Although Davyss didn’t discuss military matters with her, she had heard him mention that Roger Mortimer was due to visit. Devereux tried to stay clear of in-depth political knowledge because she and her husband could never agree on the need for war versus peaceful solutions to conflict. It was something they had never agreed on, not since they day they had met, so it was best if they didn’t discuss the subject too deeply. But she knew enough that Roger Mortimer had arrived, purpose unknown, so she made haste to dress.
She’d had to have several surcoats made recently to accommodate her growing belly. One of them was a lovely pale blue garment made of brocade, and she slipped on a light shift before pulling the surcoat over her head. She still dressed alone and bathed alone, just as she always had, even in this fine massive fortress with dozens of servants running about. She was simply more comfortable alone. But she did call a maid to help her secure the ties on the garment so it draped beautifully over her shoulders and breasts, the one thing she couldn’t do for herself. The maid also pulled her hair back into a single braid, which draped elegantly over one shoulder.
Fully dressed and looking like an angel, she quit the chamber and slowly made her way down the spiral stairs. The noise grew louder as she drew near the soldier’s hall and by the time she entered, the roar of men and laughter was almost deafening. There were strange soldiers everywhere, drinking and eating.
She asked the first servant she came across where her husband was. The man offered to escort her through the masses and she gratefully accepted, following the rather large servant through the crowd and into the knight’s hall beyond. As soon as she entered, she saw her husband seated at the table with a dark-haired, slender man.
Davyss spied his wife the moment she entered the room. He bolted to his feet and went to her.
“Sweetling,” he put his arm around her shoulders. “Why did you not send for me? You should not be down here with all of these men.”
She waved him off. “I am fine, Davyss; I am not going to break.” She smiled at Roger, who rose from the bench and returned her smile. “I am Lady de Winter. Welcome to Norwich, my lord.”
Roger bowed gallantly. “My lady,” he greeted. “I am Roger Mortimer. ’Tis a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard many great things about you.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him as Davyss helped her to sit. “No doubt you have heard many great things about our child, to be sure,” she winked at her husband as he sat down. “His son is all he can speak of.”
Davyss kissed her on the temple. “Not all,” he said. “I speak of you also on occasion.”
Roger laughed softly as Devereux made a face at Davyss. “Do not let him fool you,” Roger said. “Davyss is so proud of you that he is close to bursting. From a man who embodies the male trait of pride, I would say that is quite a statement.”
Devereux’s twisted expression transitioned into a glowing smile at her husband. “He has much to be proud of,” she murmured, gently tweaking his chin. “He is a great man. He told me so himself.”
Roger laughed uproariously and moved to pour Devereux some ale, but someone was shouting his name from the soldier’s hall and his attention was diverted. His men were calling to him and he set the ale down.
“Excuse me, Lady de Winter,” he said as he climbed off the bench. “It seems that my men require my attention. I shall return and look forward to having a detailed conversation with you.”
Devereux merely smiled at him as he quit the hall, hearing the cheers from his men in the room beyond as he entered the hall. She turned her attention to her husband and her smile faded.
“You know that I do not ask you your business,” she said quietly. “But I would like to know why he is here.”
Davyss held her hand, rubbing it gently between his two big palms. The gentle expression on his features faded.
“He is here because we are to attend to some business together,” he said softly. “When Roger leaves on the morrow, I go with him.”
“I see,” she wasn’t particularly surprised but she was hurt that he had not told her sooner. “And just when did you plan to tell me you were leaving?”
He reached up to tuck a bit of stray hair behind her ear. “Tonight,” he muttered. “When all was quiet and still between us, I was going to tell you.”
“But you have known for some time that you were leaving.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Davyss nodded faintly. “I knew that as soon as Roger arrived, I would be leaving with him. Devereux, I simply didn’t want our last days or hours spoiled with my impending departure. You know how emotional you become.”
There wasn’t much more she could say to that, considering he was right. She averted her gaze for a moment. “How long will you be gone?”
“I have no way of knowing, sweetling.”
“You must be here for the birth of your son. That only gives you three months.”
He sighed faintly. “I will try, you know I will,” he murmured. “There is nothing on this earth more important to me than that. But I cannot promise that I will return in time.”
“Where are you going?”
“I do not want you to know for your own safety.” He shook his head firmly when she opened her mouth to dispute him. “Please, sweetling. Do not ask me any more questions. I will not answer them.”
Devereux just stared at him. She knew she shouldn’t be selfish, but she wasn’t in a very generous mood. She didn’t want her husband to leave her and she certainly didn’t want him to be absent for the birth of their child. With a sigh of exasperation, she pulled her hand from his grip and stood up, moving away from him.
Davyss watched her pace away, moving to the extremely long and thin lancet windows that allowed air and ventilation into the room. He watched her until she reached the window and hung her head.
“I do not want you to leave,” she burst into soft tears. “You are going away and doing God knows what, but I am sure it involves danger and swords and battle and there is every chance that you will never return to me. I want you to remain with me, where you belong, so you may be here for the birth of your son. This is where you belong, Davyss; not fooling around in silly wars.”
He rose from the bench, going to her. He put his enormous hands on her face, forcing her to look at him.
“I want you to listen very carefully to what I am to say because it is important,” he whispered. “Can you do this?”
She nodded hesitantly, gazing up at him with big watery eyes, and he smiled gently at her.
“You and I do not discuss political matters because we disagree on them,” he said quietly. “But you must listen to me now. I go with Mortimer because the stability of the country and the safety of my family is my priority. I would kill a thousand men if it will keep you and my son safe. But it is not merely you and my son; it is my mother as well. She is being held captive in order to ensure that I do not rise against de Montfort. I must do all I can to ensure that she is safe as well. I cannot sit idly by and hope for the best, Devereux; I must do something. I am Davyss de Winter and my reputation is second to none; I am the most powerful knight in England. What good is that power and reputation if I cannot use it to make this country a safer place for my family?”
By the time he was finished, she was no longer weeping but gazing at him with a serious expression.
“You are indeed the most powerful knight in England,” she whispered. “I knew that the moment I met you. But you are also my husband and father to my child, someone I love more than anything on this earth. Even though I understand your reasons, I still do not want you to go. I am afraid you will never come back.”
He cupped her face, kissing her cheeks tenderly. “We had this same conversation the last time I departed,” he said softly. “Do you remember? I told you that I would do everything in my power to return to you and I did.”
She nodded faintly, reaching up to touch his face. She ran her fingers through his dark hair, watching as he clos
ed his eyes to the sweetness of her touch.
“Aye, you did,” she agreed. “But not without compromise.”
He pulled her into a smothering embrace, opening his eyes to look at her. “And I would do it again if given the same choice. Sometimes compromise means survival, and I mean that my family should survive.”
She wasn’t going to argue with him; Davyss was doing what he felt was best and Devereux trusted him. But she missed him horribly already. She threw her arms around his neck and held him tightly.
“I do not know what I shall do without you,” she hummed against his ear. “The days and nights will be horribly lonely.”
He pulled back and looked at her. “You still have Louie.”
He said it with some jealousy and she laughed. “Now, you mustn’t be bitter because he likes to lie on your side of the bed,” she told him. “He is simply a little dog. He does not know any better.”
Davyss made a face. “He would know if you disciplined him once in a while,” he pointed out. “As it is, I am nearly kicked from my own bed by a dog no bigger than my fist. I am ashamed to tell anyone.”
Devereux laughed. “You have never been removed from your own bed,” she countered. “I move Louie aside when it is time for sleep.”
Davyss pursed his lips, letting her know what he thought about both her sense of discipline and the dog. Louie had become king of the entire keep and his wife allowed it. Although he was a cute little mutt, Davyss wasn’t particularly fond of it. He just didn’t like small dogs. Not wanting to argue the point of the dog further, mostly because he knew he would lose, he began to nuzzle her cheek.
“I will leave Lollardly here with you,” he whispered. “As much as I will miss him, I feel strongly that it is more important he remain here to assist in the birth of my son.”
Devereux nodded, closing her eyes as his mouth moved along her jaw. “As you say, husband.”
“He will keep you safe.”
“I know.”
He kissed her neck. “And I will see you every night in my dreams,” he whispered. “You will take care of yourself while I am gone and you will not stray from Norwich for any reason. Not even to go back to The House of Hope because you are bored or because you feel the need to go. Is that clear?”
She nodded obediently. “It is.”
“Good.”
Devereux gazed up into his beloved hazel eyes, loving the man more than words could express. The longer she stared, the more her heart began to ache for what was to come. She didn’t want to face it but knew she had little choice.
“Wherever you go and whatever you do, please know how much I love you,” she murmured. “I will watch the road every day for your return.”
He held her close a moment longer before kissing her, so deeply that it brought tears to his eyes. Davyss didn’t want to leave her but, as with Lewes, he knew it was a matter of life and death. For the survival of England and of his family, he knew what he had to do.
Morning came far too quickly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
August 5, 1265 A.D.
It had been a long and bloody night, following an extremely long and bloody day. The Battle of Evesham was over, the second violent battle he had attended in a little over a year, something that had to be experienced to be believed. Davyss had seen more than his share of battles in his life and had experienced some fairly brutal warfare, but none of that could compare to Evesham. Nothing could have prepared him.
The brutality had been of his own doing. Simon, not realizing that Mortimer and de Winter, among others, had stolen banners from his own son, Simon the Younger, and then rode to battle flying those banners to make the elder de Montfort think that reinforcements were coming, had been shocked to see Davyss and his armies riding with Mortimer and other Royalists. But it had been Simon’s last thought before the bloody battle ensued and Davyss, along with Mortimer, began to easily cut through de Montfort’s barons. Rather than capture the nobles and ransom them, the Battle at Evesham reeked of vengeance. Davyss and Mortimer killed rather than take captives. It was meant to be a message to all of those who still harbored thoughts of resisting the absolute rule of Henry the Third.
Overwhelmed and undermanned, Simon tried to surrender but the blood lust was too great. He had been killed and dismembered, and even now as dawn broke on the day after the battle, Mortimer, Henry and Edward were deciding what was to be done with Simon’s body parts. Davyss, having known and loved the man his entire life, buried himself in organizing the remaining royalist army for the return to London. He didn’t want to know what they did with Simon because he wasn’t sure how he felt about any of it yet. He struggled to ignore the pain, the guilt.
The sun was just beginning to rise but the day was swamped in a horrible thunderstorm. The storm had rolled in the day before at dawn and the entire battle had been conducted in a downpour. Even now, Davyss stood outside his tent, watching the remaining royalist army attempt to cook a well-deserved meal and trying to remember what it felt like to be dry again. It had been a very long three months since his departure from Norwich, having entrenched himself in Prince Edward’s release from captivity and the battle preparation for Evesham. It had been Davyss who had provided the horse for the prince’s escape and Davyss who had rode interference when the prince’s jailers tried to follow. Once they had Edward free, it was only a matter of time before they would also have Henry.
And now they did. Henry was king once more and the winds of fortune had once again shifted. Davyss glanced up at the storm clouds, raining buckets on the already-saturated ground, his mind whirling with a million different thoughts and emotions as he tried to reconcile himself to the change in political tides. Hugh suddenly appeared through the sheets of rain, water dripping off his face as he pushed past his brother on his way into the moderately dry tent. Philip, Nik, Andrew and Edmund followed, all looking sloppy, muddy and soaked. They had been up all night and were showing their exhaustion.
Davyss moved aside as his grumpy, weary men piled past him. He turned to watch them throw their gear on the ground, trying to stay out of the damp grass and pulling out bedrugs in preparation for sleep. Their mail was already rusting and each man struggled to pull his free, knowing it was going to be a massive job for the squires to remove all of the rust that had accumulated over the past few days. The mail coats went into piles in the corner.
“God’s Blood,” Hugh sighed, pulling off his wet tunic and throwing it into the same pile as the mail. “I could sleep for a week.”
“You only have the morning,” Davyss told him. “We meet with Henry and Edward at noon.”
Hugh groaned, flopping down onto his bedroll. “Are you not going to sleep, brother?”
Davyss’ hazel gaze returned to the storm outside. “In time,” he muttered.
Hugh twisted his head so he could look at him. “What is troubling you?
Davyss shook his head. “Nothing.”
By this time, Andrew was watching Davyss from the other side of the tent. Being closer to Davyss than the others, Hugh included, he could fairly read the man’s thoughts.
“There was nothing you could have done, Davyss,” he told him quietly. “Simon was in pieces before you realized what they had done. You cannot blame yourself.”
Davyss’ head snapped to him, the hazel eyes blazing a moment before quickly cooling. “I do not blame myself,” he replied. “Such are the perils of war. But….”
Andrew lifted an eyebrow. “But… what?”
Davyss shook his head. Then he answered. “I was simply wondering what my father would have said to all of this.”
Andrew walked up beside him, also gazing out at the downpour. “He would have said the same thing you did,” he replied. “Such are the perils of war. Simon knew that the moment he took up arms, it might end this way. Do not pity the man.”
“I do not,” Davyss assured him. “But I would be lying if I said that his death has not saddened me. He was the last link, other tha
n my mother, that I had to my father. I miss him already.”
“Would you have stopped his slaughter if you could have?”
Davyss drew in a long, heavy breath. “I do not know for certain,” he said honestly. “More than likely, I would have tried.”
Andrew clapped a hand on his shoulder, not knowing what else to say to that. He decided it was best to shift the subject. “Have we heard anything from Norwich?”
Davyss shook his head, turning to watch Andrew regain his bed roll. “Not since the last missive, almost four weeks ago,” he said. “Lollardly says that the child is massive and that all my wife does is cry and sleep. He curses me for having left in the first place.” His smile suddenly faded and he turned to the rain outside once more. “God, I would give my right arm to be with her. Surely the child has been born by now.”
Hugh lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the tent as he listened to his brother’s lament. “Have you sent word to Mother yet?” he wanted to know, completely off the subject. “She is no longer a prisoner of Uncle Simon.”
Davyss glanced over at his brother. “She has not been for several weeks.”
Hugh looked up at him, a confused expression on his face. “What do you mean?”
Davyss lifted an eyebrow. “Because I had Lollardly send a missive to Hollyhock addressed to Darien de Russe. He was mother’s primary jailer. You remember Darien, do you not?”
As Hugh nodded, Davyss continued. “Since Lollardly is our priest as well as our surgeon, I had him send a missive on behalf of the Bishop of Norwich requesting that Lady Katharine de Winter be released to the custody of the church so that she could travel to Norwich and attend her son’s wife in childbirth. If all has gone as planned, Mother has been at Norwich for several weeks now. I have not yet heard from Lollardly to that regard but I am sure that de Russe would not go against a request from the Bishop of Norwich.”
“Brilliant,” Hugh approved. “So Mother is now safe at Norwich.”
“Presumably.”
Davyss stepped away from the tent flap again, seriously considering getting some sleep before his meeting with Henry in a few hours. Reaching his bedroll, he sat heavily. He could already hear Philip snoring. With a weary sigh, he lay down and stretched out, the first time he had done so in two days. Exhaustion was finally catching up to him. Just as he was drifting off, there was a call from the tent flap.
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