Brides of Ireland: A Medieval Historical Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Thank you,” she murmured. She realized she was still holding onto his hand and she squeezed it tightly. “If… if you did not see his body, then he must be somewhere else. He is not dead.”

  “Nay… he is not,” Trevor breathed, although he wasn’t entirely sure that was true. He simply said it for Emllyn’s sake. “It was so chaotic in the battle that it was possible your favor fell and he didn’t even realize it. You… you will tell him something when next you see him.”

  “What would you have me tell him?”

  Trevor was so weak that he could no longer hold on to her. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open. “You will tell him… tell him that it was a privilege to serve under Black Sword.”

  Emllyn watched him take two more breaths and then he was gone. Clutching Devlin’s wedding embroidery against her chest, she wept deep and painful tears for the man who had brought her and Devlin together.

  They buried Trevor in Glenteige’s small cemetery, placing him in a lovely spot near an oak tree that had been there for hundreds of years. It was peaceful and serene. After the burial, Emllyn sat next to the grave for the rest of the day, pondering Trevor’s short life and wondering if she would soon be sitting next to Devlin’s grave as well. The embroidery Trevor had returned to her had become a permanent part of her body, as much as a finger or an ear. It was clasped in her left hand, never to leave it. When she held it, she felt very close to Devlin.

  Merradoc and Elyse had sat with her next to the grave. Elyse had sobbed the entire time, having been told the story that Trevor had relayed to Emllyn. She had seen the embroidery in Emllyn’s hand and she wept over the missing men, including her beloved Connaught. Having heard of Black Castle’s complete destruction, she was terrified for the man and also for her father. Holding Emllyn’s free hand, she had wept deeply of her fear.

  Towards sunset, Merradoc managed to coerce Emllyn back into the keep and Elyse followed. He took both women into Elyse’s fine solar where he ordered warmed wine and food for them. Elyse picked at the food but didn’t actually eat much; she was too distraught. Emllyn was a shell of her former self, sitting like a stone and staring off into nothingness. Merradoc managed to coax her into drinking some wine and she did. By the third cup, Merradoc put a sleeping potion into the drink when she wasn’t looking and by the time she was finished with the fourth and final cup, she could hardly keep her eyes open. Merradoc did the same thing for Elyse and soon, he had two unconscious women on his hands. He breathed sigh of relief.

  It was very late by the time he made it down to de Noble’s solar for some solitude of his own. He’d spent so much time healing the injured, burying the dead, and tending emotional women that he was quite exhausted himself. He had no idea what had become of de Noble and de Bermingham and Connaught, but he hoped they would know the truth soon. He doubted that Lady de Bermingham could take much more waiting and he knew that Elyse was doubly upset with the unknown whereabouts of both her father and lover. As he sat in de Noble’s solar and drank the man’s fine brandywine, he found himself praying for a miracle.

  But prayer and brandywine didn’t mix because he drank far too much of it and ended up passing out, his head lying on de Noble’s desk. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep when he felt someone shake him.

  “Merradoc?” came a familiar male voice. “God’s Bones, Merradoc, get up. Stop drooling like a drunkard all over my vellum.”

  Merradoc sat up with a start, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. The room was very dark but he could see bodies moving around in the darkness. Grabbing for the flint next to the taper near his right hand, he struck it so hard that he nearly broke it but the sparks were enough to light the taper. As the flame took hold in the darkness of the room, he could see three men standing before him.

  De Noble, Connaught, and Victor St. John.

  “De Noble!” Merradoc shot up from his seat, his eyes wide with shock. “You have returned!”

  De Noble was filthy and bloodied, but he was in one piece. He scowled at the physic. “Indeed I have,” he scolded. “I have returned to find that you have taken over my solar. Get out of that seat, you whelp. This is my desk and my seat.”

  Mouth hanging agape, Merradoc did as he was told. He thought he actually might be dreaming until de Noble gave him a shove because he wasn’t moving fast enough. It was enough of a jolt to make him realize that he wasn’t, in fact, dreaming. He was very much awake, and de Noble and his men were returned. Excitement filled him.

  “Connaught!” he gasped at the young knight who looked disheveled but very alive. “And St. John! You are all returned!”

  Victor had several day’s growth on his face and a big bandage on his left hand. “Indeed we are,” he said tiredly. “Were is Emllyn?”

  Merradoc pointed to the floor above. “She and the Lady Elyse are in Lady Elyse’s solar,” he said. “I had to give them a sleeping draught. They have been so overwrought with worry that I had to make them sleep.”

  Connaught smiled wearily. “So Elyse was worried over me, was she?”

  Merradoc nodded sincerely. “Very much so,” he said. “And if she tells you otherwise, she’s a liar and you can tell her I said so. She was mad with worry over you.”

  “And what about me?” came a voice from the doorway. “Was no one mad with worry over me?”

  Everyone turned to see Devlin entering the room. He was carrying a massive chair with a leather cushion on it. It was a chair confiscated in Black Sword’s raid three years before, and the back of the chair that had once been beautifully carved with the de Cleveley crest was now all hacked up. Merradoc recognized the chair once stolen from de Noble as Devlin set it down.

  “De Bermingham,” he gasped in disbelief. “You are alive!”

  Devlin grinned weakly at the man. “Indeed I am,” he said. “Where is my wife?”

  Again, Merradoc pointed to the floor above. “Sleeping in Lady Elyse’s solar,” he said, flabbergasted at the turn of events. He didn’t know what to say next, what to ask about, or what to comment on. His mind was whirling with surprise. He finally pointed at the chair. “Where did you find that?”

  Beaten, worn, and thoroughly exhausted, Devlin gave the chair a good kick. “De Noble wanted his chair back, but the O’Byrne had run off with it, and many more items of value from Black Castle,” he said. “We spent two days chasing them before we finally caught up to them and were able to get my possessions back. De Noble saw his chair among the booty and demanded its return. As a generous man, I have graciously complied.”

  Merradoc’s astonished gaze moved between de Noble and Devlin. “Your chair?” he asked. “In all of this battle, in the midst of death and destruction, all you could think of was a chair?”

  De Noble frowned petulantly. “It’s my damn chair,” he declared. “De Bermingham took it three years ago; I wanted it back!”

  Merradoc could hardly believe his ears. He started to laugh, joyfully and full of relief. The pain and uncertainty of the past twelve days was about to see a release; men had returned from battle, whole and sound, and there would be laughter once again at Glenteige. Happiness had come back.

  “But what of Black Castle?” he wanted to know. “What has become of it?”

  Devlin’s expression changed; his eyes lost their glimmer. “My commander, Shain, is once again in command until I return,” he said. “The O’Byrne had him, and about a hundred more of my men, shoved into the basement of the keep. They had tried to escape through an old tunnel but it turned out the tunnel was blocked off and it thwarted their escape, so O’Byrne was able to capture them. Right now, what is left of my army and about four hundred de Noble men are holding the castle secure. I’ve sent word to the O’Conner and expect another eight hundred men by late tomorrow. I’ve only come back to Glenteige to return de Noble’s chair and retrieve my wife. We will be returning to Black Castle immediately on the morrow.”

  Merradoc was both surprised and thrilled to hear that the horrible ba
ttle Trevor had described had gone in de Bermingham’s favor. “And the O’Byrne?” he wanted to know. “Where are they?”

  “Running,” de Noble said; he was pouring what was left of the brandywine into a cup. “They are scattered and on the run. Once we secure Black Castle and strengthen her, we’re going after them. We have plans to see this through until the end, and that includes the obliteration of the O’Byrne once and for all. I will not see Wicklow suffer in fear any longer. It is time to end this.”

  It was as good an answer as any he had heard. Merradoc, accepting that the battle had ended for the moment and that good men had returned, scratched his head. “Very well, then,” he said. “But do not continue this battle before you see Elyse and Emllyn. You’d better go wake them up and tell them the joyful news. They’ll never forgive you if you do not.”

  Connaught was already out the door, heading up the narrow spiral stairs to the second floor. Devlin pushed de Noble’s chair out of the way before following Connaught’s path. When Merradoc went to follow, Victor stopped him.

  “Nay, man,” he said. “Let the women see their lovers first. Give them that time alone. We shall follow shortly.”

  “After we’ve had our well-deserved drink,” de Noble put in. Then he swirled the remaining liquid in the decanter as he peered at it. “It seems that someone has been into my brandywine.”

  Merradoc was standing in the doorway of the solar. “It was the women,” he lied. “Terrible drunkards, both of them.”

  As de Noble lifted his eyebrow dubiously, they could all hear a faint cry as Elyse and Connaught came together on the floor above. A few moments later, they could distinctly hear a much louder shriek as Emllyn caught sight of Devlin. They could even hear Devlin’s low laughter.

  It was a good sound. Merradoc turned back for the solar, accepting a cup of brandywine from de Noble, who had also given one to Victor. Raymond lifted his cup to the two of them in a toast.

  “To love,” he murmured.

  Victor grinned as he lifted his cup as well. “To the future.”

  Merradoc lifted his cup last. “To me!” He downed the drink in one gulp.

  All was right in the world again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  1328 A.D.

  Black Castle

  He knew he was in trouble. God’s Blood, they were all in trouble.

  Devlin was carrying his second son towards the keep of Black Castle and the child was screaming loudly in his ear, having just been clobbered in a mock fight by his older brother. Flynn, Devlin’s eldest son, was scurrying after his father.

  “Daven and I were only playing, Papa,” Flynn was trying to explain. “He wanted to fight me, truly. My sword slipped.”

  Devlin glanced over his shoulder at the blond five-year-old on his heels. “I know,” he said with tension in his tone. “I was there.”

  “Will Mam be angry with us?”

  Devlin sighed heavily, trying to comfort Daven and hold his hand over the puncture wound on the child’s forearm at the same time.

  “I am afraid she will,” he said with resignation. “She has told us she does not like us fighting with swords, hasn’t she? She does not know that you and Daven have swords. I did not tell her I gave them to you.”

  Flynn thought on that a moment. “Then she will be angry with you, Papa.”

  “Thanks for the confidence, lad,” Devlin grunted. “I will be fortunate if her fury is the only thing I receive.”

  As they neared the keep, they could see old Eefha emerging from the entry. Her pipe was smoking away as she crossed the footbridge, heading towards them. Flynn, seeing the old woman, ran over to her.

  “Daven has been wounded,” he told her urgently. “You must fix his arm.”

  Eefha patted the boy on the head as Devlin came to a halt in front of her, his son howling unhappily. Eefha pulled away the piece of linen on the child’s soft white arm to reveal a little nick. It was hardly anything to grow so upset over, but Daven screamed as if he’d been mortally wounded.

  “Will you take him and clean the wound?” Devlin asked the old woman as he handed her the child. “I fear that Emllyn will hear him crying. She hears everything, you know. She will….”

  He was cut off by the sight of his wife emerging from the keep. Too late, he thought. Dressed in flowing dark green linen with her beautiful hair braided and wound into a bun at the nape of her neck. Emllyn had a toddler in her arms as she crossed the footbridge towards them, her skirt whipping about in the sea breeze. Devlin did the only thing he could do; he went right to her to try and block her vision of Daven’s injury. He hoped that Eefha would immediately take the child away but the old woman stood there, smoking on that damnable pipe and setting Daven to his feet so she could use both hands to inspect the injury. She was only making the matter more obvious now.

  Emllyn was looking at Devlin and her older boys with curiosity and concern. Devlin met her just as she crossed the bridge, putting his arms around her and kissing her. The baby in her arms, however, didn’t take too kindly to his father kissing his mother and put his baby hand on Devlin’s bearded mouth to prevent him from going any further. Devlin laughed softly at his two-year-old son, Corey.

  “You cannot have her all to yourself, lad,” he said. “She belongs to me.”

  Corey didn’t like that response and started slapping at his father as Devlin continued to laugh, kissing the fat baby hand. Emllyn, meanwhile, would not be distracted; Daven was crying over something and she would know what it was.

  “What is the matter with Daven?” she asked. “I could hear him crying from the keep.”

  Devlin was trying to avoid the question. “He and Flynn were playing and he has a small cut on his arm,” he said casually, reaching out to take Corey from her arms. “Eefha will tend him. It is nothing to worry over.”

  Flynn, seeing his mother and having no idea that his father had not told her what had truly happened, ran over to her. He was a very big boy for his age, and husky like his father, nearly coming up to his mother’s chest in height as he stood next to her.

  “We were playing, Mam,” he said eagerly. “I poked Daven but I did not mean to.”

  Emllyn’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean that you poked him?” she asked. “Poked him with what?”

  Devlin rolled his eyes as Flynn looked at his father fearfully when he realized that his mother had no idea what had happened. Devlin took pity on the child; as the father and the instigator, it was his duty to take the blame.

  “With his toy sword,” he said with the greatest reluctance. “They were mock fighting with Shain and Daven was accidentally poked with the dull tip of Flynn’s sword.”

  Emllyn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and outrage. “What toy sword is this?” she demanded.

  Corey decided that now would be a good time to pat his father in the face and as Devlin tried to explain, he had to suffer through the two-year-old’s displays of affection.

  “The one I had made for them,” he said honestly as Corey smacked him in the mouth. “Love, I realize you don’t like the boys playing with anything that has the potential to harm them, but they are growing older now and must be made comfortable around weapons. It is important to their growth as warriors that they learn how to handle a sword. I know that I should have told you I had swords made for them, but it’s often difficult to discuss things with you once your mind is set. You can be very stubborn.”

  Emllyn looked at him with an increasingly threatening scowl. Without a word, she went over to Daven to inspect his injury. The young lad was being tended to by Eefha but when he saw his mother, he lifted his arms to her, sniffling. Emllyn took a quick look at the boy’s arm and, seeing that it wasn’t a terrible wound, lifted him up and began to carry him back towards the keep.

  She didn’t say a word as she walked past Devlin and Flynn and Corey. They all watched her walk across the footbridge, carrying Daven with his feet dangling, and disappear into the keep. When she was gone, Devlin
looked at Flynn and, with a resigned wriggle of the eyebrows, followed his wife into the keep. Flynn skipped after him.

  The keep was dark and cool in the entry, leading into the feasting hall with its big tables and pack of dogs. Flynn went to play with a litter of puppies near the hearth as Devlin carried Corey up the narrow spiral stairs. By the time he reached the big chamber at the top of the keep, Emllyn had Daven stripped from the waist up. She was washing his little torso with cool rosewater and as Devlin came up behind her and set Corey to his feet, Emllyn began cleansing Daven’s wound with witchhazel.

  Devlin sat silent on the chair near the wall, watching Corey as the baby wandered over to the three little beds near the window where the boys slept. It was a messy spot. The big chamber, which had once been Devlin’s lair, was now home to five people. Devlin and Emllyn’s big bed was still where it always was, now with a big wooden screen blocking it off from the rest of the chamber, and then the boys had their beds near the tall lancet window that overlooked the sea.

  Devlin’s eyes perused the big chamber, thinking that it was the place most in the world where he derived comfort. He had his entire family here with him, his three boys and his wife, who was newly pregnant with their fourth child. Perhaps that was why he was so afraid to upset her. Early pregnancy tended to make Emllyn quite emotional.

  “Are you ever going to speak to me again?” he asked softly.

  As he feared, she was cross with him. “You hid your covert deeds from me and then you accuse me of being stubborn,” she said, wiping at Daven’s arm and then pulling the cloth away to wave at Devlin to emphasize her point. “I do not want them to have swords because they are too young to properly handle them. This time, it was only Daven’s arm that was injured. What if it is an eye next time?”

  He was properly contrite, his gaze soft on her. “I was watching them the entire time,” he said quietly. “They were doing quite well and listening to my instruction.”