Lespada (4 page)

She would wait for the knights to return to take her to her prison of Castle Acre.  It wasn’t far from her burgh, the great castle with the massive ramparts.  Lady Katharine de Winter lived there at times; when she was not in residence, there were always groups of soldiers in and out of the place.  Sometimes they would come into town and wreak havoc in the taverns.  Devereux had spent her life knowing when to stay indoors and locked away when the soldiers were about.  She had spent her life staying clear of the knights and other warriors who would, at times, pass through her town.  She had never even seen her husband although she knew he had spent time at Castle Acre Castle periodically.  She had often heard rumor to that effect. Now she was a part of that world she had attempted to stay clear of.  She tried not to hate her father for it.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the altar.  It was beautifully carved and had the rarity of a cushion before it on which to kneel.  Devereux found herself wondering where the priests were that usually inhabited this priory. She wondered if de Winter’s knights had chased them off.  With another heavy sigh, she made her way to the altar, gazing up at the gold-encrusted cross and wondering how drastically her life was going to change from this point.

Soft boot falls suddenly distracted her and she turned to see an unfamiliar knight entering the sanctuary. He was a colossal man, dressed from head to toe in armor and mail and weaponry. He was without his helm and as he emerged into the weak light, Devereux could see his very handsome features; his dark hair was in need of a cut, a bit shaggy and curly, and a dark beard embraced his granite jaw.

The longer she stared at him the more she realized that he was, in fact, extraordinarily handsome. It was something of a shock. Devereux continued to watch with a mixture of apprehension and fascination as the knight drew closer, his hazel eyes fixed on her flushed and weary face.  It was a piercing gaze that sucked her in, holding her fast until she could hardly breathe.

"I apologize for disturbing you, my lady,” he said. “Were you praying?"

His voice was deep and silky, like sweet wine. Devereux felt an odd flush of heat at the sound of his delicious tone, momentarily speechless as he gazed upon her. She managed to shake her head, however, and the knight came to stand several feet away. Even when he gazed toward the altar and crossed himself reverently, she couldn't take her eyes from him.

Davyss felt her stare, turning to look at her again. Christ, if she wasn't the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; even more beautiful at close range. She had long, straight blonde hair that was thick and silky, and eyes of the most amazing color.  They were a shade of blue that was so pale that they were silver.  Big and bottomless, he could see the fringe of soft lashes brush against her brow bone every time she blinked. And her face was sweet and round.  He had witnessed the wedding ceremony from the shadows, stifling the roar of laughter as Hugh and Andrew had wrestled with her in an attempt to force her to kiss his sword.

But the more he watched, the more curious and strangely mesmerized he became with this woman who was now his wife. She was a hellion, a misfit, and he should have been disgusted with her behavior. But her spirit impressed him strangely, a woman who was not afraid to speak her mind or resist men twice her petite size.  And when he witnessed the confrontation between her and his mother, calculated though it had been for his benefit, it had oddly cemented the deal.  For some reason, he was no longer reluctant. But she clearly still was.

When the lady had finally kissed the sword to seal the marriage, Davyss realized he could no longer stay away. In spite of his own reluctance, he realized he had to discover her for himself.

"My lady is... weary," he cocked an eyebrow at her slovenly state. "May I assist?"

Devereux’s bright gray eyes regarded him. "Nay, my lord," she turned away, her cheeks flushing and her confusion growing.

He continued to gaze at her, the marvelous blonde hair that cascaded from her head to her thighs. "Then why do you stand here if you are not praying?" he asked.

She shrugged weakly, refusing to look at him. "I was left here."

"By whom?"

She didn't reply. Davyss' eyes roved her body with interest, noting that she was deliciously curvaceous. She was a petite in height, clad in some sort of rough garment, a leather girdle binding her small waist and emphasizing her full breasts.  She looked like an angel but dressed like a peasant. He found himself shaking his head with awe, hardly believing this woman was his wife. She was a most startling paradox.

"You did not answer me," he said after a moment. "Who was foolish enough to leave you here alone?"

She sighed heavily. "Terrible men. Horrible men."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Why are they so terrible, other than the fact that they left you here alone?"

She turned to look at him, feeling that same odd heat she had experienced the very first time their eyes met. Even so, she found she could not tell him the whole situation. It was too embarrassing.

"They will return for me, I am sure," she said, avoiding his question. "They have probably gone to fetch my husband."

"And who is your husband?"

She made a face and Davyss had to conceal a smile. She looked like a child forced to swallow foul-tasting medicine. "Sir Davyss de Winter."

"Ah, yes,” he nodded in acknowledgement. “De Winter."

Her expression darkened. "Then you know him?"

"A fair man."

"A fiend!"

“Is that so?” he realized he was very close to breaking a smile. “Why would you say that? I hear he is a wise and powerful man. Handsome, too.”

Her eyes flashed.  “This I would not know, my lord, for he does not even have the courage to face me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was only just married to him. But instead of showing me the respect of coming himself, do you know that he sent his sword in his place?”

It was at that moment that Davyss began to see that perhaps sending
Lespada
in his place had not been a wise decision. Whatever animosity the lady was feeling had been exacerbated by it.  He began to regret his decision although, at the time, it had been the correct choice. Still, he could see she was very offended by it.  For whatever reason, he felt the need to soothe her ruffled feathers.

“Would you sit, my lady?” he indicated one of two benches in the place. “I find I am exceedingly weary from my ride and wish to continue this conversation seated.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You look strong enough.”

He fought off a grin and went to take the bench himself, thinking that she would follow him. He was wrong in that she did not and he almost laughed; clearly, nothing about Lady Devereux was predictable.

“You must understand that to marry to your husband’s sword is a distinct honor,” he said quietly. “The sword of a knight defines who he is as both man and warrior. It is as much a part of him as his heart or his head. When you are presented with the sword, he is offering you his very soul.  When he presented you with his sword in his stead, he was asking you to become part of his life and his being.”

Devereux’s unhappy expression eased somewhat. It was apparent that she was thinking heavily on his words. After several moments, she simply shook her head.

“But I don’t want to be part of the kind of life he leads,” she said, all of the defiance out of her voice.

“Why not?”

She just looked at him. “You will forgive me, my lord, but that is truly none of your affair. I should not have said as much as I have only….”

“Only what?”

She shook her head again and turned away from him, moving away so she would not have to speak with him any longer. He watched her glorious hair, so beautiful and lush, the way it fell down her graceful back. After a moment, he stood up and wandered, slowly, in her general direction.

“I am sure had your husband known the offense you took at him not attending your wedding ceremony personally, he would have made the effort to come,” he said in a low voice. “You must not judge the man too harshly.  The sword is quite an honor.”

She turned to look at him. “You will not come any closer, my lord.”

He stopped. “Why not?”

“Because my husband’s knights are near and should they see you in conversation with me, they might do you great harm.”

He smiled faintly. “So you are concerned for me? You do not even know who I am.”

Devereux looked him up and down, from the top of his dark head to the bottom of his enormous feet. He was tall and although she’d seen taller men in her life, the sheer width of the man’s shoulders was astonishing. And his hands were positively enormous.  He was an extraordinarily big man.

“You are a seasoned warrior,” she said after a moment. “I can smell death on you. That is all I need to know.”

His smile faded. “Your arrogance is astounding.”

Her back stiffened with outrage. “Arrogance? You overstep yourself, sir.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “That is because I have spent a mere two minutes speaking with you, enough to know that you are judgmental, closed-minded and arrogant. Do you believe you are so perfect, lady? Do you believe that you walk this earth with perfect thoughts and perfect deeds? Do you understand that is men like de Winter who have fought and died a thousand times over so you may live in your nice manor home and lead a pleasant life in your pleasant little world?  How dare you judge men for their determination that England should know a better future.”

By the time he was finished, the gray eyes were wide with astonishment. “It is not arrogance I present but distaste for death and destruction,” she explained earnestly. “Those men you speak of have killed innocents along with their enemies. They care not who they kill so long as they are victorious.”

“And you believe de Winter to be this sort of man?”

“He is the king’s champion. He did not achieve this position through grace and gentleness. What other sort could he possibly be?”

“If you have not met him yet, you might want to set your prejudice aside and come to know him before you pass judgment.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him but thought better of it. She began to look at him strangely, as if paying closer attention to this knight who not only seemed to be exceedingly wise but also who seemed to know de Winter very well.  A little too well, in fact; he seemed to be very defensive of the man. Furthermore, there was no earthly reason why he should be standing here, alone, speaking with her.  Where were all of de Winter’s knights while this was going on? Devereux was many things but she was not foolish; she began to suspect who the knight before her really was.

With that knowledge, she seemed to calm. An odd twinkle came to her eye. “Very well,” she said. “Since you seem to know de Winter so well, then perhaps you will tell me what you know of him.”

Davyss crossed his muscular arms and lifted an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Well,” he said slowly. “As I said, he is a wise and powerful man. And very handsome.”

“You said that.”

“It’s true.”

“I am sure he is humble, also.”

“Indeed.”

“And chivalrous.”

“Of course.”