“Then you… you prefer the Swan?” he asked, loud enough for Davyss to hear him.
Devereux hesitated a brief moment, thinking on her answer; Davyss had come to make amends and she did not want to start the evening off being demanding and rude. She could see that Hugh looked very concerned by her comment and she shook her head at him.
“Not at all,” she replied pleasantly. “I was simply pointing out my own experience. Perhaps the next time you visit, you will allow me to introduce you to the Swan.”
The sun shone again and Hugh grinned. “It would be a pleasure, Lady de Winter.”
She forced herself to smile in return; Hugh’s polished performance when dealing with a woman was almost as accomplished as his brother’s. Both of them were quite talented when it came to the most flattering words and the right time to flash that brilliant de Winter smile. She found the charade they put on disgusting and struggled not to roll her eyes at him.
Davyss, meanwhile, was impatiently holding his hands down to his brother. Devereux caught sight of them, the biggest hands she had ever seen. Hugh took the hint.
“Up you go, my lady,” Hugh lifted her up to his brother.
Davyss settled her in front of him on the saddle, adjusting her skirts so they flowed like a banner. Devereux shifted a couple of times to get comfortable, glancing around at the men in armor that surrounded them; they were all the men that had come to take her to her wedding, men who forced her to marry a sword rather than a man. She met Sir Nikolas’ steady blue-eyed gaze, remembering how she had clobbered him with a chair leg. Next to him was Sir Philip, the handsome blonde who had tried to talk her into surrendering peacefully. She had opened a door into his nose. Next to Sir Philip were Andrew and Edmund, brothers that faintly resembled each other. Andrew nodded his greeting while his younger brother Edmund simply gazed at her with some trepidation even though he had been the one to subdue her after everyone else had failed. Perhaps he thought they were in for another row. Rounding out the group was Lollardly, who appeared as if he might have actually washed his face for the event. His dark eyes glittered with some friendliness when their gazes met.
Devereux didn’t have a chance to speak to any of them before Davyss spurred his charger forward. The beast had an excited gait and she held on tightly as the group roared into the main street of the town.
Thetford was a larger settlement with approximately three thousand people at any given time. In that respect, it was enormous and more than likely the largest town in Norfolk on average. There was a large main street that cut a path through the town with a variety of smaller roads that sprung off from the main avenue like branches from a tree trunk. The closer to the main road, the more businesses and merchants there were. Further off the main road were residential areas and inns.
The Fist and Tankard was one such inn off the main street, off to the northeast and in an area peppered with run-down brothels. It was little more than a brothel itself. The sun had just dipped below the horizon when Davyss and his men arrived at the inn with ten men-at-arms, swarming the entire front of the building with soldiers and weapons. The night air was cool, smelling of smoke and animals. Davyss pushed his way forward and dismounted, carefully and politely helping his wife down from the horse. A soldier took the charger’s reins as Davyss escorted his wife inside the two-level establishment.
It was crowded inside, full of bodies and smoke. Tendrils of gray spiraled up from a hearth with the defective chimney, causing a steady haze to settle across the room. Most of the tables were full with men sharing an evening meal, talking and drinking loudly. The innkeeper caught sight of Davyss and his men and waved them over to a large alcove where he had a table waiting for them. The table was nothing more than a few planks thrown over some empty ale barrels, and Davyss took the stool at the head of the table and indicated for Devereux to sit. He sat next to her and the knights settled in around them, bellowing for ale and food. Lollardly sat on her other side.
They were swarmed by the innkeeper and several wenches bearing trenchers and wooden trays of steaming food; brown bread, butter and a berry compote were put all over the table along with boiled turnips with dill, carrots with honey, and half a pig that had been roasted over an open pit. The pork was cooked so that it was falling off the bone and Davyss went to work making sure Devereux received the best meat and the first helping of everything. He yelled at poor Edmund when the young knight made it to the bread before he did. Lollardly even slapped the young man in the head to punctuate the error.
The entire time, Davyss hadn’t said a word to her. The men around them were chatting, laughing uproariously at jokes Devereux did not understand, but Davyss remained largely focused on his wife. He even served her himself. All the while, Devereux kept her head down, focusing on her food and her husband’s polite attempts to help her.
“So, my lady,” Hugh began, well into his tankard of ale. “I would assume this is better fair than The House of Hope is having tonight?”
Devereux fixed on him with her big gray eyes. “Any food at The House of Hope is welcomed and appreciated,” she replied. “It is not an inn or a fine palace. We eat what God provides and do so happily.”
Hugh’s smile faded somewhat, glancing at his brother. “I did not mean to offend,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t fly into a rage. “I was simply… I suppose I was simply asking if the food was to your liking.”
Devereux struggled not to react to his arrogant stance. The man really had no idea what it meant to be hungry and homeless; he was a typical young knight with an over-inflated sense of entitlement.
“The food is very good,” she replied, trying to keep the distain from her voice. “Thank you for asking.”
Hugh looked relieved and turned back to his meal but Lollardly growled at him.
“Foolish whelp,” he rumbled. “The lady does not want to hear your ridiculous wit.”
Hugh glared at the hairy priest, a man who had known him since birth. “I was making conversation, old man.”
“You were making an ass of yourself.”
The knights snorted at Hugh’s expense, which only seemed to inflame him. But the laughter faded into awkward silence and Devereux returned her focus to her meal.
“Did the old woman recover?” Davyss’ voice beside her was low and sultry. When Devereux turned to him, puzzled, he clarified. “The old woman who became ill when I was there. Did she recover?”
Devereux nodded in realization and swallowed the carrots in her mouth. “Ah,” she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “She did not recover as far as I know.”
Davyss nodded, watching her mouth as she spoke; she had the most beautiful mouth, one he remembered as being particular delicious. “I would imagine The House of Hope does not exist simply to provide food to those who need it. I imagine tending the ill is just as important.”
She could see he was genuinely trying to carry on a conversation and her heart softened towards him, just a little. “We have more ill than we can handle,” she replied honestly. “A surgeon from town comes to help a few days a week, but much more is needed. We have an entire section of the building that is dedicated to the ill. In fact, we seem to have become the place of choice for the destitute to give birth to their children.”
Davyss’ eyebrows lifted. “How many children are born there on a daily basis?”
“’Tis hard to say; but we have at least five or six born every week.”
“Then you are an expert midwife.”
She looked at him before answering, knowing that midwifery was considered an inappropriate skill for noble women. It was unseemly and lowly. She couldn’t tell if there was disgust in his voice or not.
“The surgeon usually delivers the baby if a midwife is unavailable,” she replied evenly. “But if no one is available, then I am not ashamed to admit I have delivered my share of children.”
His hazel eyes twinkled. “I would not expect that you would be.”
“What?”
&
nbsp; “Ashamed.”
She wasn’t sure how to reply but his gaze was warm upon her. Uncertainly, she lowered her gaze and resumed her meal. As she ate, she was unaware that Davyss was making eye contact with every man at the table, silently ordering them to find their meal and evening’s entertainment elsewhere. Hugh was the last to go, ignoring his brother’s request until Davyss kicked him in the shin under the table. Hugh grunted with pain, causing Devereux to look up from her food and peer strangely at him. He smiled wanly and excused himself, his gaze shooting daggers at his brother as he quit the table. At that point, Devereux realized that she and Davyss were alone and her eyebrows lifted at the sudden silence.
“Was it something I said?” she quipped. “We appear to have been abandoned.”
Davyss grinned. “Well and good. I find that I do not wish to share you with anyone tonight.”
She looked at him; her spoon was halfway to her mouth but she lowered it without taking a bite. Her gaze upon him was intense.
“My lord,” she said quietly. “May I speak freely?”
Davyss collected his cup, leaning back in his seat as if getting comfortable for what was sure to come.
“I wish you would.”
She nodded. “Very well,” she thought carefully on her words. “This is the first time that you and I have seen each other since our wedding. Our parting at that time was not the most pleasant.”
His smile faded somewhat. “It was not,” he took a deep breath, blew out his cheeks and sat forward. He stared at the cup in his hand a moment before continuing. “My lady, you and I have distinctly different philosophies on life. I do not suppose we could be much different if we tried.”
She grinned wryly. “Nay, I do not suppose we could.”
His smile returned. “I suppose what I am attempting to say is that I have done a good deal of thinking in the time we have been apart,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I needed to reconcile this marriage in my own mind. You see, I never wanted a wife. I did not want to marry you but my mother threatened to disinherit me if I did not, so I was forced. As much as you were pushed into the marriage, so was I. That is why I sent Lespada, the sword of my ancestors, to the marriage ceremony instead of appearing myself. It was my personal rebellion against my mother and I suppose in doing that, from the beginning, I earned your anger. It was a very bad way to start off the marriage and for that, I apologize profusely. I should not have done that.”
Devereux was listening to him intently, surprised at his admission. His honesty touched her and it caused her guard to go down somewhat. “It was not your fault entirely,” she relented. “As I said earlier today, I did not make it easy for your men. Your mother was right; my behavior dictated theirs. They responded because I was breaking noses and giving knights black eyes. Sending your sword to our wedding ceremony was not the true problem; the entire situation was.”
He nodded with regret. “I realize that,” he said. “I suppose we both could have done things differently.”
“I would agree with that.”
He grinned at her, taking a swallow of ale and savoring it as he thought on the next part of the conversation. His expression sobered.
“I must apologize for something else,” he said softly.
“What is that?”
“For being beastly and inconsiderate when I consummated our marriage,” for the first time, he looked uncomfortable. “It simply never occurred to me… my lady, I swear to you that I am not a brutal man by nature when it comes to women. But I do take what I want and, God help me, I wanted you nearly the first moment I saw you. You are by far the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I suppose my lust got the better of me. I am deeply sorry for my actions and I hope you will someday forgive me for being so callous.”
Devereux stared at him, struggling not to be embarrassed by the thought of that brutal and exciting night. But it was a difficult struggle and she lowered her gaze.
“You had every right to consummate the marriage,” she whispered. “You need not apologize for assuming your right.”
“I realize that I had every right,” he said, almost irritably, but quickly cooled. He lifted his enormous shoulders helplessly. “I suppose I… well, I suppose I should have taken your feelings into consideration at the time. It simply did not occur to me.”
Devereux looked at him, her gaze guarded. She watched him as he fidgeted with his ale cup, seemingly awkward with the subject at hand.
“Forgive me if I am on a path of insult and injury, but it seems to me that you are unaccustomed to having your wishes denied,” she ventured.
He lifted an eyebrow, almost regretfully. “One does not refuse Davyss de Winter and live to tell the tale.”
He said it lightly and she took it lightly. “I would imagine that holds true with women as well,” she pushed further.
He looked at her, then. “I would say that is a fair statement.”
“Then it probably would not have mattered if I had refused you or not. You would have taken what you saw as your due.”
He was beginning to feel like a cad. “Probably.”
She smiled faintly at the fact that the man was exhibiting less than confident behavior. He looked like a child who was about to be scolded but, strangely, she couldn’t summon the energy. The man had apologized for their rough beginning; she wasn’t the type to beat him over the head with it.
“Well,” she folded her hands on her lap and fully faced him. “How would you recommend we rectify the situation and salvage this marriage?”
He stopped fidgeting with the cup and puffed out his cheeks again. “I am not entirely sure,” he admitted. “But I will tell you this; I have thought on nothing but you since the day I left. You have occupied both my waking and sleeping hours. I always thought my marriage, to anyone, would have been one in name only. It was my original plan to leave you here to your life while I continued with mine in London but I find that I do not want that any longer. By hook, crook or black magic, you have somehow bewitched me, Lady de Winter, and I find that I want you by my side. I want to get to know you in the hopes that….”
He suddenly trailed off, leaving Devereux on the edge of her seat. “Hopes that what?” she invited him to continue.
He looked sheepish. “I will only tell you if you promise not to laugh.”
She lifted an eyebrow, slowly. “One does not laugh at Davyss de Winter and live to tell the tale.”
He chuckled, letting go of the cup and reaching out to take her hand. The palm was slightly calloused but the back of her hand was like velvet. Learning a little of her character as he had, he wasn’t put off by the calluses at all; in fact, he kissed them sweetly before fixing her in the eye.
“My mother and father were quite fond of each other,” he said in a low voice. “It never occurred to me that I actually admired that union until I found myself with a wife. What a glorious thing it must be to be married to someone you are fond of.”
His touch had her electrified, so much so that she could hardly think. But she focused on his words, laboring for a reply. “I… I suppose we must get to know one another better before we can make that judgment,” she stammered.
“True,” he said, stroking the back of her hand. “I suppose we are both going to have to make adjustments.”
She nodded; his touch was causing her breathing to become labored and heavy. “Per… perhaps we should make a list.”
He looked thoughtful. “Very well,” his brow furrowed as he pondered what that list might entail. “I suppose my list would start with the request that where I go, you go. I would have you with me always.”
She looked rather distressed but didn’t argue. “That is more than likely fair,” she replied, thinking of The House of Hope and all of those who depended on her. She didn’t want to leave it. “We cannot get to know each other if I am here and you are in London.”
“True.”
“I have something for the list.”
“What?”
“That you cease your empty flattery.”
He looked shocked. “Empty flattery?”
“Aye,” she nodded quickly to explain herself. “Your flattery is far too practiced to be sincere. I would wager to say that you use it quite often.”
He was about to argue with her but couldn’t. “From this moment forward, I will not use it on anyone but you.”
“I do not want to hear a word of it unless you mean it.”
“God’s Blood, woman, I mean every word when I speak of you. Are you serious?”
“Of course I am,” she insisted. “I never say anything I do not mean.”
Still holding her hand, he scratched his chin with his other hand, eyeing her. “I want to add something more to the list.”
“Very well. What is it?”
“That we do not discuss or debate our political views for the next thirty days. Let us get to know one another before we allow that undoubtedly contentious intrusion.”
Her light mood was fading, growing deep. “I was wondering when the subject was going to rear its ugly head.”
He grunted. “I am afraid we cannot ignore it. But I would ask that we not discuss it until we come to know one another better. I fear any discussion of politics by either of us will kill whatever chance we may have of an amicable union.”
She took a deep breath, thought on his words, and nodded shortly. “Very well,” she agreed. “No discussion of kings, wars or politics. But how are we going to manage that feat given that you are the king’s champion?
“I can keep quiet on the subject if you can.”
“I will do my very best.”
His smile was returning as was the warmth in his eyes. “Good,” he was back to caressing her hand. “Do you have anything else to add to the list?”
She thought a moment, watching his fingers as they stroked her skin. She cocked her head slightly, suddenly looking mildly uncomfortable. He saw her expression.
“What is it?” he asked gently.