Brides of Ireland

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “Who are you?” the gray-haired knight demanded. “No lies, now. Who has sent you?”

  Devlin didn’t like the man in the least; he had a very clipped and unsympathetic manner about him. Rather than react with hostility, he fought down his instincts and labored for control.

  “As I told these other knights, m’lord, there was a great battle at Black Castle four nights ago,” he said. “Kildare’s fleet was destroyed and this woman washed upon the shore. She says she is Kildare’s sister. She is very ill so I brought her here.”

  The gray-haired knight did the same thing the others did; his gaze lingered on Devlin with suspicion before turning his attention to Emllyn. He leaned over to peer at her but didn’t touch her. After a few moments of inspection, he lifted his eyebrows.

  “Hmmm,” he said. “I was not aware that Kildare had a sister. Even if he did, what on earth would she be doing on a ship bound for battle?”

  Devlin repeated what he’d told the bald knight. “She said that she was there to see victory on behalf of her brother,” he replied. “She has a bad wound on her leg. Will you please help her?”

  The gray-haired knight pondered the question. He stepped back from Devlin, sizing him up. “What do you do?” he demanded. “Are you a warrior? A soldier? Answer me.”

  “I am a farmer,” Devlin replied quickly. “I tend the soil. I grow vegetables and sell them at market.”

  “Where at market?”

  Devlin had already told them his farm was south of Black Castle so there was no alternative but to tell him the closest marketplace which, in fact, was Black Castle. He had absolutely no choice and prayed his answer wouldn’t cost him.

  “At Black Castle,” he replied steadily. “It is the nearest marketplace.”

  The gray-haired knight’s manner turned to one of marginal interest. “You have been inside the castle?”

  Devlin nodded. “I have.”

  “Do you know Black Sword?”

  “Do you?”

  The gray-haired knight wriggled his eyebrows and glanced at the soldiers around him. “Nay,” he admitted reluctantly. “But you did not answer my question. Do you know him?”

  Devlin replied carefully. “I have seen men I was told were his generals but Black Sword keeps himself hidden,” he said. “I was told the man is eight feet tall and breathes fire.”

  That brought a grin from the gray-haired knight. “Ah, the ignorance of the Irish, and this one as big as a bull.”

  The men around him laughed at Devlin’s expense. After that, they all seemed to loosen up a great deal as they came to realize that Devlin wasn’t there to do them any harm. Devlin was trying to come across as an ignorant peasant and evidently doing a good job of it from the reaction of the English. The gray-haired knight nodded his head in Emllyn’s direction.

  “One of my men will take her,” he said. “As for you, I am interested in speaking with you further to discover what more you know about Black Castle.”

  Devlin didn’t like that at all. He shook his head. “I will not leave the lady, m’lord,” he said as respectfully as he could. “I found her and I am responsible for her. I’ll not leave her alone with a host of English soldiers to molest her.”

  The smile faded from the gray-haired knight’s lips and his eyes turned hard. “Turn her over,” he commanded. “You will come with me.”

  Devlin refused and took a step back, away from a soldier who was coming for Emllyn. But the man came too close and Devlin threw out a big elbow, catching the man in the face. Blood spurted and as he fell back, a gang of soldiers rushed forward with the intention of separating him from Emllyn. As Devlin held Emllyn tightly and prepared to fight for his life, a shout from the gatehouse brought the mounting skirmish to a dead-halt.

  “Cease!” a man roared. “De Ferrer, what goes on there?”

  Sir George de Ferrer, the gray-haired knight, turned swiftly in the direction of the command, as did Devlin and the other soldiers. Standing just inside the gatehouse was a tall, well-dressed knight with a very finely clad woman on his arm. The gray-haired knight immediately broke away from the group and headed towards the pair.

  “My lord,” he greeted politely, then bowed respectfully to the woman. “Lady Elyse. You are looking very well this day.”

  The well-dressed knight spoke before the woman on his arm could respond. “What is going on?” he asked. “Who is that man? And what happened to the woman he is carrying?”

  De Ferrer looked over his shoulder at Devlin, now surrounded by a host of hostile English soldiers.

  “That man claims he is a farmer from the Black Castle area,” he said. “He told us that four nights ago, there was a great and terrible sea battle in which the forces of the Earl of Kildare were defeated by Black Sword. The man says that the woman in his arms washed up on shore after the battle and that she is badly injured. He also told us that she is the sister of the Earl of Kildare.”

  Before the well-dressed knight could reply, the woman on his arm, the Lady Elyse, let go of his arm and swiftly made her way over to Devlin. The English soldiers gave her a wide berth, making way for her, as she came to within a few feet of Devlin. She came to a halt, then, and looked timidly at Devlin.

  “I am the Lady Elyse,” she introduced herself politely. Then she gestured at Emllyn. “May I see her, please? I only wish to help.”

  Devlin gazed steadily at the Englishwoman; she was short, with very blond hair and big blue eyes. She had a very polite and practiced way about her, refined and elegant, and Devlin was put at ease. He couldn’t sense anything hostile from her in the least. After a moment, he nodded stiffly, and Lady Elyse advanced.

  With small, white hands, she carefully touched Emllyn’s face and lifted up an eyelid, peering at a sightless eye. Then she felt the pulse on her neck. When she was done with that, she looked up at Devlin.

  “What happened to her?” she asked. “Where is she injured?”

  “Her leg,” Devlin replied. “She has a wound that is poisonous. She needs help or she will die.”

  Lady Elyse nodded fervently. “I will help her, have no fear,” she said, her gaze lingering on Devlin. “What is your relationship to her?”

  Devlin was moderately honest, at least as much as he intended to be. “I found her,” he said. “I am responsible for her. I will not leave her alone with men I do not know or trust.”

  Lady Elyse smiled faintly. “I do not blame you,” she said. “Will you trust her with me?”

  “I will.”

  Lady Elyse turned to the men behind her. “I will take the lady to my chamber,” she announced. “Send the surgeon to me immediately.”

  At her command, men began to move. It was as if God himself had issued the order. As a soldier ran off to fetch the surgeon, the well-dressed knight who had been Lady Elyse’s escort was evidently uncomfortable with what she was suggesting. He sought to plead with her.

  “Your chamber?” he repeated. “We could put her in the servant’s quarters just as well. She does not need to be in your chamber.”

  Lady Elyse turned to him. “She is very ill,” she said, seriously but sweetly. “I must tend her and you would not want me spending an inordinate amount of time in the servant’s quarters, would you?”

  The man was trapped. He cleared his throat unhappily. “Of course not,” he said. “But your chamber?”

  Lady Elyse waved him off as she walked past him, turning to motion Devlin to follow. “Bring her along,” she told him. “Hurry, now. There is no time to waste.”

  Devlin didn’t argue; he found himself thanking God for the appearance of this small woman who could move men to do her bidding better than any battle commander. Swiftly, he moved after her, not daring to look at the English warriors he was leaving behind in his wake.

  Lady Elyse was fast as she led him through the gatehouse and out into the complex beyond. Devlin glanced at his surroundings as he followed her; it was as if an entirely new world opened up before him, one of neat dirt avenue
s and huts made from wattle and daub, with thatched roofs. People were everywhere, children and men and women, going about their daily lives. Lady Elyse led him through a town square of sorts, small in size, but with a central well and businesses and trades surrounding it. He could smell the acrid smoke from the smithy shacks. Everything was surprisingly well organized and more populated than he would have imagined. It was an interesting bit of knowledge on a well-protected settlement. This was some of the intelligence he was hoping to obtain.

  But he didn’t have much time to inspect his surroundings as Lady Elyse swiftly took him down a larger avenue which opened up at the end. Spread before him in all of its glory was another wall, this one of big gray stone, with a moat around it. The moat was as a moat should be; filled with muck and sewage, smelling up the area horrifically. The site was heavily guarded and Lady Elyse waved off the soldiers who stepped forward to inspect Devlin. The men backed away, eyeing Devlin with hostility and suspicion, as the Lady Elyse brought him into the guarded complex.

  Inside the inner compound, the layout was simple; there was a block of stables to the left, another wattle and daub building to the right that was big enough for a substantial great hall, and the keep directly in front of him.

  It was the keep that had his attention as Lady Elyse led him towards it. It was at least three stories, built of the same gray stone that the wall was built from. It was sunk deep into the side of a small hill, as the entire complex was on a slight slope, and the entry door that opened wide to them was a massive thing built of iron and wood. The keep was also built in an odd shape; it seemed to have what looked like small wings off to the east and the west. He didn’t have time to study it, however, as Lady Elyse brought him swiftly into the dark depths of the donjon.

  Once inside, Devlin struggled to adjust his eyes to the darkness. The massive door had been deceiving, for the entry it opened into was very small and box-shaped. There were also holes in the walls on either side of the room and he realized they were archer holes; should the door be breached, archers would be positioned to shoot down anyone foolish enough to enter. It was rather clever.

  Lady Elyse directed them down the narrow corridor leading from the entry, which opened up into a large room that stretched for the length of the keep. It was a feasting hall because it had several well-worn tables arranged in it and a massive hearth that was spitting ribbons of gray smoke into the air. Dogs were wandering the room, scavenging for scraps, and Lady Elyse rushed past them. At the far end of the chamber was a spiral staircase, built into the thickness of the wall, and she encouraged Devlin to follow her.

  He did, struggling with his bulk to make it up the stairs and not smack Emllyn’s head into the wall into the process. It was then that he realized several men were following them including Lady Elyse’s escort. Devlin wasn’t surprised but he knew he might be in for great difficulty once he turned Emllyn over to Lady Elyse’s care. He was fairly certain the English were going to try and separate him from Emllyn. He had to be prepared.

  The third floor was arranged exactly like the second floor which, he discovered, was fairly complex in design. This was a Norman castle and reflected the engineering skills of that race. The third floor also had the big room that stretched the length of the keep, this one with big wooden dividers in it that separated bed chambers, but next of this room was a second room that also stretched the length of the keep. It was into this chamber that Lady Elyse took him.

  “There,” she pointed at an enormous canopied bed over near the equally enormous hearth. “Please put her there.”

  Devlin did as he was told, making his way through the sumptuous and well-appointed chamber to lay Emllyn gently on the bed that was surely covered in feathers. He’d never seen anything so light or soft. He stood there a moment, gazing apprehensively at Emllyn, as Lady Elyse came up beside him.

  “Where is her wound?” she asked.

  Devlin lifted Emllyn’s skirts to reveal the bandaged left leg. “Here,” he said. “It looks like a battle wound, evidence that she was indeed in some sort of battle. That is why I believed what she said, that she was on Kildare’s armada. And she… she is very fine. Her hands are fine and her skin is fine. She is a woman of great breeding.”

  He didn’t realize that his voice had softened dramatically as he spoke of Emllyn, but Lady Elyse was very aware. In fact, she actually came to a halt in her inspection of the unconscious lady, staring at the massive farmer who spoke of the woman with such tenderness. It was a surprising show of emotion.

  “I promise I will take great care of her,” she assured Devlin softly. “Now, let me take a look at her wound.”

  Devlin was very aware of the English knights standing back by the door to the chamber. He could feel their stares upon his back. He knew they wanted to speak with him but he remained next to the bed, vigilant, as Lady Elyse carefully unwrapped Emllyn’s leg. As she pulled the last of the wrappings off, she saw the mud poultice and stopped any further unwrapping.

  “Sir,” she said to Devlin as she gestured over near the hearth. “There is a bell for the servant. Will you please ring it?”

  Devlin looked over his shoulder. He saw no bell at first glance but he saw a silken cord that was strung up along the top of the wall. Following the silk cord until it ended, he could see a big silver bell at the end of it. He tugged on the end of the cord so hard that it pulled right off and rang the bell crazily. He turned to Lady Elyse apologetically with the cord still in his hand.

  “I am sorry,” he told her, laying the cord down at the end of the bed. “I suppose I shouldn’t have pulled so hard.”

  Lady Elyse was grinning. “You must be careful with your strength,” she agreed, eyeing the pure size of the man. He was quite handsome in her opinion, and she thought the fact that he seemed so protective over the lady to be very sweet. “What is your name?”

  Devlin hesitated slightly; it was the only part of his plan he hadn’t covered because up until a few hours ago, he was to be a mute. He wouldn’t have to tell anyone his name and he figured that Emllyn would call him something and he would just accept it. But now, he had been asked, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

  “John, m’lady,” he said. “It was my father’s name.”

  It wasn’t a lie; indeed, it was his father’s name. Lady Elyse smiled politely. “You are a farmer?” she said, repeating what she had heard the soldiers say. “That is a difficult profession. No wonder you are so strong. You must work very hard.”

  Devlin could see that Lady Elyse was a genuinely kind woman and he was surprised; all he’d ever heard of English women was that they were frail and silly. But Emllyn had changed his opinion and now Lady Elyse was coming to change it as well. He nodded at her statement.

  “Aye, m’lady.”

  Lady Elyse maintained her polite smile and was preparing to say something more when she caught sight of a servant out of the corner of her eye. Excusing herself, she went to speak to the servant, leaving Devlin standing alone with Emllyn. His focus returned to Emllyn, lying so pale against the fine coverlet. As he stood gazing down at her, his chest tight with apprehension, Emllyn suddenly stirred. Then she stirred again and groaned when she moved her leg. Devlin bent over her about the time her eyes fluttered open.

  “Shhhh,” he whispered to her. “You are safe. Speak quietly, Emllyn. There are many ears around us.”

  All Emllyn could see was Devlin’s big face filling her field of vision. She blinked her hot, crusty eyes. “Dev… Devlin?” she breathed. “What has happened?”

  He shushed her again, his gaze soft upon her. “You must not call me by my name,” he whispered. “I am John. You must remember that – John.”

  Emllyn was disoriented. “John?”

  Devlin nodded faintly, a quick bob of the head because he knew the English soldiers were watching him. He was terrified that one of them was going to walk up and pull him away, so he spoke quickly. “Can you listen to me?” he breathed. “It is important.”


  Emllyn blinked her eyes again, becoming more lucid. She could see that they were in a room, somewhere, and there were things about her that she did not recognize. Frightened, she fixed on Devlin.

  “Where are we?” she murmured.

  “De Cleveley’s settlement,” he whispered. “You must know me only as John. I am a farmer who found you after Kildare’s defeat. Do you understand me?”

  Emllyn could only slowly comprehend. After a moment, she nodded. “Aye.”

  Devlin’s eyes twinkled warmly at her. “Good lass,” he murmured. “The poison in your leg is raging so I brought you here. A very nice lady is willing to tend you, so I don’t want you to worry. All will be well.”

  Emllyn only moderately understood what she was told. Her mind was very muddled. As she lay there, gazing up at Devlin and struggling to digest what was happening, she caught a glimpse of a small, elegant lady with blond hair. Startled and apprehensive, she grabbed hold of Devlin’s hand as Lady Elyse drew near.

  Lady Elyse was surprised to find her patient awake. She smiled kindly at Emllyn. “Greetings, my lady,” she said in her soft, sweet voice. “I am the Lady Elyse de Noble. You have been brought to me because you are very ill. I would like to help you if you will allow it.”

  Emllyn was frightened and bewildered, and tears popped to her eyes. “Aye… aye, I would be grateful,” she murmured as a tear trickled down her temple. “Where am I?”

  Elyse had a bowl of warmed water a servant had brought her and sat on a stool that another servant had pulled up to the bed for her. “You are at Glenteige Castle,” she said. “My father is Sir Raymond de Noble, commander of Lord de Cleveley’s garrison. You are safe, I assure you.”

  Emllyn was still holding on very tightly to Devlin’s hand; he ended up taking a knee beside the bed, holding her small hand between his two big mitts. Emllyn’s attention moved back and forth between Elyse and Devlin before finally settling on Elyse.

  “I am the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald, sister of the Earl of Kildare,” she said softly. “He is allied with de Cleveley.”

  Elyse nodded as she and another servant began to bathe the mud off of Emllyn’s wound. “I know,” she said. “We are most honored to have Kildare’s sister as our favored guest.”