Eleanor’s eyebrows flew up in disbelief. “Is this so?”
“It is,” she said flatly. “And if you cannot converse about something other than my husband’s past, then I will assume you have nothing more intelligent to discuss and bid you a good day.”
She rose to her feet as Eleanor’s women began to scream at her. Spanish insults were flying fast and furious. Devereux went into full defensive mode and jabbed a finger at the pack of snarling women.
“And all of you; shut your mouths,” she roared. “You have been rude and imperious from the start and if this is an example of Spanish hospitality, then I want nothing more to do with that barbaric country or with you.”
The collection of women was momentarily taken aback, but only briefly. One of them rushed at Devereux with an open hand but Devereux beat her to the punch, literally, and slapped the woman so hard that she toppled over. More women rushed at her and Devereux began swinging at them, knocking off jeweled hair pieces and shoving others back by the face. Spanish bums ended up on the floor as Devereux launched a full offensive, ripping out hair and scratching faces. She was absolutely furious. In the middle of chaos, the princess began screaming and the doors to the solar flew open.
Knights and soldiers rushed in, putting themselves in the very precarious position of separating the women. Someone grabbed Devereux by the arms and she shrieked, preparing to fight back when she saw that it was her husband. Davyss had his big arm around her, pulling her from the room.
In the corridor a safe distance away from the princess’ room, Davyss faced his snarling wife. His hands cupped her cheeks as he visually inspected her.
“Sweetling,” he sounded frightened. “Are you well? What happened?”
Devereux was still furious. Her fists were clenched and her lovely mouth was in a flat, tight line, but she was without a scratch in spite of the screaming and slapping that had been going on.
“All she wanted to talk about was your… your womanizing,” she told him angrily. “I tried to change the subject but she would not speak on anything else. And her women were rude and horrible; they kept calling meputa inglesa. I do not know what that means, but I am sure it was not a compliment. When one of them tried to strike me, I struck her first.”
Davyss’s fright cooled instantly as he realized what had happened. He stared at Devereux for a long moment, his expression morphing into something deep and regretful. He could still hear the angry Spanish voices in the chamber and the princess’ high-pitched pleas over the commotion. He sighed heavily and hung his head a moment.
“I am sorry,” he murmured, lifting his face to her. “I should have… I did not think she would be so tactless.”
Devereux was calming, but not much. She pulled away from Davyss, throwing the dark hair still clutched in her hand onto the floor. He stared at the tangled bundle of long, dark hair as she faced off against him.
“What doesputa inglesamean?” she demanded.
He looked at her, his hazel eyes soft with remorse. “You must understand that they are jealous,” he whispered sincerely. “You are by far the most beautiful woman in England, something that has not escaped their notice. You have what they want and being petty, jealous women, they are going to punish you for it.”
“You did not answer my question.”
He gazed at her, not wanting to answer. But he found that he could not lie to her. “It means ‘English whore’.”
Devereux met his gaze, not surprised by his explanation. But she was still stung by it. The fight and anger drained out of her, replaced by a deep and genuine hurt.
“Did you bed any of those women in there?” she threw a hand in the direction of the now-calming chamber. “Is that why they were so hostile towards me?”
Davyss felt trapped and sick. But if this marriage had any hope of surviving, he could not lie to her. Although he had hoped their conversations over the past few days would have put this subject to rest, or at the very least prepared her for what she might face, he suspected that would not be the case. He could possibly be facing many more of these shameful moments with her and he knew there was nothing more he could do than face them head on. He wanted to be truthful with her and he wanted her to forgive him. He very much wanted to be the virtuous husband that she deserved.
After a moment, he nodded faintly to her question.
“Aye,” he whispered. “That is very possible.”
She stared at him and he could see the disappointment on her face. She didn’t say anything for quite some time and when she did, her voice was tight with emotion.
“I will accept that,” she whispered. “You have explained your behavior in the past and I will not comment on it further. There is no reason to. But I will ask you this; when you bedded these women, these low-life trollops whose legs were probably open for every man at court, did you touch them as sweetly and tenderly as you touch me? When you make love to me, is it just as meaningless?”
She suddenly broke down, tears spilling from her eyes and streaming down her cheeks. Davyss watched her, his heart justabout breaking. He reached out to embrace her but knew it would probably not be well met. So he clenched and unclenched his gigantic hands, opening his mouth to reply when Eleanor suddenly spilled out of her bower. The princess spied Davyss and Devereux, several feet away.
“¡Usted!”she pointed an imperious finger at Devereux.“¡Dejará mi vista y nunca regreso!”
Davyss put himself between Eleanor and Devereux, his expression like stone. “Your women attacked her first, my lady,” he said calmly. “She has done nothing wrong.”
Eleanor was furious. She glared at Davyss, marching upon him and slapping him hard across the face. Although Davyss didn’t react, Devereux heard the slap and, without thinking who she was about to attack, charged towards the pregnant princess with her claws bared. The princess shrieked when she saw her, recoiling as Davyss grabbed his wife and forcibly turned her around. Without another word, Davyss took Devereux from the battle zone.
It was cool in the late afternoon as they entered the massive bailey of the Tower of London. Davyss had his wife in a firm grip, leading her toward the stables where the carriage and charger await. When they were half-way across the dusty, rocky yard, she abruptly yanked herself from his powerful embrace. They came to an uneven halt, eyeing each other unsteadily.
“You do not need to hold me so tightly,” she spat, avoiding his gaze. “I do not plan on turning and running.”
