“Nay,” she breathed when she managed to pull away. “You will not do this! You will not, I say!”
He ignored her as his hands began to roam, tugging at belts and tossing them aside. Emllyn’s panic increased.
“Nay!” she cried. “Not in front of… your aunt is in the room! Please, for the love of God, not in front of her!”
His mouth was forging a blazing trail across her jaw. “She is asleep,” he said breathlessly. “Can’t you hear her snoring?”
Emllyn had no idea if she could hear the woman snoring or not. All she knew was that Devlin intended to take her in front of an audience. She was more horrified than she had ever been in her life, now of something she had no control over. As she opened her mouth to protest, he clamped his lips down over hers and kissed her so hard that she nearly lost consciousness.
She couldn’t breathe. She could hardly think. Devlin’s mouth finally released her and she got a hand free, slapping him across the face. He caught her hand as another came at him, barely missing his eye. Collecting the belt he’d pulled off her waist, the one she had repaired that afternoon, he managed to capture both flailing hands and using the belt, he tied them together snuggly. Then he took the tail end of the belt and lashed it to the head of the bed.
Emllyn’s arms were effectively trapped but she didn’t give up the fight. She tried to kick him in the groin when he shifted and she barely missed. Devlin pushed himself off of her, rolling over to sit at the edge of the bed. He put out a hand and shook Eefha gently.
“Aintín?” he said gently, waking her. “Go to bed, now. I will see you on the morrow.”
Eefha snorted and shifted on the stool, puffing furiously on the now-cold pipe as a reflexive action of being awoken out of a stone-cold sleep. She grunted and waved Devlin off, standing up wearily and making her way to the door. She never once looked at the bed or noticed Emllyn. The old woman shut the door behind her and Devlin bolted it.
When the door was secured, he turned to his captive on the bed. She was in a perfect position for him to have his way with her but he didn’t; something was holding him back although he wasn’t sure what. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d asked him not to ravage her anymore. As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps he was actually bending to her request.
Emllyn gazed back at him with an expression between fear and outrage.
“Untie my hands,” she demanded.
He put his hands on his hips. “I will not because you will only strike me again.”
“I strike you to defend myself,” she fired back.
He continued to face her, fists on his hips, and an odd expression on his face. Emllyn kept waiting for him to pounce on her but he remained standing. She watched him warily because he seemed rather pensive. After several long moments, he broke his stance and shifted towards the bed.
“Tomorrow we embark on a journey that, in order to be successful, must see some measure of trust between us,” he said quietly. “You and I are not comrades. We are not family nor are we even remotely kin. You are the sister of my enemy, a man I am rebelling against because he claims my lands as his own and holds my people as slaves. Did it ever occur to you that I am treating you the way your brother treats my people?”
He was being somewhat deliberate and calm in his delivery, a far cry from the lustful man from moments before. It was difficult not to take him seriously because his expression and words were sincere. Emllyn gazed back at him as she pondered the different responses she could give him. She settled on one.
“My brother does not force himself upon women as you do,” she said, trying not to sound angry or accusing. “I fail to see the similarities.”
Devlin cocked his head thoughtfully. “Your family has raped Irish lands for decades,” he said. “Our women have been taken back to England as concubines or worse. You know this to be true because you have Irish women working for you at Llansteffan.”
“How would you know that?”
“There is a great deal I know.”
He was, in fact, correct. Emllyn watched him a moment, studying his handsome face, before relaxing somewhat. The conversation was strangely civil and her terror from moments earlier was gone. “I asked you this once before,” she said. “Are you to punish me for the sins of my brother and father, and all of my male relatives before them that have staked a claim in Ireland?”
Devlin shook his head. “Punish you; nay,” he replied. “But I have made it clear that you belong to me. I will never, ever return you to your brother and it is my intention to breed strong sons from you. If this is distasteful, then I am sorry for you. But it is the way of things.”
Emllyn could feel the familiar sting of tears but she resisted. It would do no good to cry, anyway. She had learned that much about him.
“What would you have me say to all of that?” she whispered. “There is nothing I can say and nothing I can do. But you and I have a bargain and I will hold you to it; you want to discover what de Cleveley’s plans are for you. I want to know if Trevor is among the captured. I told you that I would discover what I can and I have no intention of going back on my word. You have mentioned that there must be some trust between us; my word is my bond and I would assume the same with you, as a knight. You told me I could see the English captives once our task is finished. I am trusting your word just as you are trusting mine. What more do you want?”
Devlin listened to her reasonable words; she made sense. After a moment, he shook his head. “I told you I believed you when you swore not to betray me,” he said. “I still believe you. That has not changed. But… but I do not want to be fighting with you the entire time. We must have some level of cooperation or I fear we will fail, and that will mean death for us both.”
Emllyn tried not to give him an expression of total disbelief. “It is a simple thing to gain cooperation if that is what you truly want,” she said. “Untie my hands and stop ravaging me. Treat me with respect and you shall gain mine in return. Mayhap it is foolish to tell the man who viciously stole my innocence that I will show him a measure of respect, but I sense in you a man of honor, Devlin de Bermingham. I am not sure how or why, but I can see it in you. You are indeed a paradox; brutal and barbaric one moment and then civil and intelligent the next. I should hate you with every corner of my being but I cannot seem to manage it because if I admit it to myself, you indeed have a grievance. I cannot say I would not behave the same way if a family that had no right to my lands or property claimed it for their own. But what you’ve done to me… I had nothing to do with my brother or father or grandfather’s claim in Ireland, yet you brutalized me to punish me for their sins. The barbarian in you ruined me but the warrior in you… he is a different man, one whom is trying to save his people. I can understand that. But the barbarian… I hate him as much as he hates me.”
Devlin was stunned by her words. But along with that sensation came a sense of regret and guilt so powerful that he actually had to lower his gaze. He couldn’t look her in the eye. He had sworn all along that he would not be sorry for what he had done to her but at this moment, he was. He deeply was. Odd how this one moment in time and the lady’s gentle statement had turned the tides in his heart. His remorse was overwhelming, but not enough to let her go completely. She was still his and he intended to keep her. Without a word, he went to the bed and untied the belt, letting her hands go free.
Emllyn sat up, rubbing her wrists and watching him as he went to the hearth and stoked the fire, throwing a few chunks of peat on it. He seemed very subdued and she wondered if her words had any impact on him. With de Bermingham, it was difficult to tell. She couldn’t read the man’s moods by any means.
“We will leave early on the morrow so I would suggest you pull together what possessions you plan to bring,” he said, giving the fire a final poke before rising. “When I leave this chamber, bolt the door behind me but know I will return.”
Emllyn simply nodded, watching the man make his way to the door, catching a glim
pse of his big hands as he moved past her and thinking those same heated thoughts she’d had once before; hands that had made her feel things she had never felt in her life, sensations of such pleasure that even the mere thought of them was enough to cause her breathing to quicken. She was almost sorry that he was leaving. Part of her wanted him to stay, part of her wanted him to go. It was a very strange conflict.
Devlin quit the room and Emllyn got up out of the bed to throw the bolt behind him. There was such an odd mood between them, something she pondered deeply as she went in search of her meager possessions as Devlin had instructed. Even as she packed, she thought of him, of their conversation, and how he had seemed rather vulnerable at times.
She knew there was a sensitive man beneath the warrior façade; she could sense it. A barbarian with a poet’s soul, a brute with a soft heart he kept hidden. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. As she finished tying off her possessions that she had wrapped up in one of the hides, she lifted her hands to smell them. She could smell Devlin’s scent upon them from where she had fought with him.
The scent made her heart flutter.
Chapter Eight
“I thought you said we were going alone,” Emllyn said, looking at the escort around them. “Don’t you think an escort of this size will attract attention?”
The voyage into enemy territory had begun. It was just past sunrise on a misty spring morning and they were still within sight of Black Castle as they moved south. Wrapped up in the heavy brown cloak that had belonged to Devlin’s mother and seated behind him on a fat brown courser, Emllyn was referring to the other horses surrounding them. For a mission that would depend upon secrecy and a tentative lie at best, they were starting out rather boldly about it. There was a whole gang of escorts for allegedly escaped prisoners.
A knight who had been introduced to her as Sir Iver rode point on his shaggy white courser while to their right was another knight known as Sir Shain. They were dressed in traditional Irish leintes, or long padded tunics, not armor as English knights would have been. They had shown Emllyn complete indifference, to which she was grateful. Big Irish knights frightened her. There were also several men on foot, blending in with the foggy landscape. They were the eyes and ears of the escort party, protecting them from danger. But most of all, there was a smelly old woman smoking an equally smelly pipe plodding along behind them.
Eefha had been waiting for them before dawn as they went to gather up their horses. She never said a word about riding escort, or about her intentions; she had simply been waiting for them astride a small and worn-looking palfrey near the stables where the other horses were tethered. Devlin didn’t say a word to the woman, as if her presence had been expected. Even now, he was fairly dismissive of Emllyn’s concerns.
“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 midmorning, 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, ev
idently 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.
Lords of Ireland II Page 12
