“I am trying.”
“Besides… the fun is in the practice.”
It took her a moment to realize what he said and she gasped softly in feeble outrage, swatting his mailed behind. Davyss laughed low in his throat.
“I cannot feel anything with all of this armor on,” he told her.
She made a face at him. “You are a vulgar beast.”
“A vulgar beast?” he repeated, his eyebrows lifting. “Since when is a man who lusts after his wife a vulgar beast?”
She shook her head, unwilling to answer, and he grinned as he pulled her into his arms once again and kissed her. He was simply glad that her tears were easing. He buried his face in the top of her head for a moment, relishing the feel of her, so glad he had found her safe and unharmed. The woman had become his whole damn world.
“Will you promise me something?” he requested.
She nodded, head against his chest and arms around his waist. “Of course.”
“No more running off. It scares the wits from me.”
She sighed faintly. “For that, I am sorry. It seems to be my reaction when situations become overwhelming. But I promise I will not do it again.”
“If you do run off, at least run to me and not away from me.”
“I will.”
“Thank you.” He kissed the top of her head and pulled back to look at her. “Can we return to the field? I would like to provide you with a deliciously fattening meal before my competition this afternoon.”
She smiled unenthusiastically. “As you wish.”
With an encouraging smile, he walked her back over to where he had tethered his charger by the gates of Hollyhock. Mounting her on his charger, he vaulted on behind her, holding her close, and took the long way back to the tournament field.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Davyss and Devereuxreturned to the tournament arena in time to see the last of the mêlée. They found a spot by the south side of the field and remained on the charger for a better vantage point.
The scene spread out before them could only be called a mess; the combatants were not allowed to fight with real weapons; hence, all they had were wooden clubs and wooden swords, so they were essentially beating one other. There was a good deal of blood and bruising, but no one was seriously injured. The rules stated that once a man was down, he had to stay down. Consequently, the arena floor was littered with men sitting on their bum, watching what was happening and cheering their teammates on.
Devereux had to admit that it was rather like watching little boys run amuck. Out of Davyss’ men, the only one down was young Edmund and he was clearly unhappy about it. Andrew, Hugh and Philip were still in the running, clubbing men, tripping them, or shoving them around. Devereux looked at Davyss and they grinned at each other, humored by the spectacle. Somewhere in the fighting, Hugh spied his brother and waved to him, making his way to the edge of the arena and nearly getting pushed over in the process. But Hugh was fast and made it through the masses unscathed.
Davyss dismounted the charger, tethered it, and made his way over to the edge of the field to meet his brother. But as he approached him, someone came up behind Hugh and clubbed him brutally between the shoulder blades. As Hugh staggered, Davyss leapt over the railing and began pounding the knightwith his massive fists. Within the first three blows, the man fell to his knees and the club fell from his hand. Davyss picked up the club and brained the man over the helm. The knight fell to the ground, knocked cold.
Hugh was grinning when he finally regained his balance and stood next his brother, surveying the fallen knight. Davyss returned his brother’s grin before looking over at his wife, who was still astride the charger and looking rather shocked. He waved at her and she swallowed her shock at what he had just done, finally shaking her head in disapproval. It was all of the encouragement that Davyss needed to jump back into the fracas feet-first. Devereux watched him with a reluctant smile on her face.
Other than pound his brother, Devereux had never seen Davyss fight and it was truly a sight to behold. The man was extremely powerful, dropping men right and left with his heavy blows. He was also very agile, dodging men who would come at him and then turning the tables on them and sending them to the ground. As Devereux watched with a proud smile on her face, a soft voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Lady de Winter?”
She turned to see a knight standing behind her, big and strong. He was very well dressed in expensive mail and protection. She nodded without a second thought. “Aye,” she said politely. “May I help you?”
The knight bowed crisply. “Lord de Montfort has requested to meet you. Would you accompany me, my lady?”
Devereux slid off the charger and into the man’s upstretched hands. As she straightened her surcoat, the knight extended an elbow but she hesitated.
“My husband is nearly finished with the mêlée,” she said. “Should we wait for him?”
The knight shook his head. “Lord Simon has already met your husband,” he said, rather lightly. “He would like to meet you.”
Devereux passed a glance at her husband as he pummeled some hapless fool who had challenged him. It made her grin. With a shrug, she took the knight’s offered elbow and followed him.
