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 hiswife, 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 wasdark at this hour, two fat tapers the only light in the dark and shadowed vestibule. The 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.
