Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I am sorry, ladies,” she stood up from the little stool they had her seated on. “I believe my harrowing night has taken its toll. I must lie down for a time.”

  Lucy and Frances were very concerned. “Are you ill, Lady de Winter?” Lucy asked fretfully.

  Devereux nodded as she went back into the bed chamber and climbed back into bed. “Please see that I am not disturbed.”

  Frances and Lucy helped pull the coverlet up around her, passing anxious glances.

  “Shall we send up some wine and bread, my lady?” Frances asked.

  The thought of food made Devereux feel ill. She shook her head as she lay down. “Nay,” she sighed as she settled in. “No food. Just let me sleep for a time. I am sure I will feel better in a little while.”

  “Do you require the surgeon?”

  “Nay. Just sleep.”

  There was nothing more that Lucy or Frances could say. They left Devereux asleep in the great bed, although they made sure that one of them was outside of the door at all times in case she needed something. When Davyss returned sometime before noon, Lucy was waiting anxiously for him with a tale of woe.

  He raced to the master’s chamber to find Devereux sound asleep. The tapestry was lowered, blocking out the light from the windows and the room was dark and musty. He was very quiet as he leaned over his wife, putting a gentle hand on her forehead to make sure she wasn’t running a fever. He was deeply concerned, shooing Lucy and Frances out of the room. He followed shortly. Once outside the door, he spoke.

  “Did she eat this morning?” he asked.

  Lucy shook her head. “Nay, my lord. She did not want anything to eat.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I see,” he frowned, thoughtful. “What did she say her symptoms were?”

  “She did not,” Frances answered. “She only said she must lie down. But she has been asleep all morning.”

  Davyss digested her statement, the situation in general. He exhaled sharply, blowing out his cheeks. “I can only assume that last night was too much for her,” he said. “She is exhausted and injured, and we will let her sleep until she feels better.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Lucy nodded eagerly. “We shall sit with her in case she requires anything.”

  Davyss shook his head. “Nay,” he informed them. “I will sit with her. Send food up to my chamber, please.”

  The women nodded and fled. Davyss went back into the darkened chamber and tried to stay quiet as he wearily removed his boots. He set the first one down silently but the second one made some noise. He froze, watching Devereux, but she remained still. He resumed removing his tunic, quietly, tossing it over near the wardrobe. By the time he sat down next to the bed, Devereux was awake and looking at him.

  “You make enough noise to wake the dead,” she mumbled.

  He grinned down at her, smoothing a big hand across her forehead. “Enough to wake you, at any rate,” he removed his hand, gazing sweetly down at her. “I heard that you were not feeling well. Is there anything I can do?”

  She looked up at him with her brilliant gray eyes and the humor in her expression faded. “Aye,” she whispered. “You can tell me that you did not kill your brother.”

  His grin disappeared, the hazel eyes intense. “I did not kill my brother.”

  “Then where did you go?”

  He continued to gaze steadily at her. “On an errand,” he replied. “But you need not concern yourself with that. I am more concerned with your health. How do you feel?”

  She did not press him on where he had disappeared to; there was no need to if he had not gone to murder Hugh. Devereux realized that she was simply glad to see him.

  “Better now that you are here,” she smiled wearily. “My head pounds something fierce and my stomach is lurching like waves crashing upon the shore.”

  His grin returned and he sat on the edge of the bed; she rolled into him, pressed against his thigh.

  “Let me send for Lollardly,” he said. “He can give you something for your head.”

  “Lollardly?” she repeated, confused. “Is he not your priest?”

  “He is our surgeon also.”

  She made a reluctant face. “Very well.”

  He winked at her and kissed her forehead, sending Lucy, hovering just outside the door, for Lollardly, the man of many talents. She almost plowed into Frances in her haste, who was bringing food to Davyss. Since Devereux chased off the serving wenches, Lucy and Frances were doing double-duty. Davyss lifted an eyebrow at the near-collision, watching Lucy scamper off. Frances presented him with a large tray of edibles. Davyss took it back to his wife, who was now sitting up, albeit slowly, in bed.

  “Do you feel like eating something?” he asked.

  She peered at the tray he offered, noting the cheese, bread, small apples and some kind of meat. She made a face and waved him off as she climbed out of bed.

  “No, thank you,” she stood up, weaving unsteadily. “I will get dressed and have you show me Wintercroft. I have not seen the entire place. Just the tower stairwell, you know.”

  He couldn’t help but grin at her, the funny way she delivered the last sentence. He was coming to see that she had a delightful sense of humor. “I know,” he replied with a mixture of resignation and disapproval. “Are you sure you want a tour? Perhaps you should rest today.”

  She shook her head, stretching out her stiff muscles as she moved for the bathing alcove. “I am fine,” she insisted. “Please eat your meal and I will dress.”

  “I would like for you to eat something also.”

  She mumbled something he didn’t hear as she moved into the bathing alcove. With a shrug, he delved into the meat on the tray. He hadn’t taken two bites when he heard her retching. Pushing the tray aside, he moved swiftly into the bathing alcove to find her bent over the basin, dry heaving. His concern returned full-force.

  “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

  She nodded, holding her hair back as she continued to dry-heave. When the heaves passed, she took a deep breath and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “I am fine,” she muttered.

  “You do not look fine.”

  Her gray eyes widened. “I look terrible?”

  He noted the distress on her face and shook his head, putting his hands on her shoulders and steering her back into their chamber. “You are still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he assured her. “I simply meant that you are obviously not fine. Lie back down and eat some bread. Perhaps it will make you feel better.”

  She didn’t argue with him until he tried to hand her the bread. She resisted until he put it to her mouth himself and gently ordered her to take a bite. She did, but chewed as if it was made of wood. Davyss was torn between the humor of her expression and concern for her physical state, but she managed to choke down four bites of bread before falling back to the bed and covering her head with the pillow. He did grin, then, and ate the rest of the bread as he sat next to her. He put his free hand on her back, stroking her hair until she dozed.

  Lucy and Lollardly arrived some time later. The old priest had a bag with him and entered the bed chamber with Lucy in tow, his old eyes moving back and forth between Davyss and the lump under the covers beside him.

  “Lady de Winter is feeling poorly?” Lollardly asked Davyss. “What seems to be amiss?”

  Davyss looked over at the bundle of covers beside him. “Her stomach aches and her head hurts,” he said. “Give her something to heal her.”

  Lollardly lifted an eyebrow and went to the other side of the bed for better access to Lady de Winter. He peered at the bump under the covers, trying to get a look at her without lifting any of the material. Finally, he gingerly reached down and lifted up the pillow. Lady de Winter’s disapproving face was looking back at him.

  “Well?” she lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have something to cure what ails me?”

  Lollardly began to rummage through his bag. “What, in particular, ails you,
my lady?”

  She sat up slowly, covering her mouth when a burp threatened. “Everything,” she groaned. “My head throbs and my stomach aches.”

  Lollardly listened to her before digging into his bag and removing a couple of crude leather pouches. He had Lucy bring him some wine and he dissolved first a white, then a brown, powder into the wine. He handed it to Devereux. She eyed it suspiciously.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “Drink it.”

  “I want to know what is in it.”

  “Magic. Mysterious stuff. You would not understand.”

  She pursed her lips at him. “Then explain it so I will.”

  Lollardly was losing his patience. “Do you want to feel better?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then stop talking and drink it.”

  She was gearing up for a sharp retort but Davyss, grinning, intervened. “You had better tell her or we will be here all day,” he told the old man.

  Lollardly frowned, displaying great disapproval as he focused on Devereux. “White willow and coriander,” he replied. “Now will you drink it?”

  She eyed him as if to emphasize that she was not complying particularly willingly, but she accepted the cup and drained it. Davyss smiled his approval and helped her lie back down.

  “Now,” he kissed her on the forehead. “Go to sleep. You will feel better when you awake.”

  She snuggled down into the coverlet and sighed wearily, gazing up at him. “Will you stay with me?”

  His smile faded. “For a while,” he said. “But I have business in London I must attend to and I am leaving tonight.”

  She bolted up again into a seated position, fighting the nausea that swelled like the tide. “Business?” she repeated, concerned. “How long will you be gone?”

  He was very touched to see the concern in her eyes, as if she did not want him to leave. He never thought to see that expression on her face, ever. It was then that he began to realize that the past few days together might have accomplished exactly as he had hoped; she had warmed to him. Perhaps with time she would actually….

  “I do not know,” he said quietly, stroking her pale cheek. “Will you miss me?”

  She studied him, fighting the urge to lie. She wanted to deny him. But she found that she could not. “Aye,” she said after a moment. “I believe I will.”

  He grinned and kissed her cheek, then her mouth. “I never thought to hear that from your lips.”’

  She met his grin reluctantly, closing her eyes in sheer bliss when he kissed her cheek again. “And I never thought to say it,” she lifted her hand, putting it against his stubbly cheek “Can I come with you? I have never been to London before.”

  The denial was on his lips. He tried to speak it but could not make the words come forth. Gazing into her lovely gray eyes, he knew he was going to comply. Although he knew very well that she should stay at Wintercroft, he realized he wanted her with him no matter what.

  “You may be spending a good deal of your time alone,” he tried very weakly to discourage her. “I have business with the king.”

  Her eyes widened. “The king?”

  His smile returned and he chuckled. “Aye, the king,” he lifted his eyebrows. “Surely you did not forget that I am his champion.”

  She shook her head; then she nodded. “I must confess that for a moment, the fact did escape me,” she replied. “Are you really going to see him?”

  “Truly.”

  “Will… will I meet him also?”

  “More than likely.”

  Her eyes bugged and she suddenly propelled herself out of bed. “I must pack,” she said anxiously, motioning to Lucy standing just outside the open chamber door. “Come, Lucy, and help me!”

  Lucy was as skittish as a bird. She flew into the room, following Devereux as she bolted into the bathing alcove. Mildly startled and slightly confused at the burst of activity, Davyss stood up from the bed and scratched his dark head at the crazed women darting around him.

  “Your trunks have not been completely unpacked since our arrival,” he called out to his wife helpfully. “You do not need to fly into a frenzy.”

  She rushed out of the bathing alcove with a small box of toiletries in her hand. “Aye, I do!”

  He chuckled as she ran past him, towards the neat row of trunks against the wall. “I thought you were feeling poorly.”

  She dumped the box into the trunk and whirled on him. “I am,” she insisted. “But that will not stop me from going with you.”

  He watched her as she raced past him, stepping back so she wouldn’t run him over. “Are you sure?”

  She disappeared into the bathing alcove. It wasn’t two seconds later that he heard retching again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Wintercroft wasn’t too far from the heart of London city. As they neared the jewel city of England and the early morning sun glittered off the River Thames, Devereux was enraptured. The structures this close to the heart of the city were built close together, crowded upon each other in some areas, but there were some lovely buildings that Devereux found very interesting. One of them was a beautiful abbey, which Davyss apologized for not being able to stop at. He was overdue at the Tower of London and could not make the king wait any longer, but he promised he would take her afterwards to see all of the pretty buildings to her heart’s content.

  At Devereux’s insistence, Lucy and Frances were along on the trip, much to Philip’s pleasure and Nikolas’ indifference. Davyss had brought a carriage for the women because Devereux still wasn’t feeling particularly well and he didn’t want her riding a palfrey. So the three ladies idled away the trip in the carriage belonging to Lady Katharine, finding both the trip and the company agreeable.

  Devereux was coming to know Lucy and Frances fairly well in just the few days she had known them. There wasn’t much more to do to occupy their time than talk, although Lucy brought a spectacular piece of petite poi to work on. It was a gorgeous piece of work of a woodland scene and she worked it very carefully as the carriage lurched and bumped over miles of road. She never even pricked her finger, which amazed Devereux. She would have cut herself to shreds by now. Lucy also chattered constantly, making it all the more amazing that she never stabbed herself with her sewing needle. Devereux leaned back against the cab, listening to Lucy speak on all things foolish, smiling faintly at her silly but sweet new friend.

  Frances, however, was another matter. She was quiet, humorless and efficient, and would not warm no matter how much Devereux tried. Devereux wondered what could make a woman so joyless; having seen how she interacted with her husband, it was apparent there was little affection between them. Devereux wondered if Frances’ demeanor was the cause or the result. No amount of jesting or storytelling could coerce a smile from the woman. She was very serious and, Devereux thought, very sad. It was puzzling.

  As she’d been told, Hollyhock was the Lady Katharine de Winter’s home in London, close to the heart of the city and downriver from Westminster Cathedral. It was a beautiful home that soared four stories into the sky, built of great blocks of stone rather than the wood and mortar that was so popular in the city. It sat on its own expanse of land along the river, guarded by a big stone wall, dogs, and a small army of sentries.

  When Davyss brought the column to a halt in front of his mother’s house, he bailed off his charger and ordered the men to hold station. Like a mother hen, Lollardly began to take up his lord’s call and squawked Davyss’s commands to the entire group. As the old priest barked, Davyss made his way back to the carriage.

  Devereux’s sweet face was the first thing to greet him; she was staring from the carriage window, drinking in the sight of the four-storied monstrosity before her. But she tore her eyes away long enough to smile at her husband as he approached.

  “Well,” he glanced at the manor, gesturing with a gloved hand. “This is where you shall stay. Welcome to Hollyhock, my lady.”

  Devereux was more impre
ssed with this place than she had been with Wintercroft; Hollyhock was a home of astounding architecture and beauty. A lovely garden surrounded the home from what she had been able to see through the great iron gates with forests of colorful hollyhocks and foxgloves reaching to the sky.

  “’Tis lovely,” she said sincerely. “I do not blame your mother for preferring Hollyhock over Wintercroft.”

  Davyss gave her a lop-sided grin. “I can see that you do as well.”

  She met his grin, shaking her head. “It is beautiful,” she insisted weakly. “Is your mother in residence?”

  He nodded. “She comes to Hollyhock for the summer because everyone who lives in town in the summer usually leaves because of the moist heat from the river. She likes the quiet streets. Moreover, Mother swears the moisture soothes her skin so she prefers Hollyhock in the summer.”

  Devereux, nodding with interest, moved to open the cab door but Davyss stopped her.

  “Not yet,” he secured the door and kissed her on the cheek. “Wait here. I shall return shortly.”

  Leaving Philip and Nik in charge of the women, he entered the stately gates of the manor and made his way to the front door. It was a massive door, made with strong English oak and reinforced with great bars of iron. He used the enormous iron knocker which, when pounded, resonated throughout the entire house. Eventually, the massive door creaked open and Davyss entered.

  The entry hall was wide, cool, lavishly decorated. Fresh flowers from his mother’s garden were everywhere. It was an elegant home, just the way Lady Katharine liked it. Everything reeked of sophistication. He went into the room directly to his left, a massive solar, beautifully appointed, where his mother sat with her two little dogs. Her ladies lingered in the shadows, quiet as ghosts. Lady Katharine barely looked up from her needlework as he entered but the dogs barked furiously.