Lespada (35 page)

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“Devereux? Did you hear me?”

In truth, she hadn’t. She had been daydreaming again.  It seems all she had done was daydream since returning to the House of Hope three weeks before, her mind no longer centered on the charity she supported.

 Standing in the entry of the old barn, she had been gazing off across the green expanse of Norfolk and remembering the day when her husband had come riding into the dusty yard with his brother and knights. She remembered fearing the sight of him, being wary of his return. But Davyss had changed her mind in just a few hours. He had tried so hard to make amends for their rough beginning. It was probably that night, as they supped at the Fist and Tankard, that she started to fall in love with him.  It was a feeling that had grown deeper by the day.

But she pushed thoughts of her husband out of her mind, wiping her hands off on her apron as she faced Stephan.  She was supposed to be collecting eggs from the chicken house but she hadn’t made it that far. Stephan knew this; his fair face smiled at her.

“From the look on your face, I do not believe you heard anything I said,” his grin broadened.

Devereux smiled sheepishly. “I am sorry,” she said. “Just… thinking.”

Stephan’s smile faded. He knew what she was thinking of and he was still fighting the disappointment he felt.  Disappointment that she had returned from London apparently very much in love with Davyss de Winter. Not that Stephan had ever had a chance with her and he knew it; still, her happiness hurt his heart somewhat even if he was glad for her. She seemed truly happy.

“I said that your father is here,” he repeated. “I saw his carriage arrive.”

Devereux immediately moved back through the House of Hope, dodging people and tables as she headed for the north entrance.  Her father would not use the main entrance, as he feared he would be seen.  He’d spent so much of his time announcing his dissatisfaction in his wife and daughter’s charity that he didn’t want to be perceived as a hypocrite to the townspeople. He had a station to uphold, after all. So he always came in through the less-used entrance.

St. Paul Allington had been a handsome man in his youth.  He had faded blonde hair and gray eyes, and it was clear to all who his daughter resembled.  He was standing outside the north entrance with two of his men, old knights who had served him in his position as sheriff of the shire for years. 

Devereux emerged from the House of Hope, dutifully greeting her father with a kiss on the cheek.  He was a petty, vain and selfish man who struggled to make correct and moral decisions. If it didn’t benefit him, he was more than likely not in favor of it. He only cared about his daughter’s marriage so long as it brought him prestige and honor.  He didn’t even care if she was happy and he wasn’t even moderately excited about his impending grandchild. Devereux had struggled all of her life not to disapprove of the man.

“Greetings, Father,” she said pleasantly.  “How may I be of service today?”

Her father gazed steadily at her, an odd expression on his face. “I came to tell you that…,” he suddenly turned to the pair of old knights behind him. “Here now, John; you tell her. You are the one who heard the news.”

For some reason, Devereux was put on her guard by her father’s statement. Something in the pit of her stomach began to rumble unsteadily and she didn’t like it one bit.  She looked at the old knight.

“What did you hear?” she asked.

John de Ravensworth took a few steps towards her, bowing respectfully. “Lady de Winter,” he said. “You are looking fine this day, my lady.”

“What did you hear?”

Devereux was in no mood for conversation or pleasantries. John cleared his throat quietly, his gaze moving between Devereux, Stephan and her father.  He cleared his throat again.

“I was in town earlier today and several of Norfolk’s knights were riding through on their way to Norfolk,” he said, somewhat nervously. “I met them on the edge of town to know their business, and they told me that de Montfort is now king.”

Devereux’s eyes widened. “What?” she breathed, horrified. “When did this happen?”

“Nearly two weeks ago, my lady.”

Devereux was quickly growing panicked. “What else did they say?”

The old knight shook his head. “They said de Montfort is now king and he is calling all of the barons to London. They were riding for their liege to summon him.”

Devereux could hardly breathe; she put her hand to her breast, feeling her chest heave as it became increasingly difficult to catch her breath.

“What happened to Henry?” she could hardly bring herself to ask. “What of my husband?”

John averted his gaze; he couldn’t even look at her. “Captured at Lewes, they said,” he replied hoarsely. “Edward with him. They made no mention of your husband.  Henry is now a prisoner of de Montfort.”

Beyond horrified, Devereux took a step back, tripping on her own feet and ending up in Stephan’s arms. But she pushed him away, struggling to maintain her equilibrium and her sanity.   The hands on her chest flew to her mouth.

“’Tis not true,” she muttered, bordering on panic. “’Tis not true, I say. I would have known before now. Someone would have sent me word. It cannot be true.”

St. Paul moved towards his daughter with uncertainty. “Perhaps you should come home and rest, Devereux. We will send word to Lady Katharine and see what she knows.”

“Lady Katharine!” Devereux suddenly burst as if the thought had just occurred to her. “She will know something. I must go to London right away.”

Stephan tried to take charge of her. He went to her,  attempting to steady her. “You will not go,” he said firmly. “You cannot risk it. We will send one of Davyss’ men to London to find out what he can.”

He was speaking of the thirty-eight men that Davyss had assigned to his wife’s protection. Even now, they lingered all around the House of Hope, patrolling for any threats against Lady de Winter, while some were in town at the various taverns.  All in all, they were a seasoned group and very attentive to Lady de Winter.  Stephan began to shout for the sergeant of the contingent, knowing the man was somewhere within earshot. He always was.

His name was Brovus. He was an older man, burly, missing an eye, and loyal to Davyss to the core.  He had been lingering just out of sight when John had spilled his tale and was therefore not surprised when Stephan repeated everything for his benefit.  The old soldier eyed the knight, Stephan and St. Paul, before focusing on Devereux.  He could see that she was clearly distraught.

“I cannot leave, my lady,” he told her steadily, “nor can any of my men. My scouts on the road south have returned to tell me that a large group of knights has been sighted in Welnetham and are heading this way.  I will not leave you until I know this threat has passed.”

“A large group of knights?” St. Paul repeated, looking fearful. “Why did you not tell us before now?”

“Because there is nothing to be done. The lady will stay to her charity and the rest of us will stay out of sight until we know their purpose. To prepare with all manner of arms upon their arrival might invite conflict and I will not do that until I know their intentions.”

St. Paul still wasn’t convinced. “Perhaps we should return home. It is far more fortified than this pile of wood.”

Brovus nodded. “It would be wise, my lord.”

Devereux, pale and shaken, shook her head. “I will not leave,” she said quietly. “What if it is my husband returning? I must be here.”

Brovus spoke before the others. “I do not believe it is your husband, my lady,” he replied, somewhat gently. “If it was, my men would have recognized his horse.”

Devereux’s bright gray eyes were fixed on the man.  She went to him, her expression imploring.

“Have you heard that de Montfort is now king?” she asked earnestly.

He gazed steadily at her. After a moment, he sighed faintly. “I have been told that Henry was captured, my lady,” he admitted. “It was not my place to tell you. I am a soldier, not a herald. That news should come from those more important than me.”

Her eyes widened. “So you knew this and you did not tell me?”

He appeared both contrite and sad. “As I said, it was not my place to tell you. It could be rumor, after all. I did not want to upset you, not until we know for certain.”

“But you should have told me.”

“To what good, my lady?” he wanted to know. “You would live your days in angst and fear until you received more reliable word. Lady Katharine will tell you the truth, have no doubt. She will tell you what you need to know.”

Devereux couldn’t think any longer. Her mind was becoming overwhelmed with thoughts of Davyss’ fate. She turned away from Brovus, feeling the world sway beneath her. If what these men said was true, de Montfort was now king and Henry was a captive. But the king would only be a captive if Davyss was not there to champion him. And that would only happen if Davyss was dead.

She hadn’t taken two steps before she lost consciousness.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The last time they had seen the Allington manse, a great battle had gone on inside of it. Lady Devereux had proved more than a suitable adversary for the de Winter knights.  This time, the situation was decidedly different.

Davyss knocked on the massive oak door, rattling the entire structure with the big iron knocker.   The door was built like a fortress itself with big iron bracing strips riveted across it.   He’d never actually seen the manse but his men had. He glanced over his shoulder at Hugh, Andrew, Edmund and Philip.  Obviously absent were Nik and Lollardly; Nik had been seriously wounded in the same archer wave that had hit Davyss, struck in the eye.  He lost the eye and even now lay on death’s door with a raging fever as a result of the injury.  Lollardly remained at Nik’s side, nursing the knight and hoping to pull him through.  Davyss felt their absence deeply.

He also noticed the men he had sent to protect his wife lingering on the perimeter of Allington manse.  Brovus, the sergeant, had come out of the trees to greet him.   In fact, he’d had his crossbow trained on Davyss as the group had moved towards the manse, not recognizing his liege’s charger.  Davyss explained that his horse had fallen in battle and he had confiscated another one.   Brovus had waved his liege onward and skulked back into the bramble.

Davyss had to knock on the door twice before the small sliding door set within the massive panel slid open.  A pair of fearful eyes stared back.

“I am Davyss de Winter,” Davyss said. “Where is my wife?”

The fearful eyes widened and the sliding door slapped shut.  Davyss heard the bolt thrown and suddenly the massive panel was lurching open.  A little old man stood in the doorway, bowing profusely, as another man abruptly came barreling forth from an adjoining room.

“My lord!” the man nearly crashed into Davyss in his haste. “I heard you… you are Davyss de Winter?”

Davyss nodded, sizing the man up. “Who are you?”

The olden man extended an eager hand. “I am Devereux’s father, St. Paul Allington,” he replied, shaking Davyss’ hand enthusiastically. “We have never met, my lord, but I have met your mother on many occasions.”