Brides of Ireland

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “I see,” he said. “And do you speak Welsh?”

  She nodded. “I do, but make no mistake,” she said as she looked up at him. “I am not Welsh. I am Norman. There is a distinction and my brother will make it very clear that even though our family has been in Wales for over two hundred years, and our ancestor is a Welsh princess, we are not Welsh.”

  He gave her a half-grin because she said it with mock-seriousness, as if she thought the whole idea of living in Wales for two hundred years but not being Welsh ridiculous. “Then I will make sure not to call you Welsh,” he said.

  Emllyn fought off a grin and lowered her gaze again, feeling a distinct charm from the man and having no idea how to handle it. He was making her a bit giddy. “Have you never been out of Ireland?”

  Devlin shook his head, folding his massive arms over his chest as he thought on his reply. “Never,” he said. “There was never any reason to go anywhere else. I fostered here on Kildare lands and I was trained by Norman knights to serve Kildare. I am a knight sworn to your brother, you know. Or, at least I was. Now I am sworn to myself and to my father.”

  She dared look up at him, the giddy feeling in chest growing worse as she gazed upon him. “Who is your father?”

  Devlin’s warm expression faded somewhat. “John de Bermingham, Earl of Louth,” he said. “I am his eldest son. Even though I am a bastard, he has acknowledged me. Black Castle is his holding, or at least it is now that we have taken it from Kildare, and I lead his rebellion. Ireland will belong to the Irish once again and it is my honor to fight for my kinsmen.”

  Emllyn was gazing up at him quite steadily. The giddy feeling in her chest was very strong but she found she did not want to turn away from him. Something about the man, in spite of everything he’d put her through, kept her interest. The confusion she had felt that morning, the bewilderment and guilt, was turning into something else. She wasn’t sure what it was yet; all she knew was that, at the moment, she had no desire to fight it.

  “Why do they call you Black Sword?” she asked softly.

  He could hear the nearly-gentle quality in her voice and it captured his full attention. He’d never heard that tone come from her before and he rather thought he liked it. It made him strongly inclined to answer whatever question she had for him, speaking in such a tone. He grinned modestly as he answered.

  “Because when I was newly knighted, I fought a very nasty battle against the Normans,” he said quietly. “It was against the Earl of Ormond’s armies, in fact, and it was for your father at a time when I still served Kildare. I had killed many men that day, so many that I was covered in blood and so was my broadsword. When I returned to camp after the battle, the blood had dried to a sticky black. It covered my blade and the older knights began calling me Black Sword. It was a sign of respect. It implies fierceness in battle.”

  Emllyn nodded thoughtfully, imagining the man in the heat of battle. As big as he was, and he was enormous, she could only imagine that his formidable skills matched his reputation. She’d been hearing the name Black Sword for many years. Now, not only was she coming to understand the legend, she was coming to understand the man behind it.

  Before they could continue their conversation, Eefha emerged from her hut with her arms full of items. Puffing furiously on her shite pipe, she approached Emllyn and began extending things to her; scarves of glorious colors, a belt or two, a pair of beautiful shoes, a fine white garment that might have been a shift, and at least two surcoats or other manner of dress. It was difficult to tell. Emllyn ended up with a big pile in her arms, looking rather stunned at all of the items.

  “What is all of this?” she asked Devlin. “Where did she get this?”

  Devlin picked up the garment on the top of the pile, a yellow linen that was embroidered with fine silver thread. “As I said, she is a scavenger,” he said. “There is no telling where she found this.”

  Emllyn could tell that it was very fine; she’d seen enough finery to know. “This is something a great noblewoman would wear,” she told him. “She did not… did she steal it somehow?”

  Devlin began taking the pile from her. “I doubt it,” he said. “She barters for things, as well.”

  “With the way she speaks?” Emllyn said, dubious. “How would anyone know what she wanted?”

  Devlin took the remaining items from her and shifted them to one big arm. “She will find a way,” he said, reaching out to grasp Emllyn by the arm. “Let us return to the keep now. You can try on your finery and see what fits.”

  He had her by the elbow as he turned around but the moment he did, something in his line of sight had his full attention and he handed the garments back over to Emllyn, piling them on so she could barely see over the top. He had to clear his arms quickly because he didn’t want to be caught in a compromising position. He needed to be free to move and to protect both himself and Emllyn if necessary.

  Approaching rather swiftly from the northeast corner of the bailey were Frederick and several of his men.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I had heard you let her out of her cage,” Frederick said, nearly yelling because he was still several feet away as he drew near. “I hope I didn’t miss anything.”

  He meant something undoubtedly humiliating or painful. Devlin tightened up one of his leather gloves, trying to remain casual about the entire thing. However, whenever Frederick was involved, the situation was anything but casual. The mood of the conversation could go from light to deadly in a fraction of a second. Devlin wondered if the man was going to bring up the subject of Emllyn paying for his brother’s death again; he hoped not. Still, he was tightening up his gloves in case he had to throw a punch if the man made a swipe for her.

  “You did not miss anything,” he said evenly. “We were just returning to the keep.”

  “Why?” Frederick put out his hands to stop them, his gaze riveted to Emllyn as she was nearly buried with the garments in her arms. “She looks better than she did the night I captured her. In fact, she looks rather pleasing. I had no idea English women were anything other than slovenly hags.”

  The men who had accompanied Frederick tittered rudely. Devlin’s expression was impassive. “We came to find some clothing that would fit her,” he said evenly. “Eefha has all manner of goods.”

  Frederick didn’t take his eyes from her as he moved towards her, inspecting her as one would inspect a prized mare. He walked a slow circle around her, scrutinizing her from the front and from the rear.

  “Eefha has everything one could possibly want and a few things one does not,” he said, a leering glint in his tone. “I would say that Kildare’s sister doesn’t want for anything. She is quite fine.”

  Throughout the exchange, Emllyn stood stock still, terrified by the big Irish warrior’s attention. All of the fear and terror she had felt the night she had been captured came roaring back, causing her knees to weaken and her palms to sweat. She looks better than she did the night I captured her. So it was this big, beefy knight who had chased her down and carried her off like so much baggage. He had been very rough and very rude. She was absolutely terrified.

  “Shain has an English knight in the gatehouse for questioning,” Devlin said, trying to distract Frederick. “You will go and help him. Do not lay a hand on the prisoner, however, at least not until I get there. I do not want him beaten and dazed when I arrive, so much so that I will not be able to get anything intelligent out of him. We need answers, Freddy. See to it.”

  Frederick nodded lazily, still inspecting Emllyn. In fact, he was standing directly behind her, looking at her backside. The man was oozing lust; it was evident in everything about him and Devlin struggled to keep a rein on his anger. If Frederick sensed anything other than indifference in his attitude towards Emllyn, there would be trouble. Frederick would make it so.

  “Aye,” he said, his focus on her bum. “She will breed you a host of strong Irish rebels and mayhap a daughter or two for the rest of us. I should have kept her f
or myself, Dev. Had I gotten a better look at her that night, I would have.”

  “Go, now,” Devlin told him, ignoring his statement.

  Frederick looked up at him, his eyes twinkling. “Can I have a go at her?”

  Devlin simply pointed to the gatehouse as Frederick’s men laughed lewdly. Emllyn lowered her head and struggled not to cry. Devlin didn’t say a word as the men wandered away. He watched them as they moved towards the gate house and saw clearly when Eefha moved towards the group; the old woman had her hands up at them, claws bared, as the shite pipe smoked furiously in her mouth. Frederick’s men instinctively shied away from the woman as she began to hiss.

  “Blood in thy breast, rageth and boils,” she said. “Oft didst thou wrest Victory’s spoils.”

  Frederick recoiled, too, when he heard the breathy words. “Dev!” he said, backing away in the direction of the gatehouse. “You said you would not let the old witch curse me! She is doing it, do you hear?”

  Devlin held a straight face even though he wanted to laugh; it was always hilarious to him to see big, powerful knights turn into frightened children at the first sign of a curse or witchcraft. Eefha had that effect on all of them with her odd speech and garbled appearance. It was humorous how one tiny little woman could put the fear of the devil into men three times her size. Devlin waved the man off.

  “She is simply telling you not to be so greedy,” he said. “Go, now; to the gatehouse. I will be there shortly.”

  Eefha threw up her hands and growled at Frederick and his men, sending them scampering away. Devlin did grin, then, as he turned back for the keep and grasped Emllyn by the elbow. They were moving across the muddy bailey when he heard her soft voice.

  “You… you have an English knight in the gatehouse?” she asked timidly. “Is… is he a young knight?”

  Devlin was seized with a fit of jealousy before he even looked at her. Once he saw the eager expression on her face, he was positively enraged with it.

  “Nay,” he said, looking away and struggling with the alien emotions that were running unbridled through his veins. “He is an older knight, and I told you to forget about your lover. He no longer exists.”

  Emllyn lowered her gaze, thinking on all of her brother’s knights, or at least the ones she knew of. She’d never been around them much but she did know a few. They were a strong and loyal group.

  “Do you know his name?” she asked. “I may be able to tell you how high he was in the chain of command.”

  It was a suggestion he hadn’t thought of and he was embarrassed by it. What was this wild sense of possessiveness towards her that seemed to get stronger with every pull? Was it truly jealousy? He tried not to sound too interested or grateful in his reply.

  “St. John,” he said, eyeing her as casually as he could manage. “Do you know him?”

  Emllyn immediately nodded. “His daughter is my friend,” she said, looking at him with that beseeching expression he seemed unable to resist. “He served my grandfather, too. Is he well? Oh, please do not hurt him. He is a good man. His wife is very kind and they have five daughters. As I said, his oldest daughter is my best friend in the entire world and her father… well, he means a great deal to her. I will gladly take whatever punishment you intend for him.”

  His expression was serious as he gazed down upon her. “Don’t you think you have taken enough punishment on behalf of Kildare?” he asked softly.

  Emllyn looked as if she had been struck. The comment was blunt but the tone nearly regretful. It made her feel sickened. She had no response for him as the great keep of Black Castle swallowed them up into its cool, dark innards.

  Escorting her in silence to the chamber at the top of the keep, he left her there alone while he went about his business.

  He had a knight to interrogate.

  “’Tis as we feared,” Shain told Devlin in a low voice. “De Cleveley and his allies are planning something big.”

  Devlin, Shain, Frederick, and Iver were huddled in the guard room of Black Castle’s big gatehouse. It was a very cramped room with a small hearth that gave off as much smoke as it did heat. Even now, the air was filled with a thin blue fog of smoke. The guards had taken Sir Victor back to the vault, leaving the knights in private conference. Three hours of interrogation had given them some answers but not all. There was still much more they should know.

  “Aye,” Devlin agreed, running a hand through his short red hair. “He has told us that the missives between Kildare and de Cleveley had to do with quelling the rebellion and regaining Black Castle for the English, but no more than that. We still do not know how or when.”

  “You should have let me have a go at him,” Frederick grumbled. The man was standing in the shadows, his big arms folded across his chest. “Mayhap he knows more than what he was willing to tell.”

  Devlin glanced over his shoulder at him. “Do not let your desire to damage more English flesh be your excuse to interrogate the man for additional information,” he said. “St. John is a seasoned knight and, like the rest of us, no amount of interrogation in the world is going to loosen his tongue if he does not wish to speak. We had a civil conversation and I am convinced he told us what he knew. Beating the man into giving us false information simply to be done with the pain does not help is in any manner.”

  Frederick wasn’t convinced but he didn’t argue. “So what do we do?” he asked.

  Devlin cast a long glance at Shain before continuing. “It is my intention to use our lady captive to our advantage,” he said. “As I told you, the lady was following a lover who was part of the invasion force. She knows that we have several prisoners and she wishes to see if her lover is among them. I have told her that she may see the prisoners if she completes a task for me, and that is to go south to de Cleveley’s settlement and tell them that she has escaped from me. She will then make her way into their confidence to see if she can find out when, and how, they plan to attack us. When she completes her task to my satisfaction, I will let her see the prisoners so she may discover if her lover is among them. For that reason alone, the prisoners must be kept alive until she returns.”

  He was looking at Frederick as he spoke the last sentence. Frederick was looking rather serious about it, as was Iver. “You intend to send her in to the English settlement?” Frederick said, rather surprised. “Once she’s in their bosom, she’ll surely remain. They will not let her leave!”

  Devlin held up a quelling hand. “They will indeed,” he insisted, “because I intend to go with her. I would not send her in there alone. I will pose as a fellow prisoner who escaped Black Sword’s dungeons along with the lady. I will pretend to be mute so that nothing about my speech will give me away. Shain has expressed concern that I will be recognized but to that I say this: I have fought de Cleveley many times but I have usually worn a helm. But to alleviate the possibility of recognizing this shock of red hair, I will shave my head. I will pose as a beaten and tortured companion to the lady, a protector of sorts, and surely draw their sympathy. But make no mistake; I will be there to protect the lady and when our task is through, I will find a way to flee the settlement and return here.”

  Shain had already heard all of this so he wasn’t overly emotional about it, but Frederick and Iver had different reactions; Iver appeared uneasy but Frederick was positively livid. His dark eyebrows shot up as the scheme settled into his psyche.

  “Are you mad?” he demanded. “Going into de Cleveley’s settlement is… is suicide! They will kill you!”

  Devlin shook his head calmly. “Not if they do not know who I am. The lady will verify that I am a prisoner, too.”

  That didn’t ease Frederick at all; he threw up his hands. “And what if she betrays you?” he wanted to know. “She could easily turn you over to them.”

  “Then she will never know if her lover is among our captives,” Devlin said coolly. “I suppose it will come down to who, and what, is more important to her – her lover, or turning me over to the English.
”

  Frederick didn’t know what else to say; he was flabbergasted. True, it seemed like a sound plan but it was still extremely risky. He looked at Iver, hoping the man would support his outrage.

  “Have you nothing to say about this?” he asked him. “Tell him how foolish it is!”

  Iver was characteristically calm. He glanced at Frederick although his focus was mostly on Devlin. He didn’t seem to be particular adverse to the scheme but he wasn’t obviously open to it, either.

  “And the lady is agreeable to all of this?” he asked.

  Devlin nodded. “She is.”

  “Do you know if her lover is among our captives?”

  Again, Devlin nodded. “He is.”

  Iver showed a measure of surprise. “You know this for certain?”

  “I do indeed.”

  “Will you tell her?”

  “Not until our task is complete. That is the bargain.”

  The commanders looked at each other, silent words of concern and approval passing between them with a myriad of glances. No one was quite sure what more to say considering Devlin seemed very determined and, ostensibly, had a solid plan. They had all known Devlin de Bermingham long enough to know that once his mind was set, there was no changing it. He was as willful and stubborn as they come. Therefore, there wasn’t much more they could do than support him. There was no other choice.

  “Very well,” Iver said with a heavy sigh. “If you feel you must do this, then I will not protest. But I fear what Freddy fears; what if she betrays you?”

  “I have mentioned that to him also,” Shain said before Devlin could reply. He looked seriously at his leader. “Dev, if she betrays you, we will not be able to help you.”

  Devlin knew that. He wasn’t entire sure that Emllyn would not betray him but he was fairly certain given the fact that she very much wanted to know if her lover was among the English captives. Still, there had to be more assurance. He would not wager on the scheme with the intention of losing.