Lespada (15 page)

His hazel eyes glittered in the dim light as he gazed back at her. “What would prompt you to make such a request?”

She did not back down. “Your mother told me that you needed someone to show you that the true meaning of manhood comes from dedication to one woman, not the plaything of many.  Did I misunderstand her?”

He watched her sweet face, the strength behind those amazing gray eyes, and felt himself relent. He could not lie to her. “Nay,” he said after a moment, suddenly having difficulty looking her in the eye. “You did not.”

“Do you wish to elaborate on what she has told me so I am neither surprised nor offended by gossip or truths I might hear?”

He sighed heavily, looking particularly miserable. He felt as if he was about to confess his most grievous sins and not at all happy about it. “I thought perhaps we could come to know each other better before we delved into that particular subject.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I am trying to establish something pleasant between us. Speaking on that particular subject might cause you to change your mind about me.”

“Does this concern you so?”

“Of course it does.”

She gazed steadily at him.  He was still toying with her fingers and she suddenly squeezed his hand, forcing him to look at her. “If you wish to establish an honest and truthful marriage, then you must be honest and truthful with me. Tell me why your mother would say such a thing.”

He pursed his lips, appearing both regretful and frustrated. Given their rough beginning and that fact that she virtually knew nothing about the man, Devereux was afraid that she might have overstepped her bounds. Men kept and took mistresses all of the time and it was not unusual. But she felt strongly that there needed to be honestly between them; it would be his choice to honor her request or not, which would largely determine the character of the man she had married. It would most certainly determine the wall of self-protection she would keep up around her when dealing with him and she held her breath as he regarded her.

Davyss suddenly pulled on her arm, strongly enough that it lifted her out of her seat. Reaching out, he wrapped his enormous arms around her torso and pulled her down onto his lap. Startled, Devereux was nonetheless a willing participant and she remembered well the feel of the man’s arms around her; he was big and powerful and manly, and the combination was enough to cause her head to swim. She’d never been held by a man until the event of Davyss de Winter. Everything about his embrace was enough to cause her to forget any resentment, bitterness or disgust she had ever felt for him. 

Davyss held her tightly on his lap, his great head against her left shoulder. His eye level was at her collarbone and his gaze rested pensively on the rise of her breasts.

“It is true that I have not led a pious life,” he said softly. “I have experienced my share of women. But the day I married you is the day all of that ended. I have not as much as thought of another woman since that day.”

“How many women?” she asked, hoping the tremble of excitement at his touch wasn’t evident in her voice.

He shook his head. “It does not matter.”

“More than I can count on both hands?”

“Aye.”

He didn’t sound prideful about it at all; he was, in fact, rather subdued.  Devereux watched the top of his lowered head as it rested against her shoulder. “Anyone special I should be aware of?”

“Nay.”

“Bastards?”

He grunted with hesitation. “Two that I am aware of. Twin girls.”

“How do you know they are yours?”

“Because they look just like me.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment and when the silence became excessive, he dared to look up at her. He was surprised to see a faint smile on her face, the gray eyes glittering. When their eyes met, her smile broadened.

“I imagine it was very difficult to tell me this,” she said softly.

He lifted a big shoulder. “You asked for truth. I gave it to you.”

“I appreciate your candor.”

His gaze was somewhat guarded as he continued to watch her. “Maybe so, but does it change your mind about me?”

She shook her head. “Nothing has changed.”

His smile returned, this time one of relief. “You are most kind and understanding, my lady,” he said graciously, then froze.  He looked stricken. “Do you consider those words to be empty flattery?”

She broke into soft laughter. “Nay,” she sobered. “They were genuine.”

He laughed with her, pulling her closer in the process. She was warm and soft and absolutely delicious. His relief, his joy in the conversation, was so great that in little time he was slanting his lips over hers, very gently. He couldn’t help himself. Much to his surprise, she didn’t pull away, so his kiss grew more insistent and one of his great hands found its way into her hair. 

The intensity of the kiss did not increase; it stayed heated and curious, his fingers drifting over her face, acquainting himself with the texture of her skin and the shape of her jaw.  The same hand moved to her neck, gently caressing, as his lips began to move across her cheek and jawline. He heard her sigh faintly and her body began to quiver, like the swift flutter of butterfly wings. It only served to excite him more.

Davyss took his time as he sampled his wife. He had never in his life known anything so soft and pure. Other than holding her in his arms, his hands never moved below her collarbone; they remained in her hair, on her face, against her neck. He’d handled her so caddishly the first time they had met and he didn’t want to repeat that mistake. He wanted her to become comfortable with his touch and hopefully learn to crave it. He already craved her almost beyond his ability to control.

Back in the smelly and smoky great room, the front door suddenly slammed back on its hinges and several knights spilled into the room, hollering for food and ale. It was enough of a commotion that Davyss tore himself away from Devereux long enough to realize that knights bearing the yellow and green colors of the Earl of Gloucester, ally of Simon de Montfort, had entered the tavern. He immediately set Devereux on her feet.

“Stay here,” he growled, his eyes tracking the movements in the room like a predator. “Do not stray from this spot for any reason.”

Devereux, her head still swimming from his delicious kisses, simply nodded her head for lack of a better response. She watched as Davyss entered the great room with his proud, stalking gait, making his way towards the men who had just entered.  Hugh and Nik saw Davyss first, crowding in behind him as Lollardly, Philip, Andrew and Edmund shortly followed.   The six most powerful knights in the arsenal of Henry III and one fighting priest faced off against the new visitors.

There were eight knights in total facing Davyss and his men. The knight in front was an older man with curly dark hair flecked with gray. He had a dark beard and a weathered face, but his eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s.  His lips curled in a smile as he beheld the mighty and powerful Davyss de Winter.

“De Winter,” he said with satisfaction. “I should have expected to see you here.”

Davyss was as cold as ice. “You are in the heart of my holdings, de Reyne,” he said. “You must have a death wish coming here.”

De Reyne lifted his shoulders casually. “There is no law that says I cannot travel where I wish,” he replied. “We are simply passing through.”

“Passing through to where? You serve Gloucester and you are far from his territory.”

“That is none of your business, I fear.”

“I made it my business when you came onto my lands.”

De Reyne’s smile grew. “You needn’t worry,” he put up his hands in acquiescence. “We are heading north to Peterborough. We shall eat and be gone before you know it.”

Davyss eyed him; not wanting to create a brawl, which would undoubtedly happen if these men were denied a meal, he simply backed off.  His gaze never left de Reyne as the man, sensing that de Winter was unwilling to instigate a battle, motioned to his men to find a table.  Davyss watched them make their way into the heart of the great room before turning to his men.

“Do not let them out of your sight,” he rumbled. “Once they are finished eating, they are to be evacuated from this inn. Is that clear?”

Hugh and the others nodded. “Why did you let them stay?” Hugh wanted to know. “They will only cause trouble.”

Davyss scratched his head, wondering if he let them stay because his wife was watching. She had accused him of being a war machine and perhaps he was taking the opportunity to prove that he wasn’t some blood thirsty fiend who thrived on the thrill of the kill.  Under normal circumstances, he would have thrown the lot of them out and have taken great pride in it.  At the moment, he couldn’t really answer his brother’s question and that frustrated him.

“Never mind,” he flicked an irritable hand at his knights. “Spread out in the room and watch them. When they are finished eating, I want them gone.”

The knights acknowledge the command but it was Andrew who suddenly caught sight of what he knew would be the trigger to a very big battle.  He grabbed Davyss by the shoulder and turned him in the direction of the alcove.

“You will want them gone now,” he pointed.

De Reyne and two of his men were speaking with Devereux while the rest of Gloucester’s men commandeered Davyss’ former table.  Davyss didn’t even blink; before he realized it,
Lespada
was unsheathed and he was charging towards his wife. It was like a tide of death and men as it all rushed into the small, cluttered alcove.

Devereux never saw it coming.

CHAPTER SIX

There was a single lit taper in the House of Hope this eve.  It rested on a crude table next to the bed of a dying old woman. All was quiet and still as Devereux sat next to the woman, applying cool cloths to her head to bring her some comfort while the old woman’s husband sat on the other side of the pallet, seated on the floor as he prayed endlessly.  The night had been a vigil for the elderly woman who had vomited earlier that day. Death was closing in.

And that was where Davyss found his wife, crouched next to a dying peasant and trying to give the old woman some comfort in her last hours. Clad in battle armor with blood on his hands, he had marched into the House of Hope with fire and terror on his mind that was immediately doused at the sight of Devereux, healthy and whole. In fact, he had been weak with relief.  He stood there and watched her for several long moments, composing himself, before approaching.

“Lady de Winter,” his voice was quiet, rumbling, as he addressed her.

Devereux didn’t acknowledge him. She continued gazing at the dying old woman’s face.  But gradually, she turned to see his boots standing a few feet away, her gaze trailing upward on his bloody armor until their eyes met. The impact was physical.  Davyss gazed steadily at her before lowering himself into a crouch.  His eyes were imploring.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.