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 resentment, 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.
The intensity of the kiss did not increase; it stayed heated and curious, his fingers drifting over her face, acquainting himself with the texture of her skin and the shape of her jaw. The same hand moved to her neck, gently caressing, as his lips began to move across her cheek and jawline. He heard her sigh faintly and her body began to quiver, like the swift flutter of butterfly wings. It only served to excite him more.
Davyss took his time as he sampled his wife. He had never in his life known anything so soft and pure. Other than holding her in his arms, his hands never moved below her collarbone; they remained in her hair, on her face, against her neck. He’d handled her so caddishly the first time they had met and he didn’t want to repeat that mistake. He wanted her to become comfortable with his touch and hopefully learn to crave it. He already craved her almost beyond his ability to control.
Back in the smelly and smoky great room, the front door suddenly slammed back on its hinges and several knights spilled into the room, hollering for food and ale. It was enough of a commotion that Davyss tore himself away from Devereux long enough to realize that knights bearing the yellow and green colors of the Earl of Gloucester, ally of Simon de Montfort, had entered the tavern. He immediately set Devereux on her feet.
“Stay here,” he growled, his eyes tracking the movements in the room like a predator. “Do not stray from this spot for any reason.”
Devereux, her head still swimming from his delicious kisses, simply nodded her head for lack of a better response. She watched as Davyss entered the great room with his proud, stalking gait, making his way towards the men who had just entered. Hugh and Nik saw Davyss first, crowding in behind him as Lollardly, Philip, Andrew and Edmund shortly followed. The six most powerful knights in the arsenal of Henry III and one fighting priest faced off against the new visitors.
There were eight knights in total facing Davyss and his men. The knight in front was an older man with curly dark hair flecked with gray. He had a dark beard and a weathered face, but his eyes were as sharp a
s a hawk’s. His lips curled in a smile as he beheld the mighty and powerful Davyss de Winter.
“De Winter,” he said with satisfaction. “I should have expected to see you here.”
Davyss was as cold as ice. “You are in the heart of my holdings, de Reyne,” he said. “You must have a death wish coming here.”
De Reyne lifted his shoulders casually. “There is no law that says I cannot travel where I wish,” he replied. “We are simply passing through.”
“Passing through to where? You serve Gloucester and you are far from his territory.”
“That is none of your business, I fear.”
“I made it my business when you came onto my lands.”
De Reyne’s smile grew. “You needn’t worry,” he put up his hands in acquiescence. “We are heading north to Peterborough. We shall eat and be gone before you know it.”
Davyss eyed him; not wanting to create a brawl, which would undoubtedly happen if these men were denied a meal, he simply backed off. His gaze never left de Reyne as the man, sensing that de Winter was unwilling to instigate a battle, motioned to his men to find a table. Davyss watched them make their way into the heart of the great room before turning to his men.
“Do not let them out of your sight,” he rumbled. “Once they are finished eating, they are to be evacuated from this inn. Is that clear?”
Hugh and the others nodded. “Why did you let them stay?” Hugh wanted to know. “They will only cause trouble.”
Davyss scratched his head, wondering if he let them stay because his wife was watching. She had accused him of being a war machine and perhaps he was taking the opportunity to prove that he wasn’t some blood thirsty fiend who thrived on the thrill of the kill. Under normal circumstances, he would have thrown the lot of them out and have taken great pride in it. At the moment, he couldn’t really answer his brother’s question and that frustrated him.
“Never mind,” he flicked an irritable hand at his knights. “Spread out in the room and watch them. When they are finished eating, I want them gone.”
The knights acknowledged the command but it was Andrew who suddenly caught sight of what he knew would be the trigger to a very big battle. He grabbed Davyss by the shoulder and turned him in the direction of the alcove.
“You will want them gone now,” he pointed.
De Reyne and two of his men were speaking with Devereux while the rest of Gloucester’s men commandeered Davyss’ former table. Davyss didn’t even blink; before he realized it, Lespada was unsheathed and he was charging towards his wife. It was like a tide of death and men as it all rushed into the small, cluttered alcove.
Devereux never saw it coming.
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was a single lit taper in The House of Hope this eve. It rested on a crude table next to the bed of a dying old woman. All was quiet and still as Devereux sat next to the woman, applying cool cloths to her head to bring her some comfort while the old woman’s husband sat on the other side of the pallet, seated on the floor as he prayed endlessly. The night had been a vigil for the elderly woman who had vomited earlier that day. Death was closing in.
And that was where Davyss found his wife, crouched next to a dying peasant and trying to give the old woman some comfort in her last hours. Clad in battle armor with blood on his hands, he had marched into The House of Hope with fire and terror on his mind that was immediately doused at the sight of Devereux, healthy and whole. In fact, he had been weak with relief. He stood there and watched her for several long moments, composing himself, before approaching.
“Lady de Winter,” his voice was quiet, rumbling, as he addressed her.
Devereux didn’t acknowledge him. She continued gazing at the dying old woman’s face. But gradually, she turned to see his boots standing a few feet away, her gaze trailing upward on his bloody armor until their eyes met. The impact was physical. Davyss gazed steadily at her before lowering himself into a crouch. His eyes were imploring.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
She nodded and looked back to the old woman. “How did you get back here?” he pressed gently.
She wouldn’t look at him. “I walked.”
He sighed. “That was not safe.”
Her head snapped to him, the gray eyes blazing. “It was safer than the inn. I would have been killed had I stayed there for the mighty battle going on around me.”
He knew she was upset and he knew very well why. He remembered seeing de Reyne speaking with her and little else after that but a blinding battle that ended up with two of Gloucester’s knights being killed and Nik being slightly wounded. At the end of the brawl when he had looked for Devereux, no one could locate her. Terrified she had been abducted or worse, he and his knights had torn apart the inn and several other establishments in the near area. Still unable to locate her, they had taken to the streets calling her name. It was Lollardly who finally suspected where she might have gone and Davyss rode hard for The House of Hope.
The old priest had been right. Davyss found her tending a dying woman and his relief had been so great that it had nearly brought tears to his eyes. But on the heels of that relief was the knowledge that he was going to have to do a great deal of damage control to repair their fragile relationship. He’d damaged it yet again.
She had turned back to the old woman as he continued to watch her from his position a few feet away. He could see that she was having a great deal of trouble looking at him.
“Devereux,” his voice was so low that it sounded like a purr. “I must explain what happened back at the inn.”
She shook her head, so hard that tendrils of blonde hair escaped their pin. “Nay,” she said firmly. “There is no need”
“Aye, there is. Will you please allow me that courtesy?”
She was about to refuse again; he could see it. She was angry, confused and frightened. Everything she hated about knights had been demonstrated right before her eyes as Davyss and his men had clashed violently. But she suddenly stopped what she was doing and sighed heavily, closing her eyes as she did so. When she turned to him, she spoke with more sadness than anger.
“What is there to explain?” she asked. “You did as your instincts bade. I understand that.”
He shook his head. “Nay, you do not,” he replied softly. “The men speaking to you were knights of Gloucester, allies of Simon de Montfort. Other than de Reyne, they are not particularly honorable men. They would have gladly taken you to sport, or worse; if they had discovered you were my wife, then you might have known torture and fear such as you have never dreamed. What I did, I did to save your life.”
She gazed steadily at him. “They were not harming me in the least and their words were not unkind.”
“I know. But please trust me when I tell you this; the situation would have changed very shortly. You are a blindingly beautiful woman and that fact did not escape them. The small talk they offered was only the calm before the storm, believe me. I have known these men many years and know what they are capable of.”
Her gaze remained steady and he found himself sucked into the brilliant gray eyes. But just when she opened her mouth to speak, her eyes filled with tears and she turned back to the old woman. Even as she picked up the cold compress and wrung it out, she began to sob. Davyss watched her, his heart just about breaking.
“I am sorry, Devereux,” he murmured. “I know you hate violence and I know you believe me to embody the stench of death, but please believe me when I tell you that I did what I did for a very good reason. I did it to protect you.”
She sobbed harder and covered her face with the hand that held the cold compress. On the opposite side of the old woman, Thelred the husband removed the compress from Devereux’s hand and gently grasped her fingers.
“Up with ye, m’lady,” his old arms tried to pull her to her feet. “Go with yer husband now. I can tend me wife.”
Devereux only wept harder as the old man tried to help her. Davyss stood up and gently
took her from the old man, nodding his thanks to the tired old face. He pulled her away from the elderly pair and put his enormous arm around her shoulders, gently walking her from the building. In his arms, Devereux wept like a child.
The night outside was cold and damp. It was also exceedingly late. Davyss took her to his horse, mounted her, and then took the saddle behind her. She didn’t resist. The charger took off at a gentle trot into the dark, silent edge of town.
Devereux cried until they reached their destination. By then, she was exhausted and had little concern for where he had taken her. Davyss dismounted his steed and pulled her off, carrying her into the dark and silent building and up a flight of stairs. He took her into a room and closed the door, throwing the bolt softly behind them. A warm fire burned low in the hearth of the little room and Davyss set her down gently on the small bed.
Devereux didn’t particularly care where they were; she was weary and spent. Wiping her eyes, she accepted a piece of cloth that Davyss handed her and blew her nose daintily. Davyss, meanwhile, began removing his armor in pieces and propping the plate pieces up against the wall. He pulled off his mail coat, followed by his hauberk, and laid them out carefully near the door so any moisture on them would dry out. All the while, his gaze lingered on his wife as she sat on the bed and sniffled.
He wasn’t quite sure what to say to say to her. He removed his linen vest, followed by the heavy tunic, and laid them near the hearth to dry. The boots quickly followed. Clad in only his breeches, he made his way over to the little bed.
“Are you hungry?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Are you thirsty, then? Would you like some wine?” he pressed.
She sighed heavily and shook her head again. The crackling hearth filled the silent air between them. Lacking any further response, Davyss sat down on the bed, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her down with him. She stiffened, but only for a moment. Snuggled up against his warm and powerful body, Devereux could feel some of her fear and confusion flee as the flesh of his body created a heated envelope around her. It was a new sensation, one of extreme warmth and security. She’d never known such comfort existed.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 117
