Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Thetford, Norfolk
T he only man not in attendance at 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 wedding 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.”
They were 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?”
Hugh took his mother’s elbow and they began to walk towards the altar. “Nothing to worry over, Mother.”
“Hmmm,” Lady Katharine carefully inspected the disheveled woman from a short distance. “That is not what I think. I think someone has worked this young woman over.” She paused before the knights, her sharp brown eyes scrutinizing every one of them. “Can anyone tell me what has truly happened here?”
Andrew had known Lady Katharine since childhood. His soft blue eyes twinkled at her. “The lady is reluctant to marry, my lady,” he said. “We are simply helping her fulfill the pledge.”
A withered eyebrow lifted. “Abusing the lady is not the same as helping her,” she said flatly. Her wizened brown eyes peered more closely at the girl. “Lady Devereux, I have seen you since you were a child. I know your father. I have always known that you would be a match for one of my sons, although I sorely doubt the youngest is worthy of you and the oldest lacks the time and effort for the undertaking. Would you kindly explain why these men tell me you are reluctant to marry?”
Devereux faced the elderly woman with as much dignity as she could muster. From the instant she had been informed of her betrothal to Davyss de Winter until this very moment, the entire event had been a nightmare. Now, in front of these strangers, she must explain herself. She had no choice.
“I do not want to marry your son, my lady,” she said quietly.
“Why not? And speak up, girl. My ears are not as they used to be.”
Devereux started to reply, more loudly, but she glanced at the men surrounding her and the words died in her throat. She took a deep breath as she gazed into ancient, wise eyes.
“May I speak with you privately, my lady?” she asked.
Katharine cocked what was left of her eyebrow. “You will speak here. There is nothing you can tell me that these men cannot hear.”
Something in the woman’s attitude fired a spark in Devereux; there was no kindness, no compassion. Just like the men surrounding her. The realization fed her resistance and her attempt to be moderately tactful disappeared.
“Because your son supports a tyrant of a king,” she said through clenched teeth. “I will not marry one so entrenched in oppression and politics.”
The knights stirred in outrage but none spoke; they would leave that to Lady de Winter, whose tongue could cut more deeply than the sharpest knife. The old woman’s eyes glittered with unspoken intensity as she sized up the blonde woman a few feet away; there was calculation to the gaze as she dissected the statement for both content and intent. She made her move accordingly.
“Your statement could be considered treacherous but I will give you the benefit of the doubt,” Lady Katharine replied after a moment. “Since I believe that every woman should be given the right to speak her mind, I will give you that same courtesy. Tell me, then, Lady Devereux, why you would make this slanderous and uneducated statement about my son?”
It was a direct slap but Devereux would not back down. She was not weak by nature and would not let this bird-like woman, no matter how powerful, push her around. Lady Katharine had already done quite enough of that when she forced Devereux’s father into a marriage contract. It had been a shock to Devereux those months ago when her father had informed her of the agreement. It made no sense, in any arena.
“It is not uneducated, my lady, I assure you,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “There is not a man, woman or child in this country who does not know the name Davyss de Winter. Everyone knows that he is the king’s champion and that men fear his power and wrath.” She took a step towards the frail old woman, her bright gray eyes glimmering with more curiosity than defiance. “I am the daughter of a minor noble. I have no great rank or power, nor do I come with a dowry of a thousand fighting men. I am not a particularly suitable match for your son and I would ask why you seem so determined for me to be his wife.”
Lady de Winter met Devereux’s gaze with equal force. “For precisely the reasons you have indicated,” she said quietly. “You are not politically connected. You cannot betray my son to an enemy who has coerced you or your father into submission. You do not come to this marriage with a secret agenda for power or money. You only bring yourself.”
“That makes little sense to a politically connected family such as the de Winters.”
Lady Katharine lifted a sparse brow. “It makes perfect sense. My son does not need a woman attempting to bend him to her will for her, or her family’s, political gain,” she paused a moment, studying Lady Devereux’s exquisite face. The woman was genuinely beautiful in spite of the fact that she had been roughed over. “He needs someone strong and unconnected and true. He needs someone to keep his attention and show him that the true meaning of manhood comes from dedication to one woman, not the plaything of many. You are this person.”
For the first time since being cornered in her father’s home, Devereux felt her defiant stance waver. As Lady Katharine explained things, it made perfect sense. But it did not erase facts.
“How would you know that I am true?” she was genuinely curious.
The old expression was confident. “Because I have watched you grow up and, as I have said, I know your father. I have known your family for quite some time. You are aware of this, lady.”
Devereux nodded faintly. “I know that you rule this shire. Your family has for generations. Everyone knows of the de Winter might.”
“Then you are aware that I speak with some knowledge when I say that I know of you and of your character. You are the mistress of The House of Hope, a poorhouse that provides to the needy of the shire. You are held in high regard for your generosity and charity.”
Devereux was growing increasingly perplexed. “Generosity and kindness do not necessarily seal a suitable match,” she replied with less boldness and more awe. “The de Winter family came to these shores with William the Bastard. My family is Saxon, a conquered people. My mother died a few years ago and it has only been my father and I since that time. I tend the poorhouse and help my father manage the small village of people that depend upon us for their lives. A marriage into the House of de Winter is beyond my comprehension. I do not want to be involved in a family that so allies itself with the king.”
“Why not?”
Her tone turned cold. “Because I do not believe in his absolute rule. I believe the country should be governed by the people as a whole, not by a monarchy that cares little for its subjects.”
Lady Katharine almost looked amused. “Are you so sure of all things?”
Devereux was not so arrogant that she presumed to know everything. But she was resolute in her opinion.
“I am not, Lady de Winter,” she said with some hesitation. “’Tis simply that I believe the Earl of Leicester is a man of the people, a man who understands how a country should be governed. It is his ideals that I support, not a king whose sense of entitlement is only exceeded by his arrogance.”
One could have heard a pin drop in that cold, unfeeling chapel, surrounded by stone and effigies of barons long dead. Devereux was feeling increasingly uncomfortable as Lady Katharine simply stared at her. Then, something odd happened; the harsh glare faded from the old woman’s eyes and she reached out, patting Devereux on her tender cheek.
“I like this one,” she said to the men surrounding them. “Tell Davyss that I will expect him to treat her well. She will bear sons of character and strength.” She refocused on Devereux, the twinkle in her eye once again hardening in a frightening manner. “You will now kiss the sword. Let us be done with this.”
Devereux very nearly refused again; defiance shot up her spine and she could feel herself stiffen with the force of rebellion. But more than the threat from the knights and the physical battle that had consumed the majority of their acquaintance, the look in Lady de Winter’s eyes suggested that she would not tolerate any further disobedience. Devereux didn’t know why she suddenly felt herself submitting. The power in the old lady’s eyes was unwavering and unkind. Devereux knew when she was beaten.
Lady de Winter did not wait for any words of agreement or refusal; she crooked a gnarled finger at Hugh, who brought about Lespada and held it to Devereux’s lips. With her bright gray eyes still focused on the old woman she instinctively respected and naturally feared, she brushed the cold steel with her soft pink lips. Without any further struggle or fanfare, it was finally done.
And with that, Lady Katharine de Winter turned around and headed for the door of the priory. Hugh followed his mother to the entry, speaking softly with her and helping her through the portal as her ladies congregated around her. Then he turned around, his dark gaze suddenly focusing on something just over Devereux’s right shoulder.
There was a figure in the shadows, something he’d not noticed until his mother just mentioned it. He instantly recognized the shape, and was silenced from speaking when a massive hand lifted to quiet him. It did not take Hugh long to deduce that his mother’s arrival must have been a diversion so they would not have seen Davyss enter the priory; they had all been focused on the snarling bride and Lady de Winter, so much so that they would not have given thought to a vaporous figure in the darkness. And it was from that darkness that Davyss had witnessed the entire ceremony.
So his brother had decided to come after all. Hugh wisely assumed that the man would want time alone with his new bride, if for no other reason than to set her straight on the course their marriage would take after her natty little display of manners. Snapping his fingers at the knights, he jabbed a thumb at the door.
“Gather your mounts and secure transportation for the lady,” he commanded. “I will join you in a moment.”
Devereux was still standing near the altar with Lollardly; she was frankly a bit dumbfounded from her conversation with Lady de Winter. She was still trying to reconcile the event in her own mind. But the old priest eyed her critically as he moved past her and Devereux gazed back as if daring the man to speak harshly to her. She was still upset with him for going along with this travesty of a marriage ceremony.
Surprisingly, she did not try to run when the knights moved out. She stood where they had left her, watching her father bolt from the chapel and thinking the man to be a horrible coward. She knew he had only married her to de Winter to be part and parcel to the de Winter fortune. He was greedy that way. Feeling the least bit abandoned and, not surprisingly, exhausted in the light of her embattled wedding ceremony, she watched with some trepidation as the knights and the priest filed from the hall.
All except for Hugh; he marched upon her with an expression of hostility. Since all he had known from her since the moment of their association was violence, she hardly blamed him.
“You will wait here until we can bring about suitable transportation for the trip to Castle Acre Castle,” he eyed her. “If you give me your word that you will not try to escape, I will not bind you.”
She gave him a look that suggested she was bored with his statement. “If I wanted to flee, your bindings could not hold me,” she fired back. “Go get your horses. I am not going anywhere.”
“Do I have your word, lady?”
“I said it, did I not?”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is enough of an answer for you. Do you doubt me?”
Hugh almost entered into an argument with her that would undoubtedly end in some manner of fist in his eye. But he caught himself in time, begging off for the sheer reason that Davyss was only a few feet away; he knew his brother would handle this banshee of a woman and they would all be the better for it. Still insulted with the fact that his charming and debonair self had not melted her with a first glance, he cast her a withering glare and quit the chapel.
When it was finally cold and empty, Devereux emitted a pent up sigh. Like a bubble of tension bursting, she suddenly felt deflated. She realized that tears were close to the surface but angrily chased them away, feeling despondent and disoriented.
She would wait for the knights to return to take her to her prison of Castle Acre Castle. It wasn’t far from her berg, 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 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 it 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.”
She shook her head sadly. “Then he will not want me,” she turned away, a very calculated move. If the man was going to play games with her, then she was going to play to win. “I have none of those qualities. For certain, it is the entire reason behind my reluctance to marry him.”
Davyss watched her luscious backside. “Is that so? Do tell and perhaps I can advise you.”
She feigned distress, casting him a very sad glance over her shoulder. “I drink to excess. And I have been known to steal.”
Davyss bit his lip; he almost burst out laughing. “Truly? A pity.”
She was adding drama to her act now. “I have never been punished for my crimes because my father is Sheriff of the Shire and clearly, no one will accuse his only child of misdeeds. I have also been known to go on rampages and burn and pillage. That has to do with the excessive drinking, I think, but my father tried to have the priest purge me of these urges. He says the devil is in me. But… but the worst part is the children.”
“What children?”
“ My children,” she wandered to the narrow window, gazing out into the greenery beyond. “I have six of them. All from different fathers.” She suddenly whirled around and faced him. “Do you think he will still want me for his wife now?”
Davyss was very close to collapsing with laughter. It was difficult for him to speak and not sound like he was straining for every word. “Where are these children?”
She turned away with exaggerated distress. “All gone,” she sighed. “I sold three into slavery, one to a passing nobleman, and two ran away. I think wild animals ate them.”
Davyss had to turn away lest she see him grin. “I am sure it will matter not,” he finally said. “At least he will know that you can bear him many strong sons.”
Devereux whirled in his direction, her mouth opened in outrage. “What kind of man would want such a lowly woman?”
Davyss turned to look at her, rubbing his chin so she would not see the hint of a smile. “Me,” he replied frankly. “I am Davyss de Winter and I am quite pleased with my acquisition.”
Devereux didn’t act overly surprised by the revelation. She leaned back against the wall, a soft breeze from the lancet window lifting her golden hair gently.
“I do not believe you,” she said flatly.
He walked towards her, lifting his eyebrows. “’Tis true.”
She shook her head. “Davyss de Winter is nine feet tall and breathes fire, so I have been told. You do not fit that description.”
He grinned; he couldn’t help it. “I assure you that I am he.”
Devereux felt an odd flutter in her chest when he smiled; his teeth were big, straight and white and she could see, even with his beard, that he had big dimples in each cheek. If she thought the man to be handsome before, she could clearly see that her observations were correct; he was astonishingly so. The idea brought a strange quiver to her body. She folded her arms, protectively, across her chest as he drew close. Something inherent told her to protect herself from him.
“I was right,” she said quietly, eyeing him as he came to a stop fairly close to her. “You are a seasoned warrior. I can smell death on you.”
His smile faded. “Perhaps,” he said. “It is regretful that you do not see marriage to me as an honor. Most women would, you know.”
“Most women are given to silly romantic whims and dreams of god-like knights as their husbands,” she said. “I, in fact, am not.”
His smile was gone completely as his gaze moved over her, the lovely shape of her face and the delicate drape of her hair. “A pity you have such distain for those who are sworn to serve and protect you.”
She shook her head. “You are not sworn to serve and protect me,” she contradicted, a hint of irony in her tone. “You are sworn to serve and protect the king, sworn to carry out his commands right or wrong. Knighthood has the power to unite a country yet you do nothing more than squabble between yourselves and perpetuate war. It is those motives that I distain.”
He was simply watching her now, analyzing her words, attempting to figure out what was at the heart of this woman that made her so bitter. There was something more than idealism there although he couldn’t put his finger on it. He moved forward and grasped her gently by the elbow, encouraging her to come with him. Reluctantly, Devereux followed.
“Have you had much exposure to the knighthood, then?” he asked quietly as they moved through the empty church.
She faltered slightly. “My father has two knights who have served him for years as Lord Mayor and Sheriff of the Shire.”
“Who are these men?”
“Older men who served King Henry. One of them used to serve Eleanor of Aquitaine.”
“Are those the only knights you have ever known?”
She looked at him with those bright eyes. “Aye.”
“Then your opinion of the knighthood is based solely upon these two men.”
She paused, gazing up into his handsome face. “I am an active member of the community and take my duties as the daughter of the Sheriff of the Shire very seriously. I hear much and I see much. Do not think I live an isolated life, my lord. My opinion is based upon tales and information that has come to me over the years.”
He looked down at her; she was such an exquisite creature but, truth be told, he was coming to feel some disappointment. She was not honored by the marriage, that much was clear; she also had a very bad opinion of his profession and, consequently, him. If he were to admit it to himself, it was somewhat of a blow to his self-esteem. He’d never met a woman who hadn’t been overjoyed at a mere word from the mighty and powerful Davyss de Winter. Now he had married one who didn’t care in the least. He tugged gently on her elbow to get her moving again.
“I would like to give you a bit of advice, my lady,” he said as the door to the church loomed before them; he could see his men waiting outside. “I do not presume to discount your opinions because they are your own. They are not truth as I know it. But if I were you, I would think twice before insulting men who have spent their lives fighting and killing for their cause. The men that serve me are battle-born, hard to the core, and have demonstrated that fierceness in battle time and time again. The stories I could tell you about them would give you nightmares for the rest of your life. You have expressed your reservations to me so let that be the end of it. From this moment on, you are the wife of Sir Davyss de Winter, Champion to our illustrious King Henry and an honored knight of the realm. Whatever you think of me personally, I should like you to at least show some respect for that position. It is an important one. Is that clear?”
She paused just as they reached the door, the sunlight glistening off her miraculous hair as she turned to look at him. “Our parents made this arrangement, my lord, and for that fact alone, I will respect my father’s wishes. My acceptance of this marriage has nothing to do with you or your standing. I do it because my father wishes it.”
“And I do this because my mother wishes it.”
“Then we are clear.”
Davyss took her outside to his waiting men, who couldn’t help but notice she was far calmer with him than she had been with them. They assumed Davyss had worked his usual magic and convinced the lady to be calm and compliant. He was particularly good at convincing women of his wishes.
The lady was mounted on Davyss’ charger and he mounted behind her. With a piercing whistle from Davyss, the group thundered off in the direction of Castle Acre Castle.