“Ailis—”
“Don’t! Every word you’ve said since coming to us was a lie. Designed to betray us into English hands. And when one of your countrymen was in danger…well, of course you had to argue to let him go. But why Liadan?”
“It wasn’t me.”
“How can you say that?”
“If I had helped to free Dane, I could have ridden out with him. As Peter Martin did. Dane wants me to come precisely because he couldn’t get at me any other way.”
“Are you telling me Dane is another intelligencer? Making sure his spy is safe?”
“No. There are things Dane has done…it doesn’t matter at the moment. All that matters is getting Liadan home. You have to let me go.”
She bit her lip so viciously she tasted blood, the terror sweeping back in as the first shock of betrayal faded. “How do I know I can trust you to free her?”
“You don’t. Until I do. Then, whatever else you think of me—whatever I deserve you to think of me—perhaps you’ll remember this: since my arrival, I have done nothing to jeopardize your position in Ireland. Indeed, I have refrained from making reports I should have to England. There is reason to suspect Dane wants me for nothing more than to hand me over to the English as a traitor.” He met her gaze squarely. “And he would be right.”
“I don’t care.” She pronounced each word fully and distinctly. “I will let you go because I must. But if you do not bring back my daughter, I will see you suffer to the end of your days.”
“If Liadan is harmed, you won’t have to punish me. I’ll do it myself.”
She glared at him and was shocked to realize that part of her still wanted to throw herself at him, to let him embrace her with all his strength and promise her everything would be all right.
Instead, she swept to the door and, finding Diarmid immediately outside as she’d expected, told her captain, “Find the Englishman a horse.”
They did not let Stephen go alone. Even if Diarmid had trusted him, it was far faster to lead him toward Templemore than leave him to find his own way. But they didn’t get far, he and Diarmid, before they were intercepted by two men wearing Dane’s red and gold boar badge.
“Just the Englishman,” they said.
Diarmid glowered at them, then glowered even more heartily at Stephen. “I never liked you.”
“Good to know.”
“Get her back.”
Stephen set his jaw and fell in with Dane’s men. One of them he recognized; he’d last seen him with blood dripping from his sword as he methodically slaughtered prisoners at Carrigafoyle.
They weren’t more than two or three hours behind Dane and the girls—his men must have been patrolling as close to Cahir Castle as they dared. Probably Peter Martin had sent word of what he planned, thus preparing Dane’s men to aid them.
They rode through the kind of darkness that only Ireland produced—as though the air itself were alive and twisting its way inside Stephen’s head. It was a seductive darkness, promising oblivion rather than pleasure, and Stephen had to fight to keep himself focused. No drifting back to regrets, no dwelling on Ailis’s expression when she realized how he’d betrayed her. The only thing in the world that mattered was to get Liadan and Maisie out of Dane’s hands as quickly as could be accomplished.
Blackcastle, as with so much else in this swath of Ireland, had long been owned by the Butler family. This particular property had been leased to Oliver Dane after the destruction of Kilmallock twelve years ago. The eastern sky was lit with the dawn as they approached, and Stephen noted the abbey—or Big Church, as the literal Irish form of Blackcastle translated—to their north. They turned west and there was the castle, looming black and stark against the sky as though untouched since 1450. They had to pass through three sets of armed guards before entering; some of them looked at Stephen with recognition and undisguised interest. They knew who he was—some, he had served with at Carrigafoyle—and Dane must have warned them of his imminent arrival. He wondered how Dane had described him today. Traitor? Coward? English lordling?
Stephen didn’t care. He didn’t give a damn about his reputation or his own well-being. Liadan and Maisie were innocents in this entire affair—he would see them clear of it. No matter the cost.
Clearly Dane was not domestically minded. The medieval lines of the castle looked uncomfortable, as though it knew itself foreign to this land, and there was little to dispel that immediate impression within its walls. All well-ordered, of course, for Dane was a methodical and successful campaigner who knew how to organize men and stores, but also bleak. This was a castle of invaders, who knew themselves to be in hostile territory. It was not where Stephen would have wanted to make his home. But then Dane had no family for which to make a home.
He dismounted in the courtyard and was disappointed, but not terribly surprised, when they did not take him directly to Dane. The man would want to punish him for last night’s interview. So Stephen submitted to being locked in a cell—much less salubrious than the one at Cahir Castle—though at least he wasn’t chained.
Then he waited.
His cell was belowground, with just a slit at the ceiling to give a little bit of light. Stephen dozed in short bursts on the stone floor—the pallet provided was stuffed with rank straw and had a colony of mice living in it—and otherwise watched the changing quality of that light, trying to judge the hours. He guessed it was late afternoon before anyone bothered to come for him.
It was Peter Martin.
Stephen, who had come to his feet when he heard the door being unlocked, subsided slowly onto the stool that was the only object in the cell besides the pallet and the unsavory bucket in the corner that had not been cleaned since the last prisoner. “What do you want?” he asked Martin.
“To make you see sense. Dane did you a favour, pulling you out of Cahir before it was too late.”
“It was only too late because Dane made good and certain to blow my cover.”
“You did that yourself—the moment you allowed Irish concerns to override your judgment.”
“Not your affair.”
“The hell it isn’t!” Martin exploded. “Because of your refusal to act, I’ve blown my own cover. I can’t stay in Ireland after this—because of you, I’ve lost years of work. Walsingham got good intelligence from me. Now what is he left with?”
“He’s left with a man who would throw away the lives of two innocent girls to save one bloody wretched Englishman!” Could he manage to throttle Martin before the guards came running?
Martin blinked. “I didn’t know Dane would take the girls. I had nothing to do with what happened inside the castle. I simply persuaded Father Byrne to release Dane and have him meet me outside the postern gate. I was bloody shocked when he dragged those two out with him!”
“Not shocked enough to force him to leave them behind. Did you even try? Or were they just two more impediments to your service?”
“Dane has not touched them. They are safely confined to the top floor of the castle, with myself the only man who goes up there.”
“And if Dane wanted to go up there…you would stop him?”
Martin’s silence was answer enough.
Stephen shook his head in contempt. “Two men are dead back at Cahir—Dane’s guard, and Father Byrne himself. I imagine the priest, at least, was protesting Dane’s attempt to remove the girls.”
“It’s no matter of mine. Not anymore. Wherever Walsingham sends me after this, I won’t be able to return to Ireland.”
“You’d better hope Walsingham sends you far away from me,” Stephen countered. “Next time we meet, I’ll kill you. Not for doing your job—but for being a coward about it.”
Martin left without another word.
It was fully dark once more before the door opened again and Oliver Dane sauntered in. Stephen wasn’t fooled by the apparent casual ease—he had studied Dane last year. He knew all too well how quickly the man could shift from repose to violence.
Stephen shoved away thoughts of his father, knowing that would not help now. For all Dane’s claim that Liadan would be released when he arrived, he didn’t trust the man. They were embarked on a delicate dance of negotiation, with lives in the balance. This was nothing like shadowing Mary Stuart. Flirting with the Scots queen had been a lark compared to Ireland.
He should have confined himself to the battlefield.
Dane took the stool for himself, stretching out his legs and tipping back against the wall. “Sit,” he commanded.
Stephen sat on the floor, braced arms resting on his knees. He could propel himself up quickly if necessary. Then he waited.
“It takes a lot to surprise me,” Dane said musingly. “Especially in Ireland. I pride myself on expecting the unexpected. But nothing prepared me for seeing you at Cahir Castle. Last year, I took you for nothing more than a spoiled rich boy who came to Ireland for adventure and would gladly go home when it became uncomfortable.”
Since there didn’t seem to be any response required, Stephen kept quiet. That made Dane narrow his eyes and shake his head.
“Then came your protests at Carrigafoyle. You know who can afford to take the moral high ground? Men who have no vested interest in the outcome. You don’t belong here, Courtenay, and you proved that the moment you defied me over the prisoners.”
Stephen bit the inside of his mouth to provide a distraction from the mocking.
Dane’s face lit with a knowing smile. “But Ireland sees to its own. You learned that lesson, didn’t you? Outside Kilkenny? But not well enough. Because there you were last night, slipping into my cell at Cahir, giving me orders. Who would have guessed you had that in you?”
“Where’s Liadan?” Stephen said abruptly.
“Safe. Along with her rather persistent nursemaid.”
“She’s not a nursemaid.”
Dane waved away the issue of Maisie. “The Scots girl took a swipe at me with a dagger. I would have left her behind like the priest, but decided it would make things easier to bring her. I’m not meant to look after children.”
“I couldn’t agree more. So let Liadan and Maisie go and simplify your life.”
“Don’t you want to see them?”
“I’ll be happy to watch them as they ride out of here.”
Dane stretched, a disconcerting grin on his face. “So self-sacrificing! Don’t you even want to know my plans for you?”
“Not really.” He would not engage. He would not let his temper break. He would not think of Roisin and Harrington and all the prisoners falling at this man’s orders…
With a thud, Dane let the stool thump back to the ground. He stood. “It’s late. I’ve put the girls in a chamber well away from my men. No one can get to them except me and Martin. We’ll let them sleep, shall we? Feed them well in the morning, then finish the affair.”
Was it really going to be that easy? Stephen slowly levered himself up from the floor, watching Dane warily. “Can I see them in the morning before they go?” One last chance to send a message back to Ailis. If he could think of anything worth saying.
“Oh, I’ve a better idea than that. I’m sending you back to Cahir yourself.”
Whistling, Dane let himself out, leaving Stephen dumbfounded behind him.
As the first streaks of morning crept through the narrow slit, a man brought him porridge and ale. Stephen ate gratefully, for yesterday had been a long ride and, if Dane could be believed, today would be the same.
The same guard who’d brought breakfast returned perhaps an hour later and motioned Stephen to follow him. He did, a bit stiffly, for the combination of stone floor and taut nerves had not contributed to rest. He took careful note of all he saw on the way—partly instinct, and partly a means of calming his nerves. There was little enough of use, for they were hardly going to parade him through the heart of the castle. Still, he counted the men that he saw passing in corridors or through windows once he was aboveground. He also noted that though the castle had not been much updated, it was well maintained. Medieval it might be, but nothing close to a ruin.
His nerves eased a bit when he reached the courtyard and caught sight of Liadan and Maisie. The child had grown since Stephen’s arrival in Ireland, and now topped the older girl by an inch. But this morning Liadan looked younger, vulnerable in a way he’d never seen her at Cahir.
When no one tried to stop him, he went straight to her. “Are you all right?” he asked, leaning down.
“Of course.” Liadan’s voice wobbled. Frowning, she tried again. “I’m sorry to put you to all the trouble of riding after us.”
“No trouble at all,” he assured her. “Your mother is most anxious and would spare nothing to get you home at once.”
She smiled, a miniature version of Ailis’s blindingly beautiful smile, and said, “I am ready.”
“So eager to leave your father’s hospitality?” Dane strode into the courtyard, his mockery ringing through the air.
Stephen straightened while Maisie laid a hand on Liadan’s arm—in warning or support. Perhaps both.
Liadan declined to answer, and Stephen bit back a grin at her obvious contempt. Here was a girl who would make her mother—her entire clan—proud.
There were two horses readied; either the girls would share or Stephen wasn’t really leaving. Though in that case, surely Dane didn’t mean to send two young girls on their own across the Irish countryside?
“What about you, Courtenay? Ready to leave English territory so soon?”
“Why? What was the point of bringing me here only to let me go?”
“Two reasons. First, you had to admit your true identity to Ailis to get here. I imagine that did not go over so well. I don’t mind confessing I relish the thought of her taking out all that wild Irish anger on you rather than me.”
Liadan was looking at him, confused. Maisie seemed as impassive as always. “And second?” Stephen ground out. He’d have to tell the girls the truth on the way back to Cahir. He did not relish having Liadan’s contempt turned toward him. He could not predict Maisie’s reaction.
“Second,” Dane repeated thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll make you a deal on the second. You want to leave, there’s a horse. Go with my blessing.”
“Or?”
“Stay.”
Again Stephen asked, “Why?”
“You stay here willingly, and return to England where you belong. Report to Walsingham and your queen and put Ireland behind you forever.”
Dane moved in closer, fingering the hilt of the dagger in his belt. “But if you return to Cahir, then I send word to the English court that their favourite son has turned traitor. ‘Gone native,’ I believe the phrase is. You’re not the first. It’s a flaw the weak-minded are prone to, sympathizing with the enemy. I don’t suppose it’s a flaw your queen—or your father—will forgive.”
Stephen’s head spun. It was all too easy to imagine the black picture Dane painted. No, Elizabeth would not forgive. He knew her well enough to know ingratitude hurt her more than any other sin. And his father? Stephen tried to picture his father here—and came up blank. Dominic Courtenay did not belong to the murkiness of Ireland. In his father’s eyes, loyalty was a matter of black and white.
But it wasn’t. Because Liadan and Maisie were looking at him, and behind him, at Cahir, was a woman he had wronged. Never take what is not freely offered, his father had counseled, and then only if you are certain you will not leave pain behind. That is poor payment for any woman.
He had already repaid Ailis in pain.
“You should stay,” Maisie said evenly. “I will make sure she understands.”
Whether she meant Li
adan or Ailis, he didn’t know. And he didn’t have a chance to figure it out before Dane continued.
“One more thing.” Dane pulled his dagger free, a deceptively fine blade twelve inches long, honed to a wicked edge. “A message for Ailis and her clan—a reminder, if you like, that I cannot be blackmailed.”
Without a word, without a warning, Dane seized Liadan around the shoulder and pulled her close. The blade went through her throat like the softest cheese. Dane was soaked in a spray of his daughter’s blood, then let her limp body drop to the ground.
There was a roaring in Stephen’s ears and the smell of blood assaulted his senses. At the edges of his vision ghosts crowded in, hungry to pull him back into their maelstrom of pain, Harrington and Roisin and the screams of girls in the blackest night…
But it was daylight and there was only one small, dead girl. Maisie dropped to her knees, making a keening noise that broke through Stephen’s shock. He lunged for Dane.
And was brought up short by a guard with a loaded crossbow. But it was not pointed at him—it was pointed at Maisie.
“You promised to let them go!” Stephen shouted.
“I promised Ailis the return of her daughter. I did not specify in what condition. You have two minutes to decide,” Dane added, casual despite the blood on his hands and clothes. “Take Ailis her daughter and you may have the Scots girl living. Or return to England and have one more dead girl on your conscience.” He raised his hand at the bowman, ready to signal and let fly the bolt that would kill Maisie.
Stephen couldn’t get her to move. He crouched, speaking low and urgent in her ear. “We have to go, Maisie, listen to me, we’ve got to go now…” a refrain that went on and on and did absolutely nothing to reach her.
“One minute,” Dane said.
Stephen grabbed her by the shoulders, silently apologizing for his roughness, and pulled her to her feet. “Mariota,” he said in as commanding a voice as he could manage. “Get on the horse.”
It at least stopped her keening. He practically shoved her onto the larger of the horses. He couldn’t mount that one on his own with a burden. They could rearrange themselves as needed once they were away from Blackcastle.
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