Lollardly spoke. “I have just come from the abbey,” he murmured quickly. “The Brother had a message for you.”
Davyss suddenly looked displeased and taut. He gazed steadily at Lollardly for a moment before responding. “What is the message?”
“Simon requests you meet him when you arrive in London,” Lollardly’s voice was a whisper. “He must speak with you.”
Davyss’ eyebrows rose. “Simon is in London?” he repeated, incredulous. “God’s Blood, the man takes risks. What in the hell is de Montfort doing there?”
Lollardly shook his head. “I would not know,” he muttered. “But he is apparently desperate to see you.”
“Henry is in London.”
“I know. Will you meet Simon, then?”
Davyss scratched his head, pondering the deeper implications of such a meeting. He’d been pondering the deeper meaning of these clandestine meetings ever since he’d been knighted. After a moment, he emitted a heavy sigh. “I do not know if I can.”
Lollardly nodded his head. “Aye, you can,” he grumbled. “Davyss, you and Simon have known each other too long for you to avoid him now. Perhaps he needs something. Perhaps he wants to….”
Davyss held up a sharp hand. “Cease your prattle,” he growled. “You do not have to tell me of Simon de Montfort, for I have known him since the day I was born. He and my father were the best of friends. Our families were close; we lived together and fought together until….”
Lollardly smiled faintly, clapping Davyss on a massive shoulder as the man trailed off. He knew how Davyss felt about his father’s oldest, and dearest, friend. It was a dark secret he carried; the champion of the king and the leader of the baron’s rebellion were still life-long and deep friends. Henry knew of the de Winter relationship to de Montfort, of course, but he assumed like everyone else that the link died when Grayson de Winter had. But the link remained. It was a secret that, if discovered, could mean Davyss’ death.
“You do not need to tell me of your relationship to Simon,” the old priest protested. “Lest you forget, your father, Simon and I fostered together. I watched Grayson and Simon grow into strong men and with strong ideals. I was there the day you were born and Simon was there to bless you. It was a difficult day when Grayson and Simon split; Grayson with dreams of serving the king and Simon with dreams of a different England. But that bond that Simon shares with you, as his best friend’s son, has never been severed.”
Davyss watched Lollardly through guarded eyes. “He risks my life every time he contacts me.”
“And you risk his.”
Davyss sighed sharply and crossed his enormous arms. “So what do you want me to do? Talk to him?”
“He will meet you at the Temple Church in Blackfriars,” Lollardly told him. “I will tell my brother to get word to Simon that you will meet him at sundown upon the morrow.”
Davyss was staring at his feet. It was a long and pensive pause. But eventually he nodded, barely, and Lollardly took it as a sign. The old priest disappeared, heading back towards the abbey that had given the town its name as Davyss continued to stand there and wonder what tomorrow’s meeting would bring. He hadn’t seen Simon in some time and no matter what their politics, he missed his father’s friend. He wished again, as he had wished daily for many years, that things were different; that Simon wasn’t a rebel and he wasn’t the king’s champion.
He wished they were on the same side.
*
Devereux had been to London, once, with her father when he had traveled there on business. She had been eleven years old at the time and nine years later, it was bigger than she had remembered. As Davyss’ group entered the outskirts of London from the northwest, a massive settlement emerged with the blue ribbon of the River Thames running through it.
The de Winter war machine had brought six knights, including Davyss, one priest, three hundred men-at-arms and five wagons. It was a large group that traveled through the outskirts of London and people turned out to watch. Little boys stood by the side of the road, thrilled to see the knights, while women tried to garner the favor of the men who passed by. In a covered wagon with a fully armed escort, Devereux watched the little boys and loose women, waving at the children when they waved at her first.
One little girl with a few wilted flowers in her hand ran out in the road. She was holding the flowers aloft as she headed towards the carriage but almost got run over by Sir Philip’s charger. The child stumbled, fell to the road, and began wailing. Devereux leapt off the wagon before anyone could stop her and rushed to the child’s side.
The wilted flowers were scattered all over the dirt as Devereux knelt beside the little girl. She picked the child up from the road.
“There, there, sweetheart,” she crooned. “You are all right. Everything is all right.”
The child sobbed and held up her scraped elbow. Devereux smiled gently and pretended to take a good look.
“’Tis not too bad,” she assured the little girl. Then she began looking around for someone to help her. Her gaze fell on Philip, now off his charger and standing next to her. “I need some wine or ale and a strip of cloth; any cloth will do. Can you please bring me these things?”
Philip was in motion, snapping orders to a few men around them. The entire column had come to a halt and Davyss was making his way back from the head of the group, bellowing his frustration that they had stopped as he went. But Devereux was only focused on the child at the moment, not three hundred men who had come to a dead stop because of her.
Lollardly arrived at the scene before Davyss, watching the situation with curious eyes. Lady de Winter was so unlike any woman he had ever known that he paused just to watch her tend the child, her gentle manner and her sweet words.
The more time he spent watching her, the more he was coming to like her. His first impression of her as a rebellious wench had not been her true nature; it had been the fear that had caused her to act like an animal. What he was seeing before him and what he had seen the day before, he suspected, was this woman’s true character. She was special.
When Davyss arrived and bailed from his charger, Lollardly put his hands on the man’s chest to stop his advance.
“What goes on?” Davyss demanded, flipping up his visor. “Why have we stopped?”
Lollardly pointed to Devereux, several feet away, cleaning the scrape of a peasant child. “Your wife is helping this child.”
By this time, Hugh had come upon them, watching the scene with impatience. “It is simply a peasant,” he grumbled. “She should not be wasting her time or ours.”
Lollardly shushed him. “Jesus tended lepers,” he reminded him. “Do you not see the noble self-sacrifice of Lady de Winter?”
Hugh fixed him with an intolerant look. “She is wiping away dirt from layers of dirt on a dirty child. There is nothing Christ-like about that.”
The big priest thumped Hugh on the neck, the only weak part in the armor the man was wearing. As Hugh yelped and rubbed the spot, Lollardly glared at him.
“You would do well to pay attention to your new sister, Hugh de Winter,” he hissed. “She is on the path to heaven. You could live for one hundred years and never know the same Godliness, you pathetic sinner.”
Hugh frowned and continued to rub his neck. “It is one peasant child in a sea of thousands,” he snarled as he turned away. “’Tis a waste of time and effort. The child will die before she sees her next birthday, anyway. Lady de Winter is not helping the child to live longer by wiping off a smidge of blood.”
As Hugh stomped off, Lollardly shook his head. “Your brother is unsalvageable, Davyss,” he lifted an eyebrow as he looked at the older brother. “But what of you? Is your new wife starting to make a mark upon your spirit yet?”
Davyss was watching Devereux as she finished tying the bandage in a puffy bow. The little girl seemed very pleased by it. He continued to watch her smiling face as she watched the child skip away, his heart softening for reasons he could
not understand. He didn’t respond to the priest’s question as he made his way to his wife.
“Is everything all right, my lady?” he asked her pleasantly.
Devereux turned to him, a smile on her lovely face. She was particularly rosy cheeked this day, her humor far better than he had ever seen it. Since that morning when they had departed for London, she had been kind and sweet, and he was growing more and more enchanted.
“Everything is fine,” she told him. “That little girl was trying to give me flowers and tripped. I fixed her scrape.”
He smiled at her. “So I saw,” he said. “May we continue?”
She nodded. “Of course,” she started rushing back to the carriage. “I am sorry to have delayed you.”
He took her by the elbow and slowed her pace. “No trouble,” he said. “We should be at our destination within the hour.”
They reached the covered wagon and Devereux shielded her eyes against the sunlight as she gazed towards the south. “Where will we be staying?”
Davyss put his hands around her slender waist and lifted her up into the wagon. Then he wiped at the sweat on his brow, gesturing off in the direction of the city.
“At Wintercroft,” he replied. “It is my family’s townhome. I think you shall like it; there is an expansive garden and a large pond. It is also where Nik and Philip’s wives reside, so you will have ladies in residence to serve you.”
She looked down at him. “They are married?”
“Aye.”
“And the women stay in London while the men are about with you?”
He nodded. “We do not travel with women.”
“And you would have me stay in London while you are traveling, also?”
He could see where this was leading and he grunted, scratching his forehead. This was not one of those “safe” conversations between them.
“I think it is a little premature to discuss that at the moment,” he moved away from the wagon so she couldn’t press him further. “Hold fast, my lady. We will be home soon.”
Devereux watched him mount his charger and plow his way to the head of the column. Her thoughts lingered on the wives that were sequestered while their husbands were out running about. Davyss didn’t give her an answer which made her suspect that he expected her to remain sequestered, too.
Truth was, she wasn’t sure how she was feeling after yesterday. Everything she had initially thought about Davyss de Winter had been dissolved for the most part and she was becoming acquainted with a man who was kind, compassionate, gentle and wildly handsome. He had a quick wit and was humorous, something she found very appealing. But she still wasn’t sure how she felt about being married to the de Winter war machine. Not that she had any choice; she was married, like it or not. She would simply have to deal with it.
The road widened and sturdier buildings began to come into view. They were larger estate homes and she watched with interest as they passed one after another. The homes were well spaced, perhaps a half mile or more in between them, and the area was fairly heavily forested as they began to near the moist air of the river. The land was very green and small ponds littered the area.
They traveled a little further when they came upon a road that branched off to the right from the main road. The column began to turn down this road, moving like an army of ants as they tramped down the moist dirt. Devereux strained to see what was at the end of the road and gradually, the heavily foliaged trees parted and she could see a gray stoned wall come into view. The wall was inordinately high and she could see a massive wood and iron gate cut into the middle of it. The gate was cranking open, allowing the army to enter.
Wintercroft loomed before her; although it was a fortified manor, it looked more like a small castle. It was pale-stoned, bulky and gloomy. The yard was littered with small outbuildings and a fairly large stable block. The house itself was odd; there was a heavy iron door on the first floor but no windows anywhere on the floor. All of the windows were on the second floor but there was also a strange addition that projected off the north side of the house, creating a third and fourth floor. It was like an enormous tower had been added to half of the house.
As the wagon pulled into the yard and drew close to the house, Devereux noticed two women standing by the front door. As she watched, the front portion of the column began to disband and two knights dismounted their steeds and approached the women. Philip pulled off his helm, his fair blonde hair glistening in the weak sunlight as he smiled broadly at his wife and took her in his arms. Nik, nursing a damaged arm from the skirmish in the inn, was less enthusiastic about greeting his wife. He simply kissed her on the cheek and they stood and talked like two acquaintances.
By this time, the wagon had pulled up to the front door and Davyss was suddenly standing next to the wheel. Devereux hadn’t even seen him approach; she had been watching Philip and Nikolas with their wives. He smiled at Devereux and reached up to gently help her from the seat. Once her feet were on the ground, he claimed her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow.
“Welcome to Wintercroft,” his hazel eyes moved over the structure affectionately. “My grandfather built this as a present to my grandmother. My father was born here.”
Devereux inspected the odd building. “Is it a castle?”
Davyss shrugged. “Somewhere between a castle and a manor,” he replied. “I think my grandfather wanted a stately manor but ended up adding fortifications for protection. You will find the interior of the keep to be a cross between the two; comfort and functionality. My mother hates the place.”
She looked at him. “Why?”
He gazed down at her, smiling faintly. “She thinks it is ugly.”
Devereux suppressed a grin as her gaze returned to the peculiar structure. “It is… interesting, to be sure. Where does she stay when she comes to London, then?”
“She has her own home in the city called Hollyhock.”
Devereux lifted an eyebrow. “So she leaves the ugly house to her sons?”
“Exactly; what do we care what it looks like?”
Devereux wasn’t sure what more to say, giggling when Davyss lifted his eyebrows at her as if he knew what she was thinking. It really was an ugly place. He patted her hand and fondled her fingers affectionately as they moved to where Philip, Nikolas and their wives were standing. As Davyss approached, the couples broke from their conversation to face de Winter and his new wife.
Davyss was focused on the women. “Lady Lucy de Rou and Lady Frances de Nogaret,” he indicated Devereux. “This is Lady Devereux Allington de Winter; my wife.”
Lucy de Rou was a delicate little blonde with big brown eyes and a big smile. She dipped in a curtsy for Devereux, followed quickly by Lady Frances. Frances was pretty and dark-eyed. Both women were prim, proper and pleasant.
“’Tis an honor to meet you, Lady de Winter,” Lucy said in a sweet, baby-like voice. “We were told you would be coming and have prepared the master’s chamber. I hope it is to your liking.”
Devereux smiled. “I am sure it is fine,” she said. “Thank you for your kindness, my lady.”
Lucy just grinned, smiling up at Philip as if to seek his approval. He smiled sweetly at her. Frances, however, seemed a bit more reserved. In fact, Devereux got the distinct impression that the woman was sizing her up.
“We have prepared a bath for you, my lady,” Frances said. “We thought you would want to refresh yourself after your journey.”
“Again, you are thoughtful and kind,” Devereux nodded. “I am most appreciative.”
“Will you come with us, my lady?” Lucy indicated the open door, glancing at Davyss. “With your permission, my lord?”
Davyss waved a hand at them. “By all means.”
Devereux looked at Davyss even as Lucy took her by the arm. There was something hesitant in her expression and Davyss smiled reassuringly. She smiled weakly in return, perhaps with resignation, and allowed the women to take her into the manor. Davyss’ gaze linger
ed on the doorway even after she was gone, his mind fixated on the vision in blonde.
Hugh stood next to him, watching his brother as he stared at an empty doorway. “Davyss?” he nudged him. Receiving no response, he nudged him again. “Davyss?”
Davyss seemed to snap out of his trance, almost embarrassed, and began snapping orders. “Get the army quartered and secure the gate,” he barked. “I want my knights in the hall in an hour.”
Hugh began echoing his brother’s orders, repeating them to all who might not have heard rather than actually doing anything. He was an excellent fighter but he was under the impression that menial tasks were beneath him so he tended to give orders rather than take them. But that was normal and Davyss simply ignored his brother’s bossy manner; his own manner was rushed and brusque. He wanted to be done with the chores so he could return to the lovely young woman who had so recently been ushered into the keep.
He almost couldn’t think of anything else.
*
Inside the bulky keep of Wintercroft, Devereux was receiving the whirlwind tour. Lucy and Frances had whisked her into the very small foyer and up the massive stone stairs that were immediately to the right. They went up to the second floor and into a series of rooms that were linked; there were no hallways. One room opened up into another and into another, like a line of rooms. They were massive and fairly well appointed.
They passed through two enormous rooms and into a third, which was larger than the rest. There was an enormous bed in it, two massive wardrobes and a scattering of tables, chairs and other possessions. A colossal tapestry hung on the wall near two windows, partially rolled up; Devereux could see that when the tapestry was unrolled, it covered both windows.
The women paused when they reached the room. Devereux stood in the center of it, slightly awed by her surroundings, as Lucy and Frances bustled about with a couple of old servants. Devereux didn’t even know what they were doing; she was paying more attention to the room around her. The rooms on the second floor were surprisingly light and airy with scrubbed, wide-planked wooden floors and great stone walls. There were great pieces of furniture in the rooms, from giant wardrobes to luxurious and expensive tables, candlesticks, sideboards and chairs. The wealth of the de Winters was fully evident and on display in this place, as it was meant to be.
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1 Page 119