Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Still yourself, lady,” she hissed. “Look at your children; look how frightened you have made them with your screaming. If you have been pining over Davyss for the past five years, then that is your misfortune; he was never yours to begin with. So still your crying voice and get ahold of yourself, because what you wish for can never be and the sooner you understand that, the better for you and your children.”

  It all came out as a rapid-fire, lowly spoken tirade. Avarine stared at Devereux with shock, her mouth working as the girls on either side of her tugged and whined. But Avarine ignored the girls; she seemed to having great difficulty breathing as her chest heaved.

  “But…,” she gasped. “But we have children together and….”

  Devereux cut her off. “Any whore can give a man children,” she snapped. “It does not endear you to him any more than any other woman he has bedded. Did you think you were special? Are you truly so stupid? Your children are beautiful and he will, of course, see to their needs, but my advice to you is to grow up and move on with your life. There are other men out there who would be honored to marry a woman of your beauty. But think no more on Davyss de Winter, for he is married and out of your reach.”

  Avarine took a step back; she had to. Devereux’s words slammed into her like blows from a mighty fist. She began blinking back tears as she thought on the brutally frank words that Lady de Winter had so honestly delivered. It was harsh but true.

  “My God,” Avarine suddenly hung her head, closing her eyes tightly. “I am so ashamed.”

  Devereux wasn’t without sympathy; she had, after all, what the woman wanted. She put her hand on her shoulder briefly. “No need,” she whispered. “We have all had our moments of foolishness and weakness.”

  Avarine simply hung her head. With a lingering glance at the woman, Devereux turned around and headed back for Davyss’ tent.

  “I shall await you inside, sweetheart,” she said, head held high. “Take whatever time you need.”

  Davyss watched her go, fighting off a grin of such astonishment and pride that it was difficult for him to conceal. He was constantly amazed by the caliber of the woman he had married, so much love for her in his heart that he couldn’t begin to describe it. As she disappeared into the distant tent, he turned back to Avarine, who was still rooted to the spot with a somewhat dazed expression.

  Davyss took some pity on her; after all, she had just received a fairly impressive tongue lashing, truthful though it might have been. With a faint sigh, he moved to within a few feet of her and knelt down, focused on the little girls.

  Two pairs of hazel eyes gazed back at him, curiously, and he smiled. “Who is Isabella and who is Angela?” he asked gently.

  The little girls looked confused a moment before timidly pointing at each other. Davyss laughed softly lowered himself to the cool green grass, getting comfortable.

  “That did not help me in the least,” he told them. “Let me try again. Who is Isabella?”

  One twin pointed to the other. Davyss’ smile grew and he held out a hand to the little girl. “Isabella, would you like to sit with me?”

  Isabella took a timid step forward but Angela was faster.

  “I want to sit!” she announced, plopping onto her bum.

  Davyss nodded with approval. “Thank you, my lady,” he said sincerely. “I do not like to sit alone.”

  Isabella fell to her knees, grinning at him when he looked at her. Then she inched forward. Angela, seeing that her sister was moving closer to the enormous man, inched forward also. Isabella suddenly launched herself into Davyss’ lap and he grunted as the child hit him in the chest and groin.

  The girls giggled as he groaned. Davyss ruffled the hair of the child in his lap, thinking they were indeed lovely little girls. It made him think of the child Devereux had lost and he felt a brief stab for the loss, but nothing more. He hadn’t really thought about a family with many children until this very moment, but with two little girls sitting on his lap, he realized he could come to like it very much.

  Devereux peered from a crack in the closed tent flap, watching the interaction between Davyss and his girls. It made her heart swell to see him speaking to the children, his manner gentle and warm. She smiled as she watched the child in his lap pop up and accidentally ram him in the chin. When he fell over, mortally wounded, the girls pounced on him with squeals and Devereux laughed softly at the sight. He was going to make a wonderful father to their own children and suddenly, she wasn’t so terribly hurt over their loss. Watching Davyss with his girls oddly eased her. She was confident there would be others, just as he was, and very much looking forward to it.

  Thoughts of hazel-eyed children were her last coherent idea before the world turned painfully, abruptly black.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Davyss didn’t wait to be admitted entrance. He charged into the king’s solar in the White Tower, ramming aside a knight who had been foolish enough to try and stop him. Lespada was flashing wickedly in his hand and he gored the next man who came at him right in the chest. The ancient blade of the de Winter male line dripped with blood.

  People were screaming and running as Davyss, followed by Hugh, Andrew and Philip, charged into the room and slashed anyone who got in their way. At the other end of the chamber sat Simon, calmly watching his godson wreak havoc. He had been expecting this moment and was prepared. As Davyss approached him, sword aloft, Simon merely lifted an eyebrow at him.

  “If you kill me, you shall never know where she has gone,” he told him.

  Davyss was indeed mad enough to kill; he had killed at least three men who had tried to bar him from the Tower and injured countless others. Dressed to the hilt in complete battle armor, he was formidable and terrifying. It was de Winter at his worst. He came to an unsteady halt several feet from de Montfort, flipping up his visor to display blazing hazel eyes.

  “Where in the hell is she?” he boomed.

  Simon glanced behind his godson, seeing the carnage and destruction left in his wake. Servants were dragging away the dead knight and others were helping the wounded. He could hear people weeping and groaning. He sighed heavily and refocused on Davyss.

  “She is perfectly safe and unharmed,” he told him evenly. “She will be my honored guest for a time. I insist.”

  Davyss’ jaw ticked violently. “Give her back to me or I will tear this place apart.”

  “Tear it apart and you will never see her again.”

  Davyss’ jaw stopped ticking and his hazel eyes widened. “Why?” he demanded, sounding more like a plea. “What in God’s name have I done that you would do this to me? I gave you what you wanted; I swore my fealty. Why would you take my wife?”

  There were several armed knights in the room, men that had rushed in to protect de Montfort from Davyss’ rage. But Simon sent those men away with the flick of his wrist, unafraid of Davyss’ wrath. He knew his godson was hot headed and rash, but he wasn’t foolish. He knew that Lespada would not end his life.

  “Send your men away, Davyss,” Simon said quietly. “I will speak only with you.”

  Davyss turned to the heavily armed men behind them, sending them off with a nod of his head. They followed the path they had taken when they had entered, leaving the room in disarray and chaos. When the last of the injured had been removed and Hugh quietly shut the door, Davyss turned to Simon.

  “You had no reason to take her,” he told him, sounding more hurt than angry. “I want her back. I need her back.”

  Simon lifted his hand. “Davyss, Davyss,” he murmured, sing-song. “Sit down before you fall down.”

  “I will not. I want my wife back immediately.”

  Simon sighed heavily, looking up at him. After a moment, he rose wearily and Davyss took a step back; Simon was wily and cunning. He didn’t trust that the old man wouldn’t have a dagger wedged in his palm somehow. Simon saw Davyss back away and he smiled thinly.

  “Davyss,” he paused, gazing into the younger man’s face. “I d
id not get where I am in life by being a fool. You know this.”

  Davyss’ jaw was ticking again. “Tell me why you took her,” he asked hoarsely. “Just tell me why.”

  Simon lifted an eyebrow. “You know why.”

  “If I did, I would not be asking. Tell me.”

  “Because people live longer when they do not completely trust their friends and family,” Simon tapped his right temple. “I know you, Davyss; lest you forget how well I know you. I know that you have always disagreed with my politics. The only reason you swore fealty to me was to ensure your wife and family’s safety. But I know, in your heart, that you do not truly support me. Yet, if I hold your wife, it is insurance against you doing anything, shall we say, foolish.”

  Davyss’ cheeks took on a ruddy glow. “You doubt my word of honor?” he hissed. “I am a man of my word; I always have been. If you do not trust me, then you should not have forced me to swear fealty.”

  Simon shrugged as if to concede the point. “Yet I did, you did, and now you wonder why I have my doubts. I love you, Davyss, but it is better if I do not trust you completely. Surely you understand that.”

  Davyss began to wonder if Simon knew of his meetings with his men, discussing plans to free Prince Edward from captivity. But there is no way the man could know because Davyss knew his men; he knew they would never betray him, not even Hugh. So he could only presume that Simon was going forward on caution and suspicion only. He hated to lie to the man’s face but, feeling betrayed himself, he didn’t feel an over amount of guilt.

  Davyss sighed heavily, studying Simon’s strong, wrinkled face. “I swore fealty to you and I shall honor that commitment,” he said. “There is no reason to hold my wife hostage to ensure my good behavior. She is… not well. I must have her back.”

  Simon’s eyebrows lifted. “Not well? What do you mean?”

  Davyss’ jaw resumed its nervous tick. “She recently miscarried our child. She has not recovered from that. I want her back, Uncle Simon. Please do this for me.”

  It was the first time Davyss had lowered his guard. He was no longer the angry warrior but the begging husband. Simon could see the young man, the young boy, the child he had once known in just those few words. He began to feel some remorse but he fought it.

  “I am sorry for you, my son,” he said softly, sincerely. “I promise you that she is in no danger. She is well cared for and looked after.”

  “I want her back.”

  “Perhaps… in time.”

  Davyss’ jaw began to tick again, so hard that he almost broke his teeth. Wearily, he removed his helm and planted himself in Simon’s chair all in the same gesture. Simon watched as Davyss held his head in his hands, a gesture of desolation and defeat. What the old man wasn’t prepared for, however, was what came next.

  Davyss began to sob. Softly at first, but by the time Simon realized what was happening, Davyss was sobbing deeply and painfully. Stricken, he went to the knight, wondering if attempts at comfort would be well met. He’d never seen Davyss show any measure of disappointment or sadness much less cry. He was beyond shocked; he was shattered.

  “Davyss,” he whispered earnestly. “Nay, boy… don’t….”

  “I want my wife,” Davyss sputtered, suddenly wiping at his face as if ashamed he had broken down. “You have no reason to hold her. I have given you everything you wanted, Uncle Simon. Why can you not give me back the only person that has ever meant anything to me? She has done nothing wrong. Why must you punish her?”

  At the end of the chamber, the solar door creaked open and a small figure stood there, surveying the room with calculated eyes. There was blood on the floor and Davyss was collapsed in a chair, weeping. Lady Katharine knew the situation; although Davyss had not returned to Hollyhock before making his way to the Tower in search of his wife, she had heard through Davyss’ soldiers what had happened. Lady Devereux had been taken from Davyss’ encampment and her son was bent on murder.

  So she stepped into the chamber, her fine slippers making their way through the blood smeared on the floor, her cane making a rhythmic thumping as she moved across the wood. She could see Simon standing over Davyss, who seemed truly distraught. She was nearly upon them by the time Simon heard her.

  He turned sharply, only to be faced with a furious woman. Although her expression hadn’t changed much from its normal countenance, he knew just by looking in her eyes that she was livid. Davyss looked up, saw his mother, and lowered his head into his hands again.

  Katharine’s hazel gaze lingered on her shattered son. Then the wise old eyes moved to Simon, who visibly stepped back from the woman. If looks could kill, then he would be a dead man.

  “I told you to leave his wife alone,” she muttered. “You did not listen to me.”

  Simon stood his ground. “I told you why.”

  Davyss’ head shot up, his wet eyes accusing at his mother. “You knew what he was planning?” he demanded. “You knew and you did not tell me?”

  Katharine lifted a thin eyebrow at her son. “Be still,” she hissed, returning her attention to Simon. “You and I will come to terms before I leave this room or you will leave more than your share of blood on the floor. If you want a valuable hostage to ensure de Winter support, then you could have done much better than Lady Devereux.”

  Simon’s expression flickered with uncertainty. “What are you saying?”

  “Me, you fool,” she snapped. “You will take me and release Davyss’ wife.”

  Davyss closed his eyes and hung his head again as Simon staggered. “I will not,” he gasped. “You… you are….”

  “More valuable than that young woman by leaps and bounds,” she jabbed a finger at him. “I carry the wealth of the de Winter empire, you idiot. She carries nothing but my son’s affections. You will release her immediately and take me instead.”

  Simon stared at her. Then he walked away; he had to. Katharine was a tiny woman but her presence was overwhelming him until he could hardly breathe. He paced several feet away and came to a halt, turning to face the pair. Davyss was still hanging his head, sniffling now and again as he stared at the floor. Lady Katharine stood next to her son, more powerful at that moment than the mighty Davyss de Winter could ever hope to be.

  “And if I do not accept your offer?” Simon had to ask.

  “Then Davyss withdraws his support, as do all of the de Winter allies. You will lose at least five thousand men. If this does not concern you, then by all means, do not agree to my terms.”

  Simon’s jaw tightened. “Do you actually think to threaten me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Simon was furious but he stopped short of reacting violently. It was clear that he knew he was cornered. He finally shook his head, almost comically, lifting his hands in resignation.

  “And just what am I supposed to do with you?” he wanted to know. “You will not go where I want you to go. You will stay locked up in Hollyhock and absolutely nothing will change.”

  Lady Katharine shrugged her bony shoulders. “Replace my personal guard with men of your own choosing. Confine me to my own home with your men as my jailers. There is no shame in that arrangement, for either of us.”

  Simon rolled his eyes. “Ridiculous,” he spat. “You will go to Eleanor.”

  “I do not like your wife.”

  “She does not like you.”

  “I will not go to her. I will stay at Hollyhock.”

  Simon couldn’t believe the ridiculous terms. “You are my hostage yet you dictate the terms of your captivity?”

  “I do. And you will agree.”

  Simon just shook his head, frustrated and defeated. “I do not believe I am getting the better end of this deal.”

  Lady Katharine didn’t say a word. She hobbled over to him, her cane clicking against the floor, before suddenly lashing out with the cane and knocking Simon on the side of the head. The man went tumbling as Davyss bolted to his feet and put himself protectively between his mother and Simon, who
was now struggling to get off the floor. But the world was rocking so he stayed on his arse, gazing up at Katharine with a baffled expression. She glared daggers at him.

  “You are getting the services of Sir Davyss de Winter,” she snarled. “You are by far getting the better end of this deal and you will not forget it.”

  Simon wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  May 1265 A.D.

  Norwich Castle, Norfolk

  “What have I told you?” Davyss was wagging a finger in her face. “You are not to run about and tire yourself. I thought I was clear.”

  Devereux gazed up at her husband, properly contrite, but it was only for show. She shifted the basket of blooms to her other hand, grasped the finger that was wagging at her, and kissed it.

  “I am not exhausting myself,” she insisted calmly, turning away from him and continuing along her way. “I feel fine.”

  Davyss followed her, watching her shapely backside as she walked. To look at the woman from the back, one would never know she was pregnant. But when she turned around, she had a belly as big as a pumpkin.

  He sighed, making faces as he followed her through the enormous garden at Norwich. When she stopped to cut more flowers, this time big fat pink blooms, he firmly pulled the basket from her arm.

  “At least let me carry this,” he fumed, watching her smile. “You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met; do you hear?”

  She grinned up at him, truly radiant in her pregnancy. Her cheeks were round and rosy, her eyes bright. Davyss had never seen her more beautiful and he fell in love with her more deeply with every day that passed. He sighed with exasperation and kissed her, continuing to follow her as she did exactly as she pleased.

  The day was sunny, the weather remarkably mild for this time of year. The spring flowers had been blooming like mad for the past week and Devereux had cut bushels of them. There were flowers in every room of the castle. Although Norwich was a functional military garrison, it was starting to look more like women had taken over every inch of the place. Between Lucy, Frances and Devereux, female traits of flowers, fresh rushes and fine furnishings were everywhere.