Chapter Thirteen
The Tower of London
Henry 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.