Lespada (21 page)

He looked as if he was pained somehow by her answer. His hazel eyes flickered and he hung his head for a moment.  Then he made his way over to her, putting his massive hands on her upper arms in a labored, if not thoughtful, gesture. His fingers caressed her as he thought on his reply.

“I will confess something,” he whispered. “It was never, under any circumstances, my intention to become attached to anyone, least of all you.  I do not know what it is about you that draws me to you, but something does. Whether it is what my mother said to me on our wedding day, or simply what I feel, I am not sure. All I know is that I feel something for you, something that terrifies and puzzles me. But it is the most wonderful feeling I have ever had.”

By this time, he was looking at her. Devereux met his gaze; she could feel something from him, something warm and fearful. She understood the feeling well.  After a moment, she wriggled her eyebrows.

“I understand completely,” she smiled faintly. “I am experiencing it myself. But you scare me.”

“I know. You scare me, too.”

She sighed thoughtfully. “We simply cannot go through this marriage afraid of each other.”

“What do we do?”

She cocked her head. “We should add something more to our list.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Ah, yes, the list. I’d almost forgotten. What should we add?”

She sighed again, thinking. “We should add that we promise to never intentionally hurt one another.  Maybe that would help.”

His smile broke through.  “It might,” he murmured. “I swear upon my oath that I will never intentionally hurt you.”

“So do I.”

He laughed softly. “You swear on your oath?”

She grinned as he chuckled. “And why not? My oath was my marriage vow.”

His laughter faded as he looked her in the eye. There was something deadly serious in his expression. “So is mine.”

She continued smiling and he kissed her on the cheek, then on the lips. He put a big hand on her head, stroking her hair as he gazed into her lovely gray eyes.

“You are such a beautiful woman,” he murmured. “I cannot believe that I am so fortunate.”

“Nor I.”

“You have me afraid to utter sweet words, you know. I am afraid you will think them insincere.”

“I am coming to know the difference.”

“Good.”

He kissed her again and with a final stroke of the hair, went to the screen that blocked the door and moved it aside. He strolled into the master chamber beyond, stark naked. 

Devereux followed, torn between embarrassment and pleasure at the sight of his bare buttocks. She wasn’t used to men parading around nude and struggled not to stare as he went to one of the enormous wardrobes and threw open the doors.  He began pulling garments out, throwing them around the floor and tossing a few up onto the bed until he came across what he was looking for.   As Devereux watched, he pulled on a pair of leather breeches and a pale linen tunic with short sleeves.

“Sweetling,” he turned to her as he fussed with the neck of the tunic. “My boots are in the dressing room. Can you get them for me?”

Devereux nodded and returned to the room with the big tub in the center of it.  His boots were scattered on the floor and she picked them up.  They were massive, heavy and dirty, and she struggled not to get dirt on herself as she carried them back to him.  She handed him one and he took it with a grateful smile. He took the second one with a kiss.

“Now,” he faced her, fully dressed, with his hands on his hips. “Do you wish to see the rest of the manor?”

She shook her head. “I cannot. My hair is wet and I must dry it first.”

He nodded shortly.  “Do you require help?”

Again, she shook her head. “I can do it myself.”

“Will you be ready for the evening meal?”

“I will.”

“Very well.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her sweetly, his lips lingering on her cheeks before pulling away completely. “I will return in a while.”

Cheeks flushed with the power of his kisses, Devereux could only nod. He winked at her as he left the chamber.  She stood there long after he was gone, going over their conversation, the encounter in general.  Thoughts of the man made her feel giddy and warm, growing worse by the moment. And something additionally odd was occurring; thoughts of him seemed to suck every other idea out of her head. She found that didn’t want to think of anything other than him. 

But she forced herself to move, to focus on something other than his beautiful hazel eyes or amazing physique.  She retreated back into the privy chamber where the tub still sat, the water now cool, and the cowhide that had cushioned their lovemaking lay. She stared at the hide a moment, a chill running through her as she thought of his hands on her body.  It was still somewhat embarrassing to have such sexual thoughts, being a lady who had led a relatively sheltered life, but they were not unpleasant thoughts. She knew she could come to like them.

Pulling up a small stool, she sat next to the vizier and flipped her head over, running her fingers through her hair in front of the heat. As she did, her mind began to wander again to the massive knight who was her husband.  She couldn’t seem to get him off of her mind.

She didn’t try.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The evening meal was the first introduction into what kind of man Davyss de Winter was, at least prior to his marriage and pledges of faithfulness.  It was during this meal that Devereux began to see what Lady Katharine had meant about the numerous women in her son’s life.  It started with the serving wenches.

Seated next to her husband in the center of a very large table in Wintercroft’s enormous great hall on the first, windowless floor of the structure, Devereux was dressed in a beautiful yellow surcoat with gold embellishment.  Her hair was braided over one shoulder and she looked positively angelic; Davyss reaction when he had first seen her and his constant attentiveness told her that he appreciated the effort she put forth in dressing.  She was truly enjoying his company when the parade of serving wenches started.

She didn’t notice it at first; she simply thought the servants were bringing the meal.  Every time Davyss would take just a few sips of wine, a woman would immediately fill his glass. She noticed one of them at one point as they bent over her husband’s left hand with a pitcher. All she could see were white breasts, spilling out over the top of a leather girdle.  The woman brushed them against Davyss’ arm as she poured his wine.  Shocked, Devereux looked at her husband’s face; he was focused on his meal.

Although they were surrounded with his knights and their wives, Davyss seemed to have eyes only for Devereux.  He made sure her cup was always full by the same wenches who were so intent to seduce him and he also made sure she had the first serving of everything.  He was attentive and sweet in spite of the parade of whores who were vying for his attention. 

Lady Frances was sitting on Devereux’s right hand. The woman hadn’t said a word all evening, instead, sitting silently with her meal and responding to her husband on occasion.  But Frances noticed the steady flow of serving wenches challenging Devereux for her husband’s attention; that was a normal occurrence at Wintercroft.  She was frankly curious how Lady de Winter was going to handle the situation and unsure how to feel about it. At some point, she caught Devereux’s eye when a particularly busty wench brushed against Davyss.  Devereux smiled weakly.

“The meal is lovely,” she said. “Who is responsible?”

Frances was pleasant. “Lucy and I share the duties, Lady de Winter. However, now that you have arrived, you are in charge. We shall defer everything to you.”

Devereux nodded faintly, studying the attractive woman; Nik, seated next to his wife, seemed more interested in the men around them. Frances sat quietly while her husband carried on a lively conversation with others.  When Davyss turned to Hugh, seated on his left, Devereux took the opportunity to speak further with Frances. She felt sorry for the woman.

“How long have you and Sir Nikolas been married, my lady?” she asked politely.

Frances swallowed the bite in her mouth. “Three years, my lady,” she replied. “We were married in London but I have lived at Wintercroft since.”

Devereux’s brow furrowed slightly. “He does not provide you with your own home?”

Frances looked both surprised and distressed by the question. “He serves Davyss de Winter, my lady,” she said quietly. “I live where he lives, and right now, he lives with Sir Davyss.”

Devereux was afraid she had upset the woman. “I did not mean to offend you,” she said quickly. “I simply meant…to ask if you have a home of your own to attend to. I should not like to keep you from your home or family.”

Frances shook her head. “My home is here. I hope this does not disturb you, Lady de Winter.”

“Of course not,” Devereux replied, thinking it would be wise to change the subject. “I want to thank you again for preparing a bath for me today. It was most thoughtful of you.”

“It was our pleasure, my lady.”

The conversation died a bit but Devereux tried to keep it going. “What do you do for entertainment?” she asked as she pulled apart a soft white piece of bread. “Do you draw?”

“I do.”

“I am sure you are very good at it.”

Frances smiled weakly, the first such gesture from the woman. She seemed rather quiet and sad.  “I try, but I believe I am better at sewing.”

“Truly?” Devereux pretended to be very interested. “Perhaps you will show me some of your work.”

Frances seemed pleased by the request and nodded graciously.  Lucy, far down the table on the other side of her husband, seemed upset that she was not included in the conversation that was clearly going on between Lady de Winter and Frances.  When Devereux caught a glimpse of her sad young face, she caught the woman’s attention and motioned her over. Lucy leapt up and raced to the women, even when Philip demanded to know why she was leaving him.  He was more interested in his ale and manly conversation, anyway, which Lucy promptly reminded him.  The men around Philip snorted.

As Lucy drew near, she tripped over a hovering serving wench in her haste. The woman was intending on pouring more wine into Davyss’ cup but ended up spilling it on Frances’ surcoat instead, prompting Devereux to shoot to her feet in outrage. She jabbed a finger at the wench, at her end of patience with all of these loose women hanging about and creating a nuisance.

“You,” she snapped. “Get out. I do not want to see your face again.”

The woman looked shocked, then angry, but quickly she did as she was told. Seeing the wench vacate gave Devereux the excuse she had been looking for; to get rid of the half-dozen women who were circling their section of the table like vultures. All of them were trying their hardest to gain Davyss’ attention. Another woman bearing empty cups came near and she snapped at that woman also.