The older man extended an eager hand. “I am Devereux’s father, St. Paul Allington,” he replied, shaking Davyss’ hand enthusiastically. “We have never met, my lord, but I have met your mother on many occasions.”
Davyss nodded faintly, seeing the family resemblance in the man’s gray eyes. Then he glanced into the manse beyond, darkened in the late afternoon. “Is my wife here?”
St. Paul nodded and shoved the old servant back so that Davyss could enter. “She is here, my lord,” he replied, suddenly seeming nervous. “But… well, that is to say, the physic says she must stay in bed.”
Davyss looked at the man. “Bed? Why?”
St. Paul was wringing his hands. “You will have to ask the physic,” he replied. “I believe it has something to do with the baby.”
Davyss felt a wave of dread wash over him. “Where is she?”
“Up the stairs; first door to the left.”
Davyss bolted up the stairs directly in front of him. The narrow flight doubled back on itself and he ended up in a narrow upstairs corridor. The first door to his left was open and he tried to slow his pace as he entered. But he realized, as he passed into the room, that he was shaking.
The bed was immediately to his left, the head against the wall. It was a big bed with lovely curtains around it, very much a woman’s bed. His wife was curled up on her side, facing awayfrom him, and in the corner of the room sat an older, red-haired woman. She had some kind of mending in her hand but when she saw Davyss enter, she immediately bolted to her feet.
“Who are you?” the old woman hissed. “Get out of here. You’ll not disturb her.”
Davyss lifted an eyebrow at the woman’s tone and put up a hand to calm her. “I am the lady’s husband,” he said softly. “Is she ill?”
The old woman faltered as Devereux suddenly rolled onto her back. Her big gray eyes were wide with astonishment and shock.
“Davyss!” she gasped.
He flew to the bed, half-falling and half-sitting upon it as he pulled her into a crushing embrace. Devereux burst into tears, sobbing dramatically as she threw her arms around his neck and clutched him tightly. The smell, the feel of him, had her overwhelmed to the point of hyperventilation. She couldn’t catch her breath.
“All is well, sweet girl,” he kissed her cheek and head furiously. “I am here now. All is well.”
Devereux pulled back to look at him, running her hands all over his face and hair as if to convince herself that he wasn’t a ghost.
“Are you real?” she breathed, kissing his nose, his mouth. “I cannot believe it.”
His hands were shaking as he gently cupped her face, kissing her with deep and painful longing. “I am real,” he murmured, stopping in his zeal to take a good, long look at her. She looked pale but delicious. “Why are you in bed? What is wrong?”
Her smile faded somewhat. “The physic says that the baby is making itself known,” she told him. “It is nothing that a little rest will not cure. You needn’t worry.”
He touched her head, her cheek, moving his hand down her arm as if to make sure for himself that she was not about to fall apart. She felt warm and soft and wonderful.
“Then a physic has examined you?”
She nodded. “There is a fine surgeon in town, the one who volunteers his time to The House of Hope,” she said. “He says our son is due around the New Year.”
Davyss smiled faintly, with great joy, as he kissed her cheek gently. “Then your suspicions are confirmed.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him against her tightly. “My joy is complete now that you have returned safe and whole to me,” her smile faded as she let him go and gazed into his eyes. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine.”
“You were not injured?”
He didn’t want to lie to her; she would see the scar at some point. “I took an arrow to the shoulder but it was not serious.”
She looked worried. “Are you sure? Let me see.”
He shook his head, kissing her hands as she tried to get a look at his neck area. “No need,” he assured her. “I have healed.”
She had to take his word for it, at least for the moment. “And your men? Did everyone come through unscathed?”
