“Who is it?” she asked as she drew near the door.
“Lady Katharine,” came a voice from the other side. “May I enter?”
Devereux well remembered her last conversation with the woman but there was no way she could avoid her. She bade her enter.
“Aye,” she replied.
The door opened and the frail old woman stepped through. On the landing outside, Devereux could see at least two soldiers guarding the door. They shut the panel as the old woman moved into the room. Devereux stood several feet away, gazing steadily at her, waiting for the lashing that was undoubtedly to come.
But a lashing was not immediately forthcoming. Lady Katharine faced her new daughter, inspecting the woman in the firelight; she was clad in the heavy white woolen shift with the belled sleeves and gold tassels hanging from the cuffs. The shift was more of a heavy surcoat than an actual shift, with a stiff collar around the neck and a plunging neckline with gold embroidery around it. It was, in truth, an exquisite garment, made more exquisite by Devereux’s beauty. Lady Katharine sighed with satisfaction.
“My husband brought me that coat all the way from Rome,” she indicated the off-white garment. “It never looked so good on me.”
Off-guard with the compliment, Devereux looked down at herself as if confused by the woman’s observations. After Davyss had left and she had pulled herself together, she had dressed in the warm garment simply because the room was cold. She had then pulled her silky hair into a single thick braid, tied at the end with a golden scarf. She had no idea how angelic and radiant she looked.
“This belongs to you?” she smoothed her hands over the feather-soft wool. “Your son gave it to me as a gift. I was unaware that it was yours.”
The old woman waved her hand. “I told him to give to it to you. It was made for you.”
Devereux didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t feeling particularly amiable towards any member of the de Winter family at the moment but she would not forget her manners. She indicated the chair to Lady Katharine.
“Would you sit, my lady?” she said.
Lady Katharine made her way to the chair and sat heavily. Her gaze moved over the room, the fire, the over-stuffed mattress before finally coming to rest on Devereux again. Her dark eyes were piercing as she appraised her and it was a struggle for Devereux not to back away. She met the woman’s gaze steadily.
“How may I be of service, my lady?” Devereux asked.
Lady Katharine’s attention remained steady. “I understand you and my son experienced some conflict this afternoon. I am here to see if I can assist.”
Devereux’s brow furrowed slightly. “Did he send you?”
The old woman shifted slightly. “He did.”
Devereux’s silver eyes regarded the woman a moment. She was careful in her reply. “Lady Katharine, surely you realize that this marriage is not palatable for your son or for me,” she said. “Why, exactly, did he send you?”
“To see if I could ease your anger towards him.”
Devereux pondered that a moment; so he feared that she was angry with him? Odd, he didn’t seem the type. He seemed more like the kind who didn’t care what anyone thought. Still, she was deeply confused and deeply hurt by the events of the afternoon. She turned away from the woman and moved towards the hearth, feeling the soft heat on her skin.
“What I feel is not anger, my lady,” she said. “He is my husband. He had every right to take what belonged to him. For this, I cannot fault him.”
“But you are upset.”
She suddenly looked at the woman, sharply. “I want to go home,” she hissed. “I was abducted from my home by four monstrous knights, married to a sword and forced into submission by my husband in a brutal act of consummation. Today I have endured more than any woman can be expected to reasonably endure. As I told you earlier today, I do not want to marry your son but it is done. Now I am his wife whether or not I want to be. He has consummated the marriage and we have done our duty. Now allow me to go home in peace while my husband returns to London and the intrigue that infects it. I want no part of it. I simply want to go home.”
Her last words were spoken on the verge of tears and Lady Katharine watched her turn away. The old woman had to admit that the lady had had a rough day. She did indeed feel pity for her.
“I am sorry that you have had such a difficult time,” she replied evenly. “But you were not innocent in all of this. You fought like a banshee which is why the knights were forced to take steps to restrain you. I have seen Sir Nikolas’ black eye and Sir Philip’s bruised nose. I did not imagine those injuries, perpetrated by you.”
“I was defending myself.”
“Against what?”
“Against men determined to abduct me.”
“They were not determined to abduct you. They had come to take you to your husband and you started the battle. The abduction was a direct result of your violent behavior.”
She looked at Lady Katharine angrily. “Do you condone their behavior, then?”
“I certainly do not condone yours. Think carefully before you accuse others of misdeeds, lady. You started it.”
Devereux could see that she wasn’t gaining much sympathy. Infuriated and hurt, she refused to look at Lady Katharine.
“I want to go home,” she whispered again. “I do not want to be a part of this life. I do not want to be a part of the de Winter war machine.”
Lady Katharine leaned on her cane. “But you are now chatelaine of Castle Acre Castle. This is a prestigious post. Does this not bring you joy?”
Devereux shook her head. “It does not,” she said honestly. “Do you not understand? I have never wanted anything like this. I must return to my charity work; it is something I have devoted my life to. I would feel useless and silly being chatelaine of a great castle. There is no joy in it for me. My joy comes from helping those in need. It is that life I would return to.”
Lady Katharine drew in a long, thoughtful breath. “Your charity work is well known, Lady Devereux. That is one of the things that impressed me so much about you.”
“Then let me return to it,” Devereux suddenly turned to her imploringly. “I am not needed here. Please, Lady Katharine; let me go home.”
“You are home.”
Devereux shook her head. “This is not my home. This is a prison.”
The old woman gazed steadily at her. “And you do not believe you can be happy here?”
Devereux’s expression washed with sorrow. “Nay,” she whispered. “This place bears only misery for me.”
“Is there nothing my son can say to you to change your mind?”
Devereux moved away from her, back towards the fire again. “He has taken what is his right,” she said softly. “I will bear his children and carry his name. But in return, I want to go home. I want to continue what is important to me. I do not want to be a part of Davyss de Winter’s world nor part of the rule he supports because it is the king’s tyranny that creates a good deal of the misery I see.”
Lady Katharine suddenly felt very weary. She was starting to think that perhaps this idea of hers had not been wise. Perhaps this woman could not benefit her son as she had hoped. But the marriage was consummated, making it impossible for an annulment. They would have to make the best of it until the emotions of the situation had settled. Perhaps there would be a chance at a later time for the two of them to come to some sort of amicable existence. After a moment, Lady Katharine rose from the chair and leaned heavily on her cane.
“Very well,” she said quietly. “If that is your wish, I will not deny you. You may leave with me when I return for Breckland. I will return you home.”
Devereux nodded, silent and brooding. With a lingering glance at the lowered blonde head, Lady Katharine made her way from the chamber and down the narrow stairs of the keep. Out in the moonlit night with a hundred torches lighting the lower bailey against the dark sky, she found her son just where she had left him.
D
avyss saw his mother coming and went to meet her. She hadn’t been with his wife very long, something that both concerned and encouraged him. He met his mother just as she was descending the steps from the keep. He took her arm to steady her down the big stone stairs.
“Well?” he asked. “What did she say?”
Lady Katharine sighed heavily. She was feeling her age tonight. “She does not want to remain at Castle Acre Castle and she does not want to remain with you,” she said pointedly. “Whatever has happened between the two of you, it is clear that tonight will not see it mended.”
Davyss felt his disappointment. “Did she tell you that she did not wish to remain?”
Lady Katharine nodded. “On all accounts. I am therefore taking her with me when I return to Breckland. I am taking her back to her father, Davyss. Leave her be for a while. Let us see if time cannot mend this episode.”
Davyss’ gaze moved to the two story keep. He could see a weak light in the window of the second floor chamber. “Let me go and speak with her,” he said with a mixture of resignation and determination. “Perhaps I can make amends.”
Lady Katharine grabbed him before he could move. “Nay,” she said firmly. “Leave her alone. I fear you will only make things worse if you try.”
“But…”
“Nay, Davyss,” she said, more firmly. “The woman needs time to heal. Let her reconcile this marriage in her own mind. Give her time before you approach her again.”
Davyss didn’t want to listen to her; that much was clear. But he acquiesced with great reluctance, escorting his mother back to the great hall even though his mind was on his new wife in the bower high above the bailey.
Devereux left before sunrise.
CHAPTER FIVE
Six weeks later
The structure that was La Maison d’Espoir had originally been a barn thirty years ago, put together with strips of wood, thatch and an oddly well-made frame. But it was eventually abandoned and subsequently confiscated by the Lady DeHaven Devereux-Allington. The lady wife of the Lord Mayor of Thetford, Lady DeHaven took her duties as the mayor’s wife seriously and as the king’s wars with his barons intensified, she sought to help the increasing number of people who were left homeless and injured as a result. Much of Devereux’s opinions on kings and warfare had come from her peace-loving mother. Commandeering the abandoned barn on the north edge of the city had been a starting point to helping those that war and famine touched.
Lady DeHaven and her young daughter, Devereux, had cleaned up the place as much as they could in order to shelter some of the homeless and ill. Soon, more people joined them in their quest to aid the less fortunate and more and more poor, sick and homeless came to The House of Hope as the years passed. Word of the benevolent Allingtons had spread. Eventually, the structure housed hundreds and Lady DeHaven and her daughter cooked for and tended to the needy. The House of Hope was legendary throughout the area for its compassionate and necessary work.
When Lady DeHaven died, the legacy was left to her daughter. It was the place that Devereux called home even more than the fortified manor she shared with her father. She had been back from Castle Acre Castle for a little over a month and had settled back into her routine, following the schedule she and her mother had set all those years ago. It gave her peace and comfort to be back in familiar surroundings, but more than that, she was back with those people with whom she shared the same ideals. She had a good deal of help with townsfolk who pitched in to help her; at any given time there were upwards of fifty people helping her feed and tend the sick and poor. More than her father, certainly more than her husband, these people were her family. She had struggled for a month to put memories of Davyss de Winter out of her mind. It was still a struggle.
As the sun rose on this clear and cool day, Devereux had been up before sunrise, as was usual. A farmer she did business with had delivered a wagon full of oats that she and several other helpers had taken from the wagon to the kitchens where three cooks were preparing great iron vats of cooked oats with vast quantities of dried cherries thrown in. There had been a bumper crop of cherries last fall and they had been lucky enough to receive the overflow from a farmer north of Ipswich. They had barrels of millet that had been ground into flour and mixed with a lesser quantity of buckwheat to make bread, the smell of which was wafting heavily in the air from the large earthen ovens built to the west of the building.
There were also huge amounts of walnuts and hazelnuts in the kitchen area as well as bushels of small, sour crab apples. With monetary donations that Devereux had received from Lady Katharine de Winter no less, she had worked a deal with a local dairy farmer for wheels of soft, tart white cheese. All of these things, plus the cooked oats, would provide food for the nearly two hundred people staying under the roof of The House of Hope.
Dressed in a heavy surcoat of dark blue wool, Devereux was wrapped tight against the cold morning as she directed the workers. Her luscious hair was pulled away from her face with a kerchief, revealing her lovely and cold-pinched face. Seeing that her helpers had transferred most of the oats into the kitchen, she moved into the main structure of the house itself to make sure that everyone began their orderly mobilization towards the feeding area. It was moderately warm inside, smelling of bodies, as people began to rise for the day. A little lad, no more than two, suddenly crashed into her in his eagerness to get his food and she laughed softly as she righted the child.
“Lady Devereux?”
Someone was addressing her from behind and she turned around to see a young man she’d known all her life. Stephan Longham was a man of lesser birth, a year older than her, but strong and handsome. His father was the smithy in town and his mother a midwife. He had three younger brothers who all helped at The House of Hope. Devereux had always greatly depended on the Longham boys as laborers, cooks, surgeons and friends.
Stephan smiled as the little boy who had just crashed into Devereux almost smacked into him as well in his haste to get away. Together, they watched the child dash off.
“What can I do for you, Stephan?” Devereux asked.
Stephan returned his attention to her. “Sedgebow is outside. He has a wagon full of salted pork and said that he was told to bring it to you.”
Her brow furrowed slightly as she began to move back towards the kitchens. Stephan followed.
“The pig farmer from Westley?” she clarified, puzzled. “I have not spoken with the man in months, not since the last time he tried to bargain with us for his salt pork. ’Tis always far too expensive.”
Stephan followed her into the steamy kitchens. “I told him to go away but he would not leave without speaking with you first.”
Devereux braced herself for the confrontation. “The man is a thief and a liar,” she growled. “I will not purchase his salt pork no matter how much he is willing to bargain.”
Stephan didn’t reply; he had been serving Lady Devereux at The House of Hope for almost ten years. He knew how she did business and he knew what was expected of him should Sedgebow not leave if the lady asked him to. Stephan knew Lady Devereux very well and had loved her nearly as long as he’d known her; although beneath her station, it did not ease what he felt for her. Her marriage to Davyss de Winter had devastated him.
Lady Devereux wouldn’t speak of her marriage to de Winter or why she had returned to Thetford and no one would dare ask. They had all either seen or heard of the spectacle of the marriage a month past, how Lady Devereux had attempted to fight off de Winter and his men. It had been a frightening and curious thing. So Stephan had stuck to her closely since her return as both friend and assistant; she was back and he didn’t care why. It was the closest he could get to her without overstepping both his boundaries and social station.
Devereux burst into the dusty, cluttered delivery area just outside the kitchen yards with full force, preparing to argue with the wily pig farmer. Stephan was right behind her; somewhere in their march they had picked up his youngest brother, Cullen, who
was absolutely enormous. A big, bald young man, he was mostly fat but strong as an ox. He and Stephan made for an intimidating pair as Devereux faced off against the pig farmer from Westley.
“Sedgebow,” she began with annoyance in her tone. “I told you the last time we had dealings that I would no longer be purchasing any of your salt pork. I thought you understood me clearly.”
The fat, toothless farmer lifted a lazy eyebrow. “You did not purchase this, m’lady,” he said. “I was directed to bring it to you.”
Confusion outweighed her annoyance. “Who directed you?”
Before the farmer could answer, the sounds of thunder could be heard in the distance. Startled, Devereux instinctively stepped back as a herd of chargers entered the area, kicking up great clods of earth with their sharp hooves. The sounds of snorting filled the air and the glint of mail and armor flashed in the dawn’s early light. After her initial start, Devereux realized she was looking at Davyss and his men.
The power of the de Winter war machine was unmistakable. The men bore tunics of black and gray with the red de Winter dragon stitched on the front. Devereux was suspicious and resistant to their appearance, apprehensive of Davyss. They had parted on an unpleasant note and she feared that the song between them was still unpleasant. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what to think. For a man she had sworn to loathe the day she had left Castle Acre Castle, at the moment, she didn’t loathe him as she hoped she could. Some odd sensation in her chest told her that she was glad to see him. Her heart thumped and twisted oddly and her gaze remained fixed on him, as if she could look at nothing else, as his massive charcoal steed with its glinting plate armor pushed its way forward.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 114