His voice was deep and silky, like sweet wine. Devereux felt an odd flush of heat at the sound of his delicious tone, momentarily speechless as he gazed upon her. She managed to shake her head, however, and the knight came to stand several feet away. Even when he gazed toward the altar and crossed himself reverently, she couldn’t take her eyes from him.
Davyss felt her stare, turning to look at her again. Christ, if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; even more beautiful at close range. She had long, straight blonde hair that was thick and silky, and eyes of the most amazing color. They were a shade of blue that was so pale that they were silver. Big and bottomless, he could see the fringe of soft lashes brush against her brow bone every time she blinked. And her face was sweet and round. He had witnessed the wedding ceremony from the shadows, stifling the roar of laughter as Hugh and Andrew had wrestled with her in an attempt to force her to kiss his sword.
But the more he watched, the more curious and strangely mesmerized he became with this woman who was now his wife. She was a hellion, a misfit, and he should have been disgusted with her behavior. But her spirit impressed him strangely, a woman who was not afraid to speak her mind or resist mentwice her petite size. And when he witnessed the confrontation between her and his mother, calculated though it had been for his benefit, it had oddly cemented the deal. For some reason, he was no longer reluctant. But she clearly still was.
When the lady had finally kissed the sword to seal the marriage, Davyss realized he could no longer stay away. In spite of his own reluctance, he realized he had to discover her for himself.
“My lady is… weary,” he cocked an eyebrow at her slovenly state. “May I assist?”
Devereux’s bright gray eyes regarded him. “Nay, my lord,” she turned away, her cheeks flushing and her confusion growing.
He continued to gaze at her, the marvelous blonde hair that cascaded from her head to her thighs. “Then why do you stand here if you are not praying?” he asked.
She shrugged weakly, refusing to look at him. “I was left here.”
“By whom?”
She didn’t reply. Davyss’ eyes roved her body with interest, noting that she was deliciously curvaceous. She was petite in height, clad in some sort of rough garment, a leather girdle binding her small waist and emphasizing her full breasts. She looked like an angel but dressed like a peasant. He found himself shaking his head with awe, hardly believing this woman was his wife. She was a most startling paradox.
“You did not answer me,” he said after a moment. “Who was foolish enough to leave you here alone?”
She sighed heavily. “Terrible men. Horrible men.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Why are they so terrible, other than the fact that they left you here alone?”
She turned to look at him, feeling that same odd heat she had experienced the very first time their eyes met. Even so, shefound she could not tell him the whole situation. It was too embarrassing.
“They will return for me, I am sure,” she said, avoiding his question. “They have probably gone to fetch my husband.”
“And who is your husband?”
She made a face and Davyss had to conceal a smile. She looked like a child forced to swallow foul-tasting medicine. “Sir Davyss de Winter.”
“Ah, yes,” he nodded in acknowledgement. “De Winter.”
Her expression darkened. “Then you know him?”
“A fair man.”
“A fiend!”
“Is that so?” he realized he was very close to breaking a smile. “Why would you say that? I hear he is a wise and powerful man. Handsome, too.”
Her eyes flashed. “This I would not know, my lord, for he does not even have the courage to face me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was only just married to him. But instead of showing me the respect of coming himself, do you know that he sent his sword in his place?”
It was at that moment that Davyss began to see that perhaps sendingLespadain his place had not been a wise decision. Whatever animosity the lady was feeling had been exacerbated by it. He began to regret his decision although, at the time, it had been the correct choice. Still, he could see she was very offended by it. For whatever reason, he felt the need to soothe her ruffled feathers.
“Would you sit, my lady?” he indicated one of two benches in the place. “I find I am exceedingly weary from my ride and wish to continue this conversation seated.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You look strong enough.”
He fought off a grin and went to take the bench himself, thinking that she would follow him. He was wrong in that she did not and he almost laughed; clearly, nothing about Lady Devereux was predictable.
“You must understand that to marry to your husband’s sword is a distinct honor,” he said quietly. “The sword of a knight defines who he is as both man and warrior. It is as much a part of him as his heart or his head. When you are presented with the sword, he is offering you his very soul. When he presented you with his sword in his stead, he was asking you to become part of his life and his being.”
