Chapter Two #3
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?”