Epic Knights of Legend and Steel

Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

O n the morning of the sixth day since leaving Evesham, the massive white block of Norwich Castle’s keep came into view.

Davyss had pushed his men hard for the long trek back to Norwich. The column had made around thirty-five miles a day before stopping only to rest the horses and then proceeding on. Davyss seemed to have no sense of exhaustion although his men certainly did. After weeks of traveling and fighting, they were all deeply exhausted but pushed on for Davyss’ sake. They knew what was at stake and not one man disagreed with him. So they rode on, fighting the intermittent thunderstorms and sometimes stifling moist heat, until the great keep of Norwich was finally sighted on the horizon.

Once Davyss caught sight of it, he spurred his charger into a thundering gallop. Nothing on this earth was going to keep him from Devereux any longer and he rode the already-exhausted horse into Norwich’s double-baileys, leaping off the horse when he reached the keep and taking the steps two at a time. He burst into the soldier’s hall only to be met by Lollardly.

The old priest threw his arms around him. “Davyss, boy,” he squeezed him and let him go. “We saw your army on the horizon. Praise God that you are safe.”

Davyss grabbed the old man by the arms, his fingers biting into the flesh. “Devereux,” he demanded. “What happened? Where is she?”

Lollardly could see how edgy Davyss was. He struggled to calm him. “Listen to me,” he gripped him. “You must calm yourself or you will do her no good. Do you hear me?”

Davyss shook him so hard that he nearly snapped the man’s neck. “Enough,” he roared, moving for the stairs that led to the upper chambers of the keep. “Tell me how she is. What happened to her?”

Lollardly was trying to keep the man from bolting up the stairs. “Davyss, I cannot tell you all that I must if you are running up those stairs,” he yanked on his arm. “Stop a moment and listen to me. It is important.”

Davyss heard the plea through his desperate haze and he came to an unsteady halt, facing the man. “What is it, then?”

Lollardly knew he would only have his attention for a short amount of time before he was demanding to see his wife again, so he spoke quickly. “Your wife went into labor two weeks early,” he lowered his voice. “She labored for two days to bring forth your enormous children, Davyss, so much so that I believed I was going to have to cut into her to remove them. The physic from Great Yarmouth agreed with me. But finally, she gave birth to your first son and we were shocked to realize that there were two. Never did I feel two children when I examined her; only one. Your wife was so weak already by the time the first boy was born that it was nearly impossible for her to gather the strength to birth the second child. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”

Davyss’ expression was wrought with horror. “Dear God,” he breathed. “What happened?”

Lollardly sighed heavily, his manner turning gentle. “Your second son was born feet-first,” he murmured. “Your wife did not have any strength left to push so we were forced to… well, we had to pull the child out by his feet, Davyss. It was the only way. Then we could not detach the nourishment sack from her body and she bled profusely until we were able to pull it free. She lost a great deal of blood and the difficult birth seriously injured her.”

By this time, Davyss’ hand was at his mouth as if to hold in the gasps of horror. The hazel eyes filled with tears. “How is she now?”

Lollardly lifted his shoulders. “She lives,” he said honestly. “But she has not recovered. All she does is sleep. She barely eats. If she does not start showing more improvement soon, I am afraid we… well, we may lose her.”

Davyss blinked and the tears rolled down his cheeks, just as quickly wiped away. He took a deep breath, digesting Lollardly’s words, struggling to acclimate himself to the situation.

“May I see her?” he whispered.

Lollardly simply nodded. He followed Davyss up the stairs to the fourth floor. As Davyss approached, he could hear babies crying and his tears returned en force. As he stood at the top of the stairs, gazing into the chamber where both of his lusty sons were being tended, he sobbed deeply.

Lollardly stood behind him, his hand on Davyss’ shoulder as the man observed the activity of the room. It was a smaller chamber with a large bed in it, and Frances sat on the bed changing the swaddling of one twin while Lucy paced the floor with the second twin. Both boys were screaming at the top of their lungs and Lucy was attempting desperately to calm the baby in her arms until she saw Davyss.

The surprise on her face turned to joy before immediately turning to distress. The enormous man was filthy and exhausted as he stood at the top of the stairs, tears running down his face and dripping onto his dirty tunic. Lucy went to him.

“Davyss,” she was torn between being very glad to see him and deeply concerned as to why he was crying. She could see that he was looking at the baby in her arms and her focus turned to the child. “This is your son, Drake. Your mother swears that he looks just like your father.”

Davyss gazed down at the baby, struggling to stop his sobs. As Lucy unwrapped the boy so he could get a better look, his sobs turned into weepy laughter at the vigorously screaming baby. He was absolutely furious. Davyss reached out a tentative finger, pushing it into a waving hand and being rewarded when the infant gripped him tightly.

“He is very strong,” he commented, feeling the warmth of joy wash over him as he gazed into the little face. “But why is he so angry?”

Lucy grinned. “He is hungry; he is always hungry.”

Davyss was overcome with emotion as Drake continued to scream. Lucy watched the man’s face, seeing the complete adoration, the pain. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She knew how much all of this meant to him and to Devereux.

“Would you like to hold him?” she asked softly.

Davyss shook his head. He bent over, kissing Drake on the forehead. “Not at the moment,” he whispered. “I want to see my wife first.”

Lucy understood. With a lingering look at Devon, screaming on the bed, Davyss quit the room and went to the master’s chamber. The door was closed and he very quietly opened it.

The room was dark inside, big oilcloth curtains covering the long lancet windows. It smelled of cloves and rushes and as he entered the room, his gaze was immediately drawn to the enormous bed. His mother was seated to the left of the bed, the needlework in her hands falling to her lap when her old eyes beheld her son. The little dogs at her feet stood up, tails wagging furiously.

Davyss’ gaze moved between his mother and the still figure on the bed. He finally focused on his mother when the woman stiffly stood up.

“Davyss,” she breathed, inspecting his dirty mail, his stubbled face. “Thank God you have returned. Are you well?”

Davyss nodded shortly, his attention moving to the bed. “How is she?”

Lady Katharine knew it would do no good to ply her son with foolish questions that could just as easily be answered later. He had come for one reason and one alone; Katharine’s gaze trailed down to the blonde head buried amongst the coverlets.

“She sleeps,” she whispered, turning to her son. She noticed that Lollardly had come in behind him. “I assume Lollardly told you of her condition?”

Davyss’ tears were returning as he gazed down at his wife’s extremely pale, sleeping face. “He did,” he breathed, collapsing beside the bed and clutching one of Devereux’s outstretched hands. “Dear God… she looks so pale.”

Lady Katharine put her hand on her son’s dirty hair, something completely out of character for the woman who normally showed no affection. But this was an exception; she grieved deeply for her son at the moment. She knew well what it felt like to love someone and face the prospect of losing them.

“She is a very sick woman,” Katharine said softly, running her thin fingers through her son’s hair a moment before removing her hand and gathering her cane. “I will leave you alone with her and go and see my grandsons. They sound a good deal like you did as an infant, Davyss.”

Davyss couldn’t even respond as his mother left the chamber, taking Lollardly and the dogs with her. When the door shut softly and the room was suddenly very still, he pulled Devereux’s hand to his lips and kissed the soft flesh reverently.

“Sweetling, can you hear me?” he whispered, his tears pelting her flesh. “Devereux? I am here, sweetling; I am here. All will be well again, I swear it.”

She continued to lie still, breathing heavily. Davyss watched her, feeling more anguish than he ever imagined possible. They had spent so much time focused on his battles and her worry over him not returning that it had never occurred to him that she would be the one facing life or death. It just wasn’t fair. He felt cheated.

Davyss had everything he had ever wanted out of life; power, honor, prestige. He had the arrogance and the following to prove it. Now he had a beautiful wife and two strong sons. But that joy was threatened and he knew that he would give it all up, without question, if it meant Devereux would live. He could deal with the loss of wealth and even power. He could live without a pristine reputation. But he could not live without his wife. He let go of her hand and began to remove his armor.

“I have thought of nothing but you for the past three months,” he mumbled as he pulled his tunic over his head and began stripping off his mail. “Every moment of every day, you were always in my heart. So much has happened since we have been separated I do not even know where to start. But I swear to you that I will not leave you ever again. Not ever.”

The mail coat hit the floor and he stood up, pulling off his boots and continuing with his one-sided conversation. “I have seen the boys,” he told her as the boots hit the floor with a heavy knock. “They are magnificent, Devereux. I am so humbled by your sacrifice that I cannot put it into words. It… it seems like all you wanted was to provide me with sons. You got your wish, sweetling; we have two beautiful boys.”

The room remained quiet as he fell silent, removing his breeches. Naked, sweaty, dirty and all, he climbed into bed with Devereux and with extreme care, pulled her into his arms. The moment he felt her soft warmth against him, alive and breathing, he burst into tears. The anguish was more than he could stomach and his emotions flooded from every pore of his body.

“God,” he sobbed, his face in the back of her head. “Please do not take her from me. I have done things in my life that I am not proud of and things I should show repentance for. I am sorry if I have failed You. But my wife… she is the one gift you have given me in life that outshines everything else I have ever known to exist. I am completely unworthy of her and I know it, but please, God, do not take her away from me. I love her with all of my heart. I cannot go on without her.”

His last sentence was barely recognizable through the sobs. He held Devereux tightly against him, his tears wetting her hair. His hands stroked her but he made no attempt to elicit a response from her. He was simply grateful to be with her, holding her, feeling her heartbeat mingle with his. But the tears wouldn’t stop; he didn’t even try. He let them come.

As he lay there and held his wife, he realized that something was happening. Devereux wasn’t limp any longer; in fact, she was moving. Startled, Davyss lifted his head, propping himself up on an elbow so he could see for himself what was going on. As he lifted himself, Devereux rolled sluggishly onto her back.

Davyss was stunned to see the big gray eyes gazing up at him. He didn’t know what to say; in fact, words, at the moment, seemed oddly out of place. He just stared at her, an enormous hand coming up to gently touch her face. He stroked her velvety cheeks with his thick fingers, gazing down at her as she smiled faintly. He returned the gesture and, without provocation, the tears came again.

Devereux shushed him softly when she saw his reaction. She put a weak hand to his face, watching as he kissed it fervently and held it fast against his cheek.

“You have come home,” she whispered.

He nodded, trying to hold off the sobs. “I have missed you so much,” he wept softly. “I love you, Devereux. More than anything on this earth, I love you.”

She put up her other hand, fingers against his lips as the tears rained down. “And I love you,” she whispered. “Have you returned to me unscathed?”

He burst out in to ironic snorts, mingled with the sobs. “How can you ask me that when I return to find you on death’s door?” he suddenly lay down against her, his face buried in her neck and his warm tears on her flesh. “I cannot lose you, Devereux. I would not survive such a thing.”

He was sobbing heavily and Devereux wrapped her weak arms around him, shushing him gently. Though she was horribly drained and barely able to move, her husband’s tears had her playing the role of the comforter. His tears had her deeply touched and deeply distressed.

“I will not leave you,” she assured him softly. “I simply need time to recover, ’tis all. Surely you saw those two enormous children I birthed.”

She was making an attempt at humor and he lifted his head, kissing her so sweetly that his head swam. “I did,” he kissed her cheek, her chin, silently conveying the love and adoration he felt for her. “I am humbled, Lady de Winter. Truly humbled. Words cannot describe how pleased and grateful I am.”

She smiled faintly and he heard what he thought was a laugh. “Since when are you a humble man?”

He stopped kissing her, lifting his head up to look into her dark-circled eyes, still so beautiful to him. “Since I married you,” he answered. “I remember an angry woman telling me once that I should be humble and gracious and endearing because those qualities will cause people to bow at my feet and my wife to respect me. I once thought all I wanted was your respect but, somehow, I got much more than I ever dreamed of. I am still not sure how that happened.”

Her smile grew, the gray eyes glimmering. “I am not sure, either,” she admitted. “One moment I was loathing you and, in the next, I could not live without you.”

He returned her smile, feeling the warmth between them, the love, and his eyes started to water again. He simply couldn’t help it; he couldn’t imagine life without her.

“Please,” he begged softly, his smile fading. “Please get well. I cannot stomach the alternative.”

She sighed faintly, reaching up a weak hand to stroke his handsome face. “Nor can I,” she murmured. “I do not want to watch you leave to war ever again. Please, Davyss; tell me that these wars between Simon and Henry are ended.”

He thought of Evesham, of Simon’s body in pieces over the green English grass. “They are over,” he declared. “I swear it.”

“Then you will not leave again?”

He kissed her cheek. “Not unless I have your permission,” he said. “And even then, I will not stay away long, I swear it.”

She sighed faintly, feeling weak yet joyful. The past three months had been particular hellish, not knowing if Davyss was dead or alive, only hearing about him periodically by way of quickly written missives. It had not been enough to sustain her. The birth, though difficult, had not drained her as much as the thought of her husband’s fate did. Perhaps it was her distress over Davyss’ whereabouts and activities that had contributed the most to her loss of the will to live. The twins, as strenuous as their birth had been, had only compounded the problem.

Gazing into Davyss’ eyes, she knew for a fact that they were going to live long and healthy lives together. She felt stronger simply by having him in the room. She wrapped her arms around his neck weakly and he enfolded her with his strength, his massive arms blocking out all of the evils and deeds of the world. It was a safe and protective cocoon.

“Thank you, Davyss,” she murmured.

His face was buried in the side of her head. “For what?”

She smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “For marrying me on that day so long ago, even when I said such horrible things to you.”

He grinned, shifting on the bed so that he was lying beside her. “Our wedding was quite a show,” he agreed. “The only one who wasn’t complaining or fighting that day was Lespada .”

“He is so cold and sharp. He makes a terrible husband.” Davyss laughed; it was so good to be with her again, to enjoy her humor. He pulled her close, kissing the tip of her nose. “I have an idea on how to rectify that, if you will allow me.”

“Of course I will.”

On their wedding anniversary in March of the following year, Davyss arranged a massive wedding in Winchester Cathedral that turned out to be the social event of the year. Everyone was in attendance, including the king and queen, and between Hollyhock and the Tower of London, the celebration went on for three long and glorious days.

This time, the groom attended the wedding instead of his sword.