Epic Knights of Legend and Steel

Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Tower of London

H enry the Third, King of England, was a fairly tall man with reddish-gold hair and a droopy eyelid. He wasn’t feeble by any means, having been a warrior most of his life, and even in his advancing years managed to be tough and agile. Devereux was quivering so badly when Davyss introduced her to the king that she nearly fell over when she curtsied. But she managed to hold her balance, holding it further when she was introduced to Prince Edward, the king’s eldest son and heir to the throne. Edward was tall and lanky, a big man with a crown of blonde hair and a big booming voice.

Although the pair was polite, it was clear that their attention was on Davyss. Edward joked with him like a brother and Henry seemed almost eager to communicate with him. Although Devereux knew that Davyss was the king’s champion and had known that from the onset of their association, it was still difficult to believe. Davyss handled them both with cool respect.

A few minutes into their introductions, it was obvious that Henry and Edward had more important things to speak to Davyss of, and without the company of his wife. But Edward’s wife, Eleanor of Castile, unexpectedly joined them, belaying the opportunity to speak to Davyss alone. Eleanor was a very pregnant woman who, by all accounts, had a reputation of being aloof and disinterested in her husband’s English subjects. Born in Spain, she was rather frail-looking with dark hair and pale skin. Married to Prince Edward, a tall, blonde and intimidating man, they made an unusual looking pair. She chatted amiably and delayed the war conference even longer, but Edward didn’t seem to mind.

From the onset, Devereux could see that Edward was very affectionate towards his wife, which caused Devereux to see the man in a completely different light. She had come into the meeting at the dark and foreboding Tower of London thinking on her hatred for what she had once called the tyrannical king, but the politeness of Henry and the devotion of Edward had swiftly caused her to rethink her opinion. Perhaps she had been ignorant as Lady Katharine had once accused her of being; perhaps there was more to Henry, Edward and Davyss than blood-thirsty men. She was starting to see it.

Davyss eventually left his wife in the company of Eleanor and her ladies, all Spanish women with dark Spanish eyes. They spoke in a language that Devereux did not understand, eyeing her suspiciously. She kept hearing the words puta inglesa but had no idea what they meant. She suspected, from the way they were looking at her, that it could not be good.

They had moved into the small ladies’ solar on the fourth floor of the White Tower that was luxurious and pretty, but Devereux was uncomfortable with the women from the onset. They appeared haughty and arrogant, and made no attempt to speak with her in her own language. They whispered among themselves and pointed. Eleanor spent the first several minutes of their association being made comfortable by her snobbish women; she was a little woman with a very big belly and her discomfort was clear. But she eventually settled down, turning her dark-eyed, pale-faced attention to Devereux.

“ Mi senora encantadora ,” she smiled at Devereux. “Sir Davyss has been a friend of my husband for many years. We are pleased that he has finally married.”

Devereux smiled faintly. “Thank you,” she replied. “It seems to be an agreeable arrangement for us both.”

Eleanor lifted a dark eyebrow. “Is this true?” she asked. “I do not mean to make offense, but I did not think that Sir Davyss would find any marriage agreeable.”

Devereux’s smile faded. “Perhaps that was true before we were married,” she replied steadily. “But I assure you that his opinion has changed. I believe he is quite content.”

One of the princess’ women, hovering behind the princess, suddenly thrust herself forward and began jabbering at the princess in Spanish. It appeared to be an angry exchange until the princess harshly shushed the woman. When she refocused her attention on Devereux, it was almost apologetic.

“As I was saying,” she continued. “I did not know that Sir Davyss was the marriageable kind. I have known him for years and he seemed… well, most devoted to the knighthood.”

Devereux sensed cattiness in what the woman was saying and the manner in which she said it. She suspected she would eventually run up against this type of attitude regarding her husband but was surprised to find it coming from the princess. Her husband’s past was about to rear its ugly head; she could feel it. She struggled not to show any hostility or disrespect as she replied.

“You are putting it most kindly, my lady, but I know the truth of my husband just as you do,” she answered. “He has been completely honest with me so there is nothing regarding his past I do not know. But we do not speak of it; we only speak of our future together and of happy things. There is no use lingering on that which we cannot change.”

Eleanor nodded her head, appraising Devereux as if not quite sure she believed her. “You are quite pretty,” she said. “I am not surprised that Davyss selected you as his mate. He always preferred the prettiest girls.”

It was evident that the princess was going to push the subject of Davyss’ wandering eye and Devereux was feeling rather ill about the entire conversation. She didn’t want to delve into an undoubtedly uncomfortable topic so she attempted to shift the focus.

“I have not yet heard of a man who prefers ugly ones,” she said lightly, changing the course of the conversation. “I understand you are from Castile, my lady. Is your home so different from England? I would be interested to know.”

Eleanor’s women were jabbering again and the princess flicked a wrist at them to shut them up. “There are many mountains where I come from,” she replied politely. “But we were speaking of your husband. I understand that his brother likes to chase women as well; the de Winters are well-known for their conquests. Do you suppose Sir Hugh will settle down someday also?”

Devereux was struggling to maintain her polite attitude but it was slipping drastically. She finally gave up because it was apparent that the princess wished to speak of nothing more than Davyss’s shortcomings. Devereux couldn’t figure out if she was trying to extract an emotional response from her or simply garner more information for the rumor mill.

“My lady, if there is something more you wish to say about my husband, I would appreciate it if you would come forth with it rather than ply me with innuendoes and impolite remarks,” her attitude grew clipped. “I grow weary discussing my husband’s past behavior. If you cannot converse on a more suitable subject, then perhaps we should not converse at all.”

Eleanor’s dark eyes cooled as her women exploded in nervous and outraged chatter. The artificial civility that had existed at the beginning of the exchange was gone completely. Eleanor sat up on her couch as much as her swollen body would allow.

“Do you believe me impolite?” she asked, outrage evident in her voice. “You foolish girl; do you truly believe that in marrying Davyss de Winter, the man will suddenly cut loose his wandering eye and devote all of his time and attention to you?”

Devereux didn’t back down. “I do, to both questions.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows flew up in disbelief. “Is this so?”

“It is,” she said flatly. “And if you cannot converse about something other than my husband’s past, then I will assume you have nothing more intelligent to discuss and bid you a good day.”

She rose to her feet as Eleanor’s women began to scream at her. Spanish insults were flying fast and furious. Devereux went into full defensive mode and jabbed a finger at the pack of snarling women.

“And all of you; shut your mouths,” she roared. “You have been rude and imperious from the start and if this is an example of Spanish hospitality, then I want nothing more to do with that barbaric country or with you.”

The collection of women was momentarily taken aback, but only briefly. One of them rushed at Devereux with an open hand but Devereux beat her to the punch, literally, and slapped the woman so hard that she toppled over. More women rushed at her and Devereux began swinging at them, knocking off jeweled hair pieces and shoving others back by the face. Spanish bums ended up on the floor as Devereux launched a full offensive, ripping out hair and scratching faces. She was absolutely furious. In the middle of chaos, the princess began screaming and the doors to the solar flew open.

Knights and soldiers rushed in, putting themselves in the very precarious position of separating the women. Someone grabbed Devereux by the arms and she shrieked, preparing to fight back when she saw that it was her husband. Davyss had his big arm around her, pulling her from the room.

In the corridor a safe distance away from the princess’ room, Davyss faced his snarling wife. His hands cupped her cheeks as he visually inspected her.

“Sweetling,” he sounded frightened. “Are you well? What happened?”

Devereux was still furious. Her fists were clenched and her lovely mouth was in a flat, tight line, but she was without a scratch in spite of the screaming and slapping that had been going on.

“All she wanted to talk about was your… your womanizing,” she told him angrily. “I tried to change the subject but she would not speak on anything else. And her women were rude and horrible; they kept calling me puta inglesa . I do not know what that means, but I am sure it was not a compliment. When one of them tried to strike me, I struck her first.”

Davyss’s fright cooled instantly as he realized what had happened. He stared at Devereux for a long moment, his expression morphing into something deep and regretful. He could still hear the angry Spanish voices in the chamber and the princess’ high-pitched pleas over the commotion. He sighed heavily and hung his head a moment.

“I am sorry,” he murmured, lifting his face to her. “I should have… I did not think she would be so tactless.”

Devereux was calming, but not much. She pulled away from Davyss, throwing the dark hair still clutched in her hand onto the floor. He stared at the tangled bundle of long, dark hair as she faced off against him.

“What does puta inglesa mean?” she demanded.

He looked at her, his hazel eyes soft with remorse. “You must understand that they are jealous,” he whispered sincerely. “You are by far the most beautiful woman in England, something that has not escaped their notice. You have what they want and being petty, jealous women, they are going to punish you for it.”

“You did not answer my question.”

He gazed at her, not wanting to answer. But he found that he could not lie to her. “It means ‘English whore’.”

Devereux met his gaze, not surprised by his explanation. But she was still stung by it. The fight and anger drained out of her, replaced by a deep and genuine hurt.

“Did you bed any of those women in there?” she threw a hand in the direction of the now-calming chamber. “Is that why they were so hostile towards me?”

Davyss felt trapped and sick. But if this marriage had any hope of surviving, he could not lie to her. Although he had hoped their conversations over the past few days would have put this subject to rest, or at the very least prepared her for what she might face, he suspected that would not be the case. He could possibly be facing many more of these shameful moments with her and he knew there was nothing more he could do than face them head on. He wanted to be truthful with her and he wanted her to forgive him. He very much wanted to be the virtuous husband that she deserved.

After a moment, he nodded faintly to her question.

“Aye,” he whispered. “That is very possible.”

She stared at him and he could see the disappointment on her face. She didn’t say anything for quite some time and when she did, her voice was tight with emotion.

“I will accept that,” she whispered. “You have explained your behavior in the past and I will not comment on it further. There is no reason to. But I will ask you this; when you bedded these women, these low-life trollops whose legs were probably open for every man at court, did you touch them as sweetly and tenderly as you touch me? When you make love to me, is it just as meaningless?”

She suddenly broke down, tears spilling from her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. Davyss watched her, his heart just about breaking. He reached out to embrace her but knew it would probably not be well met. So he clenched and unclenched his gigantic hands, opening his mouth to reply when Eleanor suddenly spilled out of her bower. The princess spied Davyss and Devereux, several feet away.

“?Usted!” she pointed an imperious finger at Devereux. “?Dejará mi vista y nunca regreso !”

Davyss put himself between Eleanor and Devereux, his expression like stone. “Your women attacked her first, my lady,” he said calmly. “She has done nothing wrong.”

Eleanor was furious. She glared at Davyss, marching upon him and slapping him hard across the face. Although Davyss didn’t react, Devereux heard the slap and, without thinking who she was about to attack, charged towards the pregnant princess with her claws bared. The princess shrieked when she saw her, recoiling as Davyss grabbed his wife and forcibly turned her around. Without another word, Davyss took Devereux from the battle zone.

It was cool in the late afternoon as they entered the massive bailey of the Tower of London. Davyss had his wife in a firm grip, leading her toward the stables where the carriage and charger await. When they were half-way across the dusty, rocky yard, she abruptly yanked herself from his powerful embrace. They came to an uneven halt, eyeing each other unsteadily.

“You do not need to hold me so tightly,” she spat, avoiding his gaze. “I do not plan on turning and running.”

Davyss wiped a weary hand over his face; he wasn’t sure how the situation had veered so out of control but he knew he had to put a stop to it before damage was done.

“Devereux,” he murmured calmly, struggling for calm himself. “Listen to me and listen well; I am sorry you were subjected to the princess’ bitter women but there is nothing I can do to erase what I have done in the past. We have already discussed this and I told you that there would be occasion when my past indiscretions would come to light. I can only apologize for your humiliation at such occurrences. I wish I could do more, but I cannot.”

She was looking at the ground, her delicate jaw ticking with fatigue and displeasure. “You needn’t apologize,” she said. “I suppose I am simply going to have to grow accustomed to these occurrences so that I may deal with them more gracefully in the future.”

She sounded so hurt. Davyss’ heart ached for her, wanting very much for things to be right between them.

“Though I cannot undo the past, I can make a vow for the future,” he whispered. “You asked me once to swear that I would be faithful to you. Do you recall? It was when we supped at the Fist and Tankard.”

She sighed faintly, thinking back on that day. “I remember.”

“Then you also remember that I failed to answer you.” He took a few steps, suddenly standing very close to her. He gazed down on her lowered blonde head. “Sweetling, please believe me when I swear that I will always be faithful to you. I will never shame you by straying from this marriage and I have never touched a woman with the same reverenced that I have touched you. What I feel for you is unique unto itself. There is no comparison.”

She continued to stare at the ground. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse with anguish. “I feel… I feel so cheapened that so many others have sampled what has become so precious to me. You gave yourself to so many that by giving yourself to me, ’tis as if you have nothing else to give. I am simply one of the many, existing on the dregs left by others.”

He shook his head, feeling increasingly despondent. “That is not true,” he insisted softly. “There is something I have never given anyone, something more valuable than king or country or even God himself.”

He watched her brow furrow though she had yet to look up at him. “What is that?”

“My heart.”

Her head snapped up, the silver eyes suspicious yet encouraged. “You… you have never loved any of those women?”

He smiled gently, shaking his head. “Not one,” he murmured. “That is the one thing I did indeed save for you.”

Confusion creased her expression. “But you cannot simply give it to me as one would a gift. I must earn it from you just as you must earn it from me.”

“You have already earned it. I will love you and only you until I die.”

The gray eyes widened and he could read her surprise in the brilliant depths. As he watched, her eyes filled with a lake of tears.

“You…,” she swallowed hard and the tears streamed down her face. “You love me?”

He reached up to wipe the tears away. “You are my angel. I would kill or die for you without hesitation.”

She swallowed again, moving back from him and shaking her head as if confused by the entire circumstance.

“That is only because of the child,” she told him; she sounded very much as if she was trying to convince herself, too. “You only say you love me because you believe I carry your son. If I had not….”

He cut her off, grabbing her by both arms and pulling her against him. His hazel eyes were intense as his arms snaked around her slender body.

“My feelings for you were strong before you ever mentioned the child,” he insisted. “I do not need for you to bear me a son in order for me to love you.”

She stared up at him, feeling his warmth envelope her with blissful comfort. It was enough to cause her to forget about the princess and her vicious women. All she could see and hear, at the moment, was Davyss.

“Oh… Davyss,” she sighed, her hands moving to his stubbled cheeks. “How is this possible? Do you realize what you are saying?”

He wrapped her up in his enormous arms. “Of course I do,” he nuzzled her cheek, her neck. “Although I have never been in love before, the feelings I have for you are so strong that they can be nothing else.”

She put her hands on his face and stared at him. It was more than a simple gaze, however; she was inspecting him, the lines of his face, the shape of his nose, and the depths of his eyes to determine if he was telling her the truth. Her thumbs began to stroke his cheeks.

“Then I want to reiterate something from our list,” she said.

He grinned, wriggling his eyebrows. “Ah, yes,” he muttered. “The list. I have nearly forgotten the hundreds of items that are surely on it by now.”

She returned his smile, reluctantly. “You had better not.”

He hastened to assure her, like a man who is afraid of his wife. “Only a jest, sweetling,” he pulled her closer. “What more do you wish to reiterate from our gigantic, ungainly list?”

She couldn’t help but snort at him, pretending to strangle him. He grinned and kissed her.

“You put an item on our list once,” she said softly. “You asked for the complete and honest truth when you asked a question. Do you recall?”

He nodded. “I do.”

“I would like the same courtesy as well. When I ask a question, I want a completely honest answer without hesitation.”

“And you shall have it.”

“Did you tell me you love me simply to ease my anger?”

He shook his head. “Nay. I told you because it is the truth.”

She wouldn’t press him; to do so would be to doubt his word. But she did stare at him for several long moments. “Then I will be truthful with you as well,” she whispered. “I cannot guarantee my composure should the next Spanish whore come at me with tales of bedroom exploits with the great Davyss de Winter. It is a matter of honor. I will not have these women so cheaply throw about that which means the world to me; you mean the world to me.”

He smiled sadly at her, understanding completely. But there wasn’t much he could do or say about it. “If I could erase it all, believe me when I tell you that I would. Had I known that someday I would have been married to a woman I adore, I might have thought twice before… well, doing whatever it is I did.”

She snorted softly at the way he said it; so guilty, yet so sorrowful. The subject was finished as far as she was concerned. So she kissed him on the cheek gently.

“I wish to go home and lie down now,” she said softly. “It has been an exhausting night of battling the Spaniards.”

He laughed softly as they resumed their walk to the stables, arm in arm. “I am not entirely sure you can expect an invitation to the princess’ chamber any time soon.”

She grinned, laying her cheek against his enormous bicep. “What do you think your mother will say?”

Davyss laughed. “She shall build a shrine dedicated to you.”