Fearsome Brides

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Andrew was up, moving for the entry. As he peeled back the cloth, he found himself looking at a soldier he recognized. The man was one of Davyss’ men, left behind at Norwich for Lady de Winter’s protection. Andrew’s face lit up with a smile.

  “Ah!” he said happily, turning to Davyss. “Look what we have, Davyss; news from Norwich.”

  Davyss was on his feet faster than lightning. He didn’t even remember getting up, but suddenly, he was up and at the tent entry. He, too, recognized the man, and all he could feel at the moment was terror and elation. He didn’t even give the man the chance to greet him before he was pounding into him with questions.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Where is my missive? Has my son arrived yet?”

  The soldier was exhausted. His face was pale and stubbled as he focused on his liege. Only Andrew seemed to sense that the man was hesitant to speak, which immediately put him on his guard.

  “I carry no missive, my lord,” the soldier said. “Your mother has sent me with a personal message for you.”

  Davyss’ brow furrowed slightly. “So my mother is at Norwich?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Excellent,” Davyss, either too exhausted to notice or too focused on the news the man carried, didn’t sense the soldier’s reluctance. He pushed him. “Well? How are my wife and son?”

  The soldier took a deep breath, water from the driving rain dripping off his helm and on to his face. “Your mother says to tell you that two male children were born to you as of three weeks ago,” he said. “She congratulates you on your healthy children. She also says to tell you that your lady wife did not fare well in the birth and that you should come home immediately.”

  All of the joy abruptly drained from Davyss’ face as the man’s words sank deep. The ground suddenly became unsteady and he began to grab for something to steady himself with, which happened to be Hugh and Andrew. As his joy turned to horror, he literally could not stand as his legs turned to water.

  “My wife?” he breathed. “My sweet God… is she dead?”

  “Nay, my lord.”

  “What happened?”

  The soldier shook his head. “I was not privy to such knowledge, my lord. There was not time for your mother to draft a missive so she bade me to ride hard for Evesham and deliver the news to you personally.”

  Davyss thought he might become physically ill; in fact, it was some time before he realized that Hugh and Andrew had lowered him onto the ground. He sat there, his face a mirror of horror and shock, as Andrew and Edmund bolted from the tent and began calling for the chargers. Davyss heard them but he couldn’t think straight; all he could do was stare at the soldier who had delivered a message he had always known might be a possibility yet had not truly anticipated.

  “You do not know what happened to my wife?” he pleaded.

  By this time, Hugh had pulled the soldier into the tent and closed the flap so prying eyes from outside would not see Davyss in his weakened state. The soldier shook his head to Davyss’ question.

  “All I know is that your wife delivered twins in mid-July,” he replied. “All we knew was that she had two boys and did not fare well in the birth. Lollardly has called in physics from Norwich, Great Yarmouth and Acle to tend your wife. Your mother told me to ride swiftly to find you and tell you to come home right away.”

  Davyss struggled to think, to plan what he must do next. All he could feel was stark, unadulterated panic and he struggled to shake it off. He could not let it overwhelm him. He had to get to Devereux.

  Somehow, he found his feet but he was still unsteady. All he could think, feel or see was his wife and the thought that something horrible had happened to her threatened to undo him time and time again, but he pushed the negative thoughts away, listening to his brother’s instructions because he couldn’t seem to do for himself. Hugh seemed to be doing everything for him, helping him to dress, telling him that Andrew and Edmund were securing the horses.

  It was Hugh who strapped the scabbard around his waist, the elaborate leather sheath that contained Lespada. Davyss absently touched the hilt of the ancient sword, thinking that all of the battles in the entire world seemed rather insignificant now; family, life and love were so much more important. All he wanted to do was get to his wife. That was the only thing that mattered. As he moved past the soldier who had delivered the devastating news, he grabbed the man by the arm.

  “My sons,” his voice was faint, hoarse. “They are well?”

  The soldier could see how shaken his liege was and, truth be told, he felt a good deal of pity for the man. They all did. All of Davyss’ soldiers knew how deeply in love he was with his wife and her failure to come through the birth of his children unscathed had sent all of Norwich into a depression.

  “Well, my lord,” he assured him softly. “Lollardly and your mother have had quite a time with them. They scream at all hours and eat constantly.”

  Davyss looked more stricken, if such a thing was possible. “My mother is not caring for them, is she?” he demanded. “The woman can barely walk. I do not want her carrying around a newborn infant.”

  The soldier shook his head. “Lady Lucy and Lady Frances have care of the infants. They have also hired a wet-nurse from town. Your boys are well taken care of, my lord, I assure you.”

  That seemed to ease Davyss somewhat but he was still horribly pale. He continued to clutch the man’s arm as if the soldier was some odd link to everything back at Norwich. He didn’t want to let him go.

  “Do…,” he began again in a whisper. “Do the boys have names?”

  A faint smile crossed the soldier’s weary lips. “Your wife has named them Drake Davyss and Devon Grayson,” he replied. “Your mother says they are the image of your father but I have heard tale that they are fair like your wife.”

  That was all Davyss could take; he closed his eyes and tears rolled down his cheeks, mingling with the pouring rain. Hugh, concerned, tugged on his brother and got him moving. The soldier followed because Davyss couldn’t seem to let go of him. Together, the three of them traveled to the livery area of the encampment where Andrew, Nik, Philip and Edmund already had the chargers saddled and about five hundred men preparing to move out for Norwich. It was Hugh who ran to Henry and Edward to tell them what had happened.

  Henry let Davyss go without question.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  On the morning of the sixth day since leaving Evesham, the massive white block of Norwich Castle’s keep came into view.

  Davyss had pushed his men hard for the long trek back to Norwich. The column had made around thirty-five miles a day before stopping only to rest the horses and then proceeding on. Davyss seemed to have no sense of exhaustion although his men certainly did. After weeks of traveling and fighting, they were all deeply exhausted but pushed on for Davyss’ sake. They knew what was at stake and not one man disagreed with him. So they rode on, fighting the intermittent thunderstorms and sometimes stifling moist heat, until the great keep of Norwich was finally sighted on the horizon.

  Once Davyss caught sight of it, he spurred his charger into a thundering gallop. Nothing on this earth was going to keep him from Devereux any longer and he rode the already-exhausted horse into Norwich’s double-baileys, leaping off the horse when he reached the keep and taking the steps two at a time. He burst into the soldier’s hall only to be met by Lollardly.

  The old priest threw his arms around him. “Davyss, boy,” he squeezed him and let him go. “We saw your army on the horizon. Praise God that you are safe.”

  Davyss grabbed the old man by the arms, his fingers biting into the flesh. “Devereux,” he demanded. “What happened? Where is she?”

  Lollardly could see how edgy Davyss was. He struggled to calm him. “Listen to me,” he gripped him. “You must calm yourself or you will do her no good. Do you hear me?”

  Davyss shook him so hard that he nearly snapped the man’s neck. “Enough,” he roared, moving for the stairs that led to the
upper chambers of the keep. “Tell me how she is. What happened to her?”

  Lollardly was trying to keep the man from bolting up the stairs. “Davyss, I cannot tell you all that I must if you are running up those stairs,” he yanked on his arm. “Stop a moment and listen to me. It is important.”

  Davyss heard the plea through his desperate haze and he came to an unsteady halt, facing the man. “What is it, then?”

  Lollardly knew he would only have his attention for a short amount of time before he was demanding to see his wife again, so he spoke quickly. “Your wife went into labor two weeks early,” he lowered his voice. “She labored for two days to bring forth your enormous children, Davyss, so much so that I believed I was going to have to cut into her to remove them. The physic from Great Yarmouth agreed with me. But finally, she gave birth to your first son and we were shocked to realize that there were two. Never did I feel two children when I examined her; only one. Your wife was so weak already by the time the first boy was born that it was nearly impossible for her to gather the strength to birth the second child. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”

  Davyss’ expression was wrought with horror. “Dear God,” he breathed. “What happened?”

  Lollardly sighed heavily, his manner turning gentle. “Your second son was born feet-first,” he murmured. “Your wife did not have any strength left to push so we were forced to… well, we had to pull the child out by his feet, Davyss. It was the only way. Then we could not detach the nourishment sack from her body and she bled profusely until we were able to pull it free. She lost a great deal of blood and the difficult birth seriously injured her.”

  By this time, Davyss’ hand was at his mouth as if to hold in the gasps of horror. The hazel eyes filled with tears. “How is she now?”

  Lollardly lifted his shoulders. “She lives,” he said honestly. “But she has not recovered. All she does is sleep. She barely eats. If she does not start showing more improvement soon, I am afraid we… well, we may lose her.”

  Davyss blinked and the tears rolled down his cheeks, just as quickly wiped away. He took a deep breath, digesting Lollardly’s words, struggling to acclimate himself to the situation.

  “May I see her?” he whispered.

  Lollardly simply nodded. He followed Davyss up the stairs to the fourth floor. As Davyss approached, he could hear babies crying and his tears returned en force. As he stood at the top of the stairs, gazing into the chamber where both of his lusty sons were being tended, he sobbed deeply.

  Lollardly stood behind him, his hand on Davyss’ shoulder as the man observed the activity of the room. It was a smaller chamber with a large bed in it, and Frances sat on the bed changing the swaddling of one twin while Lucy paced the floor with the second twin. Both boys were screaming at the top of their lungs and Lucy was attempting desperately to calm the baby in her arms until she saw Davyss.

  The surprise on her face turned to joy before immediately turning to distress. The enormous man was filthy and exhausted as he stood at the top of the stairs, tears running down his face and dripping onto his dirty tunic. Lucy went to him.

  “Davyss,” she was torn between being very glad to see him and deeply concerned as to why he was crying. She could see that he was looking at the baby in her arms and her focus turned to the child. “This is your son, Drake. Your mother swears that he looks just like your father.”

  Davyss gazed down at the baby, struggling to stop his sobs. As Lucy unwrapped the boy so he could get a better look, his sobs turned into weepy laughter at the vigorously screaming baby. He was absolutely furious. Davyss reached out a tentative finger, pushing it into a waving hand and being rewarded when the infant gripped him tightly.

  “He is very strong,” he commented, feeling the warmth of joy wash over him as he gazed into the little face. “But why is he so angry?”

  Lucy grinned. “He is hungry; he is always hungry.”

  Davyss was overcome with emotion as Drake continued to scream. Lucy watched the man’s face, seeing the complete adoration, the pain. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She knew how much all of this meant to him and to Devereux.

  “Would you like to hold him?” she asked softly.

  Davyss shook his head. He bent over, kissing Drake on the forehead. “Not at the moment,” he whispered. “I want to see my wife first.”

  Lucy understood. With a lingering look at Devon, screaming on the bed, Davyss quit the room and went to the master’s chamber. The door was closed and he very quietly opened it.

  The room was dark inside, big oilcloth curtains covering the long lancet windows. It smelled of cloves and rushes and as he entered the room, his gaze was immediately drawn to the enormous bed. His mother was seated to the left of the bed, the needlework in her hands falling to her lap when her old eyes beheld her son. The little dogs at her feet stood up, tails wagging furiously.

  Davyss’ gaze moved between his mother and the still figure on the bed. He finally focused on his mother when the woman stiffly stood up.

  “Davyss,” she breathed, inspecting his dirty mail, his stubbled face. “Thank God you have returned. Are you well?”

  Davyss nodded shortly, his attention moving to the bed. “How is she?”

  Lady Katharine knew it would do no good to ply her son with foolish questions that could just as easily be answered later. He had come for one reason and one alone; Katharine’s gaze trailed down to the blonde head buried amongst the coverlets.

  “She sleeps,” she whispered, turning to her son. She noticed that Lollardly had come in behind him. “I assume Lollardly told you of her condition?”

  Davyss’ tears were returning as he gazed down at his wife’s extremely pale, sleeping face. “He did,” he breathed, collapsing beside the bed and clutching one of Devereux’s outstretched hands. “Dear God… she looks so pale.”

  Lady Katharine put her hand on her son’s dirty hair, something completely out of character for the woman who normally showed no affection. But this was an exception; she grieved deeply for her son at the moment. She knew well what it felt like to love someone and face the prospect of losing them.

  “She is a very sick woman,” Katharine said softly, running her thin fingers through her son’s hair a moment before removing her hand and gathering her cane. “I will leave you alone with her and go and see my grandsons. They sound a good deal like you did as an infant, Davyss.”

  Davyss couldn’t even respond as his mother left the chamber, taking Lollardly and the dogs with her. When the door shut softly and the room was suddenly very still, he pulled Devereux’s hand to his lips and kissed the soft flesh reverently.

  “Sweetling, can you hear me?” he whispered, his tears pelting her flesh. “Devereux? I am here, sweetling; I am here. All will be well again, I swear it.”

  She continued to lie still, breathing heavily. Davyss watched her, feeling more anguish than he ever imagined possible. They had spent so much time focused on his battles and her worry over him not returning that it had never occurred to him that she would be the one facing life or death. It just wasn’t fair. He felt cheated.

  Davyss had everything he had ever wanted out of life; power, honor, prestige. He had the arrogance and the following to prove it. Now he had a beautiful wife and two strong sons. But that joy was threatened and he knew that he would give it all up, without question, if it meant Devereux would live. He could deal with the loss of wealth and even power. He could live without a pristine reputation. But he could not live without his wife. He let go of her hand and began to remove his armor.

  “I have thought of nothing but you for the past three months,” he mumbled as he pulled his tunic over his head and began stripping off his mail. “Every moment of every day, you were always in my heart. So much has happened since we have been separated I do not even know where to start. But I swear to you that I will not leave you ever again. Not ever.”

  The mail coat hit the floor and he stood up, pulling off his boots and continuing wi
th his one-sided conversation. “I have seen the boys,” he told her as the boots hit the floor with a heavy knock. “They are magnificent, Devereux. I am so humbled by your sacrifice that I cannot put it into words. It… it seems like all you wanted was to provide me with sons. You got your wish, sweetling; we have two beautiful boys.”

  The room remained quiet as he fell silent, removing his breeches. Naked, sweaty, dirty and all, he climbed into bed with Devereux and with extreme care, pulled her into his arms. The moment he felt her soft warmth against him, alive and breathing, he burst into tears. The anguish was more than he could stomach and his emotions flooded from every pore of his body.

  “God,” he sobbed, his face in the back of her head. “Please do not take her from me. I have done things in my life that I am not proud of and things I should show repentance for. I am sorry if I have failed You. But my wife… she is the one gift you have given me in life that outshines everything else I have ever known to exist. I am completely unworthy of her and I know it, but please, God, do not take her away from me. I love her with all of my heart. I cannot go on without her.”

  His last sentence was barely recognizable through the sobs. He held Devereux tightly against him, his tears wetting her hair. His hands stroked her but he made no attempt to elicit a response from her. He was simply grateful to be with her, holding her, feeling her heartbeat mingle with his. But the tears wouldn’t stop; he didn’t even try. He let them come.

  As he lay there and held his wife, he realized that something was happening. Devereux wasn’t limp any longer; in fact, she was moving. Startled, Davyss lifted his head, propping himself up on an elbow so he could see for himself what was going on. As he lifted himself, Devereux rolled sluggishly onto her back.