Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “You will wait here until we can bring about suitable transportation for the trip to Castle Acre Castle,” he eyed her. “If you give me your word that you will not try to escape, I will not bind you.”

  She gave him a look that suggested she was bored with his statement. “If I wanted to flee, your bindings could not hold me,” she fired back. “Go get your horses. I am not going anywhere.”

  “Do I have your word, lady?”

  “I said it, did I not?”

  “That is not an answer.”

  “It is enough of an answer for you. Do you doubt me?”

  Hugh almost entered into an argument with her that would undoubtedly end in some manner of fist in his eye. But he caught himself in time, begging off for the sheer reason that Davyss was only a few feet away; he knew his brother would handle this banshee of a woman and they would all be the better for it. Still insulted with the fact that his charming and debonair self had not melted her with a first glance, he cast her a withering glare and quit the chapel.

  When it was finally cold and empty, Devereux emitted a pent up sigh. Like a bubble of tension bursting, she suddenly felt deflated. She realized that tears were close to the surface but angrily chased them away, feeling despondent and disoriented.

  She would wait for the knights to return to take her to her prison of Castle Acre Castle. It wasn’t far from her berg, the great castle with the massive ramparts. Lady Katharine de Winter lived there at times; when she was not in residence, there were always groups of soldiers in and out of the place. Sometimes they would come into town and wreak havoc in the taverns. Devereux had spent her life knowing when to stay indoors and locked away when the soldiers were about. She had spent her life staying clear of the knights and other warriors who would, at times, pass through her town. She had never even seen her husband although she knew he had spent time at Castle Acre Castle periodically. She had often heard rumor to that effect. Now she was a part of that world she had attempted to stay clear of. She tried not to hate her father for it.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the altar. It was beautifully carved and had the rarity of a cushion before it on which to kneel. Devereux found herself wondering where the priests were that usually inhabited this priory. She wondered if de Winter’s knights had chased them off. With another heavy sigh, she made her way to the altar, gazing up at the gold-encrusted cross and wondering how drastically her life was going to change from this point.

  Soft boot falls suddenly distracted her and she turned to see an unfamiliar knight entering the sanctuary. He was a colossal man, dressed from head to toe in armor and mail and weaponry. He was without his helm and as he emerged into the weak light, Devereux could see his very handsome features; his dark hair was in need of a cut, a bit shaggy and curly, and a dark beard embraced his granite jaw.

  The longer she stared at him the more she realized that he was, in fact, extraordinarily handsome. It was something of a shock. Devereux continued to watch with a mixture of apprehension and fascination as the knight drew closer, his hazel eyes fixed on her flushed and weary face. It was a piercing gaze that sucked her in, holding her fast until she could hardly breathe.

  “I apologize for disturbing you, my lady,” he said. “Were you praying?”

  His voice was deep and silky, like sweet wine. Devereux felt an odd flush of heat at the sound of his delicious tone, momentarily speechless as he gazed upon her. She managed to shake her head, however, and the knight came to stand several feet away. Even when he gazed toward the altar and crossed himself reverently, she couldn’t take her eyes from him.

  Davyss felt her stare, turning to look at her again. Christ, if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; even more beautiful at close range. She had long, straight blonde hair that was thick and silky, and eyes of the most amazing color. They were a shade of blue that was so pale that they were silver. Big and bottomless, he could see the fringe of soft lashes brush against her brow bone every time she blinked. And her face was sweet and round. He had witnessed the wedding ceremony from the shadows, stifling the roar of laughter as Hugh and Andrew had wrestled with her in an attempt to force her to kiss his sword.

  But the more he watched, the more curious and strangely mesmerized he became with this woman who was now his wife. She was a hellion, a misfit, and he should have been disgusted with her behavior. But her spirit impressed him strangely, a woman who was not afraid to speak her mind or resist men twice her petite size. And when he witnessed the confrontation between her and his mother, calculated though it had been for his benefit, it had oddly cemented the deal. For some reason, he was no longer reluctant. But she clearly still was.

  When the lady had finally kissed the sword to seal the marriage, Davyss realized he could no longer stay away. In spite of his own reluctance, he realized he had to discover her for himself.

  “My lady is… weary,” he cocked an eyebrow at her slovenly state. “May I assist?”

  Devereux’s bright gray eyes regarded him. “Nay, my lord,” she turned away, her cheeks flushing and her confusion growing.

  He continued to gaze at her, the marvelous blonde hair that cascaded from her head to her thighs. “Then why do you stand here if you are not praying?” he asked.

  She shrugged weakly, refusing to look at him. “I was left here.”

  “By whom?”

  She didn’t reply. Davyss’ eyes roved her body with interest, noting that she was deliciously curvaceous. She was petite in height, clad in some sort of rough garment, a leather girdle binding her small waist and emphasizing her full breasts. She looked like an angel but dressed like a peasant. He found himself shaking his head with awe, hardly believing this woman was his wife. She was a most startling paradox.

  “You did not answer me,” he said after a moment. “Who was foolish enough to leave you here alone?”

  She sighed heavily. “Terrible men. Horrible men.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Why are they so terrible, other than the fact that they left you here alone?”

  She turned to look at him, feeling that same odd heat she had experienced the very first time their eyes met. Even so, she found she could not tell him the whole situation. It was too embarrassing.

  “They will return for me, I am sure,” she said, avoiding his question. “They have probably gone to fetch my husband.”

  “And who is your husband?”

  She made a face and Davyss had to conceal a smile. She looked like a child forced to swallow foul-tasting medicine. “Sir Davyss de Winter.”

  “Ah, yes,” he nodded in acknowledgement. “De Winter.”

  Her expression darkened. “Then you know him?”

  “A fair man.”

  “A fiend!”

  “Is that so?” he realized he was very close to breaking a smile. “Why would you say that? I hear he is a wise and powerful man. Handsome, too.”

  Her eyes flashed. “This I would not know, my lord, for he does not even have the courage to face me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was only just married to him. But instead of showing me the respect of coming himself, do you know that he sent his sword in his place?”

  It was at that moment that Davyss began to see that perhaps sending Lespada in his place had not been a wise decision. Whatever animosity the lady was feeling had been exacerbated by it. He began to regret his decision although, at the time, it had been the correct choice. Still, he could see she was very offended by it. For whatever reason, he felt the need to soothe her ruffled feathers.

  “Would you sit, my lady?” he indicated one of two benches in the place. “I find I am exceedingly weary from my ride and wish to continue this conversation seated.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “You look strong enough.”

  He fought off a grin and went to take the bench himself, thinking that she would follow him. He was wrong in that she did not and he almost laughed; clearly, nothing about Lady Devereux wa
s predictable.

  “You must understand that to marry to your husband’s sword is a distinct honor,” he said quietly. “The sword of a knight defines who he is as both man and warrior. It is as much a part of him as his heart or his head. When you are presented with the sword, he is offering you his very soul. When he presented you with his sword in his stead, he was asking you to become part of his life and his being.”

  Devereux’s unhappy expression eased somewhat. It was apparent that she was thinking heavily on his words. After several moments, she simply shook her head.

  “But I don’t want to be part of the kind of life he leads,” she said, all of the defiance out of her voice.

  “Why not?”

  She just looked at him. “You will forgive me, my lord, but that is truly none of your affair. I should not have said as much as I have only….”

  “Only what?”

  She shook her head again and turned away from him, moving away so she would not have to speak with him any longer. He watched her glorious hair, so beautiful and lush, the way it fell down her graceful back. After a moment, he stood up and wandered, slowly, in her general direction.

  “I am sure had your husband known the offense you took at him not attending your wedding ceremony personally, he would have made the effort to come,” he said in a low voice. “You must not judge the man too harshly. The sword is quite an honor.”

  She turned to look at him. “You will not come any closer, my lord.”

  He stopped. “Why not?”

  “Because my husband’s knights are near and should they see you in conversation with me, they might do you great harm.”

  He smiled faintly. “So you are concerned for me? You do not even know who I am.”

  Devereux looked him up and down, from the top of his dark head to the bottom of his enormous feet. He was tall and although she’d seen taller men in her life, the sheer width of the man’s shoulders was astonishing. And his hands were positively enormous. He was an extraordinarily big man.

  “You are a seasoned warrior,” she said after a moment. “I can smell death on you. That is all I need to know.”

  His smile faded. “Your arrogance is astounding.”

  Her back stiffened with outrage. “Arrogance? You overstep yourself, sir.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “That is because I have spent a mere two minutes speaking with you, enough to know that you are judgmental, closed-minded and arrogant. Do you believe you are so perfect, lady? Do you believe that you walk this earth with perfect thoughts and perfect deeds? Do you understand that it is men like de Winter who have fought and died a thousand times over so you may live in your nice manor home and lead a pleasant life in your pleasant little world? How dare you judge men for their determination that England should know a better future.”

  By the time he was finished, the gray eyes were wide with astonishment. “It is not arrogance I present but distaste for death and destruction,” she explained earnestly. “Those men you speak of have killed innocents along with their enemies. They care not who they kill so long as they are victorious.”

  “And you believe de Winter to be this sort of man?”

  “He is the king’s champion. He did not achieve this position through grace and gentleness. What other sort could he possibly be?”

  “If you have not met him yet, you might want to set your prejudice aside and come to know him before you pass judgment.”

  She opened her mouth to argue with him but thought better of it. She began to look at him strangely, as if paying closer attention to this knight who not only seemed to be exceedingly wise but also who seemed to know de Winter very well. A little too well, in fact; he seemed to be very defensive of the man. Furthermore, there was no earthly reason why he should be standing here, alone, speaking with her. Where were all of de Winter’s knights while this was going on? Devereux was many things but she was not foolish; she began to suspect who the knight before her really was.

  With that knowledge, she seemed to calm. An odd twinkle came to her eye. “Very well,” she said. “Since you seem to know de Winter so well, then perhaps you will tell me what you know of him.”

  Davyss crossed his muscular arms and lifted an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Well,” he said slowly. “As I said, he is a wise and powerful man. And very handsome.”

  “You said that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “I am sure he is humble, also.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And chivalrous.”

  “Of course.”

  She shook her head sadly. “Then he will not want me,” she turned away, a very calculated move. If the man was going to play games with her, then she was going to play to win. “I have none of those qualities. For certain, it is the entire reason behind my reluctance to marry him.”

  Davyss watched her luscious backside. “Is that so? Do tell and perhaps I can advise you.”

  She feigned distress, casting him a very sad glance over her shoulder. “I drink to excess. And I have been known to steal.”

  Davyss bit his lip; he almost burst out laughing. “Truly? A pity.”

  She was adding drama to her act now. “I have never been punished for my crimes because my father is Sheriff of the Shire and clearly, no one will accuse his only child of misdeeds. I have also been known to go on rampages and burn and pillage. That has to do with the excessive drinking, I think, but my father tried to have the priest purge me of these urges. He says the devil is in me. But… but the worst part is the children.”

  “What children?”

  “My children,” she wandered to the narrow window, gazing out into the greenery beyond. “I have six of them. All from different fathers.” She suddenly whirled around and faced him. “Do you think he will still want me for his wife now?”

  Davyss was very close to collapsing with laughter. It was difficult for him to speak and not sound like he was straining for every word. “Where are these children?”

  She turned away with exaggerated distress. “All gone,” she sighed. “I sold three into slavery, one to a passing nobleman, and two ran away. I think wild animals ate them.”

  Davyss had to turn away lest she see him grin. “I am sure it will matter not,” he finally said. “At least he will know that you can bear him many strong sons.”

  Devereux whirled in his direction, her mouth opened in outrage. “What kind of man would want such a lowly woman?”

  Davyss turned to look at her, rubbing his chin so she would not see the hint of a smile. “Me,” he replied frankly. “I am Davyss de Winter and I am quite pleased with my acquisition.”

  Devereux didn’t act overly surprised by the revelation. She leaned back against the wall, a soft breeze from the lancet window lifting her golden hair gently.

  “I do not believe you,” she said flatly.

  He walked towards her, lifting his eyebrows. “’Tis true.”

  She shook her head. “Davyss de Winter is nine feet tall and breathes fire, so I have been told. You do not fit that description.”

  He grinned; he couldn’t help it. “I assure you that I am he.”

  Devereux felt an odd flutter in her chest when he smiled; his teeth were big, straight and white and she could see, even with his beard, that he had big dimples in each cheek. If she thought the man to be handsome before, she could clearly see that her observations were correct; he was astonishingly so. The idea brought a strange quiver to her body. She folded her arms, protectively, across her chest as he drew close. Something inherent told her to protect herself from him.

  “I was right,” she said quietly, eyeing him as he came to a stop fairly close to her. “You are a seasoned warrior. I can smell death on you.”

  His smile faded. “Perhaps,” he said. “It is regretful that you do not see marriage to me as an honor. Most women would, you know.”

  “Most women are given to silly romantic whims and dreams of god-like knights as their husbands,” she said. “I, in fact, am not.”
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  His smile was gone completely as his gaze moved over her, the lovely shape of her face and the delicate drape of her hair. “A pity you have such distain for those who are sworn to serve and protect you.”

  She shook her head. “You are not sworn to serve and protect me,” she contradicted, a hint of irony in her tone. “You are sworn to serve and protect the king, sworn to carry out his commands right or wrong. Knighthood has the power to unite a country yet you do nothing more than squabble between yourselves and perpetuate war. It is those motives that I distain.”

  He was simply watching her now, analyzing her words, attempting to figure out what was at the heart of this woman that made her so bitter. There was something more than idealism there although he couldn’t put his finger on it. He moved forward and grasped her gently by the elbow, encouraging her to come with him. Reluctantly, Devereux followed.

  “Have you had much exposure to the knighthood, then?” he asked quietly as they moved through the empty church.

  She faltered slightly. “My father has two knights who have served him for years as Lord Mayor and Sheriff of the Shire.”

  “Who are these men?”

  “Older men who served King Henry. One of them used to serve Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

  “Are those the only knights you have ever known?”

  She looked at him with those bright eyes. “Aye.”

  “Then your opinion of the knighthood is based solely upon these two men.”

  She paused, gazing up into his handsome face. “I am an active member of the community and take my duties as the daughter of the Sheriff of the Shire very seriously. I hear much and I see much. Do not think I live an isolated life, my lord. My opinion is based upon tales and information that has come to me over the years.”

  He looked down at her; she was such an exquisite creature but, truth be told, he was coming to feel some disappointment. She was not honored by the marriage, that much was clear; she also had a very bad opinion of his profession and, consequently, him. If he were to admit it to himself, it was somewhat of a blow to his self-esteem. He’d never met a woman who hadn’t been overjoyed at a mere word from the mighty and powerful Davyss de Winter. Now he had married one who didn’t care in the least. He tugged gently on her elbow to get her moving again.