Davyss dismounted the charger, tethered it, and made his way over to the edge of the field to meet his brother. But as he approached him, someone came up behind Hugh and clubbed him brutally between the shoulder blades. As Hugh staggered, Davyss leapt over the railing and began pounding the knight with his massive fists. Within the first three blows, the man fell to his knees and the club fell from his hand. Davyss picked up the club and brained the man over the helm. The knight fell to the ground, knocked cold.
Hugh was grinning when he finally regained his balance and stood next his brother, surveying the fallen knight. Davyss returned his brother’s grin before looking over at his wife, who was still astride the charger and looking rather shocked. He waved at her and she swallowed her shock at what he had just done, finally shaking her head in disapproval. It was all of the encouragement that Davyss needed to jump back into the fracas feet-first. Devereux watched him with a reluctant smile on her face.
Other than pound his brother, Devereux had never seen Davyss fight and it was truly a sight to behold. The man was extremely powerful, dropping men right and left with his heavy blows. He was also very agile, dodging men who would come at him and then turning the tables on them and sending them to the ground. As Devereux watched with a proud smile on her face, a soft voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Lady de Winter?”
She turned to see a knight standing behind her, big and strong. He was very well dressed in expensive mail and protection. She nodded without a second thought. “Aye,” she said politely. “May I help you?”
The knight bowed crisply. “Lord de Montfort has requested to meet you. Would you accompany me, my lady?”
Devereux slid off the charger and into the man’s upstretched hands. As she straightened her surcoat, the knight extended an elbow but she hesitated.
“My husband is nearly finished with the mêlée,” she said. “Should we wait for him?”
The knight shook his head. “Lord Simon has already met your husband,” he said, rather lightly. “He would like to meet you.”
Devereux passed a glance at her husband as he pummeled some hapless fool who had challenged him. It made her grin. With a shrug, she took the knight’s offered elbow and followed him.
Since she had seen Simon in the lists earlier, she was not surprised when the knight took her to the royal box. Simon de Montfort was seated in an elaborate wooden chair, rising to his feet when he saw Devereux approach on the arm of the unknown knight. Devereux mounted the steps to the box, dropping into a neat curtsy.
“Lady de Winter, my lord,” the knight announced.
Simon’s yellowed eyes inspected every curve, every line, as he stared at her. He’d only caught a fleeting glimpse earlier and had no idea what a beauty Lady de Winter was. As the sounds of the mêlée began to fade as the event drew to a conclusion, Simon indicated for Devereux to sit next to him, which she did. She faced him expectantly as he continued to study her.
“I had heard rumors of your beauty,” he said. “I can see that they were not exaggerated.”
She smiled modestly. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Has your husband told you of me?”
She blinked, not sure of the answer he was looking for. “He told me that he is your godson, my lord.”
Simon nodded, deciding his next line of questioning. He was interested in this woman who had captured Davyss’ arrogant heart.
“I am told you are from Norfolk,” he said. “Lady Katharine de Winter has told me of your charity. ’Tis noble work, my lady, and uncommon for a woman of your breeding to attend.”
At that moment, Devereux could see something of her father in Simon de Montfort; arrogant, possibly judgmental. Simply the way he asked the question put her somewhat on her guard.
“My mother started the charity, my lord,” she replied evenly. “I am happy to attend to the needs of the poor.”
Simon waved a hand at her. “I did not mean to sound critical, my lady,” he sensed he had offended her. “I only meant that most noble women do not tend to the needy as you do. Sometimes it is best to leave the needy to those better suited to that lifestyle, like the clergy. You give a great deal of yourself and that is an uncommon trait.”
Devereux wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “T-Thank you, my lord.”
Simon’s intense gaze returned. “What does your husband think about your charity?”
“He has generously supported it, my lord.”
“That is surprising.”
She stared at him, once again struck by the man’s arrogance. In fact, it was beginning to infuriate her. “Nay, it is not,” she deliberately left out “my lord”. “He is extremely generous and understanding of my charity.”
She sounded angry and Simon sat straight in his chair. “I meant no offense, Lady de Winter,” he insisted. “It is simply that I have known Davyss for a great many years and he is not the generous or unselfish type.”
Devereux was beginning to boil. “Did you summon me simply to speak ill of my husband?” she asked. “I can assure you that you do not know my husband if you believe him selfish or ungenerous. He is the kindest, most compassionate and understanding man I have ever met and I will not permit you to disparage him. And you? Do you not care for those in need? I was under the impression that you cared for all of England, not simply the rich or noble.”
Simon could see he had a situation on his hands and he moved quickly to ease it. “My lady,” he said steadily, “I assure you that I would never disparage Davyss. I love him as my son. And in answer to your question, I do indeed care for those in need. I believe I have proved that with my actions and deeds.”
Devereux eyed him, sensing that de Montfort was not at all the man she thought he was. She could just tell by his manners, the way he spoke. She shook her head and faced the arena where the combatants were starting to trickle out.
“Are you a man of the people, my lord?” she finally asked.
“I would like to think so.”
“But if your own daughter was to immerse herself in charity work, you would disapprove?”
He drew in a long, deep breath, knowing this was a tricky question. He was coming to see how Lady de Winter’s mind worked and he was quite impressed. “I would encourage my daughters to be generous with charity.”
“But you would not encourage them to wipe up after an ill peasant or spoon feed a dying woman, is that it?”
His yellowed eyes twinkled at her. “This is a battle I cannot win with you, my lady. You and I have differing opinions on the matter.”
Devereux looked away, seeing her husband at the far end of the arena speaking with the field marshals. She thought back to when they first met and how she had brow-beat him over an arrogant king and a saintly de Montfort. Lady Katharine had accused her of being ignorant and it was obvious she was; she had gone on rumor and what others had told her more than actually experience or personal knowledge. She was coming to feel like a fool.
“I always believed that the Earl of Leicester was a man of the people,” she turned to look at him. “I believed that the king was a tyrant and that you had the good of all men in mind. I see now that perhaps I was mistaken.”
Simon’s lips twitched with a smile. “You were not mistaken, Lady de Winter,” he assured her softly. “But this is a conversation I should like to continue with you away from this field. Shall we return to the Tower?”
Devereux shook her head. “Thank you, but I must decline. My husband has promised me a fattening meal and I do not want to miss his joust match.”
Even as she said the words, the unnamed knight was taking her gently by the elbow and pulling her to her feet. Simon rose as well, gesturing to the knight that now had a firm grip on her.
“This is Sir Darien de Russe,” he introduced the pair. “He will be your escort to the Tower. I shall follow shortly and we may continue this conversation.”
Devereux looked at the knight and tried to tug her arm away. “As I said, I do not
wish to go,” she said, firmer. “I must go to my husband now. The battle is over and he will be hungry. Perhaps we may speak later if it pleases you.”
The knight didn’t let go. He began to pull, soon putting two hands on her. Frightened, Devereux suddenly turned into a wildcat.
“Release me,” she demanded, slapping at his hands. “Let me go!”
Simon continued to smile, waving the knight on as if completely ignoring her demands. Devereux, terrified at being taken against her will, balled a fist and swung with all her might at the knight’s face. She caught him in the nose, causing him to release his grip enough for her to pull away. She darted in the opposite direction.
“Davyss!” she screamed. “Davyss!”
Devereux dodged to the edge of the royal box and flipped herself over the rail, landing in the dust about eight feet below. She wasn’t hurt and bolted to her feet just as Darien hit the dirt beside her. She scrambled away from the man as he made a swipe for her, screaming her husband’s name as she ran.
She was creating quite a scene. Those still in the lists after the end of the mêlée strained to get a better view of what was going on. All they could see was a lovely woman running from a big knight. Devereux eventually found an opening in the railing that lined the arena floor and she bolted through it with Darien in pursuit.
The moment she began running across the dusty arena floor, however, she could see Davyss charging in her direction. She was fully prepared to throw herself into his arms but he rushed right by her. When she came to an unsteady halt and turned around, she could see that he had gone after Darien. Davyss tackled the knight so hard that they both went hurling to the ground, sliding several feet through the dust before coming to a stop. Fists began to fly and as Devereux shrieked in fear, Hugh and Andrew suddenly bolted past her. They all went down on Davyss and Darien and the crowd erupted happily as a massive brawl escalated.
Devereux stood with her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock as she watched a huge dust cloud fly up around the clashing men. A gentle hand suddenly took her by the elbow and she shrieked again until she saw that it was Edmund Catesby.
His young face was wide with concern. “Are you well, my lady?” he asked her. “What happened?”
Devereux didn’t even know what to say; what had happened? She began to stammer. “I… I do not know what happened,” she grasped for words. “One moment, I was speaking with Lord Simon and in the next, he was ordering his knight to return me to the Tower. I told him I did not want to go but he would not listen. He tried to force me.”
More men were charging on to the field as de Winter and his men lost themselves in combat against a lone knight. A few of de Montfort’s men tried to intervene and suddenly, a four man brawl turned into a multi-man scuffle. Men were rushing in from all angles of the field and soon, the swords came out. Field marshals began to rush to the fighting mass, pulling men apart and trying to calm the situation. And at the very heart of it was Davyss.
Devereux could see clearly when the sea of men cleared and he pushed himself off the ground. De Russe was underneath him and not moving. As Davyss turned around and began to walk back to his wife, Hugh decked one of de Montfort’s knights and the fight started all over again. But Davyss removed himself from it; he was only concerned with his wife at the moment.
He came upon her, reaching out to grasp her by the arms. He was dirty and dusty and had a cut on his lip, but was unharmed for the most part. The hazel eyes were potent.
“What happened, sweetling?” he half-demanded, half-pleaded. “Why was de Russe chasing you?”
Devereux had been rather brave up until that moment. Suddenly realizing she was safe, she struggled to blink away the tears. “Lord Simon summoned me,” she told him. “We were speaking and suddenly he ordered that knight to take me back to the Tower. I told him that I did not want to go but he would not listen. He began to drag me away and I became scared. I ran from him.”
Davyss listened to her explanation, an ominous feeling of dread coming over him. “He tried to abduct you?”
She shrugged her slender shoulders. “I do not know, exactly. All I know was that I told him I did not want to go to the Tower and he tried to force me.”
Davyss’ nostrils flared, never a good sign. He put his arm around her shoulders and began to lead her out of the arena. As Devereux clutched him tightly and struggled not to cry, Davyss issued orders to Edmund who was walking next to her. The young knight acknowledged Davyss’ directives and departed. In silence, Davyss led his wife all the way back to his still-tethered charger.
He still didn’t say a word as he untied the animal and began to lead it, and Devereux, back to his tents. She continued to cling to him, refusing to let him go until he gently coaxed her to sit. As his wife sat in gloomy silence, sniffling intermittently, he began to remove is armor. She had been looking at her lap until she heard the mail hood hit the ground. Then she looked up at him, startled.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Davyss was focused on removing his protection. “Undressing,” he told her. “We are returning to Hollyhock.”
She felt somewhat guilty. “But you have been looking forward to this,” she said, watching him pull off his gloves. “I pulled you away from the mêlée and you have not even jousted yet. I will have ruined your entire day.”
He suddenly stopped, an odd twinkle in his eye. “Is that what you think?” he asked her. “That you have ruined my day?”
She half-nodded, half-shrugged, looking extremely guilty and he went to her, cupping her chin in his big hand and forcing her to look up at him.
“Sweetling, you have not ruined anything,” he assured her softly. “I do not like that Simon tried to take you against your will. The next time, you might not be so fortunate to get away. I intend to have serious words with the man this evening but, for now, I wish to return home.”
In truth, Devereux was somewhat disappointed. She wanted to see him joust in spite of her fears, for what she had seen of her husband’s fighting abilities during that day had greatly impressed her. He was rather exciting to watch. But she couldn’t disagree with his assessment of her encounter with Simon.
“Where is your mother?” she asked as he removed his tunic. “I did not see her or Lucy in the lists when I was speaking with Simon.”
Davyss tossed the gray and black tunic to the floor. “Philip took them both back to Hollyhock,” he told her. “It seems that neither one of them were feeling particularly well.”
“Oh,” Devereux said quietly, watching him struggle with the mail coat. “Can I assist you with that?”
Davyss bent over at the waist and extended his arms to her. Devereux stood up from the stool, took hold of the mail on his arms, and pulled with all her might. The coat inched off and she yanked again, this time ended up on her bum as the coat abruptly slipped free. She laughed as Davyss reached down and pulled her back to her feet.
“The object is to brace yourself when you pull,” he told her. “Do not throw all of your weight behind it or you will shoot through the wall next time.”
She shrugged with a grin. “I do not have much experience with helping knights dress.”
His eyes narrowed, though it was without force. “Well and good that you do not, lady.”
She smiled at him as he proceeded to remove the rest of his protection himself. Devereux reclaimed her stool and sat, watching him as he stripped down to his padded tunic and breeches. One of the de Winter squires entered the tent and began collecting the armor and mail, taking it away to be cleaned.
Davyss stood there with his hands on his hips, gazing into space thoughtfully as the squire worked around him. Devereux also sat quietly, her hands fidgeting in her lap, uncertain of her husband’s mood. In spite of what he said about not ruining his day, she still felt badly about it.
“Do you really believe that Lord Simon was attempting to abduct me?” she asked quietly.
He was still lost in thought, jolte
d from his trance by the sound of her voice. He shifted on his big legs, joints popping as he moved to her.
“I cannot be completely sure that it was not his intent,” he said quietly. “In any case, it concerns me.”
Devereux was watching him intently. “But you said that the entire reason behind pledging to Simon was so he would not try to take me hostage to ensure your good behavior.”
He nodded, looking rather disgusted with the entire thing. “That is exactly why I did what I did,” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But if Simon intends to try and abduct you regardless, then it would make sense to get you as far away from London as possible and locked up safe.”
She drew in a long, deep breath and looked at her hands again. “Where will you take me?”
He began rolling up his sleeves. “Hollyhock and Wintercroft are out of the question,” he answered. “They are too easily breached with a large army. They are fortified manors and not meant for heavy combat. Castle Acre Castle or Breckland would be acceptable, but you do not like Castle Acre Castle and my mother would disown me if Breckland was compromised. And Threxton is too small.”
She looked up from her hands. “Then there is nowhere to go?”
He heard distress in her voice and took a knee beside her, taking her soft hands into his enormous calloused ones. “Of course there is,” he stroked her blonde head. “I shall take you to Norwich and heavily fortify it.”
She gazed steadily at him. “And you? Where will you go and what will you do?”
He kissed her on the forehead and stood up. “I will do what is necessary.”
It was a vague answer but she didn’t press him. As she stood up and smoothed her lovely surcoat, the one that she had been so proud of bearing the de Winter colors, Andrew suddenly stuck his head into the tent.
The man’s dark blue eyes lingered on Devereux a moment before moving to Davyss. He had an odd look on his face.
“Davyss,” he cleared his throat. “May… may I have a word with you?”
Davyss turned to look at him as he stripped off his padded tunic. “What about?”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 135
