He had her. Emllyn sighed heavily before averting her gaze. “I am the biggest fool of all for stowing away on my brother’s warships to begin with,” she muttered with regret. “But you and I have a bargain and I will not go back on my word. Before we enter de Cleveley’s settlement, mayhap you should tell me what it is I am supposed to say so that we have our stories straight.”
Feeling victorious in their battle of words, Devlin finished cinching up his satchel. “I touched on it before but to be clear, you will indeed tell them the truth – you are Kildare’s sister and you stowed away on your brother’s war fleet,” he said as he finished with his bag and moved for the hides that had constituted her bed. “You will tell them that Black Sword captured you and threw you in the vault, where you were stored with other prisoners, of which I was one. We were able to escape when I overpowered a guard and stole his keys, and we escaped in the middle of the night through a postern gate near the kitchens. I have accompanied you because I am a mute and have nowhere else to go. You will stress that I am to be kept with you because you feel safe with me; otherwise, they could throw me in the vault again.”
Emllyn watched him as he rolled up the hides and basically cleaned up their camp. All of it seemed like a very daunting task. “I will admit that I am apprehensive,” she said. “I have never done anything like this before. I am not sure if I can be convincing.”
“If you are not convincing, you will never see your lover again.”
“And they will kill you.”
“I would prefer that not happen.”
It was a wry statement, a bit of levity to break the tension. With a heavy sigh, Emllyn nodded. “Very well, then,” she said, pulling the cloak more tightly about her against the early morning dew. “Let us get started. Where is Eefha?”
She was looking around, trying to see through the mist. Devlin took the hides and his satchel and began heading up one of the small hills that surrounded the vale.
“I do not know,” he said. “She was gone this morning before my men pulled out.”
“Do you think she went back to Black Castle?”
“It is hard to say with her.”
Emllyn began looking around as if she could somehow spot the small old woman in all of this fog. She felt a strange sense of loss with Eefha gone because she had established something of an attachment to the woman who had saved her from the frightening Irish knight who had come pounding on her door. She was so involved in scanning the mist that it took her a moment to notice that Devlin had all but disappeared. Curious, she made her way towards the hill where she last saw him when she suddenly saw the tree on top of the mound rattle. Peering closer, she could see Devlin up in the branches of the big, old oak.
“What are you doing?” she called up to him.
The branches rattled and one of them, a rather large branch, crashed to the ground. “Hiding my possessions,” he said. “We may need them when we escape and head back to Black Castle. I want to try to keep them safe.”
“In a tree?”
“In a tree. No one ever thinks to look up in a tree.”
Emllyn watched the man fumble around in the branches before eventually lowering himself to the ground. For such a big man, he climbed rather agilely. He brushed the prickly oak leaves off of his ragged clothing as he approached.
“There, now,” he said. “All finished. How is your leg, by the way?”
Emllyn instinctively put her hand down to the painful, swollen spot. “It hurts.”
“We have quite a bit of walking to do. Can you make it?”
“I will have to.”
“If it becomes too painful, I will carry you.”
She looked at him as if disgusted by the suggestion. “You will do no such thing,” she said primly. “I will walk.”
She was being stubborn about it. As she tried to walk away from him, he grabbed her by the arm.
“Wait,” he commanded softly. “Sit down.”
Emllyn frowned. “Why?”
His reply was to direct her to a rock that was jutting out of the side of the hill and pushed her down on it. As she fussed at him, he lifted her skirt to reveal the wrap that Eefha had put on it. He went to unwrap it but Emllyn tried to stop him. Pushing her hands away, he unwrapped the wound.
An angry, oozing injury faced him and his heart sank. He could see that it was becoming poisonous and he touched it, feeling that it was very hot. Emllyn winced in pain at his touch and pushed his hand away, but he ended up cupping her face with both hands to feel that she was with fever. It wasn’t bad but he knew it soon would be. He tried not to feel an inordinate amount of panic.
“Your wound is developing poison,” he told her as he took his hands from her face. “You have a fever.”
Startled, Emllyn put her hands to her face as if to confirm his diagnosis. “I do?” she felt her cheeks. “But I do not feel terrible, simply tired.”
Devlin’s gaze lingered on her face a moment before returning his attention to her leg. He sighed heavily. “This changes things,” he muttered. “I cannot take you back to Black Castle because it is too far away on foot. De Cleveley’s settlement is closer.”
Emllyn was puzzled by the comment. “We are going there anyway, are we not?” she said. “I fail to see why anything has changed.”
She wasn’t feeling his apprehension; Devlin could see that. Either she was too foolish or too naïve to realize the danger she was in, but he brushed it all aside. He had to get her to help no matter how unconcerned she was. But he would try to do what he could before they set out on foot, at least enough to keep the poison from growing rapidly. They had so very few possessions with them, and certainly nothing that could ease poison from the body. They were supposed to be escaped prisoners, and escapees didn’t usually travel well-stocked. Thinking quickly, he stood up and pointed a finger at her.
“Remain here,” he instructed. “Don’t move.”
He moved away from her before she could answer and headed to the small steam that flowed near the base of one of the hills that surrounded the vale. Emllyn’s attention was divided between her swollen, oozing injury and Devlin’s movements. He crouched down beside the stream and she could see that he was doing something although she couldn’t see exactly what. It looked to her as if he was playing in the mud along the banks of the idyllic water. He was rubbing and kneading very seriously. Eventually, he stood up with his hands cupped together and headed back in her direction.
Emllyn watched curiously as he knelt beside her and began packing mud against her wound. But there was something else in the mud because she could see white and green flecks. He packed the mud tightly and she winced.
Devlin noticed that she was flinching with every poke and every press, but she didn’t utter a sound. She seemed more interested in watching him work.
“What are you doing?” she finally asked.
Devlin wiped his muddy hands off on his hose and picked up the bandage that had been wrapped around her wound. He began to re-wrap it.
“The mud will help draw out any poison,” he said. “I found some snowdrops and clover by the stream which helps with healing. I’m afraid it is the best I can do for now. I don’t have anything else with me to tend the wound so we will have to make haste to de Cleveley’s village and depend on their mercy.”
Emllyn watched him as he tightened the bandage. “I truly do not feel that bad,” she assured him softly because he seemed to be worrying a great deal. “I am tired, but other than that I feel well enough.”
Devlin didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to frighten her. Truthfully, her wound could go either way; it could clear up on its own or it could get very, very bad. He hoped it wasn’t the latter. When he was finished tightening the bandage he scooped her up into his big arms and stood up.
“You will not be walking,” he informed her in a tone that suggested the subject was not up for debate. “I will carry you the rest of the way.”
Emllyn wrapped her arms around his ne
ck purely to steady herself, realizing almost instantaneously that the last time she was this close to him, he was doing unspeakable things to her. She could smell his skin and feel his warmth all around her, and her heart began to thump against her ribs. Perhaps it was fear, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt more like excitement.
The man was big, strong, and passionate about everything he did. During the times he’d taken her, it had been with such passion that, although rightly terrified and embarrassed, it was something that had ultimately not left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. He hadn’t hurt her in any way; all he’d done is give her pleasure like she had never known to exist. More and more, she realized she couldn’t bring herself to hate him for it. It was a ridiculous realization, but one she couldn’t deny.
Cradled in Devlin’s arms as he began their trek south towards de Cleveley lands, Emllyn tried not to look at him more than necessary and she definitely tried not to make eye contact with him. Her thoughts were running from silly, foolish thoughts of the man’s powerful arms to the reflection of the past three days with him. She was more concerned than she dared to admit about the man placing himself in danger simply to gain information that might save his people and, consequently, his rebellion.
Emllyn was very concerned that she might say or do the wrong thing that might jeopardize her chances of keeping her end of the bargain, but more than that, she was concerned that something terrible might befall Devlin. He was a rebel, a thief, and in many eyes a murderer as well, but he was also someone who was trying to do something noble for his people and doing it any way he could. Her opinion, and her defiance against him, was starting to waver.
After an hour or so of such thoughts, her mind began to grow muddled and weary. It wasn’t long before her head was against his shoulder and her eyes were drooping. She was so very, very tired, and she soon fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Emllyn was passed out cold with a raging fever by the time the old wooden and stone walls of de Cleveley’s settlement came into view shortly after mid-day.
CHAPTER TEN
The great settlement of the House of de Cleveley, heirs to the barony of Bowland, was one of the largest Norman settlements in Ireland. An early Lord de Cleveley had come to Ireland a few years after William the Conqueror had started his systematic takeover of England and had staked out rich and prosperous lands in Wicklow with the help of a few thousand Norman soldiers. He used local and conquered tribes to build him a castle in the village of Wicklow proper and also one to the south near the small village of Glenteige.
Wicklow Castle had been captured by the O’Byrnes about five years earlier. On the coattails of the O’Byrnes, Devlin and his father had managed to clear the de Cleveleys out of a major portion of Wicklow and subsequently chase the Fitzgeralds out of neighboring lands, resulting in the capture of Black Castle. While Devlin had an organized rebellion against Kildare with the purpose of regaining a massive portion of Wicklow for the de Berminghams, the O’Byrnes ran wild in Ulster, burning and looting and killing, which had reduced the de Cleveley holdings to the southern portion of the county.
It was a bit of a complex situation and one that was extraordinarily volatile. It was for that reason that the de Cleveley settlement was surrounded by an enormous wall built from wood and stone, and surrounded by a ditch that was several miles in length. The ditch was filled with seawater which washed in with the tides because some Norman engineer had designed an ingenious system. It was a fairly impregnable compound.
Devlin had never been inside the complex but he had seen it, many times, and he had even helped the O’Connors lay siege to it twice. He knew that the wall surrounded a settlement that housed several thousand people and he also knew there was a central castle and keep buried deep in the complex. Being that it was a village, a living and breathing entity, the gatehouse remained open during the day for trade and commerce to commence. There were always dozens of guards near the gates and the gatehouse itself were heavily manned by English soldiers who hated the sound or sight of anything Irish.
It was going to be a problem for Devlin considering the plans he had forged at Black Castle, the scheme he and Emllyn had rehearsed over and over, was now nil. Emllyn had been unconscious for a few hours at least and would be unable to tell anyone who, or what, she was. Worse, Devlin’s plans of pretending to be a mute were now dissolved. He had to speak because Emllyn couldn’t, so he had spent the past two hours desperately trying to concoct a believable story. He’d come up with two or three versions but wasn’t entirely comfortable with any of them. Still, he had little choice; Emllyn needed a surgeon. With each step he took, he was growing increasingly worried over her condition.
He found himself wishing Eefha had not deserted them because he knew the old woman would know what to do. Eefha had a way of healing. He also began to wonder if it wouldn’t have been better for him to return to Black Castle, but that would have taken at least two days on foot. It was no option at all. As he drew closer to the gatehouse of the de Cleveley settlement, he braced himself for what was to come and prayed he could come across convincingly in this new plan he was forced to perpetuate. Their lives depended on it.
Being that it was after midday, most of the farmers and other vendors that usually did business in the morning hours were gone and there wasn’t a great deal of traffic at the gates. Sentries were checking everyone who entered the complex and as Devlin drew close, he took a deep breath for courage and moved towards two English soldiers who were watching the activity of the gates.
“M’lords,” he said, trying to sound timid and polite. “I have come from the north. There was a great sea battle there four nights ago at Black Castle. Have ye heard?”
The soldiers, dressed in well-worn mail and de Cleveley tunics, looked at him with both curiosity and suspicion.
“What sea battle?” an older soldier asked.
“Kildare,” Devlin said, struggling not to react to these English soldiers who represented everything he hated. He’d probably fought them on many occasions, and even killed some of their kin, but he couldn’t think of that now. “Kildare came ashore at Black Castle and was destroyed by Black Sword. Have you not heard the news?”
The soldiers looked at him with shock. One even called his superior officer and relayed the news. The superior officer was an older knight, short and bald, with dark eyes and a growth of beard. He eyed Devlin a moment, his focus shifting between Emllyn’s limp form and the very big Irishman in rags.
“What’s this you say about a battle at Black Castle?” he asked. “Where did you come from?”
Devlin increasingly struggled with his attitude towards the haughty English. He wanted very much to reach out a massive fist and smash the swagger right out of the knight’s face. Instead, he clutched Emllyn tighter, finding a strange and calming comfort in her. She soothed him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.
“To the north about ten miles, m’lord,” he said. “I have a farm to the south of Black Castle. There was a great sea battle four nights ago and the English were defeated. I have come because this woman washed upon the shore and I found her. Before she went unconscious, she told me that her name was Emllyn Fitzgerald, sister to the Earl of Kildare. She’s very sick, m’lord. She needs help. I tried to tend her but she is so much worse.”
The bald knight’s gaze lingered on Devlin a moment before focusing on Emllyn. He went to her, peering down at her unconscious face curiously. He eyed the clothing she wore, as it was Irish in design and fabric. He didn’t look particularly sympathetic.
“What would Kildare’s sister be doing on a battle armada?” he asked dubiously.
Devlin didn’t hesitate. “She said something about witnessing the victory for her brother,” he replied. “Will you please help her?”
The knight eyed Devlin for a long moment before turning and walking back into the gatehouse. Devlin could see him in the shadows of the gate, speaking with another man dressed in expensive mail. The second man w
as tall, with gray hair, and he kept looking at Devlin as the bald knight spoke to him. Finally, he emerged from the gatehouse and approached Devlin with the bald knight following close behind.
“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.”
Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 50
