Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Hugh looked like a child who was about to face his greatest fear. “Please, Mother,” he begged.

  She wouldn’t look at him. “Go to your chamber. Bolt the door and stay there. Do not leave until I call for you.”

  Hugh was torn between extreme fear of his brother and his mother’s threat of disownment. He couldn’t actually believe his mother would allow Davyss to kill him, so perhaps the best place for him to be was indeed here under his mother’s protection. She was the only person alive who could talk Davyss out of killing him.

  When Hugh fled her solar, Lady Katharine sat for quite some time, pondering the situation. She wasn’t sure she could dissuade Davyss from killing his brother if, in fact, Lady Devereux was dead. She knew that the relationship between the brothers would never be the same from this point forward and rather than see her youngest murdered by his own brother, she began to suspect there was only one answer. She had to keep Hugh alive yet unreachable by Davyss. Perhaps Hugh had been right; he needed safe passage to save his life. As a mother, her loyalty was to both her children. She must keep Hugh alive. And then she must see Davyss.

  Hugh went north within the hour, heading to the bosom of an old family friend.

  *

  “You will not kill him.”

  Davyss stood with his hands on his hips, gazing down at his wife with great displeasure. Lucy and Frances were tending her as she lay in their great bed after having taken a nasty fall down a flight of stairs which, Davyss learned, was Hugh’s doing. To say he was furious was not strong enough. The only thing keeping him from raging out of control was the anxious expression on his wife’s face. That alone was keeping him from ripping Wintercroft apart.

  “You will not tell me how to handle my brother,” he told her sternly. “He did this to you.”

  Devereux was actually quite well after having fallen down a flight of stone steps. Fortunately, she hadn’t broken any bones although the spill had knocked her unconscious for a short time. She had a bruised cheek, a lump on her forehead, and was generally battered, but she was alive and well for all intent and purposes. And she was having a horrendous time keeping Davyss calm; she could see the rage in his eyes.

  “As I told you,” she said patiently while Lucy held a cold compress over the lump on her forehead. “Since you would not speak with your brother, I felt strongly that I must speak with him in your place. Your argument was about me, was it not?”

  The anger in his eyes flickered. “That is not your business.”

  “It is if the quarrel was about me. Be truthful and tell me.”

  He pursed his lips angrily. “Do not lecture me on being truthful. You would not even tell me what you were doing in the Tower. I heard it from a servant who happened to hear you and Hugh arguing.”

  “If you did as I asked and resolved your quarrel before you retired, then I would not have felt the need to speak with him.”

  He just rolled his eyes and huffed, posturing angrily, but he did not retort. Truth was, he had never felt more fear in his life as he had when Andrew had brought his wife’s unconscious body back into their bedchamber. He had been sound asleep, both ashamed that he hadn’t known she was missing from his bed and gravely concerned that she was injured.

  When Devereux had regained consciousness, she wouldn’t tell him what had happened but Andrew had pressed a couple of male servants in the Tower who had told him what they had heard and seen; Sir Hugh and Lady de Winter arguing, Lady de Winter’s fall and Hugh fleeing in the dead of night. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.

  “You will not blame me for your actions,” he said, more quietly. “No one forced you to go to the Tower. It was your choice.”

  Devereux thought on that a moment. “Aye, it was,” she winced as Lucy pressed too hard on the compress. “But I had to try and calm the situation between you and Hugh.”

  Davyss didn’t say anything; he just stood there, watching the women fuss over his wife, his initial anger and terror fading into something odd and mixed. He was so angry with Hugh that he couldn’t think straight; all he wanted to do was murder the man. But the stronger emotion was worry for his wife and respect for what she had tried to accomplish.

  She was a peacemaker, a peace lover, and he knew that. He, on the other hand, was not. War was his vocation, his life, his behavior. This woman was so intriguing and honest on so many levels that he found it difficult to fathom. His mind didn’t work the way hers did. The fact that she would try and help him by solving his problem with his brother went beyond comprehension. Did she truly think enough of him, after everything he’d put her through, to do that?

  “I appreciate that,” he said, his manner softening somewhat. “But I will ask you a question and I want you to be perfectly truthful. Will you do this?”

  She hesitated slightly. “Aye.”

  “Did he strike you?”

  She sighed faintly and lowered her gaze. “Aye.”

  “The bruise on your face?”

  “Aye.”

  Davyss turned on his heel and began to walk from the room. Devereux, realizing that he was more than likely going after his brother, leapt off the bed as much as her aching body would allow. Lucy and Frances tried to grab her but she was swift, racing after her husband. She grabbed him before he could leave the chamber.

  “Wait,” she dug her heels in and he came to a halt. “Where are you going?”

  He almost told her that it was none of her business again but knew better. He was a fast learner. If she thought it was her business, then nothing he could say would deter her. He was quickly coming to learn that she was as stubborn as he was.

  “I am going to find my brother,” he told her.

  She shook her head and pulled hard, trying to pull him back into the room. “Nay, Davyss,” she said quietly, firmly. “Come back to bed. It is still a few hours until morning and I am exhausted. Please come and sleep.”

  He patted her hand, trying to be calm with her through all of the rage he was feeling. “You return to bed and sleep. I am going to find Hugh.”

  “I cannot sleep if you leave.”

  He sighed heavily, glancing at Lucy and Frances, standing a few feet away with fear and anxiety in their expressions. He looked at Andrew, Edmund and Philip, standing in the chamber door, waiting for orders. Nik was already in the stables having the chargers saddled. Then he returned his focus on Devereux, holding his arm and gazing up at him with those bottomless gray eyes. It occurred to him that the lure of staying with his wife was stronger than his sense of vengeance at the moment. As he gazed into her lovely face, his sense of thanks that she was well overwhelmed his anger at Hugh.

  So he nodded, weakly, and Devereux pulled him back to the bed. Lucy and Frances scampered from the chamber, taking the cluster of knights with them, as Devereux threw back the coverlet on the bed and climbed in, still holding on to Davyss. He sat on the bed, pulling his boots off with some weariness, before allowing her to pull him back down on the mattress. She pulled the coverlet over him, tucking him in as one would a child, before snuffing out the taper and lying down beside him.

  They were lying side by side like two nuns, with the coverlet pulled up properly around their necks. Davyss lay next to his wife, looking over at her and struggling not to grin. She looked uncomfortable lying next to him as if unsure what more she was supposed to do.

  With a smirk, he rolled onto his side and captured her in his enormous arms. She yelped as he jostled her, unused to being held tightly against a man. She was still coming to know that part of marriage. But she knew one thing for certain; she would grow to like it. He was warm and wonderful, comfort and security such as she had never known. He was the Davyss she had tried so hard to resist. Now she almost couldn’t remember why. She was asleep before she knew it.

  He was gone when she awoke in the morning.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The church was dark at this hour, two fat tapers the only light in the dark and shadowed vestibule. T
he place was cavernous and haunted, smelling of incense, as Davyss slipped from the side entrance and into the shadows of the Temple church. The stone walls were cold, the floor dusty, and he moved through the musty darkness like a wraith. His senses were highly attuned as he wedged himself into an alcove that held a large stone receptacle of holy water. He was well out of sight and blending with his dark surroundings. He simply stood there, still as the stone surrounding him, and waited.

  It wasn’t long before he noticed movement on the opposite end of the sanctuary. It was a cloaked figure in the darkness near the altar; he could see the folds of the material when the figure moved slightly. They rippled in the weak light, like the ripples of a pond. Davyss made his way, in perfect stealth, in the direction of the movement. In the darkness, he came up behind the figure and put a dagger at its throat.

  “Any sounds from your lips and you shall die,” he hissed quickly. “State your purpose.”

  The figure grunted. “Si j’étais un plus jeune homme j’arracherais vos bras et vous bats à la mort avec eux.”

  Davyss dropped the dagger. “Even when you were a younger man, you could not rip my arms off,” he snorted softly. “I think you tried, once.”

  The cloaked figure turned to Davyss in the darkness. He did not remove his hood but exposed his face; the strong, weathered features of Simon de Montfort gazed steadily at his godson.

  “I did try,” he insisted. “But your mother stopped me. She threatened to beat me to death and she frightened me.”

  “She is a frightening woman.”

  “Still?”

  “Good God, must you really ask that?”

  Simon’s hazel eyes glittered. “I do not,” he murmured, drinking in his fill of the man he loved like a son. His humor faded. “’Tis good to see you again. I have missed you.”

  Davyss was in business-mode; he didn’t like these clandestine meetings but he did not want to appear rude. All politics aside, Simon was the only link he had to his long-dead and adored father. He had a soft spot for him, which explained why he was willing to risk his life to meet secretly with him. But their time was extremely limited and he hastened to conduct their business before they were discovered. He reached out and put his hand on the old man’s arm, squeezing it.

  “What’s this about, Uncle Simon?” he whispered. “Why did you need to see me?”

  Simon latched on to his hand and held it tightly. “Because I am a weary old man. I need you, Davyss.”

  Davyss could see the old argument rearing its ugly head. He wasn’t surprised that it was immediate. His expression turned stiff.

  “Is that why you sent for me?” he growled. “We have been through this too many times to count. I cannot help you.”

  “But you must. It is crucial.” When Simon saw that he was making no headway, he grabbed Davyss by the arm with his old, strong fingers. “Davyss, listen to me. I do not want to see your death, boy. I could not bear it. You have brought three hundred men with you to London and another two thousand wait for you near the Tower. Can you not sense what is happening, lad?”

  Davyss’ hazel eyes took on an odd flicker. “Of course I know what is happening. I know everything.”

  Simon sighed sharply, hanging his head a moment and struggling to explain what he must in another way so that Davyss would understand the importance. His head came up and his dark eyes focused on his godson once more.

  “Davyss,” his grip on the man lessened. “We are amassing. Your beloved Henry is refusing to honor the terms he agreed to six years ago at Oxford and….”

  Davyss pulled away from him. “I am a soldier, not a politician. I do not dictate the king’s decisions nor do I care. I simply serve him, Simon. You know this.”

  “He is bringing about another war.”

  “Then I shall fight it.”

  “And you shall die,” Simon grabbed his arm again and held fast even as Davyss tried to move away. “Listen to me, lad; there are many barons angered by the king’s refusal to honor the terms that he signed at Oxford and they are ready to do something about it. We have given the man six years, Davyss; six years to come to his senses and honor his word. But he has not. Do you not understand? An explosion such as you have never dreamed is coming and I do not want you to be a casualty of it.”

  Davyss stopped yanking and stared at the old man. “Listen to me and listen well,” he rumbled. “I serve the king. I am his sword. If Henry goes into battle, then I lead the charge. I will not join you, Uncle Simon. I do not know how much plainer I can be.”

  Simon remained calm, his wise old eyes regarding the man. His grip moved from the man’s arm to his hand, and he held it tightly.

  “You are like a son to me,” he murmured. “Your father gave you over to me at birth to guide and to bless. I have done so, have I not?”

  Davyss nodded slowly, fighting off old and tender memories. “Aye.”

  “I love you as my own.”

  “I know.”

  “I would risk my life for you.”

  Davyss just stared at him, struggling to fight off the increasing emotion. “And I, you, under normal circumstances. But do not ask me to betray my king. I cannot and I will not. I would be a man without honor if I did.”

  Simon hung his head. It seemed as if he wanted to say something more, something crucial. He was struggling. Davyss didn’t understand why until the old man opened his mouth again.

  “Hugh has joined me,” he whispered. “Your mother sent word a short time ago. Hugh is now with me. You have lost his sword.”

  That revelation received a reaction; Davyss’ eyes bulged and he yanked his hand away from Simon.

  “You lie,” he hissed. “Hugh would never….”

  He abruptly came to a halt, unable to finish his sentence. All of the trouble with Devereux and Hugh came crashing down on him and suddenly, he felt extremely ill. The room swayed. He put out a massive arm, bracing himself against the stone wall. Simon could see the weakness and, like a good warrior, swooped in for the kill.

  “I was told that Hugh murdered your wife,” he whispered urgently. “Your mother sent him to me for protection. Davyss, whatever has transpired between you and Hugh, a woman is no reason to hate or disown your brother.”

  Davyss reached out and grabbed Simon by the neck; Simon was a big man but not as strong nor as big as Davyss. Simon could see, in that instant, that there was much more to this than the missive Lady Katharine had sent him. Simply by his expression, Davyss was as passionate as he had ever seen him.

  “Shut your mouth,” Davyss snarled. “You know not of what you speak.”

  “He is your brother, Davyss.”

  “And she is my wife,” Davyss let go of Simon’s neck, roughly, his hazel eyes flashing. “In spite of what Hugh tried to do, she is not dead. She is alive and well. But Hugh will suffer my wrath and all of the protection in the world will not prevent that. If you protect Hugh from me, then you are against me. If you are against me, then we have nothing more to discuss.”

  Simon’s eyes took on a pained look. “I will never be against you, lad. Neither is Hugh.”

  “My entire family has apparently turned against me.”

  “But what of this wife? Is she so valuable to you that you would put her above your brother?”

  It was a difficult question to answer, considering Davyss had been wrestling with that very dilemma for a few days. “That is not your business,” he snapped. It was the best answer he could come up with.

  But Simon was beginning to see why Davyss and Hugh were divided and it wasn’t simply a matter of honor. There was more to it from the look on Davyss’ face.

  “Nay, Davyss,” he said patiently, as if trying to explain things to him. “A woman must not come between you and your brother.”

  Davyss was feeling ill; he simply waved a hand at the man as if to stop all further words and turned to leave. Simon followed.

  “Please,” the old man begged softly. “Will you at least not consider my wor
ds? We need you, lad. I need you.”

  Davyss was feeling fury along with his disorientation. Simon had him on the run and he didn’t like it. He suddenly whirled on Simon and the old man almost plowed into him.

  “If my mother is involved in this, then she has betrayed me as well,” he hissed. “She would send Hugh to you to keep him from my punishment and you would use him to try and convince me to join you. Understand this, Simon; I am a man of honor. I will not break my oath to the king nor walk away from a post I have worked so hard to achieve. Hugh is jealous of my wife and tried to kill her; he must and will face my punishment no matter if God himself hides him. I will find him. And I will not join you and your rebellious barons because the true king sits upon the throne of England and it is he whom I serve. All of the men in my arsenal could join you and still, I would serve Henry. I must. It is a matter of personal honor.”

  Simon understood a great deal in that passionate statement. He almost mentioned the fact but he kept his mouth shut; he would not display his thoughts nor his intentions, as Davyss was a smart man and would pick up on it immediately. So he kept silent, watching Davyss as the man blew out of the church like an angry black wind. And that was the end of it.

  When Simon returned to his quarters, he sent a missive to Lady Katharine immediately.

  Who is Davyss’ wife and where may I find her? It may be necessary….

  *

  Devereux had awoken with the worst belly ache she could imagine. Moving around only seemed to make her more nauseous, but it was her first full day in her new home and she did not want to spend it lying in bed, so she forced herself to rise. Lucy and Frances were waiting like impatient children for her to awaken and when she did, they immediately set about preparing her morning toilette. Devereux felt awful but she allowed them the pleasure. They seemed so eager about it.

  So she sat in the bathing room while they fussed over her. Lucy rubbed oil on her skin while Frances brushed her hair. As the women worked, Devereux sat in a fog, her mind on Davyss and the fact that he had more than likely gone to do his brother great bodily harm. The thought made her feel even worse. With her aching head and rolling stomach, she very much wanted to return to bed. Half-way through her toilette, she could no longer stand it.