His smile broke through. “It might,” he agreed. “I swear upon my oath that I will never intentionally hurt you.”
“So do I.”
He laughed softly. “You swear on your oath?”
She grinned as he chuckled. “And why not? My oath was my marriage vow.”
His laughter faded as he looked her in the eye. There was something deadly serious in his expression. “So is mine.”
She continued smiling and he kissed her on the cheek, then on the lips. He put a big hand on her head, stroking her hair as he gazed into her lovely gray eyes.
“You are such a beautiful woman,” he murmured. “I cannot believe that I am so fortunate.”
“Nor I.”
“You have me afraid to utter sweet words, you know. I am afraid you will think them insincere.”
“I am coming to know the difference.”
“Good.”
He kissed her again and with a final stroke of the hair, went to the screen that blocked the door and moved it aside. He strolled into the master chamber beyond, stark naked.
Devereux followed, torn between embarrassment and pleasure at the sight of his bare buttocks. She wasn’t used to men parading around nude and struggled not to stare as he went to one of the enormous wardrobes and threw open the doors. He began pulling garments out, throwing them around the floor and tossing a few up onto the bed until he came across what he was looking for. As Devereux watched, he pulled on a pair of leather breeches and a pale linen tunic with short sleeves.
“Sweetling,” he turned to her as he fussed with the neck of the tunic. “My boots are in the dressing room. Can you get them for me?”
Devereux nodded and returned to the room with the big tub in the center of it. His boots were scattered on the floor and she picked them up. They were massive, heavy and dirty, and she struggled not to get dirt on herself as she carried them back to him. She handed him one and he took it with a grateful smile. He took the second one with a kiss.
“Now,” he faced her, fully dressed, with his hands on his hips. “Do you wish to see the rest of the manor?”
She shook her head. “I cannot. My hair is wet and I must dry it first.”
He nodded shortly. “Do you require help?”
Again, she shook her head. “I can do it myself.”
“Will you be ready for the evening meal?”
“I will.”
“Very well.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her sweetly, his lips lingering on her cheeks before pulling away completely. “I will return in a while.”
Cheeks flushed with the power of his kisses, Devereux could only nod. He winked at her as he left the chamber. She stood there long after he was gone, going over their conversation, the encounter in general. Thoughts of the man made her feel giddy and warm, growing worse by the moment. And something additionally odd was occurring; thoughts of him seemed to suck every other idea out of her head. She found that didn’t want to think of anything other than him.
But she forced herself to move, to focus on something other than his beautiful hazel eyes or amazing physique. She retreated back into the privy chamber where the tub still sat, the water now cool, and the cowhide that had cushioned their lovemaking lay. She stared at the hide a moment, a chill running through her as she thought of his hands on her body. It was still somewhat embarrassing to have such sexual thoughts, being a lady who had led a relatively sheltered life, but they were not unpleasant thoughts. She knew she could come to like them.
Pulling up a small stool, she sat next to the vizier and flipped her head over, running her fingers through her hair in front of the heat. As she did, her mind began to wander again to the massive knight who was her husband. She couldn’t seem to get him off of her mind.
She didn’t try.
CHAPTER NINE
The evening meal was the first introduction into what kind of man Davyss de Winter was, at least prior to his marriage and pledges of faithfulness. It was during this meal that Devereux began to see what Lady Katharine had meant about the numerous women in her son’s life. It started with the serving wenches.
Seated next to her husband in the center of a very large table in Wintercroft’s enormous great hall on the first, windowless floor of the structure, Devereux was dressed in a beautiful yellow surcoat with gold embellishment. Her hair was braided over one shoulder and she looked positively angelic; Davyss’ reaction when he had first seen her and his constant attentiveness told her that he appreciated the effort she put forth in dressing. She was truly enjoying his company when the parade of serving wenches started.
She didn’t notice it at first; she simply thought the servants were bringing the meal. Every time Davyss would take just a few sips of wine, a woman would immediately fill his glass. She noticed one of them at one point as she bent over her husband’s left hand with a pitcher. All she could see were white breasts, spilling out over the top of a leather girdle. The woman brushed them against Davyss’ arm as she poured his wine. Shocked, Devereux looked at her husband’s face; he was focused on his meal.
Although they were surrounded with his knights and their wives, Davyss seemed to have eyes only for Devereux. He made sure her cup was always full by the same wenches who were so intent to seduce him and he also made sure she had the first serving of everything. He was attentive and sweet in spite of the parade of whores who were vying for his attention.
Lady Frances was sitting on Devereux’s right hand. The woman hadn’t said a word all evening, instead, sitting silently with her meal and responding to her husband on occasion. But Frances noticed the steady flow of serving wenches challenging Devereux for her husband’s attention; that was a normal occurrence at Wintercroft. She was frankly curious how Lady de Winter was going to handle the situation and unsure how to feel about it. At some point, she caught Devereux’s eye when a particularly busty wench brushed against Davyss. Devereux smiled weakly.
“The meal is lovely,” she said. “Who is responsible?”
Frances was pleasant. “Lucy and I share the duties, Lady de Winter. However, now that you have arrived, you are in charge. We shall defer everything to you.”
Devereux nodded faintly, studying the attractive woman; Nik, seated next to his wife, seemed more interested in the men around them. Frances sat quietly while her husband carried on a lively conversation with others. When Davyss turned to Hugh, seated on his left, Devereux took the opportunity to speak further with Frances. She felt sorry for the woman.
“How long have you and Sir Nikolas been married, my lady?” she asked politely.
Frances swallowed the bite in her mouth. “Three years, my lady,” she replied. “We were married in London but I have lived at Wintercroft since.”
Devereux’s brow furrowed slightly. “He does not provide you with your own home?”
Frances looked both surprised and distressed by the question. “He serves Davyss de Winter, my lady,” she said quietly. “I live where he lives, and right now, he lives with Sir Davyss.”
Devereux was afraid she had upset the woman. “I did not mean to offend you,” she said quickly. “I simply meant…to ask if you have a home of your own to attend to. I should not like to keep you from your home or family.”
Frances shook her head. “My home is here. I hope this does not disturb you, Lady de Winter.”
“Of course not,” Devereux replied, thinking it would be wise to change the subject. “I want to thank you again for preparing a bath for me today. It was most thoughtful of you.”
“It was our pleasure, my lady.”
The conversation died a bit but Devereux tried to keep it going. “What do you do for entertainment?” she asked as she pulled apart a soft white piece of bread. “Do you draw?”
“I do.”
“I am sure you are very good at it.”
Frances smiled weakly, the first such gesture from the woman. She seemed rather quiet and sad. “I try, but I believe I am better at sewing.”
“Truly?” Devereux pretended to be very interested. “Perhaps you will show me some of your work.”
Frances seemed pleased by the request and nodded graciously. Lucy, far down the table on the other side of her husband, seemed upset that she was not included in the conversation that was clearly going on between Lady de Winter and Frances. When Devereux caught a glimpse of her sad young face, she caught the woman’s attention and motioned her over. Lucy leapt up and raced to the women, even when Philip demanded to know why she was leaving him. He was more interested in his ale and manly conversation, anyway, which Lucy promptly reminded him. The men around Philip snorted.
As Lucy drew near, she tripped over a hovering serving wench in her haste. The woman was intending on pouring more wine into Davyss’ cup but ended up spilling it on Frances’ surcoat instead, prompting Devereux to shoot to her feet in outrage. She jabbed a finger at the wench, at her end of patience with all of these loose women hanging about and creating a nuisance.
“You,” she snapped. “Get out. I do not want to see your face again.”
The woman looked shocked, then angry, but quickly she did as she was told. Seeing the wench vacate gave Devereux the excuse she had been looking for; to get rid of the half-dozen women who were circling their section of the table like vultures. All of them were trying their hardest to gain Davyss’ attention. Another woman bearing empty cups came near and she snapped at that woman also.
“And you,” she growled. “Get out of my sight. Take the other whores with you. If I see another wench within the walls of this hall, you will not like my reaction. Consider yourself warned.”
By this time, Davyss was watching his wife with interest. He saw the return of the woman he had met on their wedding day, full of strength and fury and indignation. She was truly a force to be reckoned with when roused. This time, however, it did not distress him. He found it comical and he was oddly proud. The wenches that crawled the hall of Wintercroft promptly vanished as word of an angry Lady de Winter spread. Across the table, Lollardly was watching the scene also with growing amusement.
“Here, here, Lady de Winter,” the priest banged his dented pewter cup against the table. “You have done what could not be done. You emptied the hall of the rubbish that plagues it.”
Devereux turned to the priest; he was drunk but not out of his senses. Davyss answered the old man before his wife could.
“Untrue,” he reminded him. “My mother has done the same thing, although with less authority than Lady de Winter shows. Mother simply trips them with her cane or smacks them on the behind until they steer clear of her.”
Devereux looked down at him. “She does?” she struggled not to smile. “Apparently the wenches need to be whacked with the cane, not tripped by it.”
Davyss smiled up at her, tugging gently on her arm until she sat. “Reclaim your seat and have no worries,” he put an arm around her shoulders and pressed his face into the side of her blonde head. “I know what is occurring. But rest assured that I have eyes only for you.”
Devereux felt shivers run up her spine at his hot breath. “Is this a normal happening?” she asked frankly.
He paused as he kissed her head. She heard him sigh faintly. “Aye,” he whispered.
“Am I to assume you took advantage of this?”
He didn’t reply. He continued to hold her, his big arm around her shoulders, his face in her hair. She finally turned to look at him; due to his proximity, their faces were very close. Hazel eyes met with brilliant gray.
“What would you have me say?” he murmured. “I have already admitted my shortcomings.”
She digested his statement carefully. “Then it would be fair to say that you have bedded every woman at Wintercroft?”
“Not every woman.”
“I meant every young female servant.”
He lowered his gaze. “It is possible.”
Devereux fell silent and Davyss dared to look at her. She was staring off into space as if lost in thought. He began to feel an odd sense of desperation, fearful for the first time in his life that his rutting behavior may have cost him dearly. Up until now, he’d never cared. He had taken what he believed his right. Now he was coming to wish that perhaps he had shown more self-control. It had never occurred to him that someone else might be offended by his behavior. Someone he was very much coming to care about.
“What would you have me do?” he whispered, almost pleadingly. “Tell me what you want me to do and I shall do it.”
She looked at him. “Do? Do what?”
He shook his head, growing frustrated. “I do not know,” his brow furrowed as he grasped for words. “Repent, beg forgiveness, and seek atonement. This is not the first time you will be reminded of my past behavior and I do not want it to constantly break apart what I am trying to build up.”
She lifted an eyebrow, curious. “What are you trying to build up?”
He lifted his enormous shoulders weakly. “Us.”
She could see how frustrated he was, perhaps embarrassed. But he could not undo the past. She also sensed his sincerity and it softened any annoyance or shame she was feeling.
“Very well,” she responded quietly. “You may do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“Dismiss every female servant at Wintercroft. I want every one of these women gone, women who sampled my husband before I have. I will be greatly shamed if they stay as constant reminders.”
He nodded without hesitation. “It shall be done.”
“Before sunrise.”
“Immediately.”
He kissed her cheek and rose, snapping orders to Andrew, who was seated on the other side of Hugh. Hugh, halfway through his second helping of meat, heard the command and his dark eyes widened. He bolted to his feet even as Andrew moved to do Davyss’ bidding.
“What are you doing?” he grabbed Davyss by the arm.
Davyss gazed into his brother’s eyes, knowing he was going to have trouble with Hugh. Hugh was a great connoisseur of women, perhaps even more than Davyss, and would undoubtedly bed at least three women before the morrow. In fact, Davyss and Hugh used to be very much alike in that respect. They used to have contests about it. Until now.
“My wife wants the serving wenches gone,” he told him steadily. “So they are leaving.”
Hugh’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because she is uncomfortable having women that I have bedded living in the same house and hold with her. I wish to make her happy so I am removing them.”
Hugh’s jaw flexed. “What?” he hissed, dropping his hand from his brother’s arm. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I told you; to make her happy.”
Hugh couldn’t believe what he was hearing; he’d not talked to his brother in depth since they had arrived at Thetford to retrieve Lady de Winter, so he was well out of the loop of what his brother was feeling and thinking about the woman. For all Hugh knew, the marriage was still only an unpleasant situation that Davyss must grow accustomed to. He hadn’t even paid any attention when Davyss kissed and behaved attentively towards his wife. He hadn’t cared in the least. If he thought about it, he hadn’t really talked to his brother in a couple of days. Therefore, the latest news was a blow.
“You cannot make her happy,” Hugh seethed. “We all know that she is a spoiled, arrogant bitch that will never….”
Hugh didn’t see Davyss’ fist coming until it was too late. Massive knuckles made contact with Hugh’s jaw and the younger brother sailed over the table, right into Lollardly’s lap. The priest, caught off guard by the flying knight, spilled food and wine everywhere. Devereux and the other women shrieked as Davyss vaulted over the table and went after his brother with a vengeance.
It was a nasty brawl from the start. Hugh had no idea why he was defending himself from his furious brother and, after several hard punches, began to fight back. Andrew put himself between Lady Devereux and the fight, not knowing the reason behind the brothers’ battl
e but wanting to make sure Davyss’ wife was protected. Philip grasped his wife and Frances and whisked them from the hall while Nik stayed behind to observe the situation. Young Edmund came to stand beside his brother, his eyes wide at the battle going on.
“What do we do?” he hissed at his brother. “Why are they fighting?”
Andrew shook his head, his soft brown eyes tracking the combat. “I have no idea.”
“Should we stop them?” Edmund pressed, distressed.
Andrew shook his head as Lollardly, still wiping wine off his neck and arms, barked an answer.
“Stay out of it, young Catesby,” he, too, was watching the rather brutal bout. “Whatever is troubling them, they must settle it.”
Devereux was watching in horror. It was clear from the beginning that Davyss was much stronger than his brother and he was delivering Hugh a righteous pounding. At one point, he hit Hugh in the face and blood spurted everywhere. Devereux was aghast; she suddenly leapt onto the table and screamed as loud as she could.
“Stop it!” she cried. “Stop it this moment! You are going to kill each other!”
Andrew went to grab her but she scooted out of his arm’s length, leaping off the other side of the table and running in the direction of the battle.
“Davyss, stop!” she hollered. “Stop this instant!”
Through his haze of fury, Davyss heard her terrified voice and paused. But his brief moment of cessation gave Hugh an opportunity to clobber him in the jaw. As Davyss spun away, he clipped his brother on the back of the head with an enormous fist. Hugh went down as Davyss fell to his knees.
Devereux rushed to her husband, her hands on his shoulders. “My God,” she breathed, looking at the blood on his face. “Are you all right?”
He nodded unsteadily, rising slowly on shaking legs. “I am fine,” he grunted.
Devereux gazed up at him, gravely concerned. “Are you sure?”
“Aye.”
“Why did you hit your brother?”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 121
