faded somewhat. “It was not,” he took a deep breath, blew out his cheeks and sat forward. He stared at the cup in his hand a moment before continuing. “My lady, you and I have distinctly different philosophies on life. I do not suppose we could be much different if we tried.”
She grinned wryly. “Nay, I do not suppose we could.”
His smile returned. “I suppose what I am attempting to say is that I have done a good deal of thinking in the time we have been apart,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I needed to reconcile this marriage in my own mind. You see, I never wanted a wife. I did not want to marry you but my mother threatened to disinherit me if I did not, so I was forced. As much as you were pushed into the marriage, so was I. That is why I sent Lespada, the sword of my ancestors, to the marriage ceremony instead of appearing myself. It was my personal rebellion against my mother and I suppose in doing that, from the beginning, I earned your anger. It was a very bad way to start off the marriage and for that, I apologize profusely. I should not have done that.”
Devereux was listening to him intently, surprised at his admission. His honesty touched her and it caused her guard to go down somewhat. “It was not your fault entirely,” she relented. “As I said earlier today, I did not make it easy for your men. Your mother was right; my behavior dictated theirs. They responded because I was breaking noses and giving knights black eyes. Sending your sword to our wedding ceremony was not the true problem; the entire situation was.”
He nodded with regret. “I realize that,” he said. “I suppose we both could have done things differently.”
“I would agree with that.”
He grinned at her, taking a swallow of ale and savoring it as he thought on the next part of the conversation. His expression sobered.
“I must apologize for something else,” he said softly.
“What is that?”
“For being beastly and inconsiderate when I consummated our marriage,” for the first time, he looked uncomfortable. “It simply never occurred to me… my lady, I swear to you that I am not a brutal man by nature when it comes to women. But I do take what I want and, God help me, I wanted you nearly the first moment I saw you. You are by far the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I suppose my lust got the better of me. I am deeply sorry for my actions and I hope you will someday forgive me for being so callous.”
Devereux stared at him, struggling not to be embarrassed by the thought of that brutal and exciting night. But it was a difficult struggle and she lowered her gaze.
“You had every right to consummate the marriage,” she whispered. “You need not apologize for assuming your right.”
“I realize that I had every right,” he said, almost irritably, but quickly cooled. He lifted his enormous shoulders helplessly. “I suppose I… well, I suppose I should have taken your feelings into consideration at the time. It simply did not occur to me.”
Devereux looked at him, her gaze guarded. She watched him as he fidgeted with his ale cup, seemingly awkward with the subject at hand.
“Forgive me if I am on a path of insult and injury, but it seems to me that you are unaccustomed to having your wishes denied,” she ventured.
He lifted an eyebrow, almost regretfully. “One does not refuse Davyss de Winter and live to tell the tale.”
He said it lightly and she took it lightly. “I would imagine that holds true with women as well,” she pushed further.
He looked at her, then. “I would say that is a fair statement.”
“Then it probably would not have mattered if I had refused you or not. You would have taken what you saw as your due.”
He was beginning to feel like a cad. “Probably.”
She smiled faintly at the fact that the man was exhibiting less than confident behavior. He looked like a child who was about to be scolded but, strangely, she couldn’t summon the energy. The man had apologized for their rough beginning; she wasn’t the type to beat him over the head with it.
“Well,” she folded her hands on her lap and fully faced him. “How would you recommend we rectify the situation and salvage this marriage?”
He stopped fidgeting with the cup and puffed
out his cheeks again. “I am not entirely sure,” he admitted. “But I will tell you this; I have thought on nothing but you since the day I left. You have occupied both my waking and sleeping hours. I always thought my marriage, to anyone, would have been one in name only. It was my original plan to leave you here to your life while I continued with mine in London but I find that I do not want that any longer. By hook, crook or black magic, you have somehow bewitched me, Lady de Winter, and I find that I want you by my side. I want to get to know you in the hopes that….”
He suddenly trailed off, leaving Devereux on the edge of her seat. “Hopes that what?” she invited him to continue.
He looked sheepish. “I will only tell you if you promise not to laugh.”
She lifted an eyebrow, slowly. “One does not laugh at Davyss de Winter and live to tell the tale.”
He chuckled, letting go of the cup and reaching out to take her hand. The palm was slightly calloused but the back of her hand was like velvet. Learning a little of her character as he had, he wasn’t put off by the calluses at all; in fact, he kissed them sweetly before fixing her in the eye.
“My mother and father were quite fond of each other,” he said in a low voice. “It never occurred to me that I actually admired that union until I found myself with a wife. What a glorious thing it must be to be married to someone you are fond of.”
His touch had her electrified, so much so that she could hardly think. But she focused on his words, laboring for a reply. “I… I suppose we must get to know one another better before we can make that judgment,” she stammered.
“True,” he said, stroking the back of her hand. “I suppose we are both going to have to make adjustments.”
She nodded; his touch was causing her breathing to become labored and heavy. “Per… perhaps we should make a list.”
He looked thoughtful. “Very well,” his brow furrowed as he pondered what that list might entail. “I suppose my list would start with the request that where I go, you go. I would have you with me always.”
She looked rather distressed but didn’t argue. “That is more than likely fair,” she replied, thinking of The House of Hope and all of those who depended on her. She didn’t want to leave it. “We cannot get to know each other if I am here and you are in London.”
“True.”
“I have something for the list.”
“What?”
“That you cease your empty flattery.”
He looked shocked. “Empty flattery?”
“Aye,” she nodded quickly to explain herself. “Your flattery is far too practiced to be sincere. I would wager to say that you use it quite often.”
He was about to argue with her but couldn’t. “From this moment forward, I will not use it on anyone but you.”
“I do not want to hear a word of it unless you mean it.”
“God’s Blood, woman, I mean every word when I speak of you. Are you serious?”
“Of course I am,” she insisted. “I never say anything I do not mean.”
Still holding her hand, he scratched his chin with his other hand, eyeing her. “I want to add something more to the list.”
“Very well. What is it?”
“That we do not discuss or debate our political views for the next thirty days. Let us get to know one another before we allow that undoubtedly contentious intrusion.”
Her light mood was fading, growing deep. “I was wondering when the subject was going to rear its ugly head.”
He grunted. “I am afraid we cannot ignore it. But I would ask that we not discuss it until we come to know one another better. I fear any discussion of politics by either of us will kill whatever chance we may have of an amicable union.”
She took a deep breath, thought on his words, and nodded shortly. “Very well,” she agreed. “No discussion of kings, wars or politics. But how are we going to manage that feat given that you are the king’s champion?
“I can keep quiet on the subject if you can.”
“I will do my very best.”
His smile was returning as was the warmth in his eyes. “Good,” he was back to caressing her hand. “Do you have anything else to add to the list?”
She thought a moment, watching his fingers as they stroked her skin. She cocked her head slightly, suddenly looking mildly uncomfortable. He saw her expression.
“What is it?” he asked gently.
She grunted reluctantly. “I… well, I am not….”
“I have something more to add to the list.”
She looked surprised. “What?”
“Complete honesty and truth, always. When I ask a question, I would like the courtesy of an honest answer.”
She gazed steadily into his hazel eyes. “As would I.”
“I swear it upon my oath.”
That seemed to embolden her. “Very well,” she pursed her lips as the correct words came to her. “Will you swear something else to me?”
“Is this another item for the list?”
“Aye.”
“Then proceed.”
She looked at him, dead on, and he was swallowed by the intensity of her gray eyes. “I want you to swear that you will be faithful to me,” she whispered. “I realize that it may be a foolish request, but it is not foolish to me. I would never dream of shaming or betraying you, no matter what our differences are. I would like the same respect from you for the sheer fact that I am your wife, whether or not you wanted me.”
His hazel eyes glittered in the dim light as he gazed back at her. “What would prompt you to make such a request?”
She did not back down. “Your mother told me that you needed someone to show you that the true meaning of manhood comes from dedication to one woman, not the plaything of many. Did I misunderstand her?”
He watched her sweet face, the strength behind those amazing gray eyes, and felt himself relent. He could not lie to her. “Nay,” he said after a moment, suddenly having difficulty looking her in the eye. “You did not.”
“Do you wish to elaborate on what she has told me so I am neither surprised nor offended by gossip or truths I might hear?”
He sighed heavily, looking particularly miserable. He felt as if he was about to confess his most grievous sins and not at all happy about it. “I thought perhaps we could come to know each other better before we delved into that particular subject.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Because I am trying to establish something pleasant between us. Speaking on that particular subject might cause you to change your mind about me.”
“Does this concern you so?”
“Of course it does.”
She gazed steadily at him. He was still toying with her fingers and she suddenly squeezed his hand, forcing him to look at her. “If you wish to establish an honest and truthful marriage, then you must be honest and truthful with me. Tell me why your mother would say such a thing.”
He puckered his lips, appearing both regretful and frustrated. Given their rough beginning and that fact that she virtually knew nothing about the man, Devereux was afraid that she might have overstepped her bounds. Men kept and took mistresses all of the time and it was not unusual. But she felt strongly that there needed to be honesty between them; it would be his choice to honor her request or not, which would largely determine the character of the man she had married. It would most certainly determine the wall of self-protection she would keep up around her when dealing with him and she held her breath as he regarded her.
Davyss suddenly pulled on her arm, strongly enough that it lifted her out of her seat. Reaching out, he wrapped his enormous arms around her torso and pulled her down onto his lap. Startled, Devereux was nonetheless a willing participant and she remembered well the feel of the man’s arms around her; he was big and powerful and manly, and the combination was enough to cause her head to swim. She’d never been held by a man until the event of Davyss de Winter. Everything about his embrace was enough to cause her to forget any resen
tment, bitterness or disgust she had ever felt for him.
Davyss held her tightly on his lap, his great head against her left shoulder. His eye level was at her collarbone and his gaze rested pensively on the rise of her breasts.
“It is true that I have not led a pious life,” he said softly. “I have experienced my share of women. But the day I married you is the day all of that ended. I have not as much as thought of another woman since that day.”
“How many women?” she asked, hoping the tremble of excitement at his touch wasn’t evident in her voice.
He shook his head. “It does not matter.”
“More than I can count on both hands?”
“Aye.”
He didn’t sound prideful about it at all; he was, in fact, rather subdued. Devereux watched the top of his lowered head as it rested against her shoulder. “Anyone special I should be aware of?”
“Nay.”
“Bastards?”
He grunted with hesitation. “Two that I am aware of. Twin girls.”
“How do you know they are yours?”
“Because they look just like me.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment and when the silence became excessive, he dared to look up at her. He was surprised to see a faint smile on her face, the gray eyes glittering. When their eyes met, her smile broadened.
“I imagine it was very difficult to tell me this,” she said softly.
He lifted a big shoulder. “You asked for truth. I gave it to you.”
“I appreciate your candor.”
His gaze was somewhat guarded as he continued to watch her. “Maybe so, but does it change your mind about me?”
She shook her head. “Nothing has changed.”
His smile returned, this time one of relief. “You are most kind and understanding, my lady,” he said graciously, then froze. He looked stricken. “Do you consider those words to be empty flattery?”
She broke into soft laughter. “Nay,” she sobered. “They were genuine.”
He laughed with her, pulling her closer in the process. She was warm and soft and absolutely delicious. His relief, his joy in the conversation, was so great that in little time he was slanting his lips over hers, very gently. He couldn’t help himself. Much to his surprise, she didn’t pull away, so his kiss grew more insistent and one of his great hands found its way into her hair.
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