Lespada (13 page)

 When Davyss returned to the House of Hope promptly at sunset, she was waiting.

CHAPTER FIVE

Promptly at sundown, Davyss appeared.

The man, Lollardly, Hugh, several knights and several men at arms appeared at the House of Hope like a great thundering herd.  Devereux, standing just inside the door that led to the yard outside, heard them coming.

As the evening meal was in full swing around her, she had been playing with a little girl who had a horrible cleft palate but who was joyful and sweet. The little girl was a particular favorite of Devereux’s. When the chargers filled the muddy yard, the little girl grew fearful so Devereux gave her back her little poppet, which was nothing more than a doll made out of straw, and the child ran off. Eyeing the noisy group outside with both irritation and anticipation, Devereux proceeded to out into the yard.

She stood just outside the door, watching the chargers circle. The great beasts snapped and snorted, sending anyone within proximity running.  Davyss finally pulled his charger forward of the pack, his helmed head focused on Devereux.  She was wearing one of the surcoats he had given her, the brilliant blue with the exotic high-lights of black and iridescent green. Her lovely blonde hair was pulled away from her face, revealing the sweet shape of her jaw and emphasizing her enormous gray eyes.   She stood by the door, gazing up at him very calmly and expectantly, and he felt his heart leap.  She was an exquisite creature, and a smile of appreciation creased his lips before he ever lifted his visor.

“Greetings this evening, Lady de Winter,” he used her title with pleasure. “You look beautiful.”

She faltered in her confident stance, gazing down at the garments she wore. “This is one of your gifts,” she said as if he did not remember. “I am glad that you approve.”

He nodded, his eyes riveted to her. “Approve indeed,” he murmured. “Are you ready to depart for supper?”

“I am.”

Davyss nodded to Hugh, who dismounted his steed and made his way towards her. Devereux well remembered the last time they came within close contact of each other and she instinctively flinched when he held his hand out to her. She eyed the hand  and eventually put her hand in his palm. Hugh, ever the lady’s man like his brother, smiled brilliantly at her and led her quite genteelly toward Davyss’ steed.

“I hope you are hungry, my lady,” he said pleasantly. “My brother and I have secured a meal at the best inn in town.”

She looked up at him; Hugh had very dark eyes and hair, and an extremely square jaw that gave him an almost stubborn appearance. He was handsome but nothing like the rugged male beauty of his older brother. Still, she could see that he fancied himself the object of every young maiden’s heart.  And from the way he was looking at her, she suspected he would be disappointed if he wasn’t the object of her heart as well, married or no.  She resisted the urge to frown at him.

“Aye, I am hungry,” she replied evenly. “Which inn are you referring to?”

“The Fist and Tankard, of course,” Hugh replied as if she was in need of an education. “It is the finest in town.”

Devereux lifted an eyebrow; she had heard of the place, all right, but it wasn’t because of its fine food. It was because it had the largest selection of whores in town.

“If you like trollops and dirty women, then I supposed it is,” she replied. “But if you want good food, the Swan is the place to go.”

By this time, they had reached Davyss.  Hugh was looking between his brother and his brother’s wife with some anxiety.  It was obvious that Devereux had shot an arrow into his bubble of happiness and he had no idea how to deal with it.

“Then you… you prefer the Swan?” he asked, loud enough for Davyss to hear him.

Devereux hesitated a brief moment, thinking on her answer; Davyss had come to make amends and she did not want to start the evening off being demanding and rude. She could see that Hugh looked very concerned by her comment and she shook her head at him.

“Not at all,” she replied pleasantly. “I was simply pointing out my own experience. Perhaps the next time you visit, you will allow me to introduce you to the Swan.”

The sun shone again and Hugh grinned. “It would be a pleasure, Lady de Winter.”

She forced herself to smile in return; Hugh’s polished performance when dealing with a woman was almost as accomplished as his brother’s. Both of them were quite talented when it came to the most flattering words and the right time to flash that brilliant de Winter smile. She found the charade they put on disgusting and struggled not to roll her eyes at him.

Davyss, meanwhile, was impatiently holding his hands down to his brother. Devereux caught sight of them, the biggest hands she had ever seen. Hugh took the hint.

“Up you go, my lady,” Hugh lifted her up to his brother.

Davyss settled her in front of him on the saddle, adjusting her skirts so they flowed like a banner. Devereux shifted a couple of times to get comfortable, glancing around at the men in armor that surrounded them;  they were all the men that had come to take her to her wedding, men who forced her to marry a sword rather than a man. She met Sir Nikolas’ steady blue-eyed gaze, remembering how she had clobbered him with a chair leg.  Next to him was Sir Philip, the handsome blonde who had tried to talk her in to surrendering peacefully. She had opened a door into his nose.  Next to Sir Philip were Andrew and Edmund, brothers that faintly resembled each other. Andrew nodded his greeting while his younger brother Edmund simply gazed at her with some trepidation even though he had been the one to subdue her after everyone else had failed.  Perhaps he thought they were in for another row. Rounding out the group was Lollardly, who appeared as if he might have actually washed his face for the event.  His dark eyes glittered with some friendliness when their gazes met.

Devereux didn’t have a chance to speak to any of them before Davyss spurred his charger forward. The beast had an excited gait and she held on tightly as the group roared into the main street of the town.

Thetford was a larger settlement with approximately three thousand people at any given time.  In that respect, it was enormous and more than likely the largest town in Norfolk on average.  There was a large main street that cut a path through the town with a variety of smaller roads that sprung off from the main avenue like branches from a tree trunk.  The closer to the main road, the more businesses and merchants there were.  Further off the main road were residential areas and inns.

The Fist and Tankard was one such inn off the main street, off to the northeast and in an area peppered with run-down brothels. It was little more than a brothel itself.  The sun had just dipped below the horizon when Davyss and his men arrived at the inn with ten men at arms, swarming the entire front of the building with soldiers and weapons. The night air was cool, smelling of smoke and animals. Davyss pushed his way forward and dismounted, carefully and politely helping his wife down from the horse.  A soldier took the charger’s reins as Davyss escorted his wife inside the two-level establishment.

It was crowded inside, full of bodies and smoke. Tendrils of gray spiraled up from a hearth with the defective chimney, causing a steady haze to settle across the room. Most of the tables were full with men sharing an evening meal, talking and drinking loudly. The innkeeper caught sight of Davyss and his men and waved them over to a large alcove where he had a table waiting for them.  The table was nothing more than a few planks thrown over some empty ale barrels, and Davyss took the stool at the head of the table and indicated for Devereux to sit.  He sat next to her and the knights settled in around them, bellowing for ale and food.  Lollardly sat on her other side.

They were swarmed by the innkeeper and several wenches bearing trenchers and wooden trays of steaming food; brown bread, butter and a berry compote were put all over the table along with boiled turnips with dill, carrots with honey, and half a pig that had been roasted over an open pit.  The pork was so cooked that it was falling off the bone and Davyss went to work making sure Devereux received the best meat and the first helping of everything.  He yelled at poor Edmund when the young knight made it to the bread before he did. Lollardly even slapped the young man in the head to punctuate the error.

The entire time, Davyss hadn’t said a word to her. The men around them were chatting, laughing uproariously at jokes Devereux did not understand, but Davyss remained largely focused on his wife. He even served her himself.  All the while, Devereux kept her head down, focusing on her food and her husband’s polite attempts to help her.

“So, my lady,” Hugh began, well into his tankard of ale. “I would assume this is better fair than the House of Hope is having tonight?”

Devereux fixed on him with her big gray eyes. “Any food at the House of Hope is welcomed and appreciated,” she replied. “It is not an inn or a fine palace. We eat what God provides and do so happily.”

Hugh’s smile faded somewhat, glancing at his brother. “I did not mean to offend,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t fly into a rage. “I was simply… I suppose I was simply asking if the food was to your liking.”

Devereux struggled not to react to his arrogant stance. The man really had no idea what it meant to be hungry and homeless; he was a typical young knight with an over-inflated sense of entitlement.

“The food is very good,” she replied, trying to keep the distain from her voice. “Thank you for asking.”

Hugh looked relieved and turned back to his meal but Lollardly growled at him.

“Foolish whelp,” he rumbled. “The lady does not want to hear your ridiculous wit.”

Hugh glared at the hairy priest, a man who had known him since birth. “I was making conversation, old man.”

“You were making an ass of yourself.”

The knights snorted at Hugh’s expense, which only seemed to inflame him.  But the laughter faded into awkward silence and Devereux returned her focus to her meal.

“Did the old woman recover?” Davyss’ voice beside her was low and sultry.  When Devereux turned to him, puzzled, he clarified. “The old woman who became ill when I was there. Did she recover?”

Devereux nodded in realization and swallowed the carrots in her mouth. “Ah,” she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “She did not recover as far as I know.”

Davyss nodded, watching her mouth as she spoke; she had the most beautiful mouth, one he remembered as being particular delicious. “I would imagine the House of Hope does not exist simply to provide food to those who need it. I imagine tending the ill is just as important.”

She could see he was genuinely trying to carry on a conversation and her heart softened towards him, just a little. “We have more ill than we can handle,” she replied honestly. “A surgeon from town comes to help a few days a week, but much more is needed.  We have an entire section of the building that is dedicated to the ill. In fact, we seem to have become the place of choice for the destitute to give birth to their children.”

Davyss’ eyebrows lifted. “How many children are born there on a daily basis?”

“’Tis hard to say; but we have at least five or six born every week.”

“Then you are an expert midwife.”

She looked at him before answering, knowing that midwifery was considered an inappropriate skill for noble women. It was unseemly and lowly. She couldn’t tell if there was disgust in his voice or not.

“The surgeon usually delivers the baby if a midwife is unavailable,” she replied evenly. “But if no one is available, then I am not ashamed to admit I have delivered my share of children.”