Swords and Shields (Reign of the House of de Winter) (12 page)

As Elizaveta entered the chamber, she was caught off guard by the sight. Someone had prepared it in glorious fashion, no doubt directed by Lady de Winter. The room was so small that there wasn’t much room to move around in, but there was enough room for a large four-poster bed that had heavy curtains hung around it and a luxurious coverlet draped across the mattress. There were several pillows carefully placed upon it and the floor was mostly covered with cow hides for warmth. A glance to her right showed that her trunks were neatly stacked near the wall, away from the hearth where a fire blazed and filled the room with a delicious and comforting warmth. As Elizaveta stood by the door, rather stunned by what she saw, Devereux went to the fire to tuck back some of the red-hot embers.

“Your father had your wagon brought to Thetford whilst the marriage mass took place,” Devereux said. “I had the servants bring your trunks to this room when they prepared it with as much comfort as we could provide. Truthfully, we do not stay at Thetford much. Most of our belongings and things required for living are at Norwich Castle or at Wintercroft near London. I am sure you will be seeing those properties at some point, and they are far more comfortable, but for tonight, we have endeavored to make this tiny room as comfortable as possible for you.”

Elizaveta stepped into the room, looking at the thick hides beneath her feet. “This is quite wonderful, Lady de Winter,” she said sincerely. “Your efforts are much appreciated.”

Devereux smiled at the woman as she stood up from the hearth, leaning the poker back against the stone wall. “It is my pleasure,” she said. “For as much trouble as we had getting Drake to the church, I am quite happy to provide as much comfort as I can for the night. Tomorrow, we will break out fast together and speak of the days to come, but for tonight, I invite you to rest and be comfortable. We are quite happy to have you in the family, my lady. Thank you for convincing Drake that you were not the terrible bride he feared.”

Elizaveta grinned. “You would still thank me after the joke we played on you?”

Devereux waved her off. “I have known Drake de Winter his entire life,” she said. “That was not the worst trick he has ever played on me. Although, to be truthful, I am glad it was a trick and not the truth. When I saw you lying on the bed and he told me he had throttled you…well, for a moment, I believed him. I truly did. Knowing how he felt about marriage, you can understand my gullibility.”

Elizaveta laughed softly. “I can only imagine that will not be the last trick I see out of him, either,” she said. “I am coming to understand he is not beyond a prank.”

Devereux shook her head, her gaze lingering on the incredibly beautiful young woman who would, someday, provide her with grandchildren. The thought pleased her immensely.

“He is not,” she confirmed, and her manner sobered. She appeared quite introspective. “But he is a good man, as I told you before. He is kind and loyal and honest. You will not regret this marriage, my lady. I pray that God grants you and my son great happiness and prosperity.”

Elizaveta was touched by the warmth she felt from the woman, far more warmth than she had ever felt from her grandmother or even her own mother throughout her entire life. Those women were cold and bitter, but Elizaveta was not. Warmth was something she responded to.

“Thank you, Lady de Winter,” she said quietly. “I pray for the same things as well.”

Devereux’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, perhaps thinking on the life that she and Drake would share together, before forcing a smile.

“Now, then,” she said as she moved towards the chamber door. “Shall I have warm water sent up to you so that you may bathe? The day has been long and somewhat trying.”

Elizaveta nodded with gratitude. “Aye, my lady,” she said. “I would like that a great deal.”

Devereux patted her on the cheek before opening the door. “It shall be done,” she said. “Sleep well, Lady de Winter. I will see you on the morrow.”

Devereux shut the door softly behind her. Elizaveta stood there a moment, her thoughts lingering on her new husband’s mother and thinking that she liked the woman a great deal. She was kind and thoughtful and sweet, everything Agnes wasn’t. Elizaveta didn’t realize there were mothers like Lady Devereux so her exposure to the woman was coming to show her what she’d been missing. A kind woman from a thus-far kind family who didn’t threaten to send out assassins after each other.

Assassin threats as her family did. Elizaveta tried to shake off thoughts of her mother and grandmother as she moved for her trunks to pull forth her toilet things and sleeping shift. A mother who was weak and ineffective, a grandmother who was ruthless… that was the stock she came from, the bloodlines that were bred into her. But she wasn’t like those women; she didn’t think like them. It was true that she had been forced into this marriage, forced to spy on her husband to feed her grandmother’s sense of vengeance against the English, but her urge to defy her grandmother wasn’t as strong as the fear she held for the woman. Mabelle l’Arressengale Maxwell was indeed capable of sending out assassins. She had no remorse or regret in such things, and it was that fear that kept Elizaveta from resisting completely.

The fear of a woman who had no soul.

“The House of de Mandeville has been trying to wrest East Anglia from the House of du Reims for one hundred and fifty years,” Christian du Reims was saying over his fifth cup of fine wine. “They actually tried to kill my father, trying to make it look as if it was an accident in battle. My father was saved by his squire, whom he soon knighted and then married off to my sister. A fine story, in fact. They are still married and have nine children.”

Davyss, Cortez, and now Drake were standing near the hearth of Thetford’s hall, listening to the loud laughter of the games going on over by the feasting tables and struggling to hear Christian’s naturally quiet voice over the noise. The atmosphere in the hall was warm, fragrant, and festive.

“I know Edmund de Mandeville,” Davyss said. “His seat is Westleton Manor, to the east of Framlingham. The family is odd, that is true, and I have heard that they have always contested the du Reims claim to East Anglia, but the family never struck me as particularly wicked.”

Christian snorted into his cup. “They
are
wicked,” he said, looking at Drake. “They are wicked and conniving. Now that you have married my daughter, they will soon enough discover that the title will pass to you. They have been trying to force one of their two beastly sons on me for the past ten years, men I would not wed my dog to. They desperately wanted one of those lads to marry Elizaveta. Have you never met Bruis or Glenn de Mandeville?”

Drake shook his head. “I have not,” he said, “although I believe my younger brothers know them. They are all around the same age, I believe.”

Davyss was nodding. “Indeed they are,” he said. “Bruis has been to Norwich. A big, rather wild-looking lad. He looks like he lives under a rock most of the time. My wife says he smells of compost.”

Christian grunted in agreement. “The de Mandevilles live at Westleton as if no one else in the world exists,” he said. “They do not send their children to foster. They keep them at home. They have an army of about five or six hundred men, men who roam about the countryside in gangs and rob people. I have heard tale that not even Edward will accept the service of the de Mandevilles, which is rather pathetic when you realize they once had great and noble roots.”

Drake scratched his head. “Edward warned me about them when he betrothed me to your daughter,” he said. “He has also made me the garrison commander at Spexhall Castle, which is a day’s ride to Westleton at the very most. I suppose that as soon as the de Mandevilles hear I have married the East Anglia heiress, they will be beating down my door trying to kill me.”

While Drake and Cortez grinned ironically at each other, Christian cautioned them. “Make not light of such things,” he warned. “The de Mandevilles are uncouth barbarians but they are crafty. Be wary of them, in any form or under any guise of peace or friendship. They will not mean it in the least.”

Drake wasn’t particularly worried. “My father is Thetford,” he said. “My grandmother was Surrey, and I married East Anglia. If the de Mandevilles are truly stupid enough to challenge me, then I say let them. I will quash them like a bug with the armies I will summon and wipe them from this earth.”

He had grown deadly serious by the end of his statement, leaving no one to doubt that he meant what he said. Davyss, fighting off a grin at his son who already sounded suspiciously like a protective husband and a powerful earl, put a hand on his shoulder.

“I am sure it will not be as bad as all that,” he said. “But, as Lord Christian said, it is best to be prudent.”

Drake simply nodded, drinking from the cup in his hand and realizing, as his father did, that he had sounded most protective and violent in that statement. He wasn’t quite sure where that surge of protective instincts came from, but he had a hunch. If the de Mandevilles wanted Elizaveta, and East Anglia, then they were going to have to go through him to get them both.

“It is my intention to leave for Spexhall on the morrow,” Drake said, still sounding rather aggressive. “Cortez and James have offered to come with me to help install the garrison because one thousand of Edward’s men should be arriving within the week. I have not seen Spexhall so I do not know what kind of shape it is in, if it will need any work or repair to make it secure. Father, may I also take Denys with me?”

Davyss considered the request. “Why not take Devon?” he asked. “His wife could be a companion to the newest Lady de Winter because I am quite certain you will be busy at Spexhall and Lady de Winter will be quite lonely.”

Drake shrugged. “I did not think you wanted to part with Devon but if you do, I will gladly take Devon with me,” he said. “I am sure my wife would very much appreciate Dannie’s companionship.”

He was referring to Devon’s round and lush wife, Lady Daniella de la Rosa de Winter. A lovely and sweet woman from the notoriously warlike de la Rosa Clan, she had been an utter joy since she and Devon had married almost a year before. Devon was mad for the woman and happier than his family had ever seen him, hence his strong disapproval towards Drake’s reluctance to marry. Devon and Daniella, or Dannie as they called her, set a fine example of a young married couple that Drake had completely overlooked. At least, until now.

“I think that Devon would insist on going with you,” Davyss said cutting in to Drake’s thoughts. “You two have a difficult time when you are separated, so I am sure he would want to go with you.”

Drake was very pleased with the prospect of having Devon along with him. He turned to find the man in the hall, seeing that he was huddled in a private conversation with his wife, and he came to realize that he rather missed the sight of Elizaveta in the hall. His mother had removed her about an hour earlier, no doubt to help her prepare for the night to come, and Drake suddenly didn’t feel much like spending any more time with a bunch of men. He was rather looking forward to spending time with his wife, alone, so he drained the contents of his cup and set it down on the mantel.

“Good men,” he said. “As much as I have enjoyed this conversation, my bride is without her groom at the moment, so I will beg your leave to attend the woman for the night.”

Christian, not wanting to think on the fact that his daughter’s virginity was about to be taken, simply waved Drake off and turned to the table with its full pitchers of wine. Cortez simply grinned and wandered away, back to the cavorting knights, while Davyss was left with his eldest son.

Davyss went to the man, fighting off a smile, as he put his arm around Drake’s broad shoulders. “I do not suppose you need any advice or help from me on this night of nights,” he said. “I fear, based on what your brothers have told me, that you could probably give me lessons in that regard.”

Drake clapped a hand over his face. “Father, please,” he groaned. “This is not a conversation I wish to have with my own father.”

Davyss laughed softly as they turned for the hall entry. “And it is not a conversation I particularly want to have with my own son,” he said. “I will, however, say this: always treat the woman with respect and kindness, lad. Your grandmother told me such things on the event of my wedding to your mother and she was right. You will get out of this marriage what you put into it. If you put nothing in, you will receive nothing in return. But if you put your heart and soul into it, it can be the most rewarding experience of your life. You must trust me on this.”

They were nearly to the entry door and Drake paused, looking at his father, a man he resembled a great deal. “I do, Papa,” he said softly. “Thank you for your patience and your wisdom. I shall endeavor to make the best of this.”

“Promise?”

“I will try.”

That was good enough for Davyss, certainly better than he had ever hoped. Considering how difficult it had been to get Drake to this point, he was grateful for how it had all turned out. He hugged his son before releasing him.

“Go, then,” he said. “We will see you on the morrow. I will inform your brother that he is to go with you to Spexhall, at least for a time.”

Drake nodded, smiling at his father when the man patted his cheek. As his father turned and headed towards the knights who were now trying to wrestle each other, Drake headed out of the hall.

In spite of all of the wine he’d had, Drake was thinking exceptionally clearly.
My wedding night
. It seemed so strange to think those words, true as they were. He was actually married. Married to a beautiful woman with a sparkling wit and a bright mind. Of all of the things he thought he would feel upon the event of his marriage, a sense of gladness hadn’t been among them. He thought he would have been trying to leap over castle walls and make a run for it as the bride’s angry relatives chased him with torches and dogs. Aye, that’s the way he’d always envisioned his marriage. Running for his life and then being dragged back in chains.

Odd how nothing had happened the way he’d imagined. Here he was, a married man and actually not weeping about it. As he made his way among the ancient berms, the keep of Thetford loomed in front of him and he gazed up at the stone bastion, silhouetted against the starry sky, and imagined what the night would bring.

He imagined what the rest of his life would bring, too.

He realized that he was looking forward to it.

The sleeping shift was from Italy, purchased by her grandmother somewhere in the south of France. It was cotton from the Holy Land, as soft and as fine as baby’s breath. Elizaveta hadn’t been allowed to wear the garment until now, as
grandedame
had held on to it, and held on to many other gifts for her, only giving them to her the day before her wedding. In fact, Elizaveta had found a treasure trove in the small, painted chest her grandmother had given her. It had been a world of exotic and beautiful things.

Along with the feather-soft shift, there had been fur slippers, two beautiful scarfs, combs, and ointments for the skin and lips. There had even been two precious glass phials of perfume, one of rose and one that smelled of exotic spices. It was a rich and heady fragrance. Lastly, there was oil to soften the skin that smelled of flowers and after she had washed with the hot water Lady de Winter had sent to her, she had rubbed the oil sparingly onto her skin. She would have been touched by all of these gifts from
grandedame
, but she knew the old woman had only purchased them to make her more attractive to her new husband. There had been no more thought given to the items than that.

Elizaveta was seated on a small stool in front of a small, painted table that had a bronze mirror built onto it. It was a lady’s
toilette
table, the first one she had ever used. She had seen them before, at Rochester Castle, in fact, where the lady of the castle’s table had been dainty and beautifully painted, but she had never personally used one. It held her perfumes and oils and balms, and she kept fingering through them, thrilled to own such things. It made her feel womanly, attractive, as she had never felt in her life. She wondered if her husband would find her attractive also. He had said he thought she was beautiful but it was probably the wine flowing through his veins that made him say so.

Aye, she knew about men telling her she was beautiful. They used to come from miles around, telling her that they had heard tale of her beauty and then spouting off about it in an embarrassing fashion. Some would sing songs about her beauty, trying to woo her, while others would recite prose with the hope of impressing her. One knight, a bachelor knight who was simply looking for a woman to marry so that he could acquire property, compared her looks to that of a magnificent horse.

Elizaveta wasn’t entirely sure that comparing her to a horse was a good tactic, but the nuns at Rochester had chased the man away just as they had chased all of them away. When she went to live with her father at Thunderbey, her father’s men had thrown rocks at the men who had followed her. The memories of the rock-throwing still brought a smile to her face; it
had
been rather humorous to watch.

But now she was Drake’s wife, marrying not only the only man who had never tried to woo her, but a man who had tried to avoid their marriage altogether. It was rather ironic. As she gazed at her reflection in the small bronze mirror, running a bone comb through her dark tresses, her thoughts began to singularly linger around Drake. She’d only known the man a few hours but already she liked him personally. He was kind and attentive, and he had that wicked sense of humor his mother had warned her about. She found that quite charming.