Chapter Sixteen
The last time they had seen the Allington manse, a great battle had gone on inside of it. Lady Devereux had proved more than a suitable adversary for the de Winter knights. This time, the situation was decidedly different.
Davyss knocked on the massive oak door, rattling the entire structure with the big iron knocker.
The door was built like a fortress itself with big iron bracing strips riveted across it.
He’d never actually seen the manse but his men had.
He glanced over his shoulder at Hugh, Andrew, Edmund and Philip.
Obviously absent were Nik and Lollardly; Nik had been seriously wounded in the same archer wave that had hit Davyss, struck in the eye.
He lost the eye and even now lay on death’s door with a raging fever as a result of the injury.
Lollardly remained at Nik’s side, nursing the knight and hoping to pull him through. Davyss felt their absence deeply.
He also noticed the men he had sent to protect his wife lingered on the perimeter of Allington manse.
Brovus, the sergeant, had come out of the trees to greet him.
In fact, he’d had his crossbow trained on Davyss as the group had moved towards the manse, not recognizing his liege’s charger.
Davyss explained that his horse had fallen in battle and he had confiscated another one.
Brovus had waved his liege onward and skulked back into the bramble.
Davyss had to knock on the door twice before the small sliding door set within the massive panel slid open. A pair of fearful eyes stared back.
“I am Davyss de Winter,” Davyss said. “Where is my wife?”
The fearful eyes widened and the sliding door slapped shut. Davyss heard the bolt thrown and suddenly the massive panel was lurching open. A little old man stood in the doorway, bowing profusely, as another man abruptly came barreling forth from an adjoining room.
“My lord!” the man nearly crashed into Davyss in his haste. “I heard you… you are Davyss de Winter?”
Davyss nodded, sizing the man up. “Who are you?”
The older man extended an eager hand. “I am Devereux’s father, St. Paul Allington,” he replied, shaking Davyss’ hand enthusiastically. “We have never met, my lord, but I have met your mother on many occasions.”
Davyss nodded faintly, seeing the family resemblance in the man’s gray eyes. Then he glanced into the manse beyond, darkened in the late afternoon. “Is my wife here?”
St. Paul nodded and shoved the old servant back so that Davyss could enter. “She is here, my lord,” he replied, suddenly seeming nervous. “But… well, that is to say, the physic says she must stay in bed.”
Davyss looked at the man. “Bed? Why?”
St. Paul was wringing his hands. “You will have to ask the physic,” he replied. “I believe it has something to do with the baby.”
Davyss felt a wave of dread wash over him. “Where is she?”
“Up the stairs; first door to the left.”
Davyss bolted up the stairs directly in front of him. The narrow flight doubled back on itself and he ended up in a narrow upstairs corridor. The first door to his left was open and he tried to slow his pace as he entered. But he realized, as he passed into the room, that he was shaking.
The bed was immediately to his left, the head against the wall.
It was a big bed with lovely curtains around it, very much a woman’s bed.
His wife was curled up on her side, facing away from him, and in the corner of the room sat an older, red-haired woman.
She had some kind of mending in her hand but when she saw Davyss enter, she immediately bolted to her feet.
“Who are you?” the old woman hissed. “Get out of here. You’ll not disturb her.”
Davyss lifted an eyebrow at the woman’s tone and put up a hand to calm her. “I am the lady’s husband,” he said softly. “Is she ill?”
The old woman faltered as Devereux suddenly rolled onto her back. Her big gray eyes were wide with astonishment and shock.
“Davyss!” she gasped.
He flew to the bed, half-falling and half-sitting upon it as he pulled her into a crushing embrace.
Devereux burst into tears, sobbing dramatically as she threw her arms around his neck and clutched him tightly.
The smell, the feel of him, had her overwhelmed to the point of hyperventilation. She couldn’t catch her breath.
“All is well, sweet girl,” he kissed her cheek and head furiously. “I am here now. All is well.”
Devereux pulled back to look at him, running her hands all over his face and hair as if to convince herself that he wasn’t a ghost.
“Are you real?” she breathed, kissing his nose, his mouth. “I cannot believe it.”
His hands were shaking as he gently cupped her face, kissing her with deep and painful longing. “I am real,” he murmured, stopping in his zeal to take a good, long look at her. She looked pale but delicious. “Why are you in bed? What is wrong?”
Her smile faded somewhat. “The physic says that the baby is making itself known,” she told him. “It is nothing that a little rest will not cure. You needn’t worry.”
He touched her head, her cheek, moving his hand down her arm as if to make sure for himself that she was not about to fall apart. She felt warm and soft and wonderful.
“Then a physic has examined you?”
She nodded. “There is a fine surgeon in town, the one who volunteers his time to The House of Hope,” she said. “He says our son is due around the New Year.”
Davyss smiled faintly, with great joy, as he kissed her cheek gently. “Then your suspicions are confirmed.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him against her tightly. “My joy is complete now that you have returned safe and whole to me,” her smile faded as she let him go and gazed into his eyes. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine.”
“You were not injured?”
He didn’t want to lie to her; she would see the scar at some point. “I took an arrow to the shoulder but it was not serious.”
She looked worried. “Are you sure? Let me see.”
He shook his head, kissing her hands as she tried to get a look at his neck area. “No need,” he assured her. “I have healed.”
She had to take his word for it, at least for the moment. “And your men? Did everyone come through unscathed?”
He sobered somewhat. “Nik took an arrow to the eye,” he told her honestly. “He lingers near death. Lollardly has remained with him at Lewes Castle. We did not want to move him in his condition.”
Devereux looked stricken. “Does Frances know?”
Davyss reached up, smoothing the mussed hair from her face in a gentle gesture. “Nay,” he admitted. “I have not sent her word. I will not until I know which direction Nik will take.”
Devereux shook her head, distressed on Frances’ behalf. “That is not fair to her,” she insisted softly. “She will want to know. If it were me, I would want to know.”
Davyss simply shrugged, not giving her an answer one way or the other.
He seemed more intent on inspecting the ends of her hair, her fingers, kissing them one by one.
Devereux watched his face, seeing exhaustion and emotion in the strong lines.
It was evident that he was distracted, concerned and tense. There was much on his mind.
“We were told that Simon de Montfort is now king,” she said softly. “Is this true?”
He looked up at her, the beautiful hazel eyes lined with fatigue. After a moment of studying her sweet face, he averted his gaze.
“Aye,” he whispered. “De Montfort is now ruling England.”
She could see, through all of his strong military facade, that he was greatly distressed by the thought. For the great Davyss de Winter to have to admit defeat must have been a bitter thing for him indeed and she felt a great deal of sympathy for him.
“What happened to the king?” she asked softly.
“Captured along with Prince Edward.”
“My God,” she breathed. “Davyss, what happened? How did you escape being captured yourself?”
He looked at her, then, his hazel eyes riveted to her.
He wasn’t sure he could tell her all of it but, in reflection, perhaps she should know all of it and understand just how serious the situation was.
She thought she had married the perfect warrior; perfectly arrogant, perfectly skilled.
But the truth was that she hadn’t; she had married a man who had grown up over the past few months.
He was a better person now, a stronger man that she had helped create.
He wanted her to know everything that had happened and hoped it was the right decision to tell her.
“I was captured,” he told her, taking her hands in his own. “But there is something you must know, sweetling; Simon de Montfort is my godfather. He and my father were the best of friends and Simon is very close to my family.”
Devereux’s eyes widened. “Is this so?” she was truly astonished. “You… you have never said anything about this.”
“I know. It is something I did not want you to know.”
“But you are telling me now. Why?’
“Because it is important that you understand the dynamics of what has happened.”
She fell silent a moment, thinking, wondering if she was ready to hear everything. “But… but you are Henry’s champion. You fought against Simon.”
“Aye, I did,” he replied. “I fought against Simon because I made a choice long ago to support the king, not a baron’s rebellion. Simon has been trying for years to convince me to switch allegiance but I would not do it. Even when faced with the prospect of fighting against my brother.”
Devereux watched him with sad, concerned eyes. “Is Hugh all right?”
“He is fine. He is with me, in fact, outside with the horses.”
“He is here?” she repeated, digesting what he was trying to tell her. Things weren’t making a lot of sense. “If you were captured, why are you here? Did Simon release you because you are his godson?”
He sighed faintly. “As I said, Simon has been attempting to gain my fealty for years,” he said softly. “Nothing he could say or do would convince me. But something finally did.”
“What?”
“You.”