Lespada (2 page)

“Return from what?”

“My wedding.”

CHAPTER TWO

Thetford, Norfolk

The only man not in attendance to the wedding was the groom.

Unwilling to leave London with the current political situation between Henry and the volatile Simon de Montfort, he remained at his post. Moreover, his absence was a statement to his mother that he could not be so easily pushed about. So he sent his knights, all five of them, to attend the marriage for him. Most importantly, he had sent his sword with Hugh. The lady would marry the weapon, by proxy, and become Lady de Winter. Davyss would therefore have a wife he’d never even met, a very neat arrangement for someone who did not wish to be married at all.

If the groom was reluctant, the bride was positively adverse. Hugh had been the first man to lay eyes on her, a petite woman with the body of a ripe goddess and luscious blonde hair that fell in a thick sheet to her buttocks. He had been momentarily dumbfounded by the glory of her face, so lovely that he was sure the angels were jealous. She had enormous gray eyes that were brilliant and bottomless, and a rosebud mouth that was sweet and delectable. But his glimpse of unearthly beauty had been fleeting as she slammed the door in his face.  That action set the tone. The de Winter knights had, therefore, broken down the door and set chase to the fighting, scratching animal otherwise known as the Lady Devereux D’arcy Allington.

Hugh led the group with enthusiasm. One of the shortest knights, he was built like a bull. His dark hair, dark eyes and square jaw gave him a youthfully beautiful appearance and he was no stranger to women’s attention. Usually, he could soothe any manner of female fits. Much to his chagrin, however, his brother’s betrothed had not fallen under his spell. As she fought him like a banshee, his enthusiasm waned and he backed off to let the rest of the group have a go at her. He was embarrassed she had not swooned at his feet but would not admit to it, not even to himself.

Sir Nikolas de Nogaret was the next in line to deal with the hysterical lady. A tall man with blue eyes and wide shoulders, he ended up with a black eye when the lady swung a broken chair leg at him. Sir Philip de Rou took over when Nik acquired the hit to his face; a slender, blonde man with a decidedly suave manner, Philip was as over-confident in his persuasive abilities as Hugh had been. The lady opened a door into his nose when he had chased her into a wardrobe and, in that gesture, damaged his fragile ego as well as his face.

With two knights down, the final pair took over. Sir Andrew Catesby and his younger brother, Sir Edmund Catesby, were ten years apart in age. Andrew and Davyss had fostered together and were the closest of friends. 

Cool, calm, and exceedingly collected, Andrew stepped over Philip’s prostrate form on his way to corral the lady and was met by a flying taper. Her aim had been true and almost put his eye out. Edmund, young and newly knighted, tucked in behind his older brother and used him as a shield. When the brothers finally cornered her in her father’s
chamber, it had been Edmund who had taken the glory of finally subduing her.

Victory was attained for the moment but there was more bedlam to come. Carting her, bound and gagged, to Breckland Priory had been no easy feat. Though small, she was oddly strong.  The men didn’t want to injure her but the woman struggled like a wildcat.  They were frankly astonished at the resistance they met and tried not to look like vicious brutes as they carried her through the town. She screamed and fought as if they were taking her to be hanged. The entire berg turned out to watch and their procession transformed into a bizarre parade, with knights on foot carrying a reluctant captive.

Fortunately, they made it to the priory without anyone losing fingers. The lady’s father, a short man with silver hair and gray eyes, followed them from the cottage and lingered near the door of the chapel as they lugged his daughter inside.  He had readily agreed to the union between his only child and Davyss de Winter due to the prestigious connections with the House of de Winter, but now he wasn’t so sure his decision had been a wise one. The knights were enormous men, built and bred for battle, and his stubborn daughter was caught in the middle of the storm.  She was, in fact, the tempest. He said a prayer for her health as she was half-dragged, half-carried, to the altar.

The interior of the old priory was spartanly furnished and dimly lit, with long thin tapers trailing ribbons of smoke into the musty air.  Massive columns supported the ceiling, flanking the central area for the congregation. A few priests lingered in the shadows, hiding behind the supporting pillars and watching the drama unfold. But their fears were for naught, for not one of them would be forced to execute the brittle Mass. Davyss’ personal priest, a man named Lollardly, stood waiting to perform the ceremony.

Lollardly had seen battles, and participated in them, for nearly twenty years and had earned a reputation for himself as a fighting friar.  But the brawl happening before him was something not even he had ever witnessed and he was, truthfully, astonished.

“Here, here, do not injure the lady,” he commanded the knights. “Untie her, you animals. Have you no respect?”

Andrew and Edmund had Devereux between them. Ever the gentleman, and with a healthy respect for the clergy, Andrew gently righted her on her feet. Once balanced, she tried to run. Andrew grabbed her before she could get away and wrapped his big arms around her torso, holding her fast.

Devereux cursed him through the gag. Lollardly lifted a disapproving eyebrow, took a step forward, and pulled the sodden wad from her mouth.

“My lady,” he said sternly. “I would suggest you calm yourself and fulfill your duty. Your behavior is harming none but yourself and you are creating an embarrassing spectacle.”

Devereux licked her chapped lips, a gesture not missed by Hugh and Philip in particular. They were rather intrigued by the pink rosebud mouth, especially when it wasn’t gnashing at them.

“You should be protecting
me
,” she hissed at the friar. “How dare you ally yourself with these devils.”

“Devils or no, they represent your husband and you will obey.”

“He is not my husband
yet
.”

Lollardly had little patience for the inane. Beautiful or no, the lady was ridiculous as far as he was concerned and he would waste no more time. He glanced at Andrew behind her.

“Let us kneel.”

The knights dropped to a knee and Hugh produced the blade of his forefathers;
Lespada,
the sword of high warriors. It was a magnificent weapon that had seen many generations of de Winter men, now carried by Davyss. Andrew tried to force Devereux down but she stiffened like a board. Not wanting to create more of a scene, and slightly perturbed that he was not in complete control, Andrew tried a few methods to force her to kneel. The last resort was to throw his knee into the back of her right knee. The joint buckled enough to allow him to shove her down to the cold stone floor.  He knew she must have cut her skin with the force of her fall but she did not utter a word of pain.

“Curse you,” she hissed.  “Curse all of you. I hope you burn in hell for this. I hope you rot. I hope you...!”

Andrew slapped a hand over her mouth, smiling thinly at the friar. “Proceed.”

Lollardly lifted an eyebrow and began the liturgy. It really was a pity, he thought. Lady Devereux was a stunning example of the glory of womanhood. She also had the manners of a wild boar. Davyss would not be pleased.

The friar droned on in Latin. The lady’s bright gray eyes blazed with fury, Andrew’s hand still over her mouth. Somewhere in her glare, Lollardly could see the tears of fright, of sadness. Strangely, he saw no outright defiance, only self-protection. At least, he hoped that was what he saw. Given the opportunity, they could ease her fears to soothe her manner. But they could not curb blatant insubordination.

“
Quod Jesus refero said unto lemma, liberi illae universitas matrimonium , quod es donatus in matrimonium
,” Lollardly intoned the liturgy, reading from the dog- eared mass book he had copied himself many years ago. Gently closing the book, he formed the sign of the Cross over the lady’s head.

“
Bona exsisto vobis
.”

It was the union blessing. Devereux understood Latin and her loudly-thumping heart beat faster still. Andrew removed his big hand and Hugh placed the hilt of the sword in front of her lips.

“I will not kiss it,” she said through clenched teeth.

Hugh tried to put the metal against her mouth in an effort to force her, but she would have no part in it. She bit her lips and lowered her head. Andrew, though it was not a gentlemanly gesture, grabbed the back of her blonde head and pulled her skull back. With a violent twist, she threw them both off balance and they tumbled to the ground.

“No!” she screeched.

The lady ended up on her back, with Hugh on top of her. The sword was in his hand. His weight, coupled with Andrew against her legs, rendered her immobile and Hugh found himself gazing into bright gray eyes.

The lady knew she was cornered. The knights had her and there was nothing more she could do, nowhere for her to go.  She could feel herself breaking down, the fight in her veins leaving her.  Still, she could not let go so easily.

“Please,” she whispered in a strained tone. “Please do not force me to do this.”

It was the first civilized words she had spoken. Her voice was like liquid sugar, soft and sweet and low. She was such a lovely creature that Hugh found himself listening to her. But he chased away his misgivings before they could control him. 

“This is not my doing, my lady,” he said neutrally. “Kiss the sword and we shall be done with it. Then I am to take you to London to meet your husband.”

The lady shook her head. “But… but you do not understand. I will not. I cannot.”

“Why?”

She wouldn’t answer him and he was suddenly seized with anger. The fingers of his left hand bit into her upper arm. “Are you compromised?”

She gasped in shock at the suggestion. “No, my lord, I swear it,” she insisted. “But… I will not marry de Winter.”

Hugh gazed at her, baffled by her words, thinking it was surely another ploy. She was trying all avenues to resist this marriage. Before he could reply, however, a voice filled the stale air of the priory.

“Hugh!”

Lady Katharine de Winter strolled into the hall, leaning heavily on her cane. Behind her came a procession of properly submissive ladies in waiting with their severe wimples and pale faces. 

“Get off of that woman, you beast,” she told her son. “What are you doing to her?”

Hugh pushed himself off of Devereux, making sure that Andrew had a grip on her. His dark brown eyes warmed to his mother as he approached her.

“Darling,” he kissed her on both cheeks. “How good to see you. You are as lovely as ever.”

She let her youngest flatter her. “I can see that you waited for me.” She cast a long glance in the direction of the lady, picking herself off the floor with Andrew’s assistance. “What is she doing on the ground?”