Devereux smiled sweetly at him, stroking a rough cheek. Davyss lowered his head and kissed her again, with extreme gentleness, as his hand resumed very carefully fondling her breast. As he moved to climb onto the bed next to her, there was a loud knock at the door.
Leaping to his feet, he adjusted his arousal as he made his way to the door and opened it. Several men were in the hall with Devereux’s trunks and he directed them to put them in the chamber across the hall. When they were done slamming the trunks to the floor and generally creating a ruckus, he returned to his chamber and once again shut the door. But the moment he turned to the bed, he stopped in his tracks.
Devereux was dead asleep, an arm over her forehead as she lay on her back and snored very, very softly. Davyss stood there a moment, hands on his hips, smiling as he gazed down at her. He was still having a difficult time believing the news. Six weeks ago, he thought his life had taken a turn for the worse. Never had he imagined that he would be seeing an entirely new, joyful side of life that was beyond his imagination.
He had never been the emotional type when it came to women. He’d spent the majority of his adult life with women throwing themselves at him, well-insulated against the female emotions. More than one woman had fallen in love with him and he hadn’t cared in the least, not even for the baron’s daughter who had borne him twins. Love was a fool’s emotion, or so he thought. He had never fallen in love with a woman, not once. But as he gazed down at his sleeping wife, he knew that particular fact was about to change.
It already had.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Tower of London
Henry the Third,King of England, was a fairly tall man with reddish-gold hair and a droopy eyelid. He wasn’t feeble by any means, having been a warrior most of his life, and even in his advancing years managed to be tough and agile. Devereux was quivering so badly when Davyss introduced her to the king that she nearly fell over when she curtsied. But she managed to hold her balance, holding it further when she was introduced to Prince Edward, the king’s eldest son and heir to the throne. Edward was tall and lanky, a big man with a crown of blonde hair and a big booming voice.
Although the pair was polite, it was clear that their attention was on Davyss. Edward joked with him like a brother and Henry seemed almost eager to communicate with him. Although Devereux knew that Davyss was the king’s champion and had known that from the onset of their association, it was still difficult to believe. Davyss handled them both with cool respect.
A few minutes into their introductions, it was obvious that Henry and Edward had more important things to speak to Davyss of, and without the company of his wife. But Edward’s wife, Eleanor of Castile, unexpectedly joined them, belaying the opportunity to speak to Davyss alone. Eleanor was a very pregnant woman who, by all accounts, had a reputation of being aloof and disinterested in her husband’s English subjects. Born in Spain, she was rather frail-looking with dark hair and pale skin. Married to Prince Edward, a tall, blonde and intimidatingman, they made an unusual looking pair. She chatted amiably and delayed the war conference even longer, but Edward didn’t seem to mind.
From the onset, Devereux could see that Edward was very affectionate towards his wife, which caused Devereux to see the man in a completely different light. She had come into the meeting at the dark and foreboding Tower of London thinking on her hatred for what she had once called the tyrannical king, but the politeness of Henry and the devotion of Edward had swiftly caused her to rethink her opinion. Perhaps she had been ignorant as Lady Katharine had once accused her of being; perhaps there was more to Henry, Edward and Davyss than blood-thirsty men. She was starting to see it.
Davyss eventually left his wife in the company of Eleanor and her ladies, all Spanish women with dark Spanish eyes. They spoke in a language that Devereux did not understand, eyeing her suspiciously. She kept hearing the wordsputa inglesabut had no idea what they meant. She suspected, from the way they were looking at her, that it could not be good.
They had moved into the small ladies’ solar on the fourth floor of the White Tower that was luxurious and pretty, but Devereux was uncomfortable with the women from the onset. They appeared haughty and arrogant, and made no attempt to speak with her in her own language. They whispered among themselves and pointed. Eleanor spent the first several minutes of their association being made comfortable by her snobbish women; she was a little woman with a very big belly and her discomfort was clear. But she eventually settled down, turning her dark-eyed, pale-faced attention to Devereux.
“Mi señora encantadora,” she smiled at Devereux. “Sir Davyss has been a friend of my husband for many years. We are pleased that he has finally married.”
Devereux smiled faintly. “Thank you,” she replied. “It seems to be an agreeable arrangement for us both.”
Eleanor lifted a dark eyebrow. “Is this true?” she asked. “I do not mean to make offense, but I did not think that Sir Davyss would find any marriage agreeable.”
Devereux’s smile faded. “Perhaps that was true before we were married,” she replied steadily. “But I assure you that his opinion has changed. I believe he is quite content.”
One of the princess’ women, hovering behind the princess, suddenly thrust herself forward and began jabbering at the princess in Spanish. It appeared to be an angry exchange until the princess harshly shushed the woman. When she refocused her attention on Devereux, it was almost apologetic.
“As I was saying,” she continued. “I did not know that Sir Davyss was the marriageable kind. I have known him for years and he seemed… well, most devoted to the knighthood.”
Devereux sensed cattiness in what the woman was saying and the manner in which she said it. She suspected she would eventually run up against this type of attitude regarding her husband but was surprised to find it coming from the princess. Her husband’s past was about to rear its ugly head; she could feel it. She struggled not to show any hostility or disrespect as she replied.
“You are putting it most kindly, my lady, but I know the truth of my husband just as you do,” she answered. “He has been completely honest with me so there is nothing regarding his past I do not know. But we do not speak of it; we only speak of our future together and of happy things. There is no use lingering on that which we cannot change.”
Eleanor nodded her head, appraising Devereux as if not quite sure she believed her. “You are quite pretty,” she said. “I am not surprised that Davyss selected you as his mate. He always preferred the prettiest girls.”
It was evident that the princess was going to push the subject of Davyss’ wandering eye and Devereux was feeling rather ill about the entire conversation. She didn’t want to delve into an undoubtedly uncomfortable topic so she attempted to shift the focus.
“I have not yet heard of a man who prefers ugly ones,” she said lightly, changing the course of the conversation. “I understand you are from Castile, my lady. Is your home so different from England? I would be interested to know.”
Eleanor’s women were jabbering again and the princess flicked a wrist at them to shut them up. “There are many mountains where I come from,” she replied politely. “But we were speaking of your husband. I understand that his brother likes to chase women as well; the de Winters are well-known for their conquests. Do you suppose Sir Hugh will settle down someday also?”
Devereux was struggling to maintain her polite attitude but it was slipping drastically. She finally gave up because it was apparent that the princess wished to speak of nothing more than Davyss’s shortcomings. Devereux couldn’t figure out if she was trying to extract an emotional response from her or simply garner more information for the rumor mill.
“My lady, if there is something more you wish to say about my husband, I would appreciate it if you would come forth with it rather than ply me with innuendoes and impolite remarks,” her attitude grew clipped. “I grow weary discussing my husband’s past behavior. If you cannot converse on a more suitable subject, then perhaps we should not converse at all.”
Eleanor’s dark eyes cooled as her women exploded in nervous and outraged chatter. The artificial civility that had existed at the beginning of the exchange was gone completely. Eleanor sat up on her couch as much as her swollen body would allow.
“Do you believe me impolite?” she asked, outrage evident in her voice. “You foolish girl; do you truly believe that in marrying Davyss de Winter, the man will suddenly cut loose his wandering eye and devote all of his time and attention to you?”
Devereux didn’t back down. “I do, to both questions.”
