With a heavy sigh, Emllyn peeled back the curtains that were blowing softly in the wind. It was a wet day, as a violent storm had passed over the night before, leaving the landscaped whipped. She could see more angry dark clouds in the distance, hovering over the sea. As she leaned against the windowsill and inspected the wet grounds below, she began to smell something awful.
Scrunching up her nose, she looked around to see where the smell might be coming from but she saw no smoke or hint of stench. It smelled heavily of shite. Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her and she turned in time to see Eefha puffing great clouds of smoke into the air. Emllyn pinched her nose.
“Eefha!” she exclaimed softly. “What in heaven’s name are you smoking?”
The old woman didn’t say a word; she simply continued to puff on that awful pipe. Emllyn couldn’t stand it; she climbed off the window and went to the old woman.
“Please, Eefha,” she begged. “Do not smoke that pipe in my chamber. It is too small and the room fills up with that terrible smell. Please?”
Eefha puffed a few more times defiantly before easing up considerably. It was the first time that Emllyn could remember that Eefha actually understood what she had said. Emllyn put her hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, eyeing the mortar and pestle still spread around the table. “Is… is that what you were making? Something to smoke in your pipe?”
Eefha’s reply was to shake off the mortar and pestle until a small pile of pulverized material lay upon the table. Then, the old woman took her small bone pipe and began shoving the pile into the end of her pipe. It was enough of an explanation for Emllyn and she patted the old woman’s shoulder again before turning away and heading over to the window seat where her embroidery loom was lodged against the window.
In reality, she had two looms; one in Elyse’s fine solar and one in her room. It was too bulky and complicated to carry the big looms up and down the spiral stairs, depending on what room she was in, so she had two projects in the works. Elyse had been kind enough to loan her two looms. This particularly project was of ships and battle. It was from the night she had met Devlin.
Everything leads me to thee.
Emllyn sighed as she sat down on the window seat, remembering Devlin’s words as she arranged a few pillows comfortably, and sat forward against the loom. His words were all she thought of, day and night, and she tried not to grow concerned that it had been over two weeks since he had left her. She missed him terribly. She never knew her heart could ache so much. With another sigh, she picked up her needle and continued on the mast of one of the ships. It was a small distraction to take her mind off Devlin but it never worked. He weighed more heavily on her mind now than he ever had.
“Where do you suppose he is?” she murmured, both a rhetorical question and also a question for Eefha. “I do hope nothing terrible has happened. He said he would return and I must trust him.”
Eefha didn’t reply for a moment. When she did, it was in a low and hoarse voice. “I am a spear that roars for blood,” she murmured. “I am a tide that drags to the death.”
Emllyn stopped sewing and looked at her, surprised that the old woman should even answer her but frightened by the words. “What does that mean?”
Eefha was staring off into the dimness of the room, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular. She simply sat, cloaked in her raggedly gray cloak, the bone pipe protruding from her olds lips. She was as still as stone but there was something ominous there. Emllyn felt it.
“What is it, Eefha?” she hissed at the old woman. “Are you trying to tell me something? You know I do not know the cycles of Irish stories that you tell, so if you could….”
She was interrupted by knock on the door. Emllyn turned her attention to the door, frustrated by the interruption and unwilling to greet the caller. It would be better if people thought she wasn’t here; the door was bolted so they could not arbitrarily enter, but she still didn’t want any company, especially now that Eefha was muttering words of death and blood. It concerned her. But several seconds after the first knock came a second knock, louder than the first. Emllyn sighed sharply, hoping she could easily send them away.
“Who is it?” she called.
There was a brief pause. “Sir Raymond, my lady,” he said. “May I have a brief word with you?”
Emllyn’s eyes widened; it was de Noble! Of course she didn’t want to have a private word with the man; she’d spend weeks avoiding him and ignoring his notes. He was the last person she wanted to speak with.
“I….,” she swallowed and started again. “I am afraid I am not feeling entirely well, my lord. Mayhap we can speak at another time.”
De Noble wouldn’t give up. “Just a brief moment of your time, my lady. I promise I will not take long.”
Emllyn still refused. “Later, my lord, I beg you.”
“Please, my lady,” de Noble implored politely. “A brief word and I shall leave you to rest, I swear it.”
Unless she wanted to be rude and tell him to go jump in the well and drown, she had a feeling the man would beg until she opened the door. Peeved, she jabbed her needed into the fabric with the intention of answering the door when Eefha suddenly stood up and moved very quickly to the panel. Emllyn didn’t even have the opportunity to call her off because the woman had moved rather swiftly. She opened the panel, hiding behind it, as de Noble stood in the doorway.
He was tall and very distinguished in his clean tunic and clean boots. He had even combed his graying hair and greased it down. He looked very much like a man who had carefully prepared himself to call upon a woman. When his gaze fell upon Emllyn still seated behind her loom, he turned in her direction and bowed gallantly.
“My lady,” he said in his deep, authoritative voice. “You are looking very well today. Very well, indeed.”
Reluctantly, Emllyn stood up and curtsied before sitting back down again. “My lord,” she greeted with a hint of disappointment. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”
De Noble took a few steps into the room, heading in her direction. He was seemingly very nervous, for his hands were clasped together and he was fidgeting with his fingers. Emllyn would have felt some pity for the man had she not been so adverse to his overtures. She didn’t want to give him any false hope.
If de Noble sensed her resistance to him, he didn’t let on. He smiled politely and bowed again. “Are you comfortable enough in this chamber, my lady?” he asked kindly. “If not, we could move you to the larger chamber on the floor below. I realize that it is right off the feasting hall, but the door is good and solid, and I am sure no one would bother you.”
Emllyn shook her head. “I like this room quite sufficiently, my lord,” she replied rather stiffly. “Was that all you wanted to speak with me about?”
She was polite but she wasn’t warm. De Noble could see that and it was difficult not to let her attitude deter him. As he fumbled for more words, Emllyn could see Eefha moving from behind the door, emerging from the shadows. She had something in her hand and Emllyn could see it reflect in the weak light. A bright, silver, and sinister flash. It took her a moment to realize that it was a dagger, and the old woman was sneaking up behind de Noble with the intention of using it. Startled, Emllyn bolted to her feet and bumped into the loom, sending it crashing to the floor.
De Noble instinctively bent over to pick up the fallen loom. As he did so, Emllyn frantically waved off Eefha, who was just preparing to lift the dirk and stab the man in his back. But Emllyn’s desperate gesture had the old woman sheathing the dirk and fleeing from the chamber just as de Noble was righting the loom.
“Here you are, my lady,” he said, righting one of the legs. “No harm done.”
Heart pounding in her chest with the sheer fright she had just experienced, Emllyn forced a smile from what must have surely been a grimace of terror on her lips as she repositioned her loom.
“How clumsy of me,” she said. “Thank
you.”
De Noble smiled in return; he was a genuinely handsome man and would have been an excellent prospect had Emllyn’s heart not already been spoken for. As it was, he simply made her cringe with his eager attitude.
“My pleasure, my lady,” he said, but he could see she was expecting him to come to the point of his visit. “I… well, I have come to see if you would honor me by allowing me to escort you on a walk into the village. You see, they are having a sort of farmer’s faire there today and there will be many things to see and to purchase. I have even been told there will be entertainment in the form of a puppet show. I thought mayhap that you would like to escape this dreary keep and take in some fresh air.”
He said it so courteously; in fact, Emllyn realized that she was very tempted simply at the prospect of getting out of her room and seeing something new, but she was terrified that it would give the man encouragement. She forced a cough and delicately covered her mouth.
“It sounds very lovely, but as I mentioned, I have not been feeling well,” she said. “I would prefer to stay to my room today.”
De Noble’s hopeful expression fell somewhat. “Elyse is in town with Connaught so I thought that you might be lonely for companionship,” he said. “I am not as witty or as pretty as my daughter, but I would be deeply honored if you would allow me to stay a few minutes and make conversation.”
It was another polite request and Emllyn was coming to feel sorry for the man that she was repeatedly rebuffing him. But it could not be helped.
“Mayhap another time, my lord,” she said, forcing another cough. “I am simply not up to it today. If you would please leave me in peace, I would be grateful.”
De Noble’s face fell completely and his smile faded. Stung, he nonetheless nodded politely and headed for the chamber door. She had told him to leave and he would. But he paused a moment before leaving completely, his expression somewhat dull as he turned to her.
“Mayhap there is one more thing you would care to know before I leave you to your illness,” he said, defeat and depression in his tone. “I have received word that Black Castle was besieged a week ago. It would seem that there is a good deal of warfare going on south of Wicklow. Clearly, your brother could not have summoned more men this quickly and my men tell me that other Irish clanns have converged upon the castle. I have sent your brother word of this latest attack, and I have also sent him a request that you should be aware of. I hope you are agreeable to it.”
By this time, Emllyn was looking at him with a great deal of fear as a result of the information on Black Castle. But his last few words had her confused attention.
“What request?” she wanted to know.
De Noble bowed to her again, this time with less fanfare and more emotion. There was a warm glimmer in his eye, a light of hope everlasting in the face of the unwilling object of his affection. The man was an optimist.
“I have asked your brother for permission to court you,” he said. “You see, I have admired you from afar since nearly the moment we met. I believe you have been aware of it by several notes I have sent you, notes that have gone unanswered, I might add. You are a kind and witty woman, and you have made Elyse very happy. She speaks quite highly of you and I would like to know such happiness again, too. I have decided to no longer hide my interest in you behind anonymous notes. Now you know it is I who have sent them. I would hope that, in time, you are agreeable to my suit.”
Emllyn wasn’t particularly shocked by the request, but she was stunned by the entire situation.
“Sir,” she gasped. “I have never given you any indication that I would be willing to accept such a suit.”
He nodded. “I realize that,” he said. “I have been rather ambiguous about my interest so I assumed that you, as a proper maiden, would not have rightly responded to something as bold and coy as anonymous notes. I commend you for your behavior and apologize for mine. It was forward of me.”
Incensed, Emllyn’s mouth popped open. “Sir, you misunderstand,” she said firmly. “I am not interested in your suit. I wish you well in finding affection, but it will not be with me.”
De Noble tried not to appear too defeated. “I understand the past few weeks have been very disorienting for you,” he said. “Mayhap with time, you will reconsider. I am a patient man.”
Emllyn had no idea how to respond so for lack of any response at all, she simply turned away from him. She didn’t see de Noble’s expression of disappointment. All she heard was the door as he quietly shut it. With a grunt of frustration, she ran to the door and bolted it. She didn’t want the man coming back in again.
Standing at the door, leaning against it, all she could feel was utter bewilderment. There were so many thoughts rolling around in her head that it was difficult to single out just one. Damn de Noble for pressing his suit, she though angrily. A note to Kildare would only result in a confusing reply which would completely disrupt her story about sailing on the fleet to oversee the victory for her brother. In fact, it very well might destroy everything.
Yet, she couldn’t think about that now. She would deal with it when and if the time came, because even more pressing than that was the news of Black Castle’s siege. The very thought had her wracked with distress. It explained why Devlin hadn’t returned to her yet; he was caught up in something terrible. Mayhap he had even been injured in the siege, or worse. She couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t come for her if he remained healthy and whole.
Emllyn put her hands to her head at that thought, horrified. God’s Blood, it can’t be! Devlin can’t be injured or dead! He had promised to return for her.
Everything leads me to thee.
He had promised!
Eefha. She had to find Eefha. Putting her ear against the door, she waited a nominal amount of time for de Noble to leave the area before quietly opening the door and peering outside. It was dark in the corridor beyond, with Elyse’s empty chamber off to the right and the partitioned chambers for female servants directly in front of her.
Quietly, Emllyn slipped out and shut the door behind her. She had to find the old woman. Perhaps the woman, for once, might actually be able to communicate with her. The rumors surrounding Black Castle were indeed serious. She had to figure out what to do. If Devlin couldn’t come to her, then she would have to go to Devlin.
No matter what the cost.
∾
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Frederick had put up a fight, one that had almost cost Shain his life. He had awoken from his drunken stupor as Shain and two other men had carried him out of Black Castle on that dark and rainy night and just about the time they reached the suspension footbridge that linked the keep with the rest of the fortress, Frederick had come alive.
The two men carrying him had caught the brunt of his panic and fury. He managed to stab one man with his dirk and the second man had been tossed over the bridge, forty feet down into the rocks and roiling sea below. Shain, who was already across the bridge at that point, unsheathed his broadsword and raced back onto the bridge to engage Frederick in a fight for his life. Frederick was without his broadsword but he had his dirk, a long and wicked looking thing, and he had charged Shain with it, who had easily knocked it out of his hand.
But Frederick wasn’t finished. He kicked at Shain, driving the man off of the bridge so that he could come off of it, too. Once on solid land, he reached down and grabbed a great handful of dirt and rocks and threw them right at Shain’s face. Shain had been hit in the nose by a fairly large rock and had been momentarily stunned from the blow. It had been enough of a pause for Frederick to gain the upper hand; the man then slugged Shain in the face, sending him to the ground. Then he stole Shain’s sword and gored him in the shoulder. It would have been the chest but Shain had turned just in time and took the blade in his upper arm. With Shain’s sword, Frederick had fled.
Devlin had come barreling out of the keep in time to see Frederick steal a horse and ride from the gates, just as Shain was struggling t
o pick himself up off the ground. As he helped Shain, the sentries shouted to him and told him what had happened. Devlin didn’t order anyone to follow Frederick; it was too dark and the weather was too threatening. Frederick would be lucky if he survived such conditions, so Devlin wasn’t going to be foolish enough to send anyone after him. He was more concerned with the one remaining commander he had left.
He let Frederick go.
Now, on the morning following Iver’s death and Shain’s injury, Devlin sat in the hall of the keep, his feet propped up on the table as he pondered the smoking, glowing hearth of the now-quiet chamber. Shain had been put on a pallet next to the fire and had been sleeping heavily since Enda had given him a sleep potion the night before. Both Enda and Nessa had tended Shain in the absence of Eefha, who normally did most of the tending of the ill, and the pair had done an excellent job. Shain’s injury wasn’t bad but he had lost a fair amount of blood. He was weak. Devlin had stayed with the man the entire time, and sat with him even now. Exhausted and on edge, he hadn’t slept at all.
Neart sat over on another chair, pulling apart a small rodent he had captured. The bird had been kept inside during the siege by the O’Byrnes, mostly because everyone knew about Black Sword’s falcon and there would be many archers poised to take the bird down. Devlin, exhausted and pensive, eyed the animal affectionately. The bird was the one thing in his world that had always remained constant, so much so that it was like a family member. Its mere presence gave him comfort in a world that had little.
“Have you slept, Dev?”
Devlin turned away from the falcon pulling at the flesh of the rat to see Shain looking up at him. The man was pale but he was smiling. Devlin gave him a half-grin.
“I do not need to sleep,” he told him, eyeing him with concern. “How are you feeling?”
Shain took a deep breath, wincing when his shoulder hurt. “Well, considering,” he said. “I have been worse off many times. This is nothing but a scratch.”
Lords of Eire: An Irish Medieval Romance Bundle Page 59
