Lespada (43 page)

***

She was standing by the river’s edge as it banked along the border of Hollyhock, watching the waters of the Thames flow gently along. Birds cried over head and the clouds intermittently blocked out the sun.  She stood there, staring at the water, wondering if she was strong enough to throw herself in simply to rid herself of the pain in her heart. 

She had run the mile or so from the tournament field back to Hollyhock. It had been foolish to run away; she knew that. But she had a habit of running from situations that went beyond her control.  When her emotions were raging, there was no telling how far she would run. She had tried to run when Davyss’ men first came to escort her to her wedding, she had run when Davyss and his men had gotten into the fight at the Fist and Tankard, and she had run again when the woman who bore Davyss children had come around.  She was always running.  Sometimes she just had to.

She could hear the distant cheers from the crowds at the tournament arena.  She knew that the mêlée must be well under way and she was sure that Davyss and his men were winning.   With a heavy sigh, she knew that she needed to return to the field before the mêlée ended so that Davyss would not know that she had run off again.  But she could hear Avarine’s words over and over in her head, like a battering ram, pounding the meaning and pain of the situation deep into her heart.  Still, she would have to reconcile herself eventually. Davyss had other children. She had given him none.

With another sigh, she turned away from the river. But there was a body directly behind her and she gasped with fright, startled to see Davyss standing a few feet away.  She had never heard him approach.

Devereux gazed into his beautiful hazel eyes, looking so forlornly back at her. She didn’t know what to say, feeling flushed and startled by his appearance. She realized that Lucy must have told him what had happened and, like any good husband, he went to search for her. No matter where she went, he always found her. She opened her mouth to say something but the words wouldn’t come. The sobs, however, did.

She burst into tears and threw herself against him. Davyss wrapped his arms around her tightly, feeling his own eyes sting with tears. There were layers of mail, armor and tunics between them, but Davyss could not have felt closer to the woman than he did at that moment. His relief, his sorrow, was indescribable.

“I am so sorry,” he murmured into the top of her head. “Dear God, if I could take back everything in my life that would even remotely bring you shame, I would do it gladly. I cannot apologize enough for your shame and hurt.”

She continued to weep, painfully deep, as he rocked her gently.  “I… I am sorry I ran,” she sobbed. “I just did not… I could not… what she said. She was so happy, so thrilled to have borne your children and she wants to be a family with you.”

He suddenly grasped her by the face, forcing her to look at him. The glow from the hazel eyes was powerful.

“But I do not want to be a family with her,” he shook her gently to punctuate his words. “How many times must I explain this to you, Devereux? It is you that I love and adore, children or no. The day I married you, all other women in the world ceased to exist for me. There will be times when women like Avarine speak of me, for whatever reason, and you must tell yourself that whatever they speak of is all in the past. I would never stray from you and I do not hold feelings for anyone but you.  How in the world can I prove this to you? Please tell me, for I do not like seeing you in pain like this. Please help me understand what I can do to convince you that you are the only woman I will ever love.”

By the time he finished his speech, her sobs had calmed.  She gazed back at him, with an occasional hiccup, wiping her cheeks and nose with the pretty red satin handkerchief she had intended to give to her husband as a favor in the joust.   After several moments of digesting his words, she finally shook her head.

“I know you love me and I know you will not stray,” she whispered. “It had nothing to do with that. After what happened with our child, seeing the beautiful girls you had fathered simply made me long for our baby.  I want so much to be a good wife and to provide you with children.  Seeing those girls… it simply reminded me of what we had lost.”

He pursed his lips sadly, kissed her, and pulled her back into a fierce embrace. “I understand,” he murmured. “But you are not to blame for the loss. It was simply God’s will. There will be more children for us; I am sure of it. You must have faith.”

“I am trying.”

“Besides… the fun is in the practice.”

It took her a moment to realize what he said and she gasped softly in feeble outrage, swatting his mailed behind. Davyss laughed low in his throat.

“I cannot feel anything with all of this armor on,” he told her.

She made a face at him. “You are a vulgar beast.”

“A vulgar beast?” he repeated, his eyebrows lifting. “Since when is a man who lusts after his wife a vulgar beast?”

She shook her head, unwilling to answer, and he grinned as he pulled her into his arms once again and kissed her. He was simply glad that her tears were easing.   He buried his face in the top of her head for a moment, relishing the feel of her, so glad he had found her safe and unharmed.  The woman had become his whole damn world.

“Will you promise me something?” he murmured.

She nodded, head against his chest and arms around his waist. “Of course.”      

“No more running off. It scares the wits from me.”

She sighed faintly. “For that, I am sorry. It seems to be my reaction when situations become overwhelming.  But I promise I will not do it again.”

“If you do run off, at least run to me and not away from me.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.” He kissed the top of her head and pulled back to look at her. “Can we return to the field? I would like to provide you with a deliciously fattening meal before my competition this afternoon.”

She smiled unenthusiastically. “As you wish.”

With an encouraging smile, he walked her back over to where he had tethered his charger by the gates of Hollyhock.  Mounting her on his charger, he vaulted on behind her, holding her close, and took the long way back to the tournament field.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Davyss and Devereux returned to the tournament arena in time to see the last of the mêlée.  They found a spot by the south side of the field and remained on the charger for a better vantage point.  

The scene spread out before them could only be called a mess; the combatants were not allowed to fight with real weapons; hence, all they had were wooden clubs and wooden swords, so they were essentially beating one other.  There was a good deal of blood and bruising, but no one was seriously injured.  The rules stated that once a man was down, he had to stay down.  Consequently, the arena floor was littered with men sitting on their bum, watching what was happening and cheering their teammates on.

Devereux had to admit that it was rather like watching little boys run amuck.  Out of Davyss’ men, the only one down was young Edmund and he was clearly unhappy about it.  Andrew, Hugh and Philip were still in the running, clubbing men, tripping them, or shoving them around.   Devereux looked at Davyss and they grinned at each other, humored by the spectacle.   Somewhere in the fighting, Hugh spied his brother and waved to him, making his way to the edge of the arena and nearly getting pushed over in the process.  But Hugh was fast and made it through the masses unscathed.

Davyss dismounted the charger, tethered it, and made his way over to the edge of the field to meet his brother.  But as he approached him, someone came up behind Hugh and clubbed him brutally between the shoulder blades.  As Hugh staggered, Davyss leapt over the railing and began pounding the knight with his massive fists.  Within the first three blows, the man fell to his knees and the club fell from his hand.  Davyss picked up the club and brained the man over the helm.  The knight fell to the ground, knocked cold.

Hugh was grinning when he finally regained his balance and stood next his brother, surveying the fallen knight.  Davyss returned his brother’s grin before looking over at his wife, who was still astride the charger and looking rather shocked.  He waved at her and she swallowed her shock at what he had just done, finally shaking her head in disapproval.  It was all of the encouragement that Davyss needed to jump back into the fracas feet-first.  Devereux watched him with a reluctant smile on her face.

Other than pound his brother, Devereux had never seen Davyss fight and it was truly a sight to behold. The man was extremely powerful, dropping men right and left with his heavy blows.  He was also very agile, dodging men who would come at him and then turning the tables on them and sending them to the ground.  As Devereux watched with a proud smile on her face, a soft voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Lady de Winter?”

She turned to see a knight standing behind her, big and strong. He was very well dressed in expensive mail and protection.  She nodded without a second thought. “Aye,” she said politely. “May I help you?”

The knight bowed crisply. “Lord de Montfort has requested to meet you. Would you accompany me, my lady?”

Devereux slid off the charger and into the man’s upstretched hands.  As she straightened her surcoat, the knight extended an elbow but she hesitated.

“My husband is nearly finished with the mêlée,” she said. “Should we wait for him?”

The knight shook his head. “Lord Simon has already met your husband,” he said, rather lightly. “He would like to meet you.”

Devereux passed a glance at her husband as he pummeled some hapless fool who had challenged him.  It made her grin.  With a shrug, she took the knight’s offered elbow and followed him.

Since she had seen Simon in the lists earlier, she was not surprised when the knight took her to the royal box.  Simon de Montfort was seated in an elaborate wooden chair, rising to his feet when he saw Devereux approach on the arm of the unknown knight.  Devereux mounted the steps to the box, dropping into a neat curtsy.

“Lady de Winter, my lord,” the knight announced.

Simon’s yellowed eyes inspected every curve, every line, as he stared at her.  He’d only caught a fleeting glimpse earlier and had no idea what a beauty Lady de Winter was.  As the sounds of the mêlée began to fade as the event drew to a conclusion, Simon indicated for Devereux to sit next to him, which she did. She faced him expectantly as he continued to study her.

“I had heard rumors of your beauty,” he said. “I can see that they were not exaggerated.”

She smiled modestly. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Has your husband told you of me?”

She blinked, not sure of the answer he was looking for. “He told me that he is your godson, my lord.”

Simon nodded, deciding his next line of questioning.  He was interested in this woman who had captured Davyss’ arrogant heart.

“I am told you are from Norfolk,” he said. “Lady Katharine de Winter has told me of your charity. ‘Tis noble work, my lady, and uncommon for a woman of your breeding to attend.”

At that moment, Devereux could see something of her father in Simon de Montfort; arrogant, possibly judgmental. Simply the way he asked the question put her somewhat on her guard.