Lespada Read Online Free Page A

from this point.
    Soft boot falls suddenly distracted her and she turned to see an unfamiliar knight entering the sanctuary. He was a colossal man, dressed from head to toe in armor and mail and weaponry. He was without his helm and as he emerged into the weak light, Devereux could see his very handsome features; his dark hair was in need of a cut, a bit shaggy and curly, and a dark beard embraced his granite jaw.
    The longer she stared at him the more she realized that he was, in fact, extraordinarily handsome. It was something of a shock. Devereux continued to watch with a mixture of apprehension and fascination as the knight drew closer, his hazel eyes fixed on her flushed and weary face.  It was a piercing gaze that sucked her in, holding her fast until she could hardly breathe.
    "I apologize for disturbing you, my lady,” he said. “Were you praying?"
    His voice was deep and silky, like sweet wine. Devereux felt an odd flush of heat at the sound of his delicious tone, momentarily speechless as he gazed upon her. She managed to shake her head, however, and the knight came to stand several feet away. Even when he gazed toward the altar and crossed himself reverently, she couldn't take her eyes from him.
    Davyss felt her stare, turning to look at her again. Christ, if she wasn't the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; even more beautiful at close range. She had long, straight blonde hair that was thick and silky, and eyes of the most amazing color.  They were a shade of blue that was so pale that they were silver.  Big and bottomless, he could see the fringe of soft lashes brush against her brow bone every time she blinked. And her face was sweet and round.  He had witnessed the wedding ceremony from the shadows, stifling the roar of laughter as Hugh and Andrew had wrestled with her in an attempt to force her to kiss his sword.
    But the more he watched, the more curious and strangely mesmerized he became with this woman who was now his wife. She was a hellion, a misfit, and he should have been disgusted with her behavior. But her spirit impressed him strangely, a woman who was not afraid to speak her mind or resist men twice her petite size.  And when he witnessed the confrontation between her and his mother, calculated though it had been for his benefit, it had oddly cemented the deal.  For some reason, he was no longer reluctant. But she clearly still was.
    When the lady had finally kissed the sword to seal the marriage, Davyss realized he could no longer stay away. In spite of his own reluctance, he realized he had to discover her for himself.
    "My lady is... weary," he cocked an eyebrow at her slovenly state. "May I assist?"
    Devereux’s bright gray eyes regarded him. "Nay, my lord," she turned away, her cheeks flushing and her confusion growing.
    He continued to gaze at her, the marvelous blonde hair that cascaded from her head to her thighs. "Then why do you stand here if you are not praying?" he asked.
    She shrugged weakly, refusing to look at him. "I was left here."
    "By whom?"
    She didn't reply. Davyss' eyes roved her body with interest, noting that she was deliciously curvaceous. She was a petite in height, clad in some sort of rough garment, a leather girdle binding her small waist and emphasizing her full breasts.  She looked like an angel but dressed like a peasant. He found himself shaking his head with awe, hardly believing this woman was his wife. She was a most startling paradox.
    "You did not answer me," he said after a moment. "Who was foolish enough to leave you here alone?"
    She sighed heavily. "Terrible men. Horrible men."
    He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Why are they so terrible, other than the fact that they left you here alone?"
    She turned to look at him, feeling that same odd heat she had experienced the very first time their eyes met. Even so, she found she could not tell him the whole situation. It was too embarrassing.
    "They will return for me, I am sure," she said, avoiding his