Lespada (48 page)

But Devereux had other ideas; once inside the chamber, she went straight for her massive wardrobe as Louie, the little orange dog, jumped frantically at her feet.  She finally picked the little beast up as she opened up the wardrobe door.

“I would like to change my coat and go into town,” she informed him.

He eyed her. “Why?”

Her brow furrowed. “Because the last time we were in town, there was a new merchant from Brussels. Do you remember?”

He nodded and she continued. “He had fabric from Athens and all sorts of wonderful things. I want to see what else he has. Maybe he has new things that I have not yet seen.”

Davyss sighed heavily; it would do no good to deny her or argue with her, so he resorted to a tactic he had used much more as of late. He bargained.

“I will take you,” he said, “on the condition that you rest for a couple of hours first. Please, sweetling; it would make me happy.”

She gazed up at him, drinking in his handsome face.  She didn’t feel like being particularly belligerent; not when he was trying so hard to be kind and gentle with her. The man had barely left her side for months and they were very much attached to one another, shadows that followed one another around in love and harmony. She couldn’t remember what her life was like before she met Davyss de Winter.  She set the dog down and went over to him.

“Very well,” she kissed him sweetly. “If that is your wish.”

Davyss returned her kiss, putting his hand on her belly as he suckled her lips.  There was something profoundly intimate and erotic about the gesture, feeling the life they had created together.  He had been terrified to make love to her for the first three months but when Lollardly assured them that the pregnancy was secure, he had taken great delight in inspecting his wife’s changing body.  Her gently swollen middle aroused him tremendously and he would turn her onto her side, facing away from him, and make love to her.  All the while, he would hold her belly in his hands, feeling the fruition of their love.  Never in his life had the act of sex meant more to him emotionally than physically. But it did with Devereux.

Even now as she changed out of her surcoat, his hands were all over her.  She pulled the coat over her head, followed by the shift, leaving her in her pantalets and hose.   Davyss gently pulled her pantalets off, followed by the hose, holding her from behind as his hands moved over her belly and breasts and his mouth feasted on her neck.   He pulled his tunic off so their bare skin could touch, the warmth of attraction between them stark and strong.  Bending his wife carefully over the foot of the bed, he lowered his breeches and entered her from behind.

Devereux groaned at his entry, sighing with contentment as he thrust carefully yet powerfully into her.  His hands were on her rounded belly, holding the child gently as he made love to the mother, and in little time Devereux was climaxing in multiplicity as he continued to thrust.  Davyss released himself into her body, his hands moving to her breasts, her shoulders, pulling her up and kissing her soft mouth as she arched her neck over her shoulder, surrendering to his seeking mouth.

When the kisses gently faded away, he went to one of the two massive wardrobes in the room and pulled forth another shift for her, this one heavier and made of pale lamb’s wool. It was as soft as a feather.  He handed it to her and she pulled it over her head, straightening it out around her growing body. He helped her straighten the bottom when her growing belly made it difficult to bend over.  Louie, not to be left out, tried to jump and play under the hem of the long shift until Davyss chased him out.  Offended, Louie went under the bed.

“Now,” he took her to the head of the enormous bed and pulled back the coverlet. “Lie down and sleep. I shall return to you in a couple of hours and we will go into town.”

She didn’t argue with him; in fact, given their heated encounter, she was looking forward to resting for awhile.   Snuggling down into the bed, she began to mutter as he covered her up.

“We must think of names that begin with the same letter as our names,” she sighed, her eyes drooping. “Can you think of any?”

He put an enormous hand on her forehead as if to still her thoughts. “Shhhh,” he whispered. “Go to sleep.”

She closed her eyes, already beginning to doze. “I cannot,” she mumbled. “Not until I… think of a name for…our… son….”

She was very nearly asleep.  Davyss removed his hand from her forehead gently, so as not to disturb her, and very quietly collected the tunic he had thrown off in the heat of passion.  Pulling it back over his head and making every effort not to wake her, he slipped from their chamber.

He could hear men and noise coming from the floors below.  It was suddenly very loud as he descended the steps into the soldier’s hall, and for good reason; it was full of men. Some he recognized and some he did not, but those who were unfamiliar bore the colors of Mortimer.

Davyss moved through the crowd of soldiers looking for Mortimer himself.  He had known the man to be on the approach and was rather perturbed that no one had bothered to tell him that the man had arrived. In fact, when he came across Hugh, he told his brother precisely that.

“Why was I not informed of Mortimer’s arrival?” he grabbed his brother by the arm.

Hugh had a tankard of ale in his hand. “Because you were with your wife,” he said frankly. “I knew you would come down here sooner or later. Mortimer is in no hurry.”

Davyss frowned at his brother but he could not dispute the logic; it had become well known with Davyss’ men not to interrupt him when he was with Devereux.

“Give me that,” he snatched the ale from his brother and took a heavy swallow. “Where is Roger?”

Hugh snatched the tankard back. “Over there,” he pointed near the kitchens.

Davyss continued his path through the crowd of men, settling in with their food and ale. There were so many people that it looked like a celebration.  He finally caught sight of Mortimer’s dark head near the dais.  As he approached, Roger’s head came up from the table and their eyes met.  Davyss smiled.

“My lord,” he greeted. “I apologize that I did not greet you upon your arrival.”

Roger waved him off. “No need,” he studied him a moment. “How are things at Norwich?”

“Quiet,” Davyss sat down opposite the man. “You look well enough. Thank God your injuries healed.”

Roger had been badly wounded at Lewes.  He wriggled his eyebrows. “Nothing that good food and wine has not healed with time,” he gingerly rubbed the spot on his chest where an arrow had nearly claimed him. “And de Nogaret? Is he fully recovered now?”

Davyss nodded. “He is indeed,” he replied. “His wife is expecting a child in the fall.”

Roger lifted his cup to toast Nik’s excellent fortune. “That is good news.”

“My wife is expecting, also.”

Roger looked at him.  Then he broke down into laughter, snorting as he recovered. “Davyss, from what I have heard, you have not left that woman’s side for even a moment,” he sobered further. “But after what happened with de Montfort, I do not blame you. The man is vain, underhanded and ruthless but when he betrayed even you by holding your wife hostage, I believe his supporters began to realize just how untrustworthy the man was. There were a good many people who pitied you. “

Davyss watched him drain his cup. “Shall we go someplace private to speak?”

Roger nodded, grabbing the nearest serving wench with a pitcher of ale.  He took it right out of her hand and stood up from the table.

“Lead the way, de Winter.”

Davyss stood up and pointed to the knight’s hall on the other side of the room. “This way, my lord.”

Roger was already on his heels. “It is not necessary to address me so formally, Davyss. You and I share the same rank, Baron Blackheath.”

Davyss lifted an eyebrow at him. “The title came through my mother,” he said. “I do not even think of it, to be truthful.  I do not want the politics that are associated with baronial responsibilities.  I would rather serve as a knight than lead as a noble.”

Roger slapped him on his massive shoulder. “God’s Beard, man,” he was evidently well into his ale, indicative of his happy mood. “Your mother’s family
is
Surrey. The de Warennes hold the entire shire, plus part of Norfolk.  Your father, God rest him, came from a prestigious line of knights that ruled Radnorshire in Wales for centuries. Not only do you hold your father’s properties and titles in Wales, including four castles, but also his property in Norfolk as granted to him by Henry. Since when did you become so humble?”

Davyss smiled faintly as Roger followed him into the knight’s hall just beyond the soldier’s hall.  “I am not,” he assured him. “I am well aware that my family is older and richer than yours. More handsome as well.”

Roger snorted. “Ah; much more like the Davyss I know.”

Davyss smile faded. “I miss my father,” he muttered. “But I do not believe he would have been very happy with what Simon is attempting to accomplish.”

Roger shrugged. “God should not have taken your father so soon.”

“It was not God that took him but disease.  The man’s heart seized up when he was not much older than I am.”

The knight’s hall was nearly devoid of people; everyone was crowded into the main hall beyond.   Davyss and Roger sat at the heavy table in the center of the room, listening to the loud clamor in the hall beyond.  It was the perfect atmosphere to drown out any eavesdropping that might take place with what Roger was about to say; a low voice could not be heard over all of the noise out in the hall.

“So,” Davyss faced Roger expectantly. “I do not guess that you have come here simply to speak on my father and my property. I assume our plan is moving forward.”

Roger nodded. “I have been permitted to visit Edward in captivity,” he said. “As his cousin, of course, it is my right. Moreover, de Montfort is not too restrictive about visitors to Edward as he is Henry.  We have formulated a plan that I believe will work.”

Davyss lifted his eyebrows. “You will include me, of course.”

“You will lead it.”

Davyss nodded, moving closer to Roger so he could hear the man’s softly uttered plans over the happy chaos in the room beyond.

***

The feast with Mortimer’s men went well into the night.  Devereux had awoken from her nap close to sunset and she could hear the noise clear up in her chamber.  Rising slowly, she was careful not to step on Louie as she went to one of the long lancet windows that lined the chamber, peering outside to see if she could see what was going on in the upper bailey.  There were hundreds of men and their horses, cluttering the upper bailey with their noise and smell.   She could see part of the drawbridge that led to the lower bailey and she could see that the bridge was down and men were traversing it. 

Although Davyss didn’t discuss military matters with her, she had heard him mention that Roger Mortimer was due to visit.  Devereux tried to stay clear of in-depth politic knowledge because she and her husband could never agree on the need for war versus peaceful solutions to conflict. It was something they had never agreed on, not since they day they had met, so it was best if they didn’t discuss the subject too deeply.  But she knew enough that Roger Mortimer had arrived, purpose unknown, so she made haste to dress.

She’d had to have several surcoats made recently to accommodate her growing belly.  One of them was a lovely pale blue garment made of brocade, and she slipped on a light shift before pulling the surcoat over her head.  She still dressed alone and bathed alone, just as she always had, even in this fine massive fortress with dozens of servants running about.  She was simply more comfortable alone. But she did call a maid to help her secure the ties on the garment so it draped beautifully over her shoulders and breasts, the one thing she couldn’t do for herself.  The maid also pulled her hair back into a single braid, which draped elegantly over one shoulder.