Brides of Ireland: A Medieval Historical Romance Bundle

by Kathryn Le Veque

  That wasn’t a good enough answer for Emlllyn. In fact, it was no answer at all. “They are just babies, Dev,” she scolded. “I realize they are Black Sword’s sons and there is a certain legacy attached to that, but they are my sons, too, and it is my job to keep them safe.”

  “You do an excellent job,” he said. “I have never seen a better mother.”

  Emllyn removed a strip of boiled linen from the basket of items she kept in their chamber, items meant to clean and tend three active little boys. She began to wrap the strip carefully around Daven’s small arm.

  “If that is true, then why do you give them swords when I ask you not to?” she asked.

  Devlin was coming to feel like a terrible man. “I only gave them the swords today,” he said. “I had the metalsmith make them and I was going to keep them until the boys were a little older, but I just couldn’t help myself. It was a proud moment to see my boys hold a sword for the first time.”

  Now Emllyn was starting to feel like an ogre for scolding the man. He was only doing what was natural to him. As she finished wrapping Daven’s arm, she sighed heavily, a gesture of defeat, and glanced at her husband.

  “You know I cannot become angry when you put it that way,” she said softly. “But I think the boys are far too young to play with swords, even as a toy. They see you and Shain and even Connaught with weapons and they naturally want to be like the knights. Thank the Lord that Elyse only has girls or I am sure her children would be the same way. As it is, we are the only ones with lively little boys who want to do everything the knights do and sometimes it is very frustrating when I do not get any cooperation from you.”

  Devlin tried not to feel guilty. “I am sorry,” he said. “I will take the swords away from them for now. But next year, we will have this conversation again. The boys must start learning to handle weapons at some point, love. It’s the way of our world. The sooner they become used to them, the sooner they will become adept at not putting eyes out or stabbing their brother.”

  Emllyn knew that but she didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to admit her boys were growing older. She stood up and went over to the big chest where she kept the boys’ clothing and pulled out a clean tunic that wasn’t torn or dirty. Silently, she went back to Daven and pulled it over his head. Resilient as children were, his tears were forgotten as he went to see what Corey was playing with. The toddler had little wooden cart and the two began fussing with it. Emllyn watched her two younger children as they tussled over the toy.

  “I got something else from the metalsmith today,” Devlin said, hoping to break her out of her morose mood. She looked like she was about to dissolve into tears at the thought of her boys growing up. “Come to me and I will show you.”

  She wandered over to him and he reached out, grasping her hand and pulling her down onto his lap. She relented fully as his big arms went around her and he buried his face in her neck. It was enough to douse her irritation as she felt the man against her. As Flynn barreled into the room with two fat puppies, Devlin turned to his wife.

  “When I was at the metalsmith, I had him make something for you, too,” he said.

  Emllyn cocked an eyebrow. “A sword?”

  He grinned, displaying his big white teeth. “Nay,” he said, “because you would more than likely use it on me in moments like this.”

  Emllyn broke down into soft laughter. “I would consider it.”

  The boys began squealing because Flynn wasn’t sharing his puppies. Emllyn went over to break up their argument before returning to her husband. Just as she resumed her seat on his lap, he held up something in his fingers. Clutched between his thumb and forefinger was a small piece of metal; upon closer inspection, Emllyn could see it was a ring. She plucked it out of his grip and inspected it.

  “When we were married, I never gave you a token of our union,” he said softly as he watched her study the ring. “Although you have never asked for one, I have been thinking more and more on it as of late. I am sorry it has taken me so long.”

  Emllyn had never been concerned at the lack of a wedding ring; her life had been so full and her marriage so wonderful that it never really crossed her mind. But as she held the smooth, gold ring in her hand, she was genuinely touched by his gesture.

  “It’s gold,” she said appreciatively. “I have never seen that metalsmith do anything other than steel or pewter.”

  Devlin nodded. “I know,” he said. “But I asked him if he could do a gold ring for you and he said that he could. I paid him well and he bought the gold in Dublin. It’s a simple ring, without stones. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Emllyn shook her head firmly. “I love that it is without adornment,” she said. “It is something very solid and beautiful. Like you.”

  He smiled at her, reaching out to turn the ring over so she could see the inside of it. “I had him inscribe words,” he said. “Can you see them?”

  Emllyn had to strain to see what he was talking about but when the message dawned on her, tears sprang to her eyes. “Everything leads me to thee,” she murmured.

  Devlin kissed her cheek and took the ring from her, sliding it down over the third finger on her left hand. It was a bit large but fit nonetheless. Emllyn admired it greatly.

  “Thank you,” she said, giving him a sweet kiss. “It is the most wonderful ring I have ever received.”

  Devlin was pleased with her delight. “I’m glad you think so.”

  Emllyn admired it a few more moments before wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. It was a sweet and tender moment as their boys played a few feet away, the sons Devlin had threatened her with those years ago, only now it was not a threat. It was a reality, and one she had embraced completely. A new generation of sons, a legacy to their great and noble father. Emllyn was proud to be part of it, proud to bear the sons of the man she loved with all her heart. Letting go his neck, she kissed his cheek and resumed admiring her ring.

  “Dev?” she asked.

  He was enjoying watching her expression as she loved up her ring. “Aye, love?”

  Her attention came off the ring and her expression washed with reluctance. “I… I suppose it would be well enough for the boys to have toy swords,” she said. “But only if you are with them. They are never to use them alone.”

  Devlin’s grin broadened. “Are you sure?”

  “I am.”

  “I didn’t give you the ring so you would agree to the swords.”

  “I know. But you are correct; it is their legacy, after all. They must learn.”

  Devlin wasn’t too enthusiastic in his response because he wanted Emllyn to feel as I she had final say in the matter. Were he too happy about it, she might have second thoughts because she would think he was happy that he had his way in all things.

  “I promise we won’t run out and start any wars with them,” he said, but shrugged as if reconsidering. “At least, not this week. Mayhap next week. Mayhap we’ll ride down to Glentiege and challenge Connaught and de Noble to a battle.”

  Emllyn laughed softly. “You would, wouldn’t you? And Connaught would lay down and pretend to die while de Noble tried to explain to them the finer art of swordplay.”

  Devlin wriggled his eyebrows in agreement, glancing over at his three boys, healthy and intelligent children that he was extraordinarily proud of. They were, after all, his legacy, as his wife had said. They were born of this land.

  “I will do the teaching,” Devlin said. “I told you once we would breed fine Irish sons to wreak havoc on the English. Mayhap it’s not so much havoc now as it is now an understanding.”

  “What understanding is that?”

  Devlin looked at her. “That sometimes peace and family is the far better path to take,” he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “And that no matter what, you cannot put a price on true happiness.”

  Emllyn smiled faintly. “Is this what you hope to teach them?”

  He nodded, watching Flynn and Daven cha
se a puppy under the bed. “God, what glorious days lie ahead for us,” he said, squeezing her gently. “And no matter what happens, no matter where I go or what I do, know that everything leads me to thee.”

  She did.

  EPILOGUE

  Present day

  National Museum of Ireland

  Dublin

  Tuesday morning and he could already hear the schoolchildren yelling in the foyer. As a docent for the archaeological department of the National Museum of Ireland, he always seemed to get the school children who, at times, acted more like wild animals than human offspring. He wished for ladies’ clubs but those always went to the female docents who couldn’t be heard over the shouting of excited kids.

  As he approached the foyer, listening to the yelling of the wild scallywags reverberate off the one-hundred-year-old walls of the museum, he braced himself. It was going to be a long day.

  The children were primary school-aged, dressed in their Catholic school uniforms. But there were Catholic schools all over Dublin so one uniform didn’t look too different from another. As he approached the group, he headed for the woman who seemed to be the zookeeper. She was up to her ears in wild beasts. When he caught her attention, he forced a smile.

  “Hello,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Peter Ward. I’m to be your guide today.”

  The woman took his hand and shook it. “Hello,” she responded. “Helen Walker. Thank you so much.”

  Peter continued to smile weakly, watching the children who were thumping each other and generally playing loudly. He eyed Ms. Walker. “May I?”

  She nodded wearily. “Be my guest.”

  Peter’s smile vanished and he suddenly emitted a piercing whistle from between his teeth. The kids shrieked but immediately stilled. Some of them even put their hands over their ears. The entire group of thirty-three of them turned to the bald, middle-aged man with the shrill whistle. When Peter saw he had their attention, he smiled thinly.

  “Greetings, ladies and gentlemen,” he said formally. “My name is Peter Ward and I will be your guide today. How many of you have been with us before?”

  A few hands lifted and Peter acknowledged them. “Good,” he said, his manner growing clipped. “Then you know that this is a place of culture and learning, not a schoolyard. Keep your voices down and your hands to yourself, or you can go back and sit on the school bus until we are finished. Is that clear?”

  The kids nodded with uncertainty as Peter waved then onward. “Excellent,” he said. “Now, we can get started. Our very first stop will be the Medieval exhibits. Can anyone tell me what Medieval means?”

  The children followed Peter as he led them across the cavernous foyer towards the first floor Medieval exhibit section. One or two raised their hands to his question. Peter, walking backwards, pointed to a serious young man with a crown of reddish-blond hair.

  “It means Medieval times,” the boy said. “It means Middle Ages.”

  Peter nodded his head, impressed. “It does indeed,” he said. “It means the High Middle Ages, or at least the section we will be attending does. This was a very important time in Ireland’s history. Can anyone tell me why?”

  No one seemed to know. They were entering another room now, a big exhibit room that had a variety of displays. Peter drew the children into the center of the room and had them gather around him as he continued.

  “The High Middle Ages was a very important time in Ireland’s history because it was the time beginning with the Norman conquest of England,” he said. “The Normans were very greedy people from France; once they began to spread all over England, they came to Ireland as well and claimed lands.”

  “Didn’t the Irish fight them off?” a boy from the crowd yelled.

  Peter grinned and pointed over to an exhibit near the south side of the room. He began to move in the direction of a series of cases and a large, imposing display sign over them that said “BLACK SWORD”.

  “Take a look at this over here and that will help answer your question,” Peter said. “This is an exhibit of an Irish rebel known as Black Sword. He was one of the great freedom fighters in the fourteenth century against English rule. Now, if you take a look at the first exhibit, it shows a map of Black Sword’s family territory. He came from the de Bermingham family which was, interestingly enough, Norman. The family married into the Irish nobility over the centuries so much that they were essentially Irish. By the time Black Sword was born, he was so Irish that he bled green.”

  The kids giggled as many of them, mostly boys, began to crowd around a display that had things like an old dagger and other warfare implements. Peter pointed to the display.

  “This display holds items that were dug up in an archaeological dig around the turn of the last century,” he said. “Devlin de Bermingham, or Black Sword as he was called, lived at Black Castle in Wicklow, just south of here. It was his castle from around 1320 A.D. to 1351 A.D. as far as we can tell. There aren’t a lot of records to tell us what happened during these years but we do have records from the English settlements to the south that recorded a peace treaty with Black Sword. We know that Black Sword was a great man because rather than use mostly warfare to gain his ends, he was very good at negotiating treaties with the English that kept them from grabbing more Irish land in the Wicklow area.”

  A boy with dark hair and freckles raised his hand. “Did he really have a black sword?”

  Some of the kids giggled. Peter smiled. “Well, we never found one, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “Who knows why he was called that? People back then earned nicknames and reputations for reasons that have become lost to history. We do know, however, that he married an English bride and that they had eleven children, ten of whom lived into adulthood, and out of that group, nine of them were boys. Can you imagine having all those brothers?”

  The kids giggled and joked with each other. Before it got out of control, Peter lifted a hand to quiet them.

  “It was important back then to have a lot of children to help with the household or with the fighting,” he said. “In Black Sword’s case, he had nine sons to help him with his fight against the English. Several of those boys grew up to be great warlords in their own right, and two of them, as far as we know, went to England and actually served in the court of Edward III and Richard II. Like their father, they were said to be great knights.”

  The children were growing increasingly excited about Black Sword, which is how Peter had planned it. He usually took children’s groups to the Black Sword exhibit first because the thought of a great Irish knight usually got their attention. But it was time to move on because there was much more to see, so he began to move slowly past the rest of the exhibit, pointing to the last case as they moved out.

  “Here you can see some other things that we found during our excavations of Black Castle, but I want you to notice this one item in particular,” he said as he paused by the case and pointed to a small scrap of material, very old and stained, but with faded green stitching on it. “Do you all see this piece of fabric?”

  The kids were climbing all over each other to see it. They started shouting in the affirmative so Peter continued.

  “This piece of fabric actually has a very interesting history, much richer than Black Sword’s short history,” he said. “Black Sword’s wife evidently gave this to him on their wedding day and it’s a very special piece; it’s said that whoever possesses it will have luck in love. It was passed down through Black Sword’s family, from father to son for generations, until it ended up in the possession of Marie Antoinette. The legend says that one of Black Sword’s descendants was Marie’s one true love and gave it to her. She kept it until she was executed and the piece somehow became lost in the French revolution before reappearing, centuries later, with Wallis Simpson. Does anyone know who she is?”

  The kids shook their heads even though the teacher nodded. In fact, the teacher seemed more interested in the piece than her students did.

  “
She was the wife of a former king of England,” Peter said. “In fact, she gave this piece to her husband, the former Edward VIII, who actually gave up the throne in order to marry Mrs. Simpson. I would say they had great luck in love, indeed.”

  “But how did it get here?” one of the children asked.

  Peter gazed at the faded piece of cloth. “The British royal family donated it to the National Museum of Ireland because we asked for it,” he said. “We knew what it was and the significance of it. It belonged to one of the greatest Irish figures in history and we wanted it back, so they were gracious enough to comply.”

  The children gazed at the cloth for a few seconds longer before their short attention spans had them looking elsewhere. Peter took it as his cue to move on.

  “Let’s come over here, ladies and gentlemen,” he called out to the crowd. “There are some swords over here we will take a look at.”

  The children followed him in a group, surging forward towards the weapon display, but one young man hung back. He had bright red hair and a dusting of freckles across his nose, a big boy for his age. He was still looking at the piece intently. The teacher, seeing that she had a straggler, went to retrieve him.

  “Come along, David,” she said.

  Young David looked up from the case. “That thing is very old,” he said.

  The teacher nodded, her gaze falling on the faded piece of embroidery and feeling a romantic tug to her heart. “It is indeed.”

  “It has words on it.”

  The teacher bent over to see what he was seeing. “It does,” she said. “But it’s hard to see what they are.”

  David stared at the piece. “It says ‘everything leads me to thee’.”

  The teacher looked at him with surprise. “How can you tell?”

  “I just can.”

  By this time, Peter saw the dawdlers and was waving them over, but the teacher motioned to him instead. Leaving the wild animals lingering by the sword case, Peter scurried over.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he asked quickly. “Did you have a question?”