Lespada (11 page)

Davyss’ felt his disappointment. “Did she tell you that she did not wish to remain?”

Lady Katharine nodded. “On all accounts. I am therefore taking her with me when I return to Breckland. I am taking her back to her father, Davyss. Leave her be for awhile. Let us see if time cannot mend this episode.”

Davyss’ gaze moved to the two story keep. He could see a weak light in the window of the second floor chamber. “Let me go and speak with her,” he said with a mixture of resignation and determination. “Perhaps I can make amends.”

Lady Katharine grabbed him before he could move. “Nay,” she said firmly. “Leave her alone. I fear you will only make things worse if you try.”

“But...”

“Nay, Davyss,” she said, more firmly. “The woman needs to time to heal. Let her reconcile this marriage in her own mind. Give her time before you approach her again.”

Davyss didn’t want to listen to her; that much was clear. But he acquiesced with great reluctance, escorting his mother back to the great hall even though his mind was on his new wife in the bower high above the bailey.

Devereux left before sunrise.

CHAPTER FOUR

Six weeks later

The structure that was
La Maison d'Espoir
had originally been a barn thirty years ago, put together with strips of wood, thatch and an oddly well-made frame.  But it was eventually abandoned and subsequently confiscated by the Lady DeHaven Devereux-Allington.  The lady wife of the Lord Mayor of Thetford, Lady DeHaven took her duties as the mayor’s wife seriously and as the king’s wars with his barons intensified, she sought to help the increasing number of people who were left homeless and injured as a result. Much of Devereux’s opinions on kings and warfare had come from her peace-loving mother. Commandeering the abandoned barn on the north edge of the city had been a starting point to helping those that war and famine touched.

Lady DeHaven and her young daughter, Devereux, had cleaned up the place as much as they could in order to shelter some of the homeless and ill.  Soon, more people joined them in their quest to aid the less fortunate and more and more poor, sick and homeless came to The House of Hope as the years passed. Word of the benevolent Allingtons had spread. Eventually, the structure housed hundreds and Lady DeHaven and her daughter cooked for and tended to the needy.  The House of Hope was legendary throughout the area for its compassionate and necessary work.

When Lady DeHaven died, the legacy was left to her daughter. It was the place that Devereux called home even more than the fortified manor she shared with her father. She had been back from Castle Acre Castle for a little over a month and had settled back into her routine, following the schedule she and her mother had set all those years ago.  It gave her peace and comfort to be back in familiar surroundings, but more than that, she was back with those people with whom she shared the same ideals. She had a good deal of help with townsfolk who pitched in to help her; at any given time there were upwards of fifty people helping her feed and tend the sick and poor. More than her father, certainly more than her husband, these people were her family.  She had struggled for a month to put memories of Davyss de Winter out of her mind.  It was still a struggle.

As the sun rose on this clear and cool day, Devereux had been up before sunrise, as was usual.  A farmer she did business with had delivered a wagon full of oats that she and several other helpers had taken from the wagon to the kitchens where three cooks were preparing great iron vats of cooked oats with vast quantities of dried cherries thrown in.  There had been a bumper crop of cherries last fall and they had been lucky enough to receive the overflow from a farmer north of Ipswich.  They had barrels of millet that had been ground into flour and mixed with a lesser quantity of buckwheat to make bread, the smell of which was wafting heavily in the air from the large earthen ovens built to the west of the building.

There were also huge amounts of walnuts and hazelnuts in the kitchen area as well as bushels of small, sour crab apples.  With monetary donations that Devereux had received from Lady Katharine de Winter no less, she had worked a deal with a local dairy farmer for wheels of soft, tart white cheese.  All of these things, plus the cooked oats, would provide food for the nearly two hundred people staying under the roof of The House of Hope.

Dressed in a heavy surcoat of dark blue wool, Devereux was wrapped tight against the cold morning as she directed the workers.  Her luscious hair was pulled away from her face with a kerchief, revealing her lovely and cold-pinched face. Seeing that her helpers had transferred most of the oats into the kitchen, she moved into the main structure of the house itself to make sure that everyone began their orderly mobilization towards the feeding area. It was moderately warm inside, smelling of bodies, as people began to rise for the day. A little lad, no more than two, suddenly crashed into her in his eagerness to get his food and she laughed softly as she righted the child. 

“Lady Devereux?”

Someone was addressing her from behind and she turned around to see a young man she’d known all her life. Stephan Longham was a man of lesser birth, a year older than her, but strong and handsome.  His father was the smithy in town and his mother a midwife.  He had three younger brothers who all helped at The House of Hope.  Devereux had always greatly depended on the Longham boys as laborers, cooks, surgeons and friends.

Stephan smiled as the little boy who had just crashed into Devereux almost smacked into him as well in his haste to get away.  Together, they watched the child dash off.

“What can I do for you, Stephan?” Devereux asked.

Stephan returned his attention to her. “Sedgebow is outside.  He has a wagon full of salted pork and said that he was told to bring it to you.”

Her brow furrowed slightly as she began to move back towards the kitchens. Stephan followed. 

“The pig farmer from Westley?” she clarified, puzzled. “I have not spoken with the man in months, not since the last time he tried to bargain with us for his salt pork. ‘Tis always far too expensive.”

Stephan followed her into the steamy kitchens. “I told him to go away but he would not leave without speaking with you first.”

Devereux braced herself for the confrontation. “The man is a thief and a liar,” she growled. “I will not purchase his salt pork no matter how much he is willing to bargain.”

Stephan didn’t reply; he had been serving Lady Devereux at The House of Hope for almost ten years. He knew how she did business and he knew what was expected of him should Sedgebow not leave if the lady asked him to. Stephan knew Lady Devereux very well and had loved her nearly as long as he’d known her; although beneath her station, it did not ease what he felt for her. Her marriage to Davyss de Winter had devastated him.  

Lady Devereux wouldn’t speak of her marriage to de Winter or why she had returned to Thetford and no one would dare ask.  They had all either seen or heard of the spectacle of the marriage a month past, how Lady Devereux had attempted to fight off de Winter and his men.  It had been a frightening and curious thing. So Stephan had stuck to her closely since her return as both friend and assistant; she was back and he didn’t care why.  It was the closest he could get to her without overstepping both his boundaries and social station. 

Devereux burst into the dusty, cluttered delivery area just outside the kitchen yards with full force, preparing to argue with the wily pig farmer. Stephan was right behind her; somewhere in their march they had picked up his youngest brother, Cullen, who was absolutely enormous. A big, bald young man, he was mostly fat but strong as an ox. He and Stephan made for an intimidating pair as Devereux faced off against the pig farmer from Westley.

“Sedgebow,” she began with annoyance in her tone. “I told you the last time we had dealings that I would no longer be purchasing any of your salt pork. I thought you understood me clearly.”

The fat, toothless farmer lifted a lazy eyebrow. “You did not purchase this, m’lady,” he said. “I was directed to bring it to you.”

Confusion outweighed her annoyance. “Who directed you?”

Before the farmer could answer, the sounds of thunder could be heard in the distance.  Startled, Devereux instinctively stepped back as a herd of chargers entered the area, kicking up great clods of earth with their sharp hooves. The sounds of snorting filled the air and the glint of mail and armor flashed in the dawn’s early light.   After her initial start, Devereux realized she was looking at Davyss and his men.

The power of the de Winter war machine was unmistakable. The men bore tunics of black and gray with the red de Winter dragon stitched on the front. Devereux was suspicious and resistant to their appearance, apprehensive of Davyss. They had parted on an unpleasant note and she feared that the song between them was still unpleasant. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what to think. For a man she had sworn to loathe the day she had left Castle Acre, at the moment, she didn’t loathe him as she hoped she could. Some odd sensation in her chest told her that she was glad to see him. Her heart thumped and twisted oddly and her gaze remained fixed on him, as if she could look at nothing else, as his massive charcoal steed with its glinting plate armor pushed its way forward.

Davyss flipped up his visor, his gaze falling on his wife. He was not disappointed; she was more beautiful than he remembered. He’d spent forty-two days attempting to convince himself that she was of no consequence to him; it was a marriage of convenience and he would treat it as such. But even as he attempted to resume his normal routine, he found one portion of that routine that he could not resume. He did not take a woman to his bed during those forty-two days; not one. 

He had his share of admirers and regular playmates, but he found that he could not bed them. Something deep inside him prevented it, although he knew not what. The last woman he had intimately touched had been Devereux.  Like it or not, she had marked him. He couldn’t get her out of his mind.

More than that, his mother, oddly, had not tried to speak to him of his marriage at all.  Lady Katharine had remained unusually quiet on the subject, which only caused Dayvss to think more strongly about it.  As the days passed and the duties of the king’s champion consumed his days, he found his thoughts lingering on the woman he had married.  He reached a point where he could think of nothing else. For some odd reason, the woman consumed him. He needed to discover why.

“Lady de Winter,” he greeted, bracing an enormous fist against a thigh as he gazed down at her unearthly beauty. “I hope you can put this pork to use.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “
You
purchased the pork?”

He nodded, tearing his gaze away to look over the enormous, patch-worn barn that was The House of Hope. He gestured at the structure. “I thought you could use it.”

Devereux was twice stunned; not only by his appearance but by his donation. It was overwhelmingly generous. Rather speechless, she separated herself from Stephan and made her way hesitantly towards her husband.

“Of course we can use it,” she stopped a few feet from the charger, her lovely face upturned to him, knowing she should at least thank the man. “Your… your donation is exceedingly generous, my lord. Thank you.”

He flashed a smile at her, a brilliant gesture that had sent many a maiden’s heart fluttering. But for Devereux, the gesture was genuine.  He wasn’t trying to gain favor or make a woman swoon.  He was genuinely glad to see her. He dismounted his charger.

“I would see this place that you have made famous,” he winked at her. “Would you show it to me?”

She blinked; he seemed almost jovial. It was not the sort of reaction she was expecting from him considering the animosity between them when they last parted.  But here he was, standing before her as if nothing had happened and actually appearing happy.   She began to suspect that the salt pork was more an offering of peace than anything else and something in her softened, if only slightly.  She dipped her head graciously to his request.