Davyss thought back to the morning when they had toured the place; he remembered the blonde man, alright. He remembered that he was young and strong and handsome. A bit of jealousy flared in his chest, a surprising reaction.
“Then perhaps Stephan will tend it while you are in London with your husband.” He didn’t know why he made a point of reminding her that he was her husband, but some odd possessiveness prompted him to. “I will leave him with plenty of coin so he will be able to procure food and whatever else he may need.”
She looked at him, curious. “Coin?” she repeated. “But… why would you do this?”
He looked at her as if she was mad, although it was gently done. “You are my wife,” he said as if she needed reminding, again. “The House of Hope is your charity and it is my duty to support it and you. Do you disagree?”
She was astonished; the thought had never occurred to her. “Nay, Davyss, I do not,” she peered at him. “Are you sure you want to?”
It was the first time she had used his Christian name; he liked the way it rolled off her tongue, spoken in her soft and sultry voice. “Do not be ridiculous,” he chided softly. “The place does look rather run down. I noticed that the roof was much worn.”
“Aye, very.”
“Then I shall leave enough money to have it thatched while we are in London. In fact, I shall leave enough money to have the entire structure reinforced. Would this please you?”
She gazed up at him with her bottomless gray eyes, shocked beyond the ability to express it. “You would do this?”
He smiled warmly into her lovely face. “I would do it for you.”
Devereux had never had someone speak so sweetly to her. The first sweet words out of the man’s mouth had been contrived and practiced; that was what she expected from him. But this day seemed to have erased all of that from her mind because the words coming forth now were sincere and kind. She could only pray he really meant them; as much as she wanted to believe him, there was still a small part of her that was suspicious. She simply couldn’t help it.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “You are extremely generous.”
His smile faded as his eyes took on a hungry glow. Devereux watched as he dipped his head low, closing her eyes as his warm lips captured hers. As she remembered from the afternoon, he was musky and gentle and titillating. She had enjoyed it quite a bit. She was enjoying it more now.
Davyss’ hands were caressing her, giant appendages that were gentle and warm as they touched her. Devereux remembered his touch from their wedding day, hands that had caused her to momentarily forget all of the hatred and frustration she was feeling. His musky scent overwhelmed her nostrils, his heated palms overwhelming her nubile body. But this time, his kisses were far more gentle and passionate as opposed to lustful and powerful. She responded to his touch, timidly at first, but with increasing ardor. As much as he was tasting her, she was learning to taste him as well. The path of discovery had begun.
The first thing Devereux realized about Davyss was that he had a distinct scent and taste; both were very musky and very manly, something like leather and pine and earth. And his skin had a distinct texture as well; it was warm and smooth. His mouth moved to her jaw and neck, allowing her a moment to breathe. It was more like a ragged gasp. Her hands were on his enormous shoulders, feeling his warm skin beneath her palms. Soon her fingers were in his hair, acquainting herself with the thick inky strands. They smelled like leather.
Davyss’ hand moved to her breast and Devereux started; he froze, lifting his head from where he was feasting against her collarbone. His hazel eyes were hazy with lust and concern.
“Did I hurt you?” he whispered.
She shook her head. “Nay,”
She was fearful to tell him what she was really thinking but he could read it in her expression. Cupping her cheek with one big hand, he kissed the side of her face.
“I did not mean to frighten you,” he murmured. “If you do not wish for me to continue, I will not. I do not want you to be uncomfortable.”
It was a far cry from the man who had so willingly taken his right on the eve of the marriage. She gazed intently at him.
“You are my husband,” she said. “It ’tis your right to… to touch me.”
He lifted a dark, well-shaped eyebrow. “I am well aware of my rights, madam,” he said. “I was trying to be considerate of your feelings.”
She looked into his eyes, trying to determine if he was simply humoring her or if he really meant it. But her gaze ended up moving from his eyes to his handsome face, to his thick neck and broad shoulders. His naked chest was her next destination, smooth tanned skin with a soft matting of dark hair. He had an exceedingly muscular chest and her female instincts, as naïve as they were, began to swamp her. It made her feel hot just to look at him. He was a glorious example of a man and naïve or not, frightened or not, she was not hard pressed to admit that she found him extraordinarily attractive. Embarrassed at the new feelings consuming her, she averted her eyes.
“I… I am not uncomfortable,” she muttered. “I will not protest if you wish to continue.”
Davyss fought off a smile; he couldn’t help but notice she wouldn’t look at him. He would have thought her disgusted with what was happening had he not seen the faint mottle to her cheeks. He dipped his head, trying to look her in the eye.
“Am I to understand that this is pleasurable for you, my lady?” he teased her gently.
She lowered her head further and he laughed softly. “So you will not admit it, you little fox?” he pushed.
She covered her face with her hands, but not before he saw a grin spread across her lips. Laughing softly, he wrapped his big arms around her and growled like a bear, nibbling at her neck enough to make her squeal. He continued to nibble and she giggled uncontrollably, finally begging for him to stop. He wouldn’t stop until he extracted a kiss from her, which she did hesitantly; she wasn’t used to love play. But he thought her innocence to be very charming and was pleased that she was at least willing to play along. The woman had been on her guard for most of the day, with good reason, and he was thrilled that she was starting to warm to him. With a tender smile, his lips claimed hers more powerfully than before. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life.
He laid Devereux back on the bed, shifting his weight off of her as his fingers went to work removing her from her shift. Devereux was focused on his gentle kisses, his tongue seeking intimate places inside her mouth, and unaware that he was intent on removing her from her clothes.
He was so careful with her that she didn’t realize when he had unfastened the surcoat; she was only aware of it when he lifted her swiftly to pull it off. He kept her propped up as he pulled the shift over her head, leaving her nude but for the hose on her legs. He purposely left them on, deeply aroused by the delicate hose held in place by blue ribbons. Her legs were slender and shapely and he paused a moment to admire her form, running his hand gently down her torso, to her hip and down her thigh.
Devereux shuddered as his fingers danced along her skin. His kisses resumed, more gently, and Devereux’s head was swimming with the sensations he was creating within her. Gone were any reservations she might have felt, the bitter memory of their first coupling. It was as if an entirely new man was holding her in his arms, someone kind and gentle and inordinately considerate. His mouth was heated, his kisses firm yet gentle as he moved from her lips to her breasts. She was ready for him.
Davyss suckled her nipples, feeling her twitch beneath him. He held her tighter, feasting on her delicious breasts and savoring every movement, every soft gasp she was emitting. His groin was painfully engorged and he lowered his breeches, wedging himself in between her legs. She twitched again, this time with some trepidation, as his fingers gently stroked the thick lips that covered her woman’s center. He stroked her for a few moments, acquainting her with his touch, before carefully entering her with his enormous manhood.
; Beneath him, Devereux groaned softly as he thrust gently into her. Her legs came up and he held her behind the knees, lifting her legs as he thrust again and again, sliding his full hard length into her. Seated to the hilt, he began slow and even thrusts, feeling her tense body relax with each successful push. Soon she was completely relaxed and he held her lovely legs high while his lips reclaimed her mouth once more. There was nothing more erotic than kissing her deeply as he thrust into her, feeling his new wife’s body responding to him. Never in his life had he experienced such excitement. He wanted more.
His hands left her legs and moved to her hips holding them firmly as he continued to thrust. Devereux wrapped her legs around his, instinctively, as if to hold him deep inside of her. Her hips began to move with his, awkwardly at first but with increasing rhythm. It was an innate pulse, a primal mating movement that consumed her as she wrapped her body around her husband and gave herself over to him completely.
As Davyss’ powerful body moved within her, Devereux imagined that this was what their first coupling should have been like; passion, tenderness, heat and power. She never knew such things existed. When the heat in her loins suddenly exploded in a shower of sparks that coursed like rivers throughout her body, she was vaguely aware of Davyss shuddering against her. Even when the sparks faded and the tremors died, he continued to move within her, stroking her, feeling every last ounce of pleasure that he could. The experience went on well into the night.
They fell asleep in each other’s arms, Davyss’s member still embedded in her body. He awoke before dawn and made love to her twice more before the sun rose.
It was if that horrible experience forty-two days earlier had never happened at all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was before sunrise, the time right before dawn when the world was still and magical. The town of Thetford was quiet for the most part; the only movements on the streets or in homes were the merchants preparing for the day or the farmers getting ready to head to the fields. But in the barn behind the inn known as the Swan, there was a faint light glimmering in one of the stalls.
Several enormous chargers were tethered within the building, their bright black eyes blinking at the activity now filtering into the barn. Men the horses recognized were congregating and the beasts snorted as familiar scents filled their velvety nostrils. They knew that their day was about to begin and they began to grow excited.
It was relatively quiet as the de Winter knights began to prepare for the day. They milled about, grooming the chargers, unwilling to let local grooms tend their expensive and vicious war beasts. Edmund was sitting on the ground next to his black and white steed, yawning as he cleaned out the animal’s hooves. The charger nibbled at his dark hair and he irritably swatted at it.
Andrew was in the stall next to his brother, snorting at the young knight as he wrestled with a charger that was more like a pet. Andrew was busy currying his own hairy horse that still hadn’t lost his winter coat. Philip and Nik were across the aisle, in various stages of charger preparation while Hugh grumbled and complained at the end of the building with an animal that kept banging on him with his massive head. The preparations early this morning were in anticipation of leaving for London. They were all anxious to return to the living, breathing heart of England, each for his own different reason.
Davyss entered the barn, checking to make sure all of his men were up and moving. He had just left Devereux sleeping in a warm bed, his mind still on his bride even though his attention was on his men. Something had happened to him yesterday although he wasn’t sure what it was; all he knew was that his new wife had gone from a pressing thought to an overwhelming need. He couldn’t seem to think of anything else but her, even in this dawn of a new day. But this particular day was important and he struggled to focus.
Lollardly entered the barn right behind him. The old priest with the hairy eyebrows watched Davyss as the man inspected his knights. Davyss was meticulous in his command, always making sure his men were properly attired, alert and ready at a moment’s notice. When Davyss was satisfied with his inspection, Lollardly caught his attention and motioned to him. Davyss followed the priest out into the growing dawn and they paused somewhere in the middle of the quiet, dirty yard.
Lollardly spoke. “I have just come from the abbey,” he murmured quickly. “The Brother had a message for you.”
Davyss suddenly looked displeased and taut. He gazed steadily at Lollardly for a moment before responding. “What is the message?”
“Simon requests you meet him when you arrive in London,” Lollardly’s voice was a whisper. “He must speak with you.”
Davyss’ eyebrows rose. “Simon is in London?” he repeated, incredulous. “God’s Blood, the man takes risks. What in the hell is de Montfort doing there?”
Lollardly shook his head. “I would not know,” he muttered. “But he is apparently desperate to see you.”
“Henry is in London.”
“I know. Will you meet Simon, then?”
Davyss scratched his head, pondering the deeper implications of such a meeting. He’d been pondering the deeper meaning of these clandestine meetings ever since he’d been knighted. After a moment, he emitted a heavy sigh. “I do not know if I can.”
Lollardly nodded his head. “Aye, you can,” he grumbled. “Davyss, you and Simon have known each other too long for you to avoid him now. Perhaps he needs something. Perhaps he wants to….”
Davyss held up a sharp hand. “Cease your prattle,” he growled. “You do not have to tell me of Simon de Montfort, for I have known him since the day I was born. He and my father were the best of friends. Our families were close; we lived together and fought together until….”
Lollardly smiled faintly, clapping Davyss on a massive shoulder as the man trailed off. He knew how Davyss felt about his father’s oldest, and dearest, friend. It was a dark secret he carried; the champion of the king and the leader of the baron’s rebellion were still life-long and deep friends. Henry knew of the de Winter relationship to de Montfort, of course, but he assumed like everyone else that the link died when Grayson de Winter had. But the link remained. It was a secret that, if discovered, could mean Davyss’ death.
“You do not need to tell me of your relationship to Simon,” the old priest protested. “Lest you forget, your father, Simon and I fostered together. I watched Grayson and Simon grow into strong men and with strong ideals. I was there the day you were born and Simon was there to bless you. It was a difficult day when Grayson and Simon split; Grayson with dreams of serving the king and Simon with dreams of a different England. But that bond that Simon shares with you, as his best friend’s son, has never been severed.”
Davyss watched Lollardly through guarded eyes. “He risks my life every time he contacts me.”
“And you risk his.”
Davyss sighed sharply and crossed his enormous arms. “So what do you want me to do? Talk to him?”
“He will meet you at the Temple Church in Blackfriars,” Lollardly told him. “I will tell my brother to get word to Simon that you will meet him at sundown upon the morrow.”
Davyss was staring at his feet. It was a long and pensive pause. But eventually he nodded, barely, and Lollardly took it as a sign. The old priest disappeared, heading back towards the abbey that had given the town its name as Davyss continued to stand there and wonder what tomorrow’s meeting would bring. He hadn’t seen Simon in some time and no matter what their politics, he missed his father’s friend. He wished again, as he had wished daily for many years, that things were different; that Simon wasn’t a rebel and he wasn’t the king’s champion.
He wished they were on the same side.
Devereux had been to London, once, with her father when he had traveled there on business. She had been eleven years old at the time and nine years later, it was bigger than she had remembered. As Davyss’ group entered the outskirts of London from the northwest, a massive settlement emerged with the blue ribbon of the River T
hames running through it.
The de Winter war machine had brought six knights, including Davyss, one priest, three hundred men-at-arms and five wagons. It was a large group that traveled through the outskirts of London and people turned out to watch. Little boys stood by the side of the road, thrilled to see the knights, while women tried to garner the favor of the men who passed by. In a covered wagon with a fully armed escort, Devereux watched the little boys and loose women, waving at the children when they waved at her first.
One little girl with a few wilted flowers in her hand ran out in the road. She was holding the flowers aloft as she headed towards the carriage but almost got run over by Sir Philip’s charger. The child stumbled, fell to the road, and began wailing. Devereux leapt off the wagon before anyone could stop her and rushed to the child’s side.
The wilted flowers were scattered all over the dirt as Devereux knelt beside the little girl. She picked the child up from the road.
“There, there, sweetheart,” she crooned. “You are all right. Everything is all right.”
The child sobbed and held up her scraped elbow. Devereux smiled gently and pretended to take a good look.
“’Tis not too bad,” she assured the little girl. Then she began looking around for someone to help her. Her gaze fell on Philip, now off his charger and standing next to her. “I need some wine or ale and a strip of cloth; any cloth will do. Can you please bring me these things?”
Philip was in motion, snapping orders to a few men around them. The entire column had come to a halt and Davyss was making his way back from the head of the group, bellowing his frustration that they had stopped as he went. But Devereux was only focused on the child at the moment, not three hundred men who had come to a dead stop because of her.
Lollardly arrived at the scene before Davyss, watching the situation with curious eyes. Lady de Winter was so unlike any woman he had ever known that he paused just to watch her tend the child, her gentle manner and her sweet words.
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