Devereux gradually became aware that the ladies were attempting to direct her into a small door in the corner of the room. She obediently followed and ended up in a small chamber that had an enormous copper tub in it. Someone had lined it with linen and clear, clean water steamed into the air.
Off to her right, there was a smaller wardrobe, a vanity, and tucked into the corner was a stone seat built into the wall with a hole in it. There was a wood and fabric screen around it, partially blocking her view, and it took her a moment to realize it was a privy. Devereux was shocked; a privy in the house?
The ladies were attempting to help her remove her clothing. Devereux snapped out of her awestruck observations and allowed them to untie the surcoat she wore, one of the new ones that Davyss had given her. It was a yellow linen garment with lovely long sleeves and a matching shift underneath. The women stripped her to the shift and suddenly, Devereux was very self-conscious. She always bathed and dressed in private, so this was something of a new and uncomfortable experience. True, there were servants at her father’s house who did the cooking and cleaning and that sort of thing, but she’d never had a handmaiden. She had always fended for herself. When pretty young Lucy tried to help her from the shift, she balked.
“Ladies,” Devereux clutched the shift around her neck as if to hold it tight so they could not lift it over her head. “If you do not mind, I would like to bathe in private.”
Lucy looked confused, looking to Frances, who simply shrugged her shoulders. Lucy returned her puzzled gaze to Devereux. “But… my lady, we are here to assist you. We wish to help you bathe. Do you not need help?”
She asked it with such bafflement that Devereux almost smiled. “My lady, I mean no offense, truly,” she said carefully; she did not want to get off to a bad start with these women. “’Tis simply that… well, it is my preference. I believe bathing is a private activity.”
Lucy blinked, still puzzled, but nodded unsteadily. This time, it was Frances who spoke.
“It is because you do not know us, Lady de Winter,” she said confidently. “I understand. But please believe me when I say that we only wish to assist you.”
Devereux turned to the handsome brunette; there was still something odd about the woman, an appraising look to the eye. It put Devereux on her guard.
“That is not necessary, Lady de Nogaret,” she informed her. “If you and Lady Lucy will leave me now, I will bathe in private. Please see that my baggage is brought up.”
“But…,” Lucy protested weakly.
“That will be all, Lady Lucy. Thank you very much for your consideration.”
Lucy nodded, looking somewhat like a kicked dog, and began to leave the room. Realizing that Frances wasn’t moving, she took the woman by the arm and practically yanked her from the room. Devereux stood there, waiting until she was sure they had gone, before moving to the wood and fabric screen that partially covered the privy and moving it to the open chamber door. Even if anyone entered the enormous chamber beyond, the screen provided some privacy.
With a heavy sigh, she looked around the small chamber as if gathering her thoughts. She noticed that the ladies had set out a sponge, a bar of white soap, a glass phial with some kind of oil in it, and a scraper. They all sat upon a small table next to the tub. There was also a robe of some fashion, white and fine, strewn across a chair by the vanity. Throwing off her shoes, she pulled off her hose, pantalets and shift before plunging into the tub.
It was clean, hot and glorious. Devereux sighed with contentment as she went to work with the white bar of soap that smelled strongly of hyacinth. She washed her hair with it, twice, before moving to soap up her body. The tub was so big that she could move easily in it, submerging her head as she scrubbed every inch of flesh. Soon, the chamber was filled with the scent of flowers and it was into this lovely sanctuary that Davyss entered.
He had brought up her trunks, depositing them against the wall in the master’s chamber. Lady Lucy had told him, somewhat sadly, that his wife had not required any help with her bath, so he had come up personally to see if she was in any manner of distress. She seemed to be such a sensitive woman that he found that he worried for her moods and mental state constantly during this time of change. He didn’t want to see her upset, not even for a minute.
After setting the trunks down, Davyss removed his gloves, his plate armor, his hauberk and mail coat, and laid them carefully on the frame in the corner so any moisture would dry out. His squire would collect them later to clean them. In his breeches, sweaty tunic and massive knee-high boots, he went to the screen blocking the door and knocked on it.
“Lady de Winter?” he called softly. “May I enter?”
He could hear splashing before she answered. “Of course, my lord,” she replied, sounding rather breathless. “Please come in.”
He slid around the screen without moving it, his hazel eyes riveted to the figure in the enormous tub. As he approached, he could see that she was covering her chest with a piece of linen she had yanked off the side of the tub. He suppressed the urge to laugh at her but he couldn’t keep the grin from his face. He stood over the tub with his fists on his hips as if inspecting the entire activity.
“Well?” he said with mock sternness. “I hear you wish to bathe alone. Does that mean I cannot participate, either?”
She gazed up at him with the linen pulled up around her neck, unsure how to answer. “I … well, I suppose so. You are my husband, after all.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I know who I am,” he removed his fists from his hips and crouched next to the bath. “But you chased off Lucy and Frances. They are most distressed. They think you do not like them.”
She looked genuinely concerned. “I did not mean to distress them,” she struggled for the correct words. “I am simply unused to bathing with help, much less with the help of women I do not even know. I am more comfortable alone, ’tis all. Please tell them not to be distressed. It was not my intention to upset them.”
He smiled faintly. “I am sure they know that but I will remind them,” his smile faded as his gaze trailed to the linen covering her chest, the soapy water. “I told you that they would be your ladies-in-waiting. You will have to get to know them sooner or later.”
“I will. But right now, I would simply like to bathe without the assistance of strangers.”
His eyes lingered on the peaked nipples showing through the linen. “May I help you bathe? You know me, after all.”
The sheer tone in his voice made her blush to the roots of her hair; she may have been fairly naïve but she had heard that tone before, before he made love to her. “I am finished bathing, my lord,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
He leaned forward and took her in his arms, pulling her wet body up against his damp and dirty tunic. She shrieked.
“You are sweaty and filthy,” she pushed against him. “Now I will have to bathe again.”
He laughed softly, released her, and yanked off his tunic. The gleam in his eye was strong. “Exactly.”
The tub was big enough for two; before Devereux could protest, Davyss pulled off his boots and breeches and plopped his enormous bulk into the tub. Water sloshed all over the floor and Devereux yelped as a tidal wave engulfed her. As she wiped the water from her eyes, there was a white bar of soap thrust in her face.
“Here,” Davyss said. “You may wash me so I am not so offensive.”
She blinked the water from her eyes and hesitantly accepted the soap. “But it smells of flowers,” she cocked an eyebrow at him. “You are going to smell like a woman.”
“Would you rather me smell of horses?”
“Nay.”
“Then wash me.”
After a few moments of reluctance, she did as he asked. Davyss closed his eyes as she crept forward in the tub, planted herself between his massive legs, and began to soap him. She started with his dark hair, rubbing soap into it and creating white froth with her fingers as she worked it in. As Davyss sat there, still
as stone, he could tell she was very hesitant. Her fingers were unsure, as she had never done this sort of thing before, and he could tell she was somewhat embarrassed and uncertain. But at least she was willing to try. He felt a good deal of confidence in that, confident that their new beginning was working. After the bumps of the past day, he sincerely hoped so.
He lifted his head, eyes still closed, as she soaped his face and neck. The more she worked, the more sure her fingers became. By the time she reached his hairy chest, she was soaping him quite vigorously. He grunted when she came to his belly, twitching, and she abruptly stopped and looked at him.
“What is wrong?” she asked, concerned. “Did I hurt you?”
He grunted again and shook his head, his eyes still closed. “Nay.”
She eyed him as she went back to work, watching him twitch again as she soaped his ribs. She paused, he stopped twitching. Then she started again, stronger than before, and watched him shudder uncomfortably. It took her a moment to realize that he was very ticklish. She stared at him, the mere notion that the most powerful knight in the realm was ticklish overwhelmed her thoughts. She fought off a grin, then laughter, as realization dawned. Suddenly, she dug both hands into his ribs and tickled mercilessly. Davyss groaned and grabbed her by both wrists in his iron grip.
“You evil little wench,” he growled. “You will not exploit that, not ever again. Do you understand?”
He opened his eyes and looked at her, seeing that her face was red and she was struggling to hold back the laughter. When their eyes met, she erupted into great peals and yanked her wrists free, digging her fingers into his ribs again. Davyss responded by throwing her in a big bear hug, holding her tightly enough that she couldn’t move. She laughed uproariously as he held her tight, cradled against his mighty chest, his face mere inches from her own.
“Do that again and you shall pay the price,” he growled, although a grin played on his lips. “Well? Swear you will never do it again or you shall feel my wrath.”
Her laughter faded as she gazed up at him. “It is my secret, my lord,” she said as if she held a great weapon against him. “I promise I will only use the knowledge in times of great need.”
His eyebrows lifted as his loins grew heated; she was warm and soft and slippery against him and his lust bloomed full force.
“Times of great need?” he repeated, having a difficult time focusing on something other than her sweet body. “What on earth could that be?”
“I am not sure yet.”
“I see,” he lifted an eyebrow, pretending to be properly worried when all he really wanted to do was kiss her. “So you intend to abuse your power, do you?”
Her smile bloomed. “Not at all. But it is a good thing to know, don’t you think?”
He just shook his head, completely charmed by her playful manner. “You are a horrible woman.”
She laughed softly. “You knew that when you married me.”
He nodded his head as if in complete agreement. “I know,” he murmured. “How utterly fortunate I am.”
His lips slanted hungrily over hers before she could reply. This time, she didn’t stiffen in his arms. She remained cooperative and pliable, and Davyss could feel passion exploding within him such as he had never known. His mouth quickly left her lips, moving over her neck and shoulders as he captured a full breast in his grip. Soon his lips were on her nipples and he could hear Devereux gasping with awakening desire. He had her out of the tub and onto the floor before she could draw another breath.
He moved her to a cow hide rug that lay on the floor near a softly glowing bronze vizier. His massive body covered her, his mouth on her breasts and torso, suckling her delightfully damp skin that smelled strongly of flowers. Beneath him, Devereux continued to gasp and pant. He suckled her lower belly, her right thigh, before grabbing hold of her hips and flipping her onto her stomach.
His massive hands massaged her shoulders, her back, and finally her smooth buttocks. He gently pulled her legs apart, wedging himself in between her knees. Devereux lay there, acutely aware of every sensation, aware of his hands on her buttocks, her thighs, before he gently grasped her by the pelvis. He lowered his enormous body down atop her and carefully entered her from behind.
It was a completely different sensation from anything she had experienced with him thus far. Devereux groaned as he thrust into her, her slick body drawing him deep. He thrust again and again, covering her with his massive body as he supported his weight on one elbow. His free hand roamed her body, his lips on her head, her neck and shoulders. Then the hand moved to her pelvis again and he pulled her slightly onto her left side as his hand snaked underneath and began to play with the fluff of dark curls between her legs.
Davyss knew how to make a woman scream; that much had been clear from the beginning. Within seconds of the thrill of his expert fingers, Devereux buried her face in the cow hide rug and cried out as he manipulated her into a powerful climax. When her convulsions died down, Davyss flipped her onto her back and drove into her again, kissing her deeply as he thrust into her. After a few more thrusts, he spilled himself deep into her body but continued moving, not wanting the moment to end. Every time he took the woman, it was better than the time before. There was such power and desire between them that he could hardly comprehend it.
They lay on the cow hide rug for some time, feeling the warmth from the vizier and each other’s bodies. Davyss shifted so his weight wasn’t crushing her but he refused to let her go. Holding her sweetly and tightly was the best possible thing he could imagine, creating this warm little haven of flesh and beating hearts. But there was something more than just physical contact; there was something odd stirring in his chest that he didn’t yet understand yet. All he knew was that it grew stronger by the moment.
“I am afraid I disrupted your bath,” he murmured, kissing the side of her head. “My apologies.”
She gazed up at him with her bottomless gray eyes, studying the lines of his handsome face. Moment by moment, day by day, the man was growing on her and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that still. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to have any resistance at all to him. She was becoming swept up in whatever was developing between them, something she’d never even known to exist. It was magical.
“No need,” she said softly. “You are my husband. You may do with me as you wish.”
The warm expression faded from his face and he abruptly pushed himself up. His hazel eyes were glimmering with confusion, perhaps disappointment, as he stared at her.
“Will you stop saying that?” he demanded, though it was without force. “I know I am your husband. I am well aware of what my rights are. I do not need you to remind me every time we have any manner of physical contact.”
Devereux sat up, watching his frustrated face. She began to feel some confusion as well. “But it is true. I… I am not sure why you are….”
He waved a big hand at her and stood up. “I know it is true,” he almost snapped. “But you say it so coldly, as if … oh, hell, I do not know… as if you are removed from the situation. Is that what you truly wish? That you remain removed from this marriage in every way?”
She eyed him with some shock, digesting his words. Silently, she rose from the cow hide rug and collected the white robe that had been laid out for her. Wrapping it around her body, she seemed lost in thought as she turned to Davyss. He was still standing naked in the middle of the room, looking for an answer. She was struggling to supply one.
“I am not sure what you mean,” she said honestly.
“Do you not feel anything?”
She seemed shocked by the question but just as quickly, he could see that she indeed knew what he was asking. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders.
“Davyss,” her sweet voice was low, firm. “You and I were married a little over a month ago and to say that we had a rough beginning is an understatement. You have acknowledged this. Until two days ago, I had resigned myself to the
fact that I had married a man in name only. But then this man reappeared and seemed to be nothing like the one I remember from my wedding day. He was kind, considerate, generous and attentive. He was completely different from the Davyss de Winter I married on that turbulent day. Do I feel anything? Of course I do. Am I terrified? Absolutely. I am terrified that I am going to wake up and this all will have been a dream. I do not want to become attached to a dream.”
He looked as if he was pained somehow by her answer. His hazel eyes flickered and he hung his head for a moment. Then he made his way over to her, putting his massive hands on her upper arms in a labored, if not thoughtful, gesture. His fingers caressed her as he thought on his reply.
“I will confess something,” he whispered. “It was never, under any circumstances, my intention to become attached to anyone, least of all you. I do not know what it is about you that draws me to you, but something does. Whether it is what my mother said to me on our wedding day, or simply what I feel, I am not sure. All I know is that I feel something for you, something that terrifies and puzzles me. But it is the most wonderful feeling I have ever had.”
By this time, he was looking at her. Devereux met his gaze; she could feel something from him, something warm and fearful. She understood the feeling well. After a moment, her expression softened.
“I understand completely,” she smiled faintly. “I am experiencing it myself. But you scare me.”
“I know. You scare me, too.”
She sighed thoughtfully. “We simply cannot go through this marriage afraid of each other.”
“What do we do?”
She cocked her head. “We should add something more to our list.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Ah, yes, the list. I’d almost forgotten. What should we add?”
She sighed again, thinking. “We should add that we promise to never intentionally hurt one another. Maybe that would help.”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 120
