Brides of Ireland: A Medieval Historical Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Who are you?” she asked. “What is your name?”

  The old figure puffed on its pipe, filling the room with the heavy smoke of human excrement. “Each was a game, each was a jest, until Devlin spoke for naught; this thing will hang over him forever,” it rasped. “Yesterday he was larger than a mountain; today there is nothing of him but a shadow.”

  Emllyn blinked, confused. It made no sense. “Who is shadow?” she asked. “Devlin?”

  The old creature sat and puffed, puffed, puffed. Emllyn was uncertain what to do. After several long moment, she simply shrugged and turned away; the old person wasn’t doing any harm, she supposed, so there was no reason to provoke it or throw it from the room. In truth, she didn’t know what to do, so she wandered over to the lancet window that overlooked the sea.

  The brisk breeze caressed her face and as Emllyn gazed out over the expanse of blue, she could see the gulls screaming along the shoreline. Something about the sights and smells of the ocean made her feel better, fresher and newer, and lifted her spirits. She very much wanted to walk outside, to feel the sun on her face and inhale deeply of the fresh air, but instead she was stuck in a chamber with a creature that inhaled the smoke of burning shite. It was a very strange circumstance.

  From the angle of the window, she could see part of the shoreline to the north and as she strained to see what she could see, she caught glimpses of wrecked and dismantled ships. The sea was very angry, churning wildly around the doomed vessels and she could see many men swarming over the ruins. They were carrying things away; lumber or smaller objects in their quest to demolish Kildare’s invasion fleet. There was a good deal of flotsam and debris still in the water and washed up on shore, and it took her some time to realize that most of the debris were human remains.

  Emllyn sighed with sorrow at the sight; there were literally hundreds of bodies, going ignored by the Irish as they focused on the vessels that were of some value. She inevitably thought of Trevor and wondered if he was among the dead half-buried in the sand, washed upon by waves as if they were nothing of matter. It was sad, truly. The more she watched, the more saddened she became.

  Devlin wouldn’t let her see the prisoners. She accepted that for the moment because she knew at some point, she might be able to convince him otherwise. Be compliant! Aye, she would be compliant but just because she was compliant didn’t mean she was a weak little fool. The man intended to keep her bottled up in the keep forever but she could not allow it. He wasn’t here now and she seriously doubted that he had a guard posted outside the chamber. Emllyn began to feel an almost desperate measure to see if Trevor was among the dead that littered the rocky shore. At least if she found him, then she would know the truth. But if he wasn’t there, then perhaps he was indeed among the captives.

  Glancing over her shoulder at the tiny figure that was filling her chamber with the smell of feces, she made her way over to the bed and lifted one of the garments that were still strewn across the bottom of the mattress. She was still wearing the green coat and shift, and the heavy robe that draped over her shoulders, but she wanted more. Perhaps more would shield her from the Irish as she made her way back to the point where she had first come ashore.

  A cloak of brown wool was in her grip, plain but serviceable, and she slung it over her shoulders and tied it about the neck. Quietly, she made her way to the door but as she put her hand on the latch, the tiny figure spoke.

  “He showed displeasure in Finn,” it said, looking at Emllyn for the first time since entering the room. The eyes were sunken and dark. “He was but distant and soon Finn would suffer.”

  Emllyn looked at the person, having no idea what it was saying. Obviously, it was quite mad so she ignored it and opened the latch. The door creaked open slowly, letting forth a rush of cold air from the floor below that smelled like damp stone, but as Emllyn had surmised there was no one guarding the door. In fact, it was as dark and cold as a tomb as she slipped out onto the dim landing.

  The steps leading down were narrow and well-used. Emllyn clung to the wall as she descended the spiral steps, very nervous and alert. This had all seemed like a sound and reasonable idea until she had left the chamber. Now, her heart was in her throat and her mouth was dry. Back came the memories of the night she had arrived and the terror she had felt while being manhandled up these very stairs. No matter what had happened with Devlin since then and no matter what odd emotions she had experienced, the fact remained that she was an enemy in enemy lands. There were those who would kill her as easily as look at her. She had to be vigilant.

  The steps led down to the hall where she had cowered under the table the night of chaos. The table was there and she recognized it, cluttered and chipped from the Irishmen who had drunkenly supped upon the surface. Even though the hall was empty, she could still hear the cheers of the rebels and the barks of the dogs as the men hailed their mighty victory against the English. Emllyn began to feel that familiar terror again, swallowing down the bile in her throat and struggling not to panic. Men that her brother and father and grandfather had fought against had gathered in this room to declare supremacy over the English. She could feel their hatred.

  But the fact remained that the room was empty except for the dogs sleeping near the hearth. As she tread carefully into the chamber, doggy heads came up and looked at her but they made no sound. There was also a very big bird near the hearth, resting on a big iron stand. The bird had a hood over its head and seemed to be sleeping. Emllyn scooted past the dogs, and the bird, and towards the great entry with light from the other side sending streams of illumination into the room. The door was big and heavy as she carefully cracked it open and peered outside.

  A wide-open world rolled out before her complete with a big drawbridge that linked the keep with a massive bailey on the other side. She could hear waves crashing but she couldn’t see them; it seemed that they were on an outcropping of some sort and surrounded by the sea.

  In the ward beyond, she could see people moving about, strange people in strange clothing. They wore tartans, wrapping their body in dirty cloth rather than wearing the hose or breeches that the English wore. But some of the men indeed wore hose, at least that she could see, and some of them wore pieces of armor. Most of them carried a weapon of some kind. Her spirits began to sink when she realized that, given what she could see, an escape to the beach below might not be such an easy thing.

  “He showed displeasure in Finn,” came a voice behind her. “Finn would soon suffer.”

  Emllyn startled so violently that she ended up hitting her head on the door. Rubbing her bruised forehead, she turned around and saw that the mysterious little person had followed her down into the hall. It was still puffing madly on the shite-pipe, but the dark and sunken eyes were focused intently on her. Emllyn’s fright turned to irritation.

  “Go!” she hissed, shooing her hands at it. “Go away!”

  The little person actually seemed to smile; it was hard to tell because the face was so wrinkled that one more fold didn’t make a big impact. It stood there smoking and smiling before finally reaching out a hand and taking Emllyn by the wrist.

  “It would soon endeavor to learn,” it said as it shoved the door open wide and pulled Emllyn from the keep. “For Devlin was mountainous and gifted, but Elohr kept safe.”

  Emllyn wasn’t sure if she should pull away from the odd little creature but the little thing seemed so very sure of itself. It pulled Emllyn out of the keep and, with determination, across the drawbridge that was more of a rope bridge that swung crazily as they crossed it. Emllyn had to hold on to the rope railing to keep her footing, looking down with some fear at the swirling sea thirty or more feet below. But the little person didn’t notice the swaying of the bridge or the sea; it continued to pull Emllyn along.

  As Emllyn entered the bailey, she flipped up the hood to cover her golden-red hair, trying to conceal herself from all of the Irish around her. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to her, thank
fully, so she kept her head down and let the tiny figure drag her across the bailey.

  The rains had cleared out from the past couple of days, leaving the air crisp and salty as a strong wind blew in off the Irish Sea. Gulls screamed above her and more than once, Emllyn looked up to see that the birds were close overhead, looking for some scrap of food. When she wasn’t looking at the birds, she was looking at her surroundings and noting the enormous bailey with the wall enclosing it, a wall that was built all the way to the sea cliff. It was like a half-circle, enclosing in the ward, and a big gatehouse was built into it, facing west. The wilds of Eire were on the other side of the massive gate, a place full of rebellion and mythical creatures, or so Emllyn had been told. England wasn’t nearly as frightening or mysterious as Ireland was.

  Emllyn and the small figure were nearing the gatehouse and a series of outbuildings near the wall when someone grabbed her from behind. Emllyn let out a frightened yelp, terrified, until she realized she was looking into Devlin’s frowning face. He had a tight grip on her arms as he clutched her against his mighty chest.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded. “I told you to stay to the keep.”

  Startled by his appearance, Emllyn scrambled to explain. Show the man compliance and obedience! “I…,” she stammered, pointing lamely at the tiny figure. “I… was in the keep when this… this person came to the chamber. I do not know who it is because… well, I do not even know if it is a man or a woman because it has not spoken to me, but it….”

  Devlin cut her off, looking to the tiny person that still had hold of Emllyn’s wrist. His manner was stern.

  “Eefha,” he said, almost scolding. “You cannot remove her from the keep. For her own safety, she must stay there.”

  Emllyn looked between Devlin and the scruffy little figure. “Who is this?” she asked.

  Devlin looked rather impatient. “My mother’s sister,” he said. “Her name is Eefha. She’s quite mad.”

  Emllyn looked at the tiny old woman and recoiled, leaning in Devlin’s direction. “Mad, you say?” she said apprehensively. “She must be to smoke that horrible pipe. What is in it?”

  “What does it smell like?”

  Emllyn eyed him reluctantly. “Well,” she said slowly, “it smells like…”

  He cut her off but not without an inkling of droll humor. “It is,” he said. “She gets it from the horses, dries it out, and then smokes it. Mayhap breathing all of that foul air in contributes to her madness.”

  “Is… is she dangerous?”

  Devlin shook his head. “Nay,” he said, sounding less frustrated and more resigned. “She’s harmless. She was probably taking you to add to her collection.”

  Emllyn looked at him. “Collection?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

  Devlin opened his mouth but the old woman interrupted. “She hath healed a monarch’s eye,” Eefha said, pointing at Devlin. “Many a war for she hath thou raged.”

  He looked at his mother’s sister with a mixture of impatience and resignation. Emllyn leaned closer to him. “What does she mean?” she whispered loudly. “She was saying such strange things to me earlier. Why does she speak like that?”

  Devlin glanced down at Emllyn; it took him a moment to speak because he realized, in that instance, that he had never seen the woman in the light of day. Now all he could see was creamy skin and rosebud lips. Tendrils of wavy reddish-blond hair peeked out from beneath the heavy woolen hood and for a moment he was actually speechless. Was it true there was such beauty in the world? His heart, a hardened and protected thing, began to thump strangely against his ribs in a manner he’d never before experienced.

  “She always speaks like that,” he told her. “It is simply her way. When I was young, she was a teacher. She would recount all of Ireland’s great tales. The older she became and the more madness set in, the more she would use passages from these tales to describe what she was feeling or what she wanted to convey. For example, if she wanted to imply that danger was coming, she would say something like ‘thousands rouse to battle’s rage’. We knew it was from a passage of a tale of the great King Conor, a passage leading to war, so we would understand she meant danger. Unless you are Irish, however, and know the tales she is referring to, it all sounds like gibberish.”

  It was a vastly intriguing concept. Emllyn looked at the tiny old woman through new eyes. “So she is indeed trying to say something,” she said in understanding, “but you must know what she is referring to in order to understand what she means.”

  “Exactly.”

  Emllyn gazed at the old woman a moment before looking up at Devlin. “When she led me from the keep, she said ‘Devlin was mountains and gifted, but Elohr kept safe’,” she told him. “I wonder what she could mean?”

  He shrugged. “Elohr was my mother,” he said. “It could mean anything.”

  Emllyn pondered that a moment, but then she thought of something else Devlin had said. “What did you mean when you said that she was probably taking me to add to her collection?”

  Devlin’s gaze lingered on Emllyn a moment before looking at his aunt. “She is a scavenger,” he said. “She has many wonderful things among the piles of rubbish she collects.”

  “Can I see?”

  Devlin almost denied her; he wanted to return her to the keep. She was, after all, his prisoner, and prisoners didn’t usually have such freedom to roam about and visit. But the moment he looked at her and saw the curiosity and eagerness in her expression, the words of refusal died in his throat. He’d never been known to let anything sway him, but Emllyn had done it very easily. One expression from her had been the catalyst for his surrender and nothing more. Grudgingly, he gestured in the old woman’s direction.

  “If you must,” he said reluctantly. “But know that if she tries to keep you, I may have a battle on my hands.”

  Emllyn grinned, a surprising gesture, and he was instantly captivated. He’d never seen her smile before; it was as if the clouds had parted, the heavens had opened up, and the brilliance of angels was now staring him in the face. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “A journey’s long,” Eefha grasped Emllyn by the arm, pulling her away from Devlin and breaking the spell between them. “And if this cometh, not to content thee.”

  As Emllyn was dragged along, Devlin followed. His eyes never left the small figure in his mother’s old cloak as she trailed along behind old Eefha. He wasn’t comfortable with her out in the open like this, certainly not after the conversation he’d had with Shain and Frederick and Iver, but he surmised that no harm could come to her as long as he was around. He would protect her to the death.

  Eefha had a small hut that wasn’t too far from the barn where the valuables from the wrecked ships were being kept. In fact, as they approached the rock structure that was really no more than a small room, he wondered how many times Eefha had wandered into the barn and helped herself to the booty. He wouldn’t have been surprised. As they neared the lop-sided hut with the heavy sod roof, Eefha suddenly came to a halt and pointed a gnarled finger at Emllyn.

  “Lady, come to that folk, to that strong folk of mine,” she said as she pulled the pipe from her mouth. “And with gold on thy head, thy fair tresses shall shine.”

  Emllyn had no idea what the woman meant and she looked at Devlin for help. He simply lifted his eyebrows.

  “Those are passages from the Romance of Etain,” he said. “Mayhap she has something to make you shine, although you do not need any help where that is concerned.”

  Emllyn looked at him, shocked. His expression was impassive so she thought he might be mocking her. “I cannot shine in borrowed clothing that is too big for me,” she said, somewhat defensively. “I left my proper clothing behind in England.”

  His deep blue eyes twinkled at her, amused by what she evidently thought was an insult. “You said you did not mind my mother’s clothing.”

  She pursed her lips irritably. “I lied,” she said. “Al
though they are comfortable and warm, it would be well and good to have a garment that actually fit me. I have tripped several times in these clothes because they are too long; it is only a matter of time before I topple and break my neck.”

  Devlin was fixed on her and hardly noticed when Eefha disappeared into her hut. “I will speak with Enda and see if she can find something that is more appropriate for you,” he said, “but I can assure you that we have no fine silks here.”

  Emllyn was coming to see that he hadn’t been mocking her and, with shock, realized that he may have very well been delivering a compliment. Was it actually possible?

  “I… I do not need silk,” she said, lowering her gaze because he was looking at her with an expression that implied warmth. “Wool or linen would do just as well as long as it fits.”

  Devlin studied her delicate profile as she gazed off into the ward. “I am sure we can find something suitable,” he said quietly. He paused a moment before continuing. “I am sure that where you come from is quite grand and you have possessions that reflect that. We have no such grand things to provide you.”

  Emllyn shrugged, her attention turning to the gulls that were riding the breeze overhead. “Grand things do not matter overly,” she said. “I was born at the not entirely grand Llansteffan Castle in Wales. That is where we are from, you know. You keep calling me English but the truth is that we are more Welsh than English, although my brother would beat me if he heard me say that.”

  He knew that about her family but he pretended to be interested simply to keep the conversation going. “Is that so?”

  “It ’tis,” she said as she nodded her head. “My ancestor and his brother came to England with William the Conqueror and were charged with settling Wales. My ancestor was Maurice Fitzgerald, Lord of Llansteffan, and his brother was William, Lord of Emllyn. That is where I got my name – the Lady Emllyn Nesta Isabella Fitzgerald. I am named after many people in my family, Welsh and Norman.”

  For the second time in as many days, they were having a civilized conversation. Devlin wasn’t hard pressed to admit that he could have listened to her sweet and soft voice forever. He liked it very much when the mood was calm between them, now on the subject matter of her background. He was very interested in what she was saying, and in her, as if he couldn’t focus on anything else.