Emllyn was going to argue with him but thought better of it. She could agree to the terms and perhaps in time, change his mind. Be compliant! Perhaps someday she would see the English captives; perhaps one day they would all be freed. She would not give up hope.
“As you say,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.
Devlin could hear defeat in her voice and he struggled not to react to it, one way or the other. She was very proud, he could tell. She was also stubborn. Then, again, so was he. He realized he saw many of his own qualities in his captive. They were qualities to respect.
He moved to within a foot or so of her, lingering close and watching her instinctively flinch. He didn’t like it when she flinched from him but he knew why; he’d only shown her aggression and dominance since they had first met. All she had ever known was being ravaged by him. Although the man had never known a strong sense of regret, he thought he might be coming to feel something close to it. Crouching his bulk down, he met her on her own level.
“Then we have a bargain?” he asked.
Emllyn looked at him, the man’s smooth skin and intelligent features. It suddenly occurred to her that he was a handsome man, although the thought just as quickly shocked her. The man was her captor, a barbarian and worse - he was an Irish rebel, the beating heart of the resistance that had kept her brother frustrated and occupied. But he was also ruggedly and beautifully handsome, like a wild horse that refuses to be tamed. The way he was looking at her made her heartbeat quicken, just a little.
“We do,” she whispered. “But how will I get to de Cleveley’s encampment? I do not know where to go.”
Devlin was watching the way the firelight glowed against her face. “I will take you there myself,” he said. “I will watch over you to make sure you make it safely to their fortress. In fact, I may send one of my men with you as an escort. He will also help you return to Black Castle when the time is right.”
Emllyn’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she averted it and looked to her hands. There was an odd pull she was beginning to feel, something unexpected and unsettling. His eyes were a vortex with which to suck her in and she averted her gaze purely out of surprise more than anything. Her heart was beating faster now and her palms were sweating, and it had nothing to do with fear or intimidation. It had everything to do with him, as a man. Oh, God, she was going crazy!
“When do I go?” she asked softly.
Devlin felt the pull between them, too. He also felt a jolt when she tore her gaze away, a jolt that left him with a rapidly beating heart. He almost couldn’t catch his breath. So he stood up and moved away from her in order to reclaim his composure.
“I am not certain,” he said. “In a day or two. I must make plans and then we shall move forward with them.”
Emllyn simply nodded her head, unwilling to look up at him again because she was fearful that the strange pull would start again and she might not be able to break away from it. She’d never known anything like it, not even with Trevor. Trevor! Her thoughts drifted to him once again.
“Until such time as you move forward with your plans, where am I to be kept?” she asked. “In this chamber?”
Devlin nodded as he looked around the room. “It is the most comfortable chamber in the keep, and probably the entire castle,” he said. “The floor is not dirt but stone and planking. You will be comfortable here.”
Emllyn lifted her head, daring to look at him. “Where are the other English prisoners kept?”
His expression seemed to harden. “In the vault,” he said. “Deep in the stone.”
“What do you mean?”
That strange pull was starting again and he struggled to ignore it, but the longer he gazed into that lovely face, the stronger the pull became.
“Trust me when I say it is not a pleasant place,” he said.
“Since I am a prisoner, you should put me there.”
“You are better off here.”
Emllyn was feeling the pull so strongly that she almost couldn’t reply. She had to think hard on forming a sentence.
“Here?” she repeated. “In your chamber? For mercy’s sake, shouldn’t you move me to another chamber so I will not be caged here… with you?”
He lifted a well-defined eyebrow. “I told you before that you belong to me,” he said. “That means you will be caged here in my chamber, with me, because that act alone will preserve your personal safety. Do you realize how many men want to kill you simply for being English? You have a great many enemies in this castle, my lady. Rather than look upon me as your jailor, I would suggest you look upon me as your protector.”
Emllyn was feeling warm and giddy, an odd sensation really. She’d never felt that way before but it had something to do with the way he moved his mouth. She looked at it and remembered how it kissed her. She’s never felt anything like it in her life, a warm and soft thing. But it also occurred to her that she shouldn’t feel that way about him; the man had stolen her innocence and had acted brutally towards her. He was nothing more than a barbarian.
…then why could she only remember the pleasure?
“A protector who has taken what is most precious to me,” she said, lowering her gaze. She spoke before she could stop herself, a rage igniting in her. “A protector who has forced himself upon me twice. That is not what a protector does. A protector would keep me safe from harm, which you have not done.”
Devlin could feel himself stiffen to her accusations. Deep down, he knew she was right to a certain extent, but he didn’t see it that way. He wasn’t used to anyone questioning his behavior or actions, and it didn’t sit well with him.
“I did not harm you,” he countered. “There are no bruises upon you. You are not bleeding, nor did I break any bones. I would be careful what you accuse me of.”
Her head shot up. “What I accuse you of?” she repeated, incredulous. “Then what you would call it?”
His eyes glittered but he held himself in check, like a coiled snake before it strikes. “I would call it victory,” he said simply. “I took what belonged to me. You belong to me.”
Emllyn met his gaze a moment longer before looking away, disgusted. “Then you are not my protector,” she said. “Call me what I am – a prisoner, and you are my jailor. A protector is someone who is gallant and chivalrous, which you have not been. You did not like it when I called you an animal; mayhap you should not act like one if you wish for me to reform my opinion.”
He was rebuked. Fighting off the urge to bellow at her, Devlin stared at her a good, long moment before sighing sharply. He was resisting the strong impulse to throw her down on the bed and punish her, but in that same thought, he realized it wasn’t punishment as much as it was simply a very strong desire to bed her. There was so much emotion and confusion rolling around in his chest that his hands began to quiver. Why didn’t he just take her and be done with it? She belonged to him, didn’t she?... didn’t she?
Jesus… what was happening to him?
“For a woman who sailed to Ireland on an invasion fleet, you have little right to accuse me of being an animal,” he muttered. “Your brother has slaughtered thousands of Irish and taken thousands more as slaves, and he justifies his actions because he believes Lord Justice of Ireland gives him that right. The English in general slaughter Scots and Welsh by the thousands because they covet their lands. How are the English any less animals than I am?”
Emllyn stared at the fire. “My brother does not steal the innocence of women he claims to be protecting.”
“So this is all about me, is it? I am the worst rebel there is and your brother is a saint?”
She shook her head. “I did not say he was a saint,” he said. “But he has as much right to these lands as you do. They belonged to my grandfather and his father before him.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Devlin broke from his stance near the bed and swooped in on her, grasping her by the arms and yanking her up from the stool. He had her trapped up against his
massive chest, his eyes blazing at her.
“Your grandfather’s father stole lands from my family,” he snarled. “They do not belong to any Englishman. They belong to Ireland and if God is merciful, I will soon restore them to my people. Never again lecture me about brutality and conquest because, my lady, your people have done far worse than I could ever hope to achieve.”
Gazing up into Devlin’s angry blue eyes, Emllyn began to feel some fear. Not the pure, abject terror she had felt earlier, but a deeper-seated fear. She was afraid of him, but not for obvious reasons. She wasn’t afraid that he was going to kill her; she knew enough about the man that she knew he would not. She was afraid of what he was going to do to her and of how he made her feel while doing it. It began to occur to her that perhaps she was afraid of herself because she liked it.
“So you will punish them now by ravaging me again?” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “What kind of man takes out his frustrations on the weak and helpless?”
Devlin didn’t answer her; he was too furious to. But he was also consumed by the feel and smell of her, something that instantly aroused him. She was provoking him; he could sense it. She was being reckless with her words, reckless to the point of punishment and as he gazed into her eyes, he could see a tumult of emotion that matched whatever he thought he was feeling, too. He didn’t like it one bit. For a man perpetually in control, he didn’t like the thought of being unable to control whatever it was he felt for her. If he even felt anything at all. Perhaps all he felt was lust and nothing more.
Devlin’s mouth came down on Emllyn’s, so hard that he drove her teeth into her soft gum. He was kissing her with something short of fury; there was passion and lust and angst there, feelings that made him pull her more tightly against him. He could taste her blood as he sucked her lips, vaguely aware that she was fighting him. She was trying to pull away but he would not let her. The next he realized, she was in his arms and together they fell on the bed.
Devlin could hear Emllyn weeping softly, begging him to do… something. Or not do something. He wasn’t listening. His mouth moved down her neck to the exposed cleavage and he grabbed the arms that were trying to push him away, trapping them above her head. With her arms trapped, he began to fumble with his breeches, pulling them down as he lifted her heavy skirts. Emllyn’s legs were thrashing about and he wedged himself in between them so she could hardly move. His hand, now roaming free, could feel the moist heat between her legs and he inserted two big fingers into her, listening to her groan.
“You are not weak and you are certainly not helpless,” he breathed as he suckled her tender neck. “Do you feel me inside of you? This is where I will take my pleasure with you and where you will bear my sons. Already, I am making way for my seed and you shall accept it, do you hear? You shall accept it and you shall bear me a son.”
He thrust into her with his fingers, mimicking what he would soon be doing with his large, throbbing member. Emllyn’s weeping had ceased for the most part and now she gasped every time he thrust his fingers into her tight, wet heat. He would have liked to have tasted her but he didn’t want to get kicked in the head, so he settled for touching her. He liked the feel of her. It wasn’t long before he could feel her body start to quiver, the beginnings of her release of ecstasy, so he quickly removed his fingers and thrust long and hard into her as her body was overcome with a climax.
Devlin could feel her body convulsing around him as he pounded into her yielding form. She was so very hot and wet, her cries filling the air until he put a big hand into her mouth and she bit off her screams. A hand snaked under the shift and he found her breasts, pinching the nipples and feeling her twitch. He was so highly aroused that he released himself far sooner than he had hoped, spilling deep and feeling his hot seed mingle with her wet heat. It was the most glorious thing he had ever known. Exhausted, spent, he collapsed on top of her.
The sounds of heavy breathing filled the air as Devlin struggled to catch his breath. Beneath him, Emllyn simply lay there, eyes closed and her head turned away from him. She wasn’t fighting him any longer, however; she simply lay there, unmoving. Devlin stared at her in the firelight, thinking he’d never in his life seen anything more beautiful. He wondered what it would be like for her to actually respond to him, for her to touch him as he touched her. The mere thought was enough to harden him again and in little time, he was very slowly and sensually thrusting in and out of her. His face was buried in her neck, smelling her, as his hips moved in the ancient primal rhythm.
“Nay,” Emllyn gasped. “Not again… please… no more.”
Devlin responded by covering her mouth with his, kissing her with something just short of tenderness. It was slow and delicious, his tongue invading her mouth as he listened to her gasp. He was being very careful and deliberate, his thrusts as gentle as they could be. He was unbelievably aroused, letting go of the arms he had trapped over her head and using the free hand to burrow under her shift and fondle her breasts. When Emllyn shifted and tried to move away, he held her pelvis fast and refused to allow her to move. When she stopped moving, he moved a big hand in between them, to where their bodies joined, and began to gently stroke her.
Emllyn groaned, overwhelmed with the new sensations he was creating. Devlin was literally panting as he watched her face, seeing the pleasure upon it and knowing she was feeling what he was feeling. It was too good to be true, mating that was only dreamt of or told of in fables of lore. It was pleasure beyond pleasure, passion beyond passion, and something between them that seemed as if their bodies were only made for each other. Devlin had bedded many women, but never like this. He had never even dreamed of anything like this. When he felt Emllyn’s tremors begin again, causing her to gasp frantically, he thrust into her several times, hard, before releasing in a burst of glory.
The fire in the hearth snapped softly as heavy breathing filled the room. Devlin was collapsed on top of Emllyn as she lay with her hands over her eyes. He could hardly catch his breath and neither could she, but eventually the breathing died down and the room fell silent but for the crackle of the fire. Devlin still lay atop Emllyn, his body still joined to hers, thinking a great many thoughts. Mostly, he thought he might possibly be going mad. Something had happened since the moment he first bedded his English captive and the tides were turning; it would seem that she was no longer the captive.
It would seem that now, somehow, he belonged to her.
∾
CHAPTER FOUR
“’Tis a bold plan, Devlin,” Shain said, his voice low. “Are you sure they will not recognize you?”
“De Cleveley has never seen me,” Devlin said. “He would not know me on sight.”
Devlin and Shain were standing near the stables of Black Castle’s fortress complex; the keep itself was built on a promontory on the edge of the sea with a rope suspension bridge linking it to the mainland where the majority of the fortress was. It was a bridge that could be easily removed or burned to prevent access to the keep if the need arose.
Like most Irish castles, Black Castle’s keep and walls were built of stone, with a muck-filled moat paralleling the outer wall. The bailey held a giant feasting hall and several outbuildings all built of wattle and daub, including sleeping quarters and a barn, while the keep itself was literally three stories and three rooms – storage on the bottom floor, a big hall on the second floor, and Devlin’s massive chamber on the third floor. All of this surrounded by the vast Irish sea to the east.
Evening had fallen now as Devlin and Shain lingered near the outbuildings, and a wicked eastern wind had whipped up, battering man and structure alike. Devlin eventually pulled Shain out of the wind as they huddled inside the stables to seek shelter from the weather. It was a bitter night, made more bitter now with the conversation at hand. Devlin had just proposed a rather daring scheme to Shain and the man wasn’t particularly thrilled with it. In fact, he was positively adverse.
“But you have fought de Cleveley before,
many times,” Shain said, motioning at Devlin’s flaming red hair. “Surely someone has seen you and knows what you look like. You are rather hard to miss, you know.”
Devlin shrugged. “I have always worn armor, including a helm,” he said. “If they have seen me, they have never gotten a good look at me. If I thought for one moment they would recognize me, I would not have suggested my plan.”
Shain’s gaze lingered on him for a long, tense moment before looking away. “I understand why you would send Fitzgerald’s sister into their midst,” he said. “Your bargain with her is a sound one. They could very well divulge their plans to her because she is an ally. But the thought of you accompanying her… why must you do this? I still do not understand.”
Devlin didn’t really understand himself; all he knew was that he couldn’t let her go without him. Maybe he couldn’t let her out of his sight. He wasn’t sure yet, but one thing was for certain – he was about to go into the belly of the beast with the woman. He would not let her go in alone.
“I will pretend to be her slave or her bodyguard,” he said. “I will pretend to be mute so my brogue will not give me away. It would not be wise to let her go into the settlement without some measure of protection.”
“So you would risk yourself?” Shain demanded. “’Tis madness, Dev!”
Devlin shook his head. “It is not,” he replied firmly. “We have plenty of armor from the dead English. I will dress in their armor, shave my head, and generally look the part of the Béarla warrior. She will tell them that I am her slave and they will believe her.”
Shain looked at him as if he had gone mad. “You do not look like a slave,” he said. “It would be better if you were her protector, sent by her brother. You look the part of something more noble than a slave.”
“Then I shall be her protector,” he said, becoming irritable with Shain’s resistance. “It only make sense; surely a lone woman would not be traveling alone.”
Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 42
