He rolled his eyes but offered his irritated compliance when she pressed him again. His gaze lingered on Hugh, still near the door, before turning back to the window. When Devereux was sure he wasn’t going to charge Hugh again, she returned her focus to the younger brother.
“Hugh,” she began. “Let us be completely honest with each other. You do not hate me so much as you are angry with me; angry that I did not succumb to your charms the day you came to escort me to my wedding and angry because I asked your brother to remove the whores from Wintercroft. Is this statement any way untrue?”
Hugh’s brow was furrowed and he refused to look at her. “It… it was not your right.”
She gazed steadily at him. “You are correct; it was not my right,” she said softly. “I did it for selfish reasons and for that,I am sorry. I did not want those women around because I was uncertain of my relationship with your brother at the time, uncertain if he would prefer me over them. Now that I know he would never do anything to shame me, I understand that what I did was completely self-serving. If I were to allow those women to return to Wintercroft, would it make you happy?”
He looked at her, then. He could see that Davyss had turned away from the window and was looking at him, too. In fact, Davyss moved away from the window and sat on the bed next to his wife, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in the side of her head. Hugh watched the affection, the completely adoration, in his brother’s actions and he was surprised by it. He’d never seen his brother behave in such a way before. There was something about it that made him strangely jealous. He felt the fight, the anger, suddenly draining out of him.
“Perhaps,” he replied belatedly. He suddenly seemed disinterested and distracted, anxious to leave. “Is there anything else you wished to speak with me about?”
Devereux wouldn’t push him. It was the first conversation in a line of many she intended to have with him, so she let him go for the moment.
“Nay,” she replied. “Thank you for your time.”
Hugh’s gaze traveled back and forth between his brother and his brother’s wife before silently departing the room. Davyss held her in his arms, thinking many different things at that moment; he felt like the most fortunate man alive. Devereux had shown him so much of life that he had never imagined to exist, her wisdom and kindness without measure. He knew his brother would come around eventually. He squeezed her gently before letting her go.
“You tried to right things with him,” he said quietly. “I applaud your attempt.”
She wriggled her eyebrows. “I do not know if I did any good, but I hope so,” she said. “I should not like to be at odds with your brother for the rest of my life.”
“I am sure you will not be,” he said. “He will eventually see the error of his ways.”
Devereux kept silent on that matter; Hugh seemed to be even more arrogant than Davyss had been so she wondered if he would ever overcome it.
“Perhaps,” she said vaguely, changing the subject. “When are we leaving for London?”
He stood up from the bed, scratching his head wearily. “Do you suppose it would be too much to ask that we sleep here tonight and get an early start in the morning?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I will tell the servants that we will all be supping here tonight.”
“I can do it,” he was moving for the door, pointing a finger at her. “I want you to stay there and rest. Is that clear?”
She nodded obediently. “Aye, sweetheart.”
“Good.”
He winked at her as he quit the chamber, leaving Devereux alone in the room, smiling at the mere thought of him. She could not adequately describe the joy in her heart for the man, the love she felt for him defying explanation. She had so much in her life to be grateful for, and grateful she was. Her happiness was nearly complete and she thanked God repeatedly for it.
Later that night, she miscarried the child.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The great hallof the Tower of London was full of the nobles and fighting men of England. Davyss had spent hours in conference with de Montfort’s barons, men he had fought with and against for many years. They were all surprised to see a de Winter at de Montfort’s side, but the older barons who had known Grayson de Winter also knew that he and Simon had been the best of friends. To them, it was therefore not so surprising. Still, Davyss de Winter had been a staunch supporter of Henry. It was odd to see him on the other side.
It was evident very early on that de Montfort was determined to give the rule of England to the people through their representatives. He insisted that each borough send two elected representatives, something that seemed to upset the nobles because they were concerned that it would affect their rule over their own lands. Those who had strongly supported de Montfort were now secretly wondering if they should have supported someone who intended to give the country back to the people and not directly back to the nobility. Davyss had listened to their growing dissention for several days now, digesting it, and preparing plans of his own.
He ended up back at Hollyhock, telling his knights to meet him in a half hour up in his solar. The evening was humid and he was sweating rivers as he made his way into the house and up to the third floor. He didn’t even bother greeting his mother, who was down in her solar with her ladies and her dogs. Hugh went in to see her but Davyss did not. His one and only thought at the moment was to see his wife.
He found Devereux sitting in the lounge chair of their massive chamber, positioned by the window to catch the last rays of the dying sun. She was wearing a lovely yellow surcoat, her luscious hair pulled to the nape of her neck as she focused on a piece of needlework in her hand.
Davyss entered the chamber, pulling his damp tunic over his head as he approached her. But the moment the tunic came over his head and his gaze focused on her, he came to a halt.
“What is that?” he jabbed a finger at her.
Devereux looked up from her sewing, having no idea what he was talking about until she followed his focus. At the foot of the lounge, lying very contentedly, was a small puppy with fuzzy orange hair. She smiled at her husband’s outrage.
“Your mother gave him to me,” she said. “Isn’t he sweet?”
