Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I am going to find my brother,” he told her.

  She shook her head and pulled hard, trying to pull him back into the room. “Nay, Davyss,” she said quietly, firmly. “Come back to bed. It is still a few hours until morning and I am exhausted. Please come and sleep.”

  He patted her hand, trying to be calm with her through all of the rage he was feeling. “You return to bed and sleep. I am going to find Hugh.”

  “I cannot sleep if you leave.”

  He sighed heavily, glancing at Lucy and Frances, standing a few feet away with fear and anxiety in their expressions. He looked at Andrew, Edmund and Philip, standing in the chamber door, waiting for orders. Nik was already in the stables having the chargers saddled. Then he returned his focus on Devereux, holding his arm and gazing up at him with those bottomless gray eyes. It occurred to him that the lure of staying with his wife was stronger than his sense of vengeance at the moment. As he gazed into her lovely face, his sense of thanks that she was well overwhelmed his anger at Hugh.

  So he nodded, weakly, and Devereux pulled him back to the bed. Lucy and Frances scampered from the chamber, taking the cluster of knights with them, as Devereux threw back the coverlet on the bed and climbed in, still holding on to Davyss. He sat on the bed, pulling his boots off with some weariness, before allowing her to pull him back down on the mattress. She pulled the coverlet over him, tucking him in as one would a child, before snuffing out the taper and lying down beside him.

  They were lying side by side like two nuns, with the coverlet pulled up properly around their necks. Davyss lay next to his wife, looking over at her and struggling not to grin. She looked uncomfortable lying next to him as if unsure what more she was supposed to do.

  With a smirk, he rolled onto his side and captured her in his enormous arms. She yelped as he jostled her, unused to being held tightly against a man. She was still coming to know that part of marriage. But she knew one thing for certain; she would grow to like it. He was warm and wonderful, comfort and security such as she had never known. He was the Davyss she had tried so hard to resist. Now she almost couldn’t remember why. She was asleep before she knew it.

  He was gone when she awoke in the morning.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The church was dark at this hour, two fat tapers the only light in the dark and shadowed vestibule. The place was cavernous and haunted, smelling of incense, as Davyss slipped from the side entrance and into the shadows of the Temple church. The stone walls were cold, the floor dusty, and he moved through the musty darkness like a wraith. His senses were highly attuned as he wedged himself into an alcove that held a large stone receptacle of holy water. He was well out of sight and blending with his dark surroundings. He simply stood there, still as the stone surrounding him, and waited.

  It wasn’t long before he noticed movement on the opposite end of the sanctuary. It was a cloaked figure in the darkness near the altar; he could see the folds of the material when the figure moved slightly. They rippled in the weak light, like the ripples of a pond. Davyss made his way, in perfect stealth, in the direction of the movement. In the darkness, he came up behind the figure and put a dagger at its throat.

  “Any sounds from your lips and you shall die,” he hissed quickly. “State your purpose.”

  The figure grunted. “Si j’étais un plus jeune homme j’arracherais vos bras et vous bats à la mort avec eux.”

  Davyss dropped the dagger. “Even when you were a younger man, you could not rip my arms off,” he snorted softly. “I think you tried, once.”

  The cloaked figure turned to Davyss in the darkness. He did not remove his hood but exposed his face; the strong, weathered features of Simon de Montfort gazed steadily at his godson.

  “I did try,” he insisted. “But your mother stopped me. She threatened to beat me to death and she frightened me.”

  “She is a frightening woman.”

  “Still?”

  “Good God, must you really ask that?”

  Simon’s hazel eyes glittered. “I do not,” he murmured, drinking in his fill of the man he loved like a son. His humor faded. “’Tis good to see you again. I have missed you.”

  Davyss was in business-mode; he didn’t like these clandestine meetings but he did not want to appear rude. All politics aside, Simon was the only link he had to his long-dead and adored father. He had a soft spot for him, which explained why he was willing to risk his life to meet secretly with him. But their time was extremely limited and he hastened to conduct their business before they were discovered. He reached out and put his hand on the old man’s arm, squeezing it.

  “What’s this about, Uncle Simon?” he whispered. “Why did you need to see me?”

  Simon latched on to his hand and held it tightly. “Because I am a weary old man. I need you, Davyss.”

  Davyss could see the old argument rearing its ugly head. He wasn’t surprised that it was immediate. His expression turned stiff.

  “Is that why you sent for me?” he growled. “We have been through this too many times to count. I cannot help you.”

  “But you must. It is crucial.” When Simon saw that he was making no headway, he grabbed Davyss by the arm with his old, strong fingers. “Davyss, listen to me. I do not want to see your death, boy. I could not bear it. You have brought three hundred men with you to London and another two thousand wait for you near the Tower. Can you not sense what is happening, lad?”

  Davyss’ hazel eyes took on an odd flicker. “Of course I know what is happening. I know everything.”

  Simon sighed sharply, hanging his head a moment and struggling to explain what he must in another way so that Davyss would understand the importance. His head came up and his dark eyes focused on his godson once more.

  “Davyss,” his grip on the man lessened. “We are amassing. Your beloved Henry is refusing to honor the terms he agreed to six years ago at Oxford and….”

  Davyss pulled away from him. “I am a soldier, not a politician. I do not dictate the king’s decisions nor do I care. I simply serve him, Simon. You know this.”

  “He is bringing about another war.”

  “Then I shall fight it.”

  “And you shall die,” Simon grabbed his arm again and held fast even as Davyss tried to move away. “Listen to me, lad; there are many barons angered by the king’s refusal to honor the terms that he signed at Oxford and they are ready to do something about it. We have given the man six years, Davyss; six years to come to his senses and honor his word. But he has not. Do you not understand? An explosion such as you have never dreamed is coming and I do not want you to be a casualty of it.”

  Davyss stopped yanking and stared at the old man. “Listen to me and listen well,” he rumbled. “I serve the king. I am his sword. If Henry goes into battle, then I lead the charge. I will not join you, Uncle Simon. I do not know how much plainer I can be.”

  Simon remained calm, his wise old eyes regarding the man. His grip moved from the man’s arm to his hand, and he held it tightly.

  “You are like a son to me,” he murmured. “Your father gave you over to me at birth to guide and to bless. I have done so, have I not?”

  Davyss nodded slowly, fighting off old and tender memories. “Aye.”

  “I love you as my own.”

  “I know.”

  “I would risk my life for you.”

  Davyss just stared at him, struggling to fight off the increasing emotion. “And I, you, under normal circumstances. But do not ask me to betray my king. I cannot and I will not. I would be a man without honor if I did.”

  Simon hung his head. It seemed as if he wanted to say something more, something crucial. He was struggling. Davyss didn’t understand why until the old man opened his mouth again.

  “Hugh has joined me,” he whispered. “Your mother sent word a short time ago. Hugh is now with me. You have lost his sword.”

  That revelation received a reaction; Davyss’ eyes bulged and he yanked his hand away from Si
mon.

  “You lie,” he hissed. “Hugh would never….”

  He abruptly came to a halt, unable to finish his sentence. All of the trouble with Devereux and Hugh came crashing down on him and suddenly, he felt extremely ill. The room swayed. He put out a massive arm, bracing himself against the stone wall. Simon could see the weakness and, like a good warrior, swooped in for the kill.

  “I was told that Hugh murdered your wife,” he whispered urgently. “Your mother sent him to me for protection. Davyss, whatever has transpired between you and Hugh, a woman is no reason to hate or disown your brother.”

  Davyss reached out and grabbed Simon by the neck; Simon was a big man but not as strong nor as big as Davyss. Simon could see, in that instant, that there was much more to this than the missive Lady Katharine had sent him. Simply by his expression, Davyss was as passionate as he had ever seen him.

  “Shut your mouth,” Davyss snarled. “You know not of what you speak.”

  “He is your brother, Davyss.”

  “And she is my wife,” Davyss let go of Simon’s neck, roughly, his hazel eyes flashing. “In spite of what Hugh tried to do, she is not dead. She is alive and well. But Hugh will suffer my wrath and all of the protection in the world will not prevent that. If you protect Hugh from me, then you are against me. If you are against me, then we have nothing more to discuss.”

  Simon’s eyes took on a pained look. “I will never be against you, lad. Neither is Hugh.”

  “My entire family has apparently turned against me.”

  “But what of this wife? Is she so valuable to you that you would put her above your brother?”

  It was a difficult question to answer, considering Davyss had been wrestling with that very dilemma for a few days. “That is not your business,” he snapped. It was the best answer he could come up with.

  But Simon was beginning to see why Davyss and Hugh were divided and it wasn’t simply a matter of honor. There was more to it from the look on Davyss’ face.

  “Nay, Davyss,” he said patiently, as if trying to explain things to him. “A woman must not come between you and your brother.”

  Davyss was feeling ill; he simply waved a hand at the man as if to stop all further words and turned to leave. Simon followed.

  “Please,” the old man begged softly. “Will you at least not consider my words? We need you, lad. I need you.”

  Davyss was feeling fury along with his disorientation. Simon had him on the run and he didn’t like it. He suddenly whirled on Simon and the old man almost plowed into him.

  “If my mother is involved in this, then she has betrayed me as well,” he hissed. “She would send Hugh to you to keep him from my punishment and you would use him to try and convince me to join you. Understand this, Simon; I am a man of honor. I will not break my oath to the king nor walk away from a post I have worked so hard to achieve. Hugh is jealous of my wife and tried to kill her; he must and will face my punishment no matter if God himself hides him. I will find him. And I will not join you and your rebellious barons because the true king sits upon the throne of England and it is he whom I serve. All of the men in my arsenal could join you and still, I would serve Henry. I must. It is a matter of personal honor.”

  Simon understood a great deal in that passionate statement. He almost mentioned the fact but he kept his mouth shut; he would not display his thoughts nor his intentions, as Davyss was a smart man and would pick up on it immediately. So he kept silent, watching Davyss as the man blew out of the church like an angry black wind. And that was the end of it.

  When Simon returned to his quarters, he sent a missive to Lady Katharine immediately.

  Who is Davyss’ wife and where may I find her? It may be necessary….

  Devereux had awoken with the worst belly ache she could imagine. Moving around only seemed to make her more nauseous, but it was her first full day in her new home and she did not want to spend it lying in bed, so she forced herself to rise. Lucy and Frances were waiting like impatient children for her to awaken and when she did, they immediately set about preparing her morning toilette. Devereux felt awful but she allowed them the pleasure. They seemed so eager about it.

  So she sat in the bathing room while they fussed over her. Lucy rubbed oil on her skin while Frances brushed her hair. As the women worked, Devereux sat in a fog, her mind on Davyss and the fact that he had more than likely gone to do his brother great bodily harm. The thought made her feel even worse. With her aching head and rolling stomach, she very much wanted to return to bed. Half-way through her toilette, she could no longer stand it.

  “I am sorry, ladies,” she stood up from the little stool they had her seated on. “I believe my harrowing night has taken its toll. I must lie down for a time.”

  Lucy and Frances were very concerned. “Are you ill, Lady de Winter?” Lucy asked fretfully.

  Devereux nodded as she went back into the bed chamber and climbed back into bed. “Please see that I am not disturbed.”

  Frances and Lucy helped pull the coverlet up around her, passing anxious glances.

  “Shall we send up some wine and bread, my lady?” Frances asked.

  The thought of food made Devereux feel ill. She shook her head as she lay down. “Nay,” she sighed as she settled in. “No food. Just let me sleep for a time. I am sure I will feel better in a little while.”

  “Do you require the surgeon?”

  “Nay. Just sleep.”

  There was nothing more that Lucy or Frances could say. They left Devereux asleep in the great bed, although they made sure that one of them was outside of the door at all times in case she needed something. When Davyss returned sometime before noon, Lucy was waiting anxiously for him with a tale of woe.

  He raced to the master’s chamber to find Devereux sound asleep. The tapestry was lowered, blocking out the light from the windows and the room was dark and musty. He was very quiet as he leaned over his wife, putting a gentle hand on her forehead to make sure she wasn’t running a fever. He was deeply concerned, shooing Lucy and Frances out of the room. He followed shortly. Once outside the door, he spoke.

  “Did she eat this morning?” he asked.

  Lucy shook her head. “Nay, my lord. She did not want anything to eat.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I see,” he frowned, thoughtful. “What did she say her symptoms were?”

  “She did not,” Frances answered. “She only said she must lie down. But she has been asleep all morning.”

  Davyss digested her statement, the situation in general. He exhaled sharply, blowing out his cheeks. “I can only assume that last night was too much for her,” he said. “She is exhausted and injured, and we will let her sleep until she feels better.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Lucy nodded eagerly. “We shall sit with her in case she requires anything.”

  Davyss shook his head. “Nay,” he informed them. “I will sit with her. Send food up to my chamber, please.”

  The women nodded and fled. Davyss went back into the darkened chamber and tried to stay quiet as he wearily removed his boots. He set the first one down silently but the second one made some noise. He froze, watching Devereux, but she remained still. He resumed removing his tunic, quietly, tossing it over near the wardrobe. By the time he sat down next to the bed, Devereux was awake and looking at him.

  “You make enough noise to wake the dead,” she mumbled.

  He grinned down at her, smoothing a big hand across her forehead. “Enough to wake you, at any rate,” he removed his hand, gazing sweetly down at her. “I heard that you were not feeling well. Is there anything I can do?”

  She looked up at him with her brilliant gray eyes and the humor in her expression faded. “Aye,” she whispered. “You can tell me that you did not kill your brother.”

  His grin disappeared, the hazel eyes intense. “I did not kill my brother.”

  “Then where did you go?”

  He continued to gaze steadily at her. “On an errand,” he replied
. “But you need not concern yourself with that. I am more concerned with your health. How do you feel?”

  She did not press him on where he had disappeared to; there was no need to if he had not gone to murder Hugh. Devereux realized that she was simply glad to see him.

  “Better now that you are here,” she smiled wearily. “My head pounds something fierce and my stomach is lurching like waves crashing upon the shore.”

  His grin returned and he sat on the edge of the bed; she rolled into him, pressed against his thigh.

  “Let me send for Lollardly,” he said. “He can give you something for your head.”

  “Lollardly?” she repeated, confused. “Is he not your priest?”

  “He is our surgeon also.”

  She made a reluctant face. “Very well.”

  He winked at her and kissed her forehead, sending Lucy, hovering just outside the door, for Lollardly, the man of many talents. She almost plowed into Frances in her haste, who was bringing food to Davyss. Since Devereux chased off the serving wenches, Lucy and Frances were doing double-duty. Davyss lifted an eyebrow at the near-collision, watching Lucy scamper off. Frances presented him with a large tray of edibles. Davyss took it back to his wife, who was now sitting up, albeit slowly, in bed.

  “Do you feel like eating something?” he asked.

  She peered at the tray he offered, noting the cheese, bread, small apples and some kind of meat. She made a face and waved him off as she climbed out of bed.

  “No, thank you,” she stood up, weaving unsteadily. “I will get dressed and have you show me Wintercroft. I have not seen the entire place. Just the tower stairwell, you know.”

  He couldn’t help but grin at her, the funny way she delivered the last sentence. He was coming to see that she had a delightful sense of humor. “I know,” he replied with a mixture of resignation and disapproval. “Are you sure you want a tour? Perhaps you should rest today.”

  She shook her head, stretching out her stiff muscles as she moved for the bathing alcove. “I am fine,” she insisted. “Please eat your meal and I will dress.”