He was sobbing heavily and Devereux wrapped her weak arms around him, shushing him gently. Though she was horribly drained and barely able to move, her husband’s tears had her playing the role of the comforter. His tears had her deeply touched and deeply distressed.
“I will not leave you,” she assured him softly. “I simply need time to recover, ’tis all. Surely you saw those two enormous children I birthed.”
She was making an attempt at humor and he lifted his head, kissing her so sweetly that his head swam. “I did,” he kissed her cheek, her chin, silently conveying the love and adoration he felt for her. “I am humbled, Lady de Winter. Truly humbled. Words cannot describe how pleased and grateful I am.”
She smiled faintly and he heard what he thought was a laugh. “Since when are you a humble man?”
He stopped kissing her, lifting his head up to look into her dark-circled eyes, still so beautiful to him. “Since I married you,” he answered. “I remember an angry woman telling me once that I should be humble and gracious and endearing because those qualities will cause people to bow at my feet and my wife to respect me. I once thought all I wanted was your respect but, somehow, I got much more than I ever dreamed of. I am still not sure how that happened.”
Her smile grew, the gray eyes glimmering. “I am not sure, either,” she admitted. “One moment I was loathing you and, in the next, I could not live without you.”
He returned her smile, feeling the warmth between them, the love, and his eyes started to water again. He simply couldn’t help it; he couldn’t imagine life without her.
“Please,” he begged softly, his smile fading. “Please get well. I cannot stomach the alternative.”
She sighed faintly, reaching up a weak hand to stroke his handsome face. “Nor can I,” she murmured. “I do not want to watch you leave to war ever again. Please, Davyss; tell me that these wars between Simon and Henry are ended.”
He thought of Evesham, of Simon’s body in pieces over the green English grass. “They are over,” he declared. “I swear it.”
“Then you will not leave again?”
He kissed her cheek. “Not unless I have your permission,” he said. “And even then, I will not stay away long, I swear it.”
She sighed faintly, feeling weak yet joyful. The past three months had been particular hellish, not knowing if Davyss was dead or alive, only hearing about him periodically by way of quickly written missives. It had not been enough to sustain her. The birth, though difficult, had not drained her as much as the thought of her husband’s fate did. Perhaps it was her distress over Davyss’ whereabouts and activities that had contributed the most to her loss of the will to live. The twins, as strenuous as their birth had been, had only compounded the problem.
Gazing into Davyss’ eyes, she knew for a fact that they were going to live long and healthy lives together. She felt stronger simply by having him in the room. She wrapped her arms around his neck weakly and he enfolded her with his strength, his massive arms blocking out all of the evils and deeds of the world. It was a safe and protective cocoon.
“Thank you, Davyss,” she murmured.
His face was buried in the side of her head. “For what?”
She smiled even though he couldn’t see it. “For marrying me on that day so long ago, even when I said such horrible things to you.”
He grinned, shifting on the bed so that he was lying beside her. “Our wedding was quite a show,” he agreed. “The only one who wasn’t complaining or fighting that day wasLespada.”
“He is so cold and sharp. He makes a terrible husband.” Davyss laughed; it was so good to be with her again, to enjoy her humor. He pulled her close, kissing the tip of her nose. “I have an idea on how to rectify that, if you will allow me.”
“Of course I will.”
On their wedding anniversary in March of the following year, Davyss arranged a massive wedding in Winchester Cathedral that turned out to be the social event of the year. Everyone was in attendance, including the king and queen, and between Hollyhock and the Tower of London, the celebration went on for three long and glorious days.
This time, the groom attended the wedding instead of his sword.
EPILOGUE
1271 A.D.
The House of Hope, Norfolk
Devereux heard thethunder and the boys began to run.
“It’s Da, it’s Da!” they screamed.
Devereux caught up to her children in the yard of The House of Hope, making a futile attempt to quiet them as they jumped up and down like lunatics. Devon and Drake were nearly six years old, enormous children for their age with blonde hair and hazel eyes. Feature for feature, they looked mostly like their father and they acted like him, too; whenever Davyss was away, it brought Devereux great comfort simply to look into their handsome little faces. And Davyss had been gone, this time, for nearly a month. She had looked into those little faces often.
Their three-year-old brother Denys, for some strange reason, was the image of his Uncle Hugh. He was a handsome dark haired, dark-eyed lad who tended to be quite aggressive, and Hugh adored the boy that looked just like him.
Even now, Denys was slugging it out with his older brothers and Devereux had no idea why. She simply put her hand in between the boys to still the boxing fists. When Denys bit Drake out of pure spite, she swatted him on the behind and he plopped onto his bum in the dirt and began crying.
