“Do you not like tournaments?” he asked softly, giving her a squeeze. “They are very exciting and great sport, I might add.”
She shifted so the left side of her head was against his chest. She could hear his heart beating strong and steady.
“Nay,” she whispered. “I do not like them.”
“Why not?”
She sighed faintly, thinking. “I saw you compete in a tournament three years ago in Acle,” she said softly. “Do you recall that tournament?”
He grunted. “Of course. I won the joust.”
“I know,” her voice was faint. “It was the first time I ever saw you, though I cannot recall paying terribly close attention. It was my first tournament and my father insisted I attend, so the entire spectacle was rather overwhelming. I do believe my father wanted me to attend because he wanted to attract a husband for me. This was before your mother approached him with a contract. Three years ago, I was still very much an unattached maiden.”
He grinned, hugging her tightly. “Thank God that no one approached your father before my mother could get to him,” he kissed the top of her head. “I am surprised that I did not notice you. Usually, I….”
He suddenly stopped before he could get himself into trouble. Devereux grinned, lifting her head from his chest to look him in the eye.
“You usually…what?” she pressed.
He shook his head and tried to get up, but she sat on him and pushed him down. “Let me see if I can finish your statement,” she teased. “Usually you spied all of the beautiful women within the first hour of your arrival and picked off your conquests one by one, as a good hunter would, until none were left standing in the end. Am I right?”
He started to laugh, only he didn’t want her to see that he was laughing so he covered his face with his hands and tried to turn away from her. Devereux responded by digging her fingers into his gut, tickling him mercilessly, which prompted him to shoot off the lounge and nearly dump her on her arse. She laughed uproariously as he steadied her by stilling the tickling fingers. They laughed at each other as she tried to tickle him again, but he threw her into a big bear hug and ended her onslaught.
His mouth was by her ear, hot and breathless. “I told you never to do that again.”
She was giggling, not trying too hard to squirm away from him. “I told you I would only do it in times of great need. This was one of those times.”
He growled, nibbling on her tender neck until she squealed and begged for mercy. Still grinning, he swung her up into his arms and carried her into the small bathing room adjoining the chamber.
It was steamy and moist in the small room because of the bath. Davyss set Devereux to her feet and removed his breeches,plunging into the tub and causing water to slosh over the sides. Devereux turned to the small table where the bathing implements were contained; she picked up a lumpy white bar of soap that smelled of pine, a bristly brush, and began to lather it up.
“Continue your story,” he told her as he splashed water all over his head and neck. “You were telling me about the tournament in Acle.”
She came to him with the soapy brush and began to lather his hair. He sputtered water from his lips, closing his eyes as she began to scrub.
“I remember seeing several knights injured,” she said, thinking back to that day and the distaste it had provoked. “One man who was competing in the joust was knocked from his horse with such force that he broke his arm. I remember seeing the bone stick out.”
Davyss grunted. “Such are the hazards of the sport. It is not for the faint of heart.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him in disgust as she moved to soap his face and neck. “In the final matches of the tournament, I seem to recall that one knight was speared through the face with a broken lance,” she shuddered as she remembered the horror from that moment. “I heard later that he had died. It was so…needless, so wasteful.”
She rinsed the soap from his head and Davyss rubbed at his eyes to clear them of water. The hazel orbs opened, remembering the day she spoke of.
“His name was John Swantey,” he murmured. “He served the Earl of Warwick.”
“You knew him?”
Davyss nodded faintly. “It was my lance that speared him.”
She paused in her scrubbing, a look of pain crossing her features. “Oh, Davyss,” she breathed. “I am sorry. I did not meanto condemn or criticize. ’Tis simply that it was a death that did not have to occur. I realize that men like to compete and although I do not contest their need for competition, I cannot tell you how devastated I would be if something were to happen to you like it happened to John Swantey. It would absolutely destroy me.”
He found a soapy hand and kissed it. “I understand your concern,” he told her. “I will not compete if it will upset you.”
For the second time, she paused in her scrubbing. She moved around to the front of the tub to look him in the eye, her gray orbs wide with surprise.
“I would never ask that of you,” she said sincerely. “I will never ask you to be less than what you are, Davyss.”
A warm smile creased his lips. “You are not,” he assured her. “I have achieved my share of glory. It is not as if I need another tournament to prove my worth. My worth is well known.”
