“They will ride with us only a short way,” he told her. “When we get within range of de Cleveley’s scouts, they will return to Black Castle.”
“But what of Eefha?” Emllyn wanted to know. “Will she turn back as well?”
Devlin glance over his shoulder at the old woman, muttering to herself as she plodded along on the palfrey. “I am not sure,” he said. “She may choose to go with us. She will be a good set of eyes for us if she does. People often ignore a mad old woman, not realizing that she is indeed taking notice of what goes on around her.”
Emllyn looked over her shoulder at the old woman, too. “God’s Blood,” she muttered. “Even if she does hear something that will be of help, how is she going to tell you? Is she going to tell you a tale of a great battle and hope you understand what she means?”
Devlin fought off a grin. “That has been known to happen.”
Emllyn was cut off from replying when Devlin suddenly lifted his right arm, a heavily gloved appendage, and a falcon of magnificent breeding swooped in and landed on it. Startled, Emllyn cowered behind him as the bird fluffed its features and stretched out its wings, settling in on Devlin’s arm. He lifted a hand, still holding the reins of the horse, and stroked the bird on its chest with a big finger.
“Where did he come from?” Emllyn asked, eyeing the enormous talons that were cutting into Devlin’s leather glove.
Devlin smiled faintly at the bird. “From the gods,” he said affectionately. “Have you not yet met Neart?”
Emllyn thought a moment, a flash of a memory from the night she was captured popping into her head. She remembered a big, dark bird hanging over Devlin’s head the first time she ever saw him and now the animal’s presence was starting to make some sense.
“I think I may have noticed him on the night you and I were introduced,” she said somewhat wryly, watching the bird as its head swiveled around, searching for predators or prey. “Is he your pet?”
Devlin nodded. “Pet and protector,” he said. “He has been with me for many years. Much like Eefha is an unconventional protector, Neart is much the same. I raised him from a very young bird and he is quite attentive to me.”
Emllyn watched the bird as he ruffled his fathers and preened. “He is a beautiful creature,” she said. “Do you plan to bring him with us, then? I am not sure an escaped prisoner would have a falcon of this magnificence.”
Devlin’s focus was still on the bird. “You worry much,” he said. Then, he murmured swift words to the bird. “Neart, cuardach.”
He lifted his arm and the bird took off, sailing into the air like a great preying beast and disappearing into the mist. Emllyn was fixed on the spot where he had vanished, trying to see if she could spot him in the fog.
“Where is he going?” she asked.
Devlin glanced up at the heavy white mist surrounding them. “His eyes are far better than ours at seeking out danger,” he said. “If he sees something, he will call out to me.”
“Like what?”
“The enemy.”
“Patrols from de Cleveley?”
“Aye.”
“How far is their settlement from Black Castle?”
“Twenty miles,” he replied. “Tonight, our escort will turn back and on the morrow we shall see the English settlement by mid-day.”
“Is it possible that de Cleveley has sent patrols this far north?”
Devlin lifted a dark red eyebrow. “After Kildare’s defeat three days ago, anything is possible. News of my victory will travel fast and we must be vigilant.”
Emllyn fell silent after that, mostly because she wasn’t sure what more to say. Three days ago she was on a ship foundering on the Irish coast; now, she was in the midst of a fog in enemy lands, heading for her brother’s allied encampment. There was a sense of adventure to it all, of disbelief in the situation in general, but in truth all she could manage to feel was apprehension. This was dangerous, and unfamiliar, ground.
But the course was set and there was no turning back. The party from Black Castle traveled into the mid-morning, avoiding the main road and plodding through fields and copses. Eventually, the mist lifted, revealing the brilliant green landscape of Wicklow.
As they moved inland from the coast, it became dotted with green hills and overgrown vales, and there were patches of heavily forested areas. The grass was very thick and about knee-high on the horses, and they trudged silently through the growth as they made their way over hills and down into ravines. It was long and slow going in the cold and brisk air, but Emllyn remained huddled up against Devlin’s back, covered by her borrowed cloak, and it wasn’t so bad. As the morning passed into afternoon and they rounded a particularly tall hill and headed down to a vale with a swiftly running stream, Devlin called halt to their travel.
“We will stop here and water the horses,” he said. “Take what rest you can. We will not stop again until after dark.”
The two knights accompanying them climbed off their coursers and moved the animals to the water to drink. Devlin also dismounted, glancing at their surroundings before turning to help Emllyn from the horse. She was fast, however, and had slid down before he had the chance to assist her. She was already looking around, evidently searching urgently for something.
“I have… business to attend to,” she said. “I need some privacy.”
He knew what she meant. Overhead, they could hear Neart screeching and Devlin let out a piercing whistle between his teeth, lifting his arm for the bird to zero in on. Only when he was sure the bird was heading in his direction did he turn to Emllyn.
“There is a copse of trees over to the east,” he pointed to a group of saplings sprouting from the side of a rocky hill. “Go there but no further.”
Emllyn looked at the rather sparse trees. “There is not much privacy there.”
“That is your only choice. Take care of your business and be done with it. We must continue on.”
Giving him an expression of extremely disapproval, she nonetheless dutifully trudged off in the direction of the trees. Devlin’s gaze lingered on her as she moved, distracted only when the bird settled on his arm. Still, his gaze returned to Emllyn as she slugged up the hill towards the trees. Having ridden all morning with her pressed against his back, he was not hard pressed to admit he had liked it. He felt oddly settled and content with her against him, like he’d never felt in his life.
Since he had met her, each hour of the day was bringing him feelings and thoughts he had never believed himself capable of. Each minute was a new discovery and it had occurred to him sometime during the morning that he had ceased to view her as a prisoner and now viewed her as something else. He wasn’t entirely sure what; a possession perhaps or something more, something companionable. All he knew was that she didn’t seem like his prisoner any longer.
She was something else.
As Emllyn reached the group of trees and faded into them, he returned his attention to Neart. The heavy bird on Devlin’s arm began to fuss and he began to dig around in his saddle bags for some jerky for the animal. Neart ate rodents and other small creatures but he was particularly fond of jerky. Just as Devlin laid his hands on a bit of food, the bird suddenly screeched and took off, launching itself into the sky and screaming as it usually did when danger was sighted.
In fact, Devlin’s men froze at the sound and looked to the sky. It was an instinct with them; Devlin always took the bird into battle and for very good reason – Neart’s bird of prey intuitions were never wrong. They had depended upon the animal’s cries at the start of their rebellion and even on the stormy night when Kildare’s fleet had come ashore, the bird had alerted them. He had eyes and ears and senses that no human being possessed, so as the bird cried overhead against the cloudy sky, the men instinctively went for their swords. Their first hint at danger wasn’t long in coming.
Oblivious to the screaming bird, Emllyn had just finished relieving herself in the grove of trees. As she lowered her skirts and came out
of the foliage, she heard a noise behind her. Turning to see a group of men dressed in tartans approaching through the leaves, she let out a yelp of fear and bolted in Devlin’s direction. In her haste, however, she slipped on the muddy slope and fell flat on her face. Before she could get to her feet, someone grabbed her by the ankle and she screamed as loud as she could.
“Devlin!”
Devlin and his men saw her near the copse of trees, on her belly as men swarmed around her. Seized with fury and panic, Devlin leapt onto his horse, as did Iver and Shain, and made haste in Emllyn’s direction. His foot soldiers, thirty of them clad in stolen tartan from various clanns so de Bermingham men could not be identified to outside observers, ran after the knights on horseback. The scent of battle filled the air and the Irish breathed heavily of it; battles were commonplace and they were prepared. They fed on the rush and were prepared to kill.
Devlin reached Emllyn quickly, just as men were trying to drag her away by her feet. She was fighting them furiously, kicking heads and slapping hands as she was able. Devlin charged his horse right up to her and swung his sword at the nearest man, cleaving his head cleanly off at the shoulders. His head hit the ground right next to Emllyn; in fact, she looked over and next to her shoulder were a pair of sightless eyes gazing back at her. Screaming hysterically, she kicked a man holding her left foot right in the face and bolted to her feet.
A nasty fight was going on around her but the only thing she could see was Devlin’s hand reaching for her. Once, she would have recoiled from it but at the moment, it was safety. She grabbed hold of the extended hand and Devlin yanked her up onto his horse. Emllyn settled in behind him, threw her arms around his waist, and held on with a death grip.
With Emllyn safe, Devlin was better able to function. Odd how the moment he saw her being dragged away, his mind had clouded over and all he could see, think, or feel was Emllyn’s predicament. Nothing else at that moment mattered. Until she was safe, he could think of nothing else so now that she was tucked in behind him, he was capable of functioning.
Rage overtook him now. These men had tried to abduct Emllyn when she quite clearly belonged to him, so he reckoned to punish them just as he would have punished anyone else who had tried to take what belonged to him. Swords were swinging, as were clubs, and he buried his sword in two of the men who had tried to take Emllyn from him. He had seen them; he never forgot a face and he had singled these men out to pay for their sins. They were all going to pay. Already, it was a bloodbath as Black Sword’s fury was unleashed. There were more than one headless body lying about.
Devlin’s first thought upon reclaiming Emllyn should have been to remove her from the fighting, but it was not. He felt that she was safe enough on the back of his horse that no one would try for her again, but he was wrong. As he sliced through one man’s shoulder, he felt Emllyn lurch behind him. Screaming, she began to slide away but he grabbed her hands, still wrapped around his waist, and realized at that moment that he should probably remove her. As long as she remained with him in battle, she was a target. Spurring his courser forward, he plowed through a gang of fighting men in order to flee to safety.
The horse thundered across the wet grass and towards the area where they had originally paused to rest. Eefha was still there, still sitting on her palfrey and puffing on her shite pipe. As Devlin pulled up beside her on his sweaty, bloodied horse, he was rather surprised when the old woman reached up to pull Emllyn off the steed. Usually she wouldn’t have bothered. But as Emllyn slid off the animal, Devlin could see why.
Emllyn had been wounded.
Her left leg and the bottom portion of her surcoat was stained with blood and she winced as Eefha helped her to the ground. Devlin forgot all about the battle going on several dozen yards away; he bailed off his horse and was at her side in a moment.
“Let me see how badly you’re wounded,” he said calmly, although his heart was racing with fear and adrenalin. “What happened?”
Both Eefha and Devlin lowered Emllyn to the ground. As she sat upon the wet grass, Devlin lifted her surcoat to get a look at the injury.
“Someone with a blade cut me,” she said, pain in her voice. “One of those men who tried to carry me away. I think they were aiming for you but when you turned the horse, they cut me instead.”
He looked at her as her words sank in. They were aiming for you. God, he had been so foolish not to have removed her from the battle immediately. Arrogance had kept him fighting, thinking of himself before he thought of her. Feeling horribly guilty, he returned his focus to her leg to see that she had been sliced cleanly just below the knee, a cut a couple of inches long. It wasn’t terribly bad but it was still bleeding a great deal.
“Eefha,” he said. “In my saddle bags there are medicaments and boiled linen. Will you please get it?”
Puffing on the pipe and creating a smelly cloud above Emllyn’s head, Eefha stood up and went to Devlin’s bags. Sticking her hands in, she began pulling forth bandages and other items. Handing them off to Devlin, she then went to her own bags and began rummaging around. Emllyn’s attention moved between the old woman’s busy movements and Devlin’s careful touch on her wound.
“She understood you,” she murmured. “I did not think she understood normal language.”
Devlin grinned weakly. “She understands more than she lets on,” he said. Then, he glanced at her, almost apologetically. “I must put a few stitches in this. It is fairly deep.”
Emllyn struggled against her fear; she wasn’t very good with pain and didn’t relish a needle to her flesh. But she swallowed bravely.
“It will look better to de Cleveley if I have an injury as a result of my escape from Black Sword’s dungeon,” she said with forced confidence. “How fortunate this occurred.”
Devlin didn’t believe her for a moment but he admired her courage. “I shall be quick,” he said softly.
For the first time since their rough introduction, there was trust in her eyes as she looked at him. Perhaps there was some appreciation, too, for the fact that he had saved her from cutthroats. Whatever the case, there was something different in her expression that he had never before witnessed. Her lips curled into a faint smile.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Devlin smiled in return and then went to work. There was all manner of warmth between them, of gentleness in his touch that Emllyn had never experienced. It is so odd, she thought to herself as she watched him tend her wound. ‘Tis almost as if he… cares. But that wasn’t possible. She was a concubine and nothing more, as he had reminded her many times. He was simply protecting his property.
As the battle raged on the hillside, Devlin put five small stitches in Emllyn’s leg with slippery but thick cat gut and Eefha bandaged it tightly. It had been painful but Emllyn had never uttered a sound. As Eefha mixed powdered willow bark with some water from the stream and had Emllyn drink it, Devlin stood off to the side and watched the battle in the distance dwindle. He would not return to it and leave an old woman and an injured lady unprotected, so he remained where he was and watched as Iver and Shain chased off the remaining bandits.
As Devlin urged Eefha to hurry and finish tending Emllyn, Neart returned from his aerial reconnaissance and Devlin perched the bird on his saddle with a bit of jerky as a reward. When the tide of dirty men finally seemed to be moving well off into the distance, Shain gave a sharp whistle and Devlin’s men began to retreat. As Devlin watched, the familiar throng moved back in his direction. It was over, for now.
Fortunately, Devlin hadn’t lost any men in the skirmish but he had six wounded, one of them fairly seriously. It was an older soldier who had been cut in the face, slicing through an eye. Shain and a few other men tried very hard to staunch the blood flow and get the man’s eye wrapped so they could move out, but it was a bad wound indeed. It took more time than Devlin would have liked to get him stable. They did what they could and then assigned four men to escort all of the wounded back to Black Castle. When De
vlin lifted Emllyn onto his courser and ordered his group to move out, ten men headed back for Black Castle while the remaining twenty five continued south towards de Cleveley territory.
“De Cleveley’s men?” Devlin asked as they resumed their pace.
Both Shain and Iver were riding to his right; the question was directed at them. They were a bit dirty from the muddy battle but none the worse for wear. Shain was the first to reply.
“Nay,” he said. “They were Irish; no English mixed among them, which is usual for de Cleveley. Plus, their weapons were crude and de Cleveley’s men are always well armed. They were also wearing O’Byrne tartan. Didn’t you notice?”
Devlin thought on that information. His heart sank at the thought of his hated enemy, the clann O’Byrne, a large faction that lived to the north of Black Castle and were the traditional enemy of de Bermingham and their allies, the O’Connor. Devlin hadn’t had any trouble from them lately but they were always lurking, waiting to strike. They envied what de Bermingham had.
Devlin fought off a sense of frustration; he had enough trouble with the English. He didn’t need the O’Byrnes resuming their raids on top of everything.
“Truthfully, I was so busy trying to assist the lady that I did not have time to notice everything,” he admitted. “How many did we kill?”
No one said anything about the fact that Devlin had just called Emllyn the “lady” rather than the “prisoner”, or the fact that he had taken her out of the battle and not returned. He had chosen to stay with her, all extremely unusual actions for the usually hands-on commander. If they were confused by it, they kept silent. They focused on his question instead.
“I counted eleven,” Iver said. “They had at least thirty or more men. When they retreated, they left the dead.”
Devlin glanced over his shoulder at the battle site that was now in the distance. “They will be back for them,” he muttered. “We must make sure we are well away by nightfall. I do not wish to remain awake all night waiting for retaliation from O’Byrne.”
Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 48
