“Fascinating until she pulls out a dirk and slits your throat.”
Emllyn frowned at him. “How horrible!” she gasped. “She will do nothing of the kind.”
Merradoc made a face that plainly displayed his disagreement in her statement but he kept silent. He and Emllyn had their arms linked companionably as Elyse and Christopher, walking in front of them, were conspicuously close and giggling to their own private jokes. To anyone looking at them, they looked very much in love.
Emllyn grinned when Connaught stole a kiss, watching Elyse as she fussed about it. It was quite humorous to watch and in spite of Elyse’s declaration that she wished there were other marital prospects at Glenteige, it was obvious that she was quite smitten with Connaught. It was sweet to watch.
“Those two do nasty things late at night when de Noble is asleep,” Merradoc muttered in her ear. “I have been forced to make pessaries for Lady Elyse so she will not conceive a bastard child, but she assures me that it is not possible for her to conceive because whatever Connaught does, he does in her arse.”
Emllyn lifted her eyebrows as she looked at him. “I hope you do not speak so frankly of me as you speak of Elyse,” she said with disapproval. “Although I do not do anything nearly as exciting as she does, do you still tell people of my endless hours of embroidery and make it somehow seem thrilling and deviant?”
Merradoc snorted. “Since your farmer left, there is no such excitement in your bed chamber.”
“Who says there was before?”
Merradoc wriggled his eyebrows, his gaze scanning the ward, noting the usual servants and soldiers. “You could at least be honest with me.”
“And you could at least keep your lips shut.”
Merradoc broke down into laughter. “Good God, girl,” he said. “You pretend to be as pure as new-fallen snow. I know you have secrets. As a friend, you should tell me what they are.”
Emllyn winked at him. “As a friend, you should not ask. You might not like the answer.”
They had reached the yew tree and Connaught had politely helped Elyse to sit upon the stone bench beneath it. Merradoc assisted Emllyn to sit, standing politely beside her but twitching impatiently. The man never easily remained in one place for too long; he was flighty. Eefha was several feet away, now loitering near the well and muttering incoherently. Because Merradoc and Emllyn were looking curiously at the old woman, Elyse and Connaught looked over at her, too.
“Who is that old woman?” Elyse asked.
“A bloody assassin,” Merradoc muttered.
Emllyn slapped him weakly on the arm to shut him up as she turned to Elyse. “A serving woman who seems to be quite attached to me,” she said. “Have you not seen her before?”
Elyse shook her head. “I have seen her in passing, mostly near your chamber,” she replied, her gaze lingering on Eefha for a moment longer before turning away. “I am sure she is someone’s mother or aunt. As long as she is efficient with her work, I will not send her away. Speaking of efficient, my father tells me that he has arranged for minstrels to perform tonight. They have come all the way from Cork.”
Emllyn forced a smile because Elyse seemed so thrilled, but she knew it was a ploy by de Noble to somehow get into her good graces or otherwise introduce communication. The man hadn’t given up since he’d declared his intentions. It had been three days and since that time at every evening meal, he’d tried to speak with her or otherwise engage her, or even ask her to dance.
He’d asked her to dance twice; once when there had been nothing but a lute player and the second time when there had only been singing by one of the servants. It was bad singing at that. Emllyn had politely declined both times but de Noble was persistent. She suspected the minstrels were part of his master plan.
“I am sure they will be lovely,” she said, “but I am feeling something of an aching head coming on. Unless it goes away, I may have to take my meal in my room tonight.”
Elyse’s smile faded; she knew it was because of her father. In fact, it was probably the worst kept secret at Glenteige. The great and powerful Raymond de Noble was in love with the newest visitor to Glenteige, the very lovely Emllyn Fitzgerald. It was all anyone could speak of, especially Merradoc and Elyse. The gossip was flying fast and heavy.
“Please, Emllyn,” she leaned over, begging softly. “I will tell my father to stay away. Please come and keep me company.”
Emllyn forced a brave smile at her, patting her arm, and Elyse clutched her hand tightly. As Elyse continued to hold her hand and engaged Connaught in a conversation about the hunting he had done earlier in the day, Emllyn found her attention wandering back to Eefha.
The old woman was still over by the well, now sitting on the edge of it and fumbling with her robes as if she had lost something in the folds. The night de Noble had told her about the siege of Black Castle, Emllyn had gone hunting for the old woman but had been unable to locate her so she had returned her chamber and gone to sleep for the night. Eefha had shown up in the morning, however, to bring Emllyn her morning meal, and Emllyn had tried to talk to her about the siege and about returning to Devlin.
Eefha, however, had been fairly unresponsive. She kept muttering something about sorrow and longing, and at one point sang a song about a woman who waited for her husband to return from the sea, and Emllyn deduced that the woman was trying to tell her not to go. It was perhaps sage advice because Emllyn knew that at Glenteige, in spite of de Noble and the cast of eclectic characters, at least she was safe. Were she to flee and try to make her way to Black Castle, there was no knowing the perils she would face.
The more she thought on it, the more she realized that running off to Black Castle would be foolish. The last time she had done something foolish for a man, her entire life had changed, more than she would ever care to admit. To run off to try and save Devlin, or to find out what had become of him, was a ridiculous thought at best. Soon enough, they would know what happened to Black Castle and consequently to Devlin. Patience was not her greatest virtue but for Devlin’s sake, and for her own, she would have to wait. Sooner or later, she would know.
Everything leads me to thee. She had to believe he would return for her.
Still, it was disappointing and the wait, three days after she received the news, was becoming excruciating. De Noble’s well-intentioned suit didn’t help matters. Emllyn found her patience was very short these days.
A soft wind lifted the hem of her surcoat, a beautiful yellow linen garment that Elyse had loaned her. It had a bodice that was crisscross laced with a golden ribbon, giving her an exquisite figure. With her hair pulled away from her face and elaborately braided into a bun at the nape of her neck, she looked positively magnificent. As she brushed away a bit of chaff that had blown onto her skirt from the yew tree, a shadow fell over her.
“Greetings, everyone.”
It was de Noble. Emllyn looked up, startled by the man’s swift appearance. He was perfectly groomed, as she had come to expect from him, and his handsome features smiled timidly at her. He had greeted the group but it was evident that his attention was only on Emllyn. She smiled wanly as Elyse caught her father’s attention.
“Greetings, Father,” she said, trying to pull his scrutinizing gaze off of Emllyn. “I thought you said you would be busy all day. New horses, wasn’t it?”
De Noble nodded, looking at his daughter. “Indeed,” he said. “An entire herd was brought to me by a local chieftain. They’re hairy and stocky from the winter season but I believe they will work out just fine. Would you like to come and see them? I believe there are a couple of gentle mares you might find suitable.”
Elyse tried not to look at Emllyn for her reaction before responding. “I…,” she began, glancing at Christopher before continuing with some uncertainty. “I think that would be lovely. Emllyn, will you excuse us?”
Emllyn opened her mouth but de Noble interrupted. “I should like for the Lady Emllyn to choose a palfrey, also,” he said, reaching d
own to take Emllyn’s hand. “There are quite a few horses to see. She might find more than one horse for her pleasure.”
He was gently holding on to Emllyn’s hand, encouraging her to stand, but Merradoc stepped in and took Emllyn’s hand away from him. He practically yanked her up from the bench and began pulling her in the direction of the keep.
“Not today, my lord,” he told de Noble briskly. “The lady’s head is aching. Why, before you came, we were contemplating retreating inside so that she could lie down. You would not want to make her ill by taking her into the dust and flies of a bunch of unruly horses, would you?”
De Noble wasn’t pleased by Merradoc’s actions; his expression reflected his displeasure intensely. “Of course I have no intention of making her ill,” he said. “But you yanking her around like that isn’t doing her any favors, either. Stop acting like I want to take her into a corner and ravage her.”
“Father!” Elyse gasped. “What a terrible thing to say!”
De Noble glanced at is daughter, his temper now unleashed. That hadn’t happened in a very long time but he was truly frustrated by the attempts of his daughter and Merradoc to remove Emllyn from his presence every time he got near her. It had been going on for several days and he’d finally had enough. It was frustrating as well as embarrassing.
“That is enough from you,” he snapped at his daughter, pointing at her. “You act as if I have the plague every time I get near the Lady Emllyn and I will thank you to stop. I realize she is not interested in me at the moment but there is no way to convince her otherwise if you and your silly physic are constantly removing her from my presence every time I get close to her. I want it stopped, I say. Do you understand me?”
“Silly?” Merradoc repeated, grossly offended. “I am silly?”
Elyse shushed Merradoc loudly. “Hush!” she hissed, returning her attention to her father. “Father, must we discuss this in the open for all to hear? You are embarrassing me!”
De Noble frowned. “And you are embarrassing me,” he said. “You should be encouraging your friend to allow my suit rather than running off with her every time you as much as hear my voice. And if anyone should be ashamed of anyone, it should be me of you. Don’t think for one minute I don’t know what you and Connaught do when you think I’ve gone to sleep. I’m not an idiot, Elyse, but evidently you are. I thought I had raised you better than to be a common whore.”
Elyse’s mouth popped open in shock before bursting into tears and fleeing to the keep. Emllyn, her mouth agape at the turn of events, pulled away from Merradoc and ran after her. No one seemed to notice that Eefha, too, was headed after them. With the woman all running into the keep, Merradoc turned to de Noble.
“I hope you are proud of yourself,” he said, disgust in his voice. “Even I would never say to her what you just did.”
De Noble scowled at the man. “Shut up, you woman,” he snapped. “You are the worst of the bunch. Are you sure there is a manhood between those legs? From the way you gossip and congregate with womenfolk, I would be sure it was a great gaping cow’s vagina between those skinny limbs.”
Merradoc threw up his hands in an astonished gesture. “Good God, de Noble!” he cried. “When you throw an insult, you can do it with the best of them! I would not have believed you capable of it, old man!”
He was actually giggling as he scurried after the women, leaving de Noble alone with Connaught. The young knight was looking at the ground, waiting for the inevitable blast to come his direction. In fact, he would be lucky if it was only a verbal lashing. From an enraged father, the punishment could be anything up to and including a physical bashing.
But de Noble didn’t anything to him right away. He gaze lingered on Merradoc as the man disappeared into the keep. Then, as the dust settled from the verbal sparring, he turned to Connaught.
“Did you really believe I was that stupid that I did not know what was happening?” he asked the knight.
Connaught shook his head firmly. “Nay, my lord.”
“What do you intend to do about it?”
“Marry your daughter, my lord.”
De Noble’s gaze moved over him a moment, feeling disgust and frustration coming out of every pore of his body. After a moment, he took a deep breath, struggling to calm himself. He realized that he had just said everything he’d always wanted to say to the gossipy little group and strangely felt better now that he had. Perhaps a bit of honesty was good for the soul.
“You’d better,” he finally growled, his eyes fixed on the keep. “But for now, you are going to go up to see how my daughter and Lady Emllyn are faring after I unleashed my barrage of insults. I care not about the physic, but at least see how the women are. Then, after they are sufficiently calm, you are to bring the Lady Emllyn to my solar. Is that clear?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And do not tell her where you are taking her; otherwise, she will not come. Tell her that she has been summoned by another.”
“Aye, my lord.”
With that, de Noble headed off to the keep, leaving Connaught to wonder what next step the man was going to take in the pursuit of the Lady Emllyn.
He couldn’t imagine that he was going to remain passive any longer.
∾
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kiltimon Castle
Newcastle Village, 40 miles north of Black Castle
Frederick had never been to the O’Byrne stronghold before and even though he was on a mission of allegiance, it was difficult not to feel apprehension clawing at him. As he rode into Newcastle Village three days after leaving Black Castle, everything around him was dark and dull and warped. The village itself was warped, twisted little structures without much light or life. It was a depressing sight.
The Clann O’Byrne was a very large clan that had once held much of the land to the north and east of Wicklow. They had never been particularly fond of the House of de Bermingham because they were not native Irish even though they had owned a vast amount of land for hundreds of years and held an earldom. De Bermingham was more Irish than Norman, but it still didn’t matter. The O’Byrnes had been their enemy for more years than anyone could remember. They hated de Bermingham in general and they had a special hatred reserved for Black Sword.
Kiltimon Castle sat atop a rise outside of Newcastle Village, a great stone keep built from field stone and a great hall with a thatched roof, all set within a massive circular wall. Just like the village, the castle seemed to be dark and foreboding too, and Frederick had spent several days in the village, living in alleyways or out in the surrounding forest, trying to gain access to the castle.
Evidently, the O’Byrne didn’t trust strangers and, unlike Black Castle, Kiltimon was sealed up tight and did not permit farmers or other tradesmen to conduct business at the castle. All business was conducted in town. So, after six days of languishing, Frederick decided to announced his identity. He hoped that would at least get the interest of the castle commander.
Unfortunately, the names Black Sword and Black Castle did more than gain the man’s attention; it gained his ire as well. Within seconds of Frederick standing at the front gate and announcing his name and his relations, the iron grate man-door set within the massive gates opened and several men rushed forth.
In little time, Frederick found himself tied hand and foot, and in this state he was carried into the castle grounds and the door sealed up behind him. They took him into the great hall where they proceeded to toss him onto the floor and kick him.
This went on for hours. It wasn’t enough abuse to truly damage him but it was certainly enough to make him hurt. Frederick screamed and yelled angrily as he was kicked and beaten, but he eventually fell silent, even when they kicked him in the groin and caused him horrible pain. But eventually, they did stop, and when they did, Frederick proceeded to vomit all over the dirt floor of the hall. And then he simply lay there in utter pain and silence, wondering if his intention to side with O’Byrne had indeed been
a good idea. He was coming not to think so.
He lay in front of the smoldering hearth until morning, his cheek and part of his head sticky from where he had lain in his own vomit. At some point he had slept, but sleep had been fleeting and uneasy. He awoke in the morning when servants began milling around him, lighting the hearth and preparing for the coming day. He had briefly opened his eyes to see them moving about, wary of his presence. Therefore, he kept his eyes closed until someone rolled him over onto his back.
“You,” came a deep, steady voice. “Open your eyes.”
Frederick did. He found himself gazing up into two serious and unkind faces. Both men had dark hair and were rather short and wiry, though one was clean-shaven and one had a mat of a beard on his face. The man with the beard spoke.
“The mention of Black Castle is not taken well around here,” he said. “Tell me your name and no lies, or I will feed you to the dogs.”
Frederick gazed back with dulled eyes. “Sir Frederick ṓg Branach,” he said. “My cousin is Devlin de Bermingham.”
The man with the beard gazed down at him a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. “My soldiers told me that,” he said. “But I cannot believe you would be foolish enough to come here and announce it. Do you have a death wish, man?”
Frederick tried to shake his head but it was difficult to move. “I am no longer loyal to Black Sword,” he said. “I have come to make a deal with you.”
“What kind of deal?”
“Untie me, feed me, and I shall tell you.”
The two men standing over Frederick looked at each other as if silently debating the request. There was wariness there but there was also curiosity. After a moment, the man with the beard motioned to a few other men Frederick couldn’t see, men standing out of his line of sight, who then reached down and lifted him roughly off the ground.
The world rocked unsteadily as they plopped Frederick onto a bench. Someone cut the bindings off his arms while someone else bent down to cut the bindings off his ankles. Just as the leather ties around his ankle fell away, Frederick lashed out a big boot and kicked the man who had cut his legs free in the face, knocking the dirk out of his hand. Quick as a flash, he grabbed the dirk, and the man he had kicked, and held the blade to the man’s throat.
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