Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume 1

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Katharine reassured her son that there would be more children someday. Davyss didn’t care about any more children at the moment; he simply wanted a happy, healthy wife again. Even with all of the turmoil going on with de Montfort, it was all he could think about.

  Therefore, the addition of the little dog didn’t distress him as much as he pretended it did. When he bent over to kiss his wife in greeting, the puppy rolled over, struggled to his feet, and barked. Devereux laughed as Davyss scowled.

  “You foolish little mutt,” he scolded. “You shall not chase me from my own wife.”

  The dog growled and wriggled its tail, finally taking the hem of his wife’s gown and chewing enthusiastically on it. Devereux continued to laugh as Davyss just shook his head at the puppy’s antics. He went back to the chamber door and called to the servants for hot water.

  “Did you have a pleasant day, sweetheart?” Devereux asked as she turned back to her sewing.

  He thought on the irony of that question, knowing she had no idea the depth that the answer would contain. So he kept it simple.

  “It was busy,” he removed the last of his armor and went to work on the damp linen tunic underneath. “What did you do today?”

  She sighed faintly, looking up from her needlework to the western sky with his myriad of colors. “I helped Frances pack,” she said. “She is going to be with Nik, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Lollardly sent word that he will be arriving on the morrow to take her to Sussex.”

  Davyss nodded faintly; he knew that. He had been the one to receive the missive, in fact, that Nik was still alive at Lewes Castle. Frances, usually so dour and humorless, had wept profusely at the news of her husband’s injury and was eager to be with him. Davyss missed Nik’s presence a great deal in these times of trial and tried not to be selfish about it. He was just glad the man had apparently pulled through.

  “Is that all you did today, then?”

  She half-shrugged, half-nodded. “Aye,” she replied, reaching out to pet the puppy. “Louie and I have been very companionable loafing about.”

  He pulled off the damp tunic, hearing the servants in the small servant’s alcove between the rooms as they began to fill a big copper tub with steaming water.

  “I have heard something that I think might interest you,” he said casually, unlacing the top of his breeches. “Perhaps you will not want to loaf around when you hear it.”

  She didn’t seem particularly curious. “What is it?”

  “Well,” he sat on the bed and began to remove his heavy boots. “With all of the nobility in town, someone brought up the bright idea to have a tournament celebrating de Montfort’s victory. Everyone seemed to think it was a brilliant idea.”

  “Why would that interest me?”

  “Because I have been goaded into competing.”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. “What?” she looked horrified. “You… you are going to compete in a tournament?”

  He looked at her, amused. “And why not? I am the reigning grand champion at the tournaments in Greenwich, Oxford, Banbury, Thetford and Northampton. I am fairly good at it.”

  She just stared at him a moment before turning back to her sewing. “Of course you are, sweetheart,” she murmured softly.

  He was about to remove his breeches but stopped when he heard her tone. He went over to her, bare feet against the wooden floor.

  “What is wrong?” he asked quietly.

  She shook her head even though she wouldn’t look up at him. “Nothing,” she insisted weakly. “I… I am simply hungry. It should be time for sup soon. Aren’t you hungry?”

  He lifted an eyebrow; he didn’t believe her for a moment. He gently shoved her over on the lounge, sitting down beside her and taking her into his powerful arms. Devereux surrendered to his warmth and power, collapsing against him and burying her face in his sweaty, musky chest. It was like heaven.

  “Do you not like tournaments?” he asked softly, giving her a squeeze. “They are very exciting and great sport, I might add.”

  She shifted so the left side of her head was against his chest. She could hear his heart beating strong and steady.

  “Nay,” she whispered. “I do not like them.”

  “Why not?”

  She sighed faintly, thinking. “I saw you compete in a tournament three years ago in Acle,” she said softly. “Do you recall that tournament?”

  He grunted. “Of course. I won the joust.”

  “I know,” her voice was faint. “It was the first time I ever saw you, though I cannot recall paying terribly close attention. It was my first tournament and my father insisted I attend, so the entire spectacle was rather overwhelming. I do believe my father wanted me to attend because he wanted to attract a husband for me. This was before your mother approached him with a contract. Three years ago, I was still very much an unattached maiden.”

  He grinned, hugging her tightly. “Thank God that no one approached your father before my mother could get to him,” he kissed the top of her head. “I am surprised that I did not notice you. Usually, I….”

  He suddenly stopped before he could get himself into trouble. Devereux grinned, lifting her head from his chest to look him in the eye.

  “You usually… what?” she pressed.

  He shook his head and tried to get up, but she sat on him and pushed him down. “Let me see if I can finish your statement,” she teased. “Usually you spied all of the beautiful women within the first hour of your arrival and picked off your conquests one by one, as a good hunter would, until none were left standing in the end. Am I right?”

  He started to laugh, only he didn’t want her to see that he was laughing so he covered his face with his hands and tried to turn away from her. Devereux responded by digging her fingers into his gut, tickling him mercilessly, which prompted him to shoot off the lounge and nearly dump her on her arse. She laughed uproariously as he steadied her by stilling the tickling fingers. They laughed at each other as she tried to tickle him again, but he threw her into a big bear hug and ended her onslaught.

  His mouth was by her ear, hot and breathless. “I told you never to do that again.”

  She was giggling, not trying too hard to squirm away from him. “I told you I would only do it in times of great need. This was one of those times.”

  He growled, nibbling on her tender neck until she squealed and begged for mercy. Still grinning, he swung her up into his arms and carried her into the small bathing room adjoining the chamber.

  It was steamy and moist in the small room because of the bath. Davyss set Devereux to her feet and removed his breeches, plunging into the tub and causing water to slosh over the sides. Devereux turned to the small table where the bathing implements were contained; she picked up a lumpy white bar of soap that smelled of pine, a bristly brush, and began to lather it up.

  “Continue your story,” he told her as he splashed water all over his head and neck. “You were telling me about the tournament in Acle.”

  She came to him with the soapy brush and began to lather his hair. He sputtered water from his lips, closing his eyes as she began to scrub.

  “I remember seeing several knights injured,” she said, thinking back to that day and the distaste it had provoked. “One man who was competing in the joust was knocked from his horse with such force that he broke his arm. I remember seeing the bone stick out.”

  Davyss grunted. “Such are the hazards of the sport. It is not for the faint of heart.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at him in disgust as she moved to soap his face and neck. “In the final matches of the tournament, I seem to recall that one knight was speared through the face with a broken lance,” she shuddered as she remembered the horror from that moment. “I heard later that he had died. It was so…needless, so wasteful.”

  She rinsed the soap from his head and Davyss rubbed at his eyes to clear them of water. The hazel orbs opened, remembering the day she spok
e of.

  “His name was John Swantey,” he murmured. “He served the Earl of Warwick.”

  “You knew him?”

  Davyss nodded faintly. “It was my lance that speared him.”

  She paused in her scrubbing, a look of pain crossing her features. “Oh, Davyss,” she breathed. “I am sorry. I did not mean to condemn or criticize. ’Tis simply that it was a death that did not have to occur. I realize that men like to compete and although I do not contest their need for competition, I cannot tell you how devastated I would be if something were to happen to you like it happened to John Swantey. It would absolutely destroy me.”

  He found a soapy hand and kissed it. “I understand your concern,” he told her. “I will not compete if it will upset you.”

  For the second time, she paused in her scrubbing. She moved around to the front of the tub to look him in the eye, her gray orbs wide with surprise.

  “I would never ask that of you,” she said sincerely. “I will never ask you to be less than what you are, Davyss.”

  A warm smile creased his lips. “You are not,” he assured her. “I have achieved my share of glory. It is not as if I need another tournament to prove my worth. My worth is well known.”

  She returned his smile, kneeling by the tub and getting her yellow surcoat wet from the water on the floor. “You are worth everything to me,” she whispered. “But… but I think perhaps that you should compete. With everything that has happened over the past few weeks, perhaps it is important for you to.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Why would you say that?”

  She shrugged, averting her gaze and beginning to scrub his chest. “Because you said that you had ruined your reputation when you swore allegiance to de Montfort. Perhaps you need to regain some of that honor in the eyes of your peers and perhaps this is a way to do that.” She suddenly shook her head. “Forgive me; I do not know what I am saying. I do not mean to tell you how to conduct your business.”

  He gently pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look up at him. The hazel eyes were intense. “Your wisdom is astounding,” he declared. “You do indeed understand my business well.”

  She sighed. “If I had my choice, I still would not want you to compete,” she said. “But I understand if you must.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her, a sweet gesture quickly turning in to something hot and lusty. Whatever attraction flowed between them was quickly sparked and his mouth began doing wicked things to her neck, collarbone, and ears. Wet hands found her breasts through her yellow surcoat but just as quickly as he fondled her, he abruptly stopped.

  “I am sorry,” he straightened her bodice. “I know we cannot… well, that I cannot touch you for a few more weeks but I must say that it will be the most torturous wait of my life. I want you so badly that I can taste it.”

  She touched his cheek, thinking of the child so recently lost and of Kerby’s instructions that she be given several weeks to heal before they resumed intimate relations. In truth, she wanted him to touch her more strongly than she could explain. Perhaps it was the need to feel his love for her after such a devastating loss, reassuring her that she was still wanted and needed. As she pondered her thoughts, tears filled her eyes.

  “I do not care what he says,” she wrapped her arms around his damp neck. “I need to feel you, husband. I need to….”

  She trailed off and lowered her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. Davyss put his big hands on her face, forcing her to look at him.

  “What is wrong, sweetling?” he whispered, kissing her cheeks. “Why do you weep?”

  She burst into soft sobs. “I do not know,” she wept. “All I know is that I feel… I feel rather useless as your wife. My only purpose in this marriage is to bear children and….”

  He’d heard enough. Abruptly standing from the tub, he swept her into his arms as water sloshed out all over the place. He carried her back into the bedchamber, holding her tightly as she wept against his neck. Wet and all, he lay down on the bed with her, holding her against him as tightly and as closely as she could go. His heart was breaking into a million little pieces as he listened to her tears.

  “Devereux,” he whispered against her hair. “I have told you before that I do not need for you to bear me a child in order for me to love you. Do you believe that?”

  She nodded, her weeping deep and sorrowful. “But that is not fair to you. You must have an heir, Davyss. If I am unable to provide that, I am worthless to you.”

  He gave her a squeeze. “Do not say that,” he rumbled. “I do not ever want to hear you say that again. You are my shining star, the heart that beats within me. Without you, I am nothing. If I must choose between children or you, I would choose you every time. Your ability to bear children has nothing to do with my feelings.”

  She lifted her head to look at him, her gray eyes watery and red. But the sobbing had eased. “But you need a son. Davyss, it simply isn’t fair to you.”

  He smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. “’Tis not as if we know for certain that you cannot bear children,” he said. “There still may be sons in the future. Remember that my mother lost several children before I was born. There is still every chance in the world that we will end up with twelve children, all female, and all driving me to the brink of madness.”

  She returned his smile, realizing how fortunate she was to have married such a gracious and compassionate man. The day she met him, she would have never believed he was capable of such depth. In one of her darkest hours, he was a beacon of comfort and hope. She put her small hands on his face, stroking his cheeks tenderly.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, kissing him sweetly. “For everything you have done for me, I thank you. And I love you very much.”

  His smiled broadened as he dipped low, kissing her passionately. Devereux didn’t care that the physic told her she needed to wait a few weeks before having relations with her husband; she threw herself on the man, taking the offensive and returning his kisses lustily. She began to pull off the wet surcoat, not letting him speak when he tried to voice his opposition. Soon enough, the surcoat and shift were off, her naked body against his, and Davyss knew that he was lost.

  Still attached to his mouth, Devereux parted her legs and pulled him down into intimate places. Davyss, having been seriously aroused since the bathtub, buried himself deep inside his wife, trying not to be rough with her but unable to rein his passion. Devereux threw her arms around his neck and held him fast against her, moving with him as he thrust into her, climaxing twice before he spilled his seed deep. As he grunted in the throes of release, she whispered hotly in his ear.

  “Give me all of it,” she hissed. “Give me your son, sweetheart. I can feel your seed even now seeking root. I feel it hot and deep within me.”

  Her words sent his heart to racing, eroticism as he had never experienced it. His mouth fused to hers, kissing her so ferociously that he drove her teeth into her soft gum, drawing blood. He lapped at the blood, his body buried in hers, feeling himself growing hard again in little time. Something about the woman drove him out of his mind with lust and he began to thrust into her again, releasing himself a second time as she begged for his seed in his ear.

  Their passion, their lust and love for each other, went well on into the night.

  *

  Hugh, Andrew, Edmund and Philip were in Davyss’s solar when the man finally arrived just before midnight. He looked exhausted but elated, an odd combination. He grinned sheepishly at his men as he went to a sideboard that held a pitcher of wine and several fine cups. He poured himself a measure of wine, drinking deeply as he approached the map table.

  “Well?” Hugh asked, peering closely at his brother. “Where have you been? Or dare I ask?”

  Davyss cleared his throat softly, glancing at Andrew as he did so. “I have been with my wife,” he focused on the map table. “I apologize on keeping you waiting.”

  Andrew snorted and slapped him on the shoul
der while Edmund looked rather lost. He was still very young, his focus on the knighthood at the moment and not women, so he was fairly oblivious to the innuendos. Hugh studied his brother’s expression, his body language.

  “I thought you were supposed to leave her alone,” he muttered.

  Davyss’ hazel eyes flicked to him. “I will never leave her alone.”

  Hugh just shook his head, focusing on the map before them. He thought it might be best to change the subject since they still could not agree on Devereux, in any fashion. It was best not to discuss her.

  “Most of the country’s barons are in London right now,” he pointed out. “Simon has received favorable responses to his summons for elected officials from each berg.”

  “But the barons are threatened by this,” Philip pointed out. “It seems that they were well on board with de Montfort and his ideology until they realized that, by summoning elected officials from their own people, they would be limiting their power.”

  Davyss nodded, bracing his enormous arms on the table and leaning on them. He stared at the map; it was of the entire country, pockmarked from years of use. It had once belonged to his father. As he stared, he let out a heavy sigh.

  “They have made their bed and now they must lie in it,” he muttered. “But I intend to change that.”

  The men around the table looked at him. “How?” Philip asked.

  Davyss stared at the map a moment longer before turning away. “I know the majority of you did not agree with my allegiance to Simon but, out of respect for me, you followed,” he looked at the men around the table, his friends. “I would have you know that my loyalty to Henry has not ended. Although I have sworn to Simon, the purpose was two-fold.”

  “What purpose?” Philip was still confused.

  Davyss began to pace the floor thoughtfully. “As a captive sworn to Henry, I would be powerless,” he lowered his voice. “My knights would be imprisoned, my family’s lands possibly confiscated, my wife taken. This I could not allow. But as a free man sworn to de Montfort, I can accomplish much more for Henry’s cause.”