Killed by Black Sword. Emllyn’s smile faded and her nerves began to make a return, for Devlin’s sake. To be truthful, she’d only heard two sides of Black Sword’s legend – her brother’s version and Devlin’s version. She was curious about Elyse’s version but she was also curious to know if the woman had any insight into her father’s activities against Devlin. Devlin wanted to know if de Cleveley intended to launch an attack against him; perhaps this was a place to start. Women often heard things they weren’t supposed to.
“I am sorry for your brother,” she said softly. “Black Sword destroyed my brother’s entire fleet. It seems to me that he is very powerful.”
Elyse shrugged as she finished with her right foot and put it back into the water. “He is very much hated,” she said. “Everyone in the settlement both hates the man and fears him. I do believe some of the knights even admire him. They say he is very clever.”
Emllyn simply nodded her head to the statement as she deliberated what direction to take the conversation in. She’d never been particularly manipulative so this was new territory for her. Worse, she was actually coming to like Elyse. The woman was very kind and seemingly genuine. She didn’t want to use that kindness in a self-serving way but she had little choice. She was here on a mission and would do what she had to in order to achieve her goal.
“He must be if he defeated my brother’s armada as thoroughly as he did,” she said. “Has no one even tried to meet with the man and see what his demands are? I realize I am not a warrior, and I’m not even particularly clever, but it seems to me if there is a problem that men should discuss it. What good is it to go around killing each other if no one really knows what it’s all about?”
“They know what it is all about,” Elyse corrected her. “It is about the Irish wanting to rule their own lands when everyone knows they are too stupid to do so. Except for Black Sword; I have heard my father say he has the makings of a great ruler.”
“Why?”
“I do not know. I believe it has something to do with the way he plans his battles.” She paused and appeared thoughtful. “He is the bastard son of the Earl of Louth, you know. He served with his father in the Irish Bruce Wars a few years ago and it was said he was instrumental in a very big victory. His father’s family has been in Ireland for centuries and even though they are descended from Normans, they are still considered Irish. And Black Sword’s mother is the daughter of kings, so I suppose that makes him royalty.”
Emllyn tried not to show much interest in what she was saying, although it was more than she’d ever heard about Devlin. “How would you know all of this?”
Elyse grinned. “My father told me,” she said. “He says that Black Sword has all of the cunning and savagery of the Irish gods. He says that Black Sword always has great plans.”
Emllyn shrugged as she began splashing water on her face. “Then mayhap your father should meet with the man and discuss a plan that will not see so many men die.”
Elyse grinned at the frank assessment of a complex situation. “My father has met him, once,” she said. “It was a long time ago but he said even then, in his youth, there was something about Black Sword that spoke of greatness.”
Emllyn’s blood ran cold. My father has met him. God’s Blood, was it possible the man had recognized him? Was that why he invited Devlin to sup with him? Emllyn began to feel very, very nervous.
As Elyse washed her hair with soap and rinsed it with flat ale, all Emllyn could think of was Devlin sitting in the midst of English knights, men who would gladly run him through if they knew who he was. She was wrought with worry over Devlin’s current status, so much so that she had ceased to enjoy her bath and now saw it as an obstacle that stood in the way of having Devlin returned to her room. She had to tell Devlin that de Noble had seen him once and quite possibly might recognize him. It was a terrifying thought.
When the bath was over, Elyse and the serving woman helped Emllyn from the tub and dried her off with a soft linen towel. Standing in front of the fire where it was nice and warm, the servant rubbed rose-scented oil all over her skin as Elyse began to comb through her hair to dry it. When the oil was absorbed into her skin, the servant put the beautiful silk robe back on her and Elyse had her sit down in front of the fire so that the heat could better dry her hair.
As the red-gold hair dried into fine, soft curls, Emllyn could wait no longer. She had to see Devlin. When the serving woman brought her mulled wine to drink, she turned to catch a glimpse of Elyse as the woman worked steadily over her hair.
“Will you please return John now?” she asked. “I would like to see him.”
Elyse nodded, immediately switching places with the serving woman and removing the apron she had donned to help Emllyn bathe. She was quick and efficient in her movements, exuding the image of the perfect chatelaine.
“I will go and find him,” she said. Then, her gaze lingered on Emllyn hesitantly. “Of course, it is not my place to say so, but it is my sense that it would not be entirely… proper for the man to stay here with you. In fact, I will be sleeping in this chamber and although I know John makes you feel safe, to have him sleeping here is rather… discomforting to me. Moreover, my father would never allow it.”
Emllyn thought on that a moment. “I have no desire to make you uncomfortable, of course,” she said. “But… you were right when you said I feel very comfortable with John. I am sorry if that seems strange, being as I hardly know the man and he is not my husband, but I would prefer to stay with him. He makes me feel very safe. If you must move us out of your chamber in order to accomplish that, I would be very grateful.”
Elyse appeared rather distressed. “But,” she said hesitantly, “my lady… he is….”
“He is the man who saved my life and took great care of me until now,” Emllyn said, interrupting her hostess. She wasn’t trying to be rude but she truly didn’t want Devlin out of her sight, fearful of what would happen if they were separated. “I find myself in a strange castle with people I do not know and even though you have been sweet and gracious, I am not trying to be cruel when I say that I would feel much more comfortable with a man I have established some trust with rather than a lady I have only known a few hours. Please do not think me unkind; it is simply the way I feel at this moment.”
Elyse sighed and forced a smile; she would not argue with her guest. “If that is your wish, then of course I shall comply,” she said. “There is a small chamber on this floor where I can put you. It is rather cramped, but I will make it comfortable for you.”
Emllyn nearly collapsed with relief. “Thank you, my lady,” she said sincerely. “And I will put your mind at ease that nothing inappropriate or unseemly shall occur. I look at John as my watchdog, and so should you. He gives me comfort and that is all.”
Elyse merely smiled without answering and Emllyn suspected it was because she didn’t believe her but was too polite to say so. Putting her apron down, she scooted out of the chamber and shut the door softly behind her. Emllyn had a feeling that she had offended the woman with her requests but it couldn’t be helped; her concern was for Devlin.
While Elyse went in search of Devlin, the serving woman helped Emllyn change into a lovely soft shift and heavy sleeping robe that was lined in rabbit fur and had long, belled sleeves. It was a gorgeous piece of blue brocaded silk. The serving wench also put warm doeskin slippers on Emllyn’s feet that were a bit too small but nonetheless comfortable. Then, she braided her nearly dry hair into a thick braid and wrapped it around her head in an attractive style, securing it firmly with iron pins.
Feeling warm, clean, and tended, Emllyn sat down on the bed with her leg elevated and indulged in more mulled wine, cheese, bread, and dried apricots. She was full of food and good wine when the door opened but instead of Elyse returning, it was Merradoc.
The old physic barged into the room with his satchel clutched under his arm, immediately waving a careless hand at the serving girl.
“Wine!”
he snapped. “Enough for two. Bring it now, you silly wench, before I grow moss on my north side from having been kept waiting too long.”
The serving girl fled and Emllyn sat up straight on the bed as the man approached. Merradoc went right up to her and put a fat hand on her forehead, paused, then felt the pulse of her wrist. After a moment of feeling the strength of her heart, he peeled back her right eyelid and looked into her eye. Satisfied, he set his bag down on the bed next to her and began rummaging around. The first thing he pulled out was a long, black strip that looked like leather. Then he pulled out a second one. He handed her one of the strips.
“Chew it!” he barked.
Emllyn immediately put it in her mouth, fearful of what would happen if she didn’t. Merradoc began chewing on the second strip and within the first few chews, Emllyn made a horrible face.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Licorice root,” the old physic told her. “Children and imbeciles like it.”
Emllyn didn’t like it at all but she continued chewing it. “It’s terrible,” she said. “What is it good for?”
“Nothing,” Merradoc said. “I just thought I’d give it to you. Now, tell me how you feel and no lies. I will know.”
Emllyn took the licorice root out of her mouth because it was truly foul. She made a face and stuck out her black tongue.
“I felt better until you gave me that odious root,” she said, licking her lips of the disgusting taste. “But I suppose I do feel much better. My leg aches but I am sure that is a normal occurrence.”
With the root sticking out of his mouth, Merradoc lifted up the edge of her robe and began unwrapping the wound. Emllyn watched apprehensively as he unwrapped it completely and then eyed the wound intently. She strained to catch a glimpse of the cut, now sutured up with fine white silk thread. It was still red, but the swelling had gone down considerably. The physic eyed it for a few more moments before returning his attention to his satchel and digging around again.
Emllyn watched him curiously as he rummaged about. The serving girl returned with a crystal decanter of wine and two fine cups, and she set it upon the table next to the bed. Merradoc downed two cups in swift succession before removing a bladder from his satchel, popping open the plugged top, and pouring the dark contents into an empty glass. He filled it about half full before sealing up the bladder and lifting the cup to Emllyn.
“You will drink this,” he said.
Emllyn wasn’t so apt to take it after he’d tricked her with the licorice root. “What is it?”
“Rotten tea,” the physic replied. “You must drink it three times a day for the next five days. It will cure the poison in your leg and heal you completely.”
Dubious, Emllyn peered at the dark liquid but when she went to smell it, the stench nearly knocked her over.
“God’s Blood,” she hissed, pinching her nose. “What is this terrible stuff?”
Merradoc had no time for her foolishness. “I told you, silly goat,” he said brusquely. “Rotten tea. It will cure you. Do you want to live?”
“Of course, I do, but….”
“Drink it!”
He nearly roared at her and, fearful, Emllyn instinctively downed the tea in one big gulp. It was horrible and she nearly vomited it up back up again but the physic handed her a glass of the fine wine, ordering her to drink it immediately, and she did. It killed most of the terrible taste, but not completely. She burped and the taste came up again. She almost gagged.
“Oh, my,” she breathed, hand at her throat and an awful expression on her face. “What is that made from?”
Merradoc shrugged as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “Bread is rotted until it grows green fuzz, and then the bread is put into water and kept warm for days on end. It creates a liquid that cures almost anything.”
Emllyn exposed her tongue as if the air would dry away the awful taste. “If that potion does not kill me, I will surely be surprised.”
Merradoc set the bladder with the rotten tea in it on the table next to the bed. “I would not worry over the taste,” he said. “If we do not cure the poison in your leg, you could lose it. Is that what you want? To be a one-legged maiden? No man will want you then because you will be both freakish and revolting.”
Emllyn looked at the man, horrified and disgusted. “By God, man, you surely speak your mind in crude and ghastly ways,” she said. “Have you never been told this?”
Merradoc fought off a grin. “All of the time,” he said. “But they need me around here so I can say what I please. If you do not like it, then do not drink my potion and I shall have to cut your leg off. I shall make it extra painful, too, to teach you a lesson.”
Emllyn could see he was trying to get a rise out of her and she refused to give it to him. He was, in truth, rather humorous; or at least he would have been had he not been saying those hateful things to her. To another, it would have been great fun.
“I will not give you the satisfaction,” she declared. “I will heal and you’ll not take a knife to me, you bloodsucker. Leave this room before I slap your face.”
Merradoc let out a crow of laughter. “My lady, I retreat in terror,” he said, throwing up his hands. Then he poured himself another cup of wine and downed it in one swallow before collecting his satchel. “Mayhap you will overcome your violent tendencies by the time I return later tonight to see how you are faring. It will be another opportunity for me to shove more of that terrible brew down your throat.”
She scowled at him. “And I’ll not give you the satisfaction for that, either,” she said. “I will drink the potion before you come so you shall not see me suffer. You shall get no more gratification out of me, wicked man.”
Merradoc laughed all of the way to the door. He put his hand on the latch. “I do hope you survive this, my lady,” he said. “I rather like you.”
“Well, I don’t like you!”
He howled with laughter as he quit the room. Emllyn could hear him laughing as he descended the stairs and it made her grin. She had to admit that she was looking forward to his return, if only for the entertainment it brought. Now that she understood him a little, it would make conversations with him much more interesting.
Once the laughter was gone, she sat upon the bed and finished off what was left of the wine. The serving wench remained crouched by the hearth, keeping the fire stoked and boiling water in a small iron pot over the fire. She was also doing something else, which actually looked like baking, but Emllyn couldn’t tell. In truth, she wasn’t much interested because it occurred to her that Elyse had not yet arrived with Devlin. His retrieval was taking some time.
As the night deepened and still no Devlin, Emllyn began to seriously worry. She had no idea what would be keeping both Elyse and Devlin unless something terrible had happened. Not knowing the layout of the castle or even the town, it wasn’t as if she could go out looking for them. She would have no idea where to look. Furthermore, she suspected she wouldn’t get very far on her bad leg. Therefore, there was nothing left to do but wait.
… and wait….
∾
CHAPTER TWELVE
In the wee hours of the morning, de Noble and his men retired to sleep, leaving Devlin seated by the fire with about ten dogs surrounding him. He even had one on his lap. De Noble had told Devlin to find a place to sleep in the hall and that he would see him in the morning, so Devlin bid the man a polite good sleep and watched him trudge up the spiral stairs that led to the upper floors where Emllyn was.
The hall was cold now, with phantoms lurking in the corners and odd shadows dancing on the wall as the firelight reflected on the stone. It was a fearsome and evil place, this English nest in Irish lands. Devlin sat and debated about going upstairs to where Emllyn was, but he wasn’t sure where de Noble’s chamber was and he didn’t want to risk running into the man, so he continued to sit by the fire and brood about the twist the situation had taken.
He was to spy on Black Sword. It wasn
’t the intelligence gathering for the English that concerned him, for he knew that he could concoct a great bit of gossip that would see de Noble play right into his hands. It was the sheer fact that any such betrayal would harm Emllyn should she remain here. Already they had their claws in her and didn’t want to let her go. It was a fearsome scenario he kept rolling over and over in his mind, keeping Emllyn safe while destroying the English. He wasn’t sure how it could be done but he would have to figure it out.
As Devlin stared into the snapping flames and pondered the situation, he heard footsteps coming from the stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see a small woman appearing in the shadows of the hall. As she drew closer, he could see that it was the Lady Elyse. Shoving the dog off his lap, Devlin bolted up from his chair and went to her.
“My lady,” he greeted with eagerness in his voice. “How does Lady Emllyn fare?”
Elyse smiled up at the very big and very handsome Irishman. She thought it was very sweet the way he worried about Emllyn, and she knew the feeling was very mutual; Lady Emllyn was just as concerned for her protector. It had the stirrings of a tender romance that touched her young and idealistic heart.
“She is much better,” she assured him. “I have promised her that I would bring you to her, but you must listen to me carefully; my father would never allow you to be alone with an unchaperoned lady, so you must be very quiet. I am going to take you to another chamber where you and Lady Emllyn may stay. But you must be completely silent and remain in the chamber no matter what. If you leave, you risk running into my father and that would not do. Is this clear?”
“Aye, m’lady.”
With a faint smile, she collected her skirts and beckoned for him to follow. Devlin was as quiet as a ghost as he followed her up the stairs. His big feet, clad in peasant boots of rough leather and bindings, made soft footfalls against the stone. Up they went on the narrow spiral staircase to the third floor where the Lady Elyse’s chamber was. Exiting the stairwell, Devlin could immediately see the partitioned chambers to his left, rooms that had been fashioned with partial wooden walls. He could hear snoring.
Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 54
