Lord of Shadowhawk

by Lindsay McKenna

  “You little fool,” Tray breathed savagely, gripping her arms and pulling her upright. “What do you think you were doing? Why didn’t you call for me?” Tray swallowed the rest of his anger as he saw tears form in Alyssa’s luminous eyes as they lifted toward his voice.

  “I—I thought you were lying,” she choked. “I thought you were watching me all the time. I couldn’t stand the thought of—of—”

  He groaned and knelt with Alyssa in his arms, burying her head against his chest. “God’s blood,” he whispered rawly. “I would never do anything to humiliate you, Aly.” His voice softened. “So you decided to see if I was secretly watching, knowing I would stop you from walking out of there?” Her logic was faultless. Had he been that devious, Tray would rather have admitted his lie than risk her falling. She knew him better than he cared to admit, which was rather unsettling. He didn’t want to be vulnerable ever again. He gave Alyssa’s cheek a gentle caress, his voice coaxing. “You have to learn to trust again. Trust me.”

  Belatedly, as he lightly held her in his embrace while she valiantly refused to cry, he remembered what Sean had said: Alyssa had not been betrothed. She would have been protected from men. She was only seven and ten and, until recently, a virgin. She would have been protected from men all her life. At no time would she have had her maidenly privacy disrupted by a man. And now, he was the one to see her in little more than a nightgown and to carry her to and from the water closet. And she lay in his bed. Tray’s mouth quirked in understanding as Alyssa raised her head and pushed away from him. He released her, but only inches separated them.

  “Better now?” he asked, his own voice unsteady.

  “Y-yes.”

  “Tears are the language of the heart. There’s nothing wrong with crying, little one.”

  “Men don’t cry. Why should I?” she asked defiantly. “I’m ready to go back to bed.”

  He gave her a patient smile. “Sometimes it’s better to cry, to let all your feelings out instead of bottling everything up. You’ve been through a great deal.”

  She looked up, a challenging tilt to her chin. “And I suppose you cry?”

  “Yes, I have. Several times,” he admitted quietly.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh…”

  “Do you want to try to walk or do you want me to carry you?”

  Alyssa’s lips parted as she considered her answer. Her heart gave a funny twist in her chest. He had given her a choice. Tray could have dragged her back to the bed by her hair, as the sailors had dragged her from the cell, without consulting her on the matter at all. But he had not exerted his male dominance upon her, even though it was in his power to do so at any time. Alyssa tilted her head in confusion, trying to understand this complex man.

  “Carry me?” she responded honestly.

  Tray rose on one knee, his face thoughtful as he picked Alyssa up. This time she wasn’t so stiff and unyielding in his arms, and when he felt her relax ever so slightly against him, his heart soared. Despite the abuse and pain, there was still a core of trust in Alyssa. Trust. He could have exploded with happiness, but he masked it and said nothing as he deposited her on the safety of his bed once again. Tray helped her with the covers and she lay quietly with her hands in her lap, looking almost serene. Her stomach growled, and she immediately placed her hand across her middle.

  “Hungry?” he asked, breaking the mellow silence between them.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll have Sorche bring you something to eat.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alyssa listening to him leave the room, her stomach still rumbling, telling everyone within earshot that she was indeed starved! She had heard the carefully cloaked amusement in Tray’s voice when he had asked her if she was hungry. He could have embarrassed her with a snide comment, but he hadn’t. What an odd man he was!

  Again, Alyssa found herself wishing mightily to know what he looked like.

  Chapter Five

  Alyssa seemed in the best of moods when Tray returned from his long overdue gallop along the cliffs of Shadowhawk. The brisk ride had lifted his spirits, and when he had knocked lightly at Alyssa’s door and heard her voice ring out, his heart pounded briefly. He gave her a smile of welcome, even though she could not see him as he entered the bedchamber.

  “You look improved,” he noted, walking over to the fire and warming his cold hands.

  Alyssa shyly lowered her head, her fingers nervously entwined in her lap. “Sorche is responsible for that. She chatted with me while you were gone.”

  “I imagine she is happy to have someone new to talk to.”

  Alyssa nodded. Tray’s voice was lighter, devoid of…unhappiness, perhaps? She licked her chapped lips and mustered the courage to talk with him directly. “Sorche said you own an Arabian horse. Is that true? I’ve heard that they’re very rare. Did you carry us here on one?”

  Tray’s eyes lightened and a slight smile hovered around his mouth as he drew up a chair near the hearth and sat down, sprawling his long legs out in front of him. “Ah, I should have expected it,” he baited her. Alyssa lifted her chin and he suppressed the rest of his smile in that fleeting instant in favor of drinking in her unparalleled beauty. The blue silk nightgown she wore brought out the emerald highlights in her eyes and the wine darkness of her hair.

  “Expected what?” she challenged, her voice stronger.

  “That you would have an interest in horses.”

  “The Irish are famous for their love of horses. We can gentle brutes that can’t be tamed by anyone else.”

  Tray relaxed and enjoyed her spirited exchange. My God, her face was so expressive, so readable. He found himself wanting to burn those images into his memory. “You won’t get any argument out of me. Sorche told me the Irish have a secret method of taming a horse.”

  “We do. And I know that secret.”

  One dark eyebrow rose as Tray rested his chin against his hand. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “That wouldn’t be a bit of Irish blarney, would it, Aly?” he teased.

  She flushed when he called her Aly. The man was forever giving her pet names! “You don’t believe me?”

  “No, I didn’t say that. It’s just that I know there are very few Irish horse tamers who pass on their trade secrets. Especially to a young and beautiful woman such as yourself. Taming a horse is a man’s task, not a woman’s.”

  Alyssa’s lips parted in consternation. “A man’s task? Indeed! I’ll have you know that I’ve gentled horses no man could get near!”

  Tray’s gray eyes grew light with amusement. “There isn’t an Irishman alive who doesn’t indulge in a bit of stretching the truth. I’m afraid you’d have to prove that to me, little one.”

  “I can. I mean I could, if…if I weren’t blind,” she stumbled lamely.

  Tray winced as he heard the excitement drain from her voice. “Well,” he soothed, “perhaps when you’re better, and when Dr. Birch says that you can ride, I’ll let you go with me. Would you like that?”

  An instant’s hope flickered to life inside Alyssa and then died. He was handing her dreams, only dreams. She bowed her head, muttering, “Sorche said you were an unusual man. But you’re a lord and I’m a commoner. No lord rides with someone like me.”

  Tray roused himself, scowling at the truth in her words. “We’ll see,” he said.

  Alyssa raised her head, her eyes large and sad. “Please,” she whispered rawly, “tell me what you’re going to do with us. I’m blind and of no use to you. And I’ve heard tales of small boys who are taken to Wales and sent to coal mines, never to be seen again.” She raised her hands in an open gesture toward him. “Are we slaves? Will you send Sean to the mines to die?”

  Tray rose, his face ashen as he stared across the room at her. “Did Sorche tell you anything?” he asked tightly.

  “Only that you were told to come to the ship and pick up a boy.”

  Tray expelled a deep breath and drew a chair near her bed. “I o
we you some answers. My half brother, Vaughn, demanded my presence aboard that ship to pick up a small boy who had been captured in the rebellion. Vaughn told me I’d find Sean in the ship’s hold.” His voice softened momentarily. “And I found you there along with him.”

  Alyssa swallowed, her eyes unnaturally bright. “Sean told me how you saved me from being killed. The sailors were going to throw me on the cart….”

  Tray avoided her gaze. “Anyone would have done the same,” he muttered. “As for what I’m going to do with you, I’d like to return you to Ireland once you’ve fully recovered. Both of you.”

  A small cry shook Alyssa and she clasped her hands together. “You mean that?”

  “You have my word upon it,” Tray promised grimly, dreading the moment he would have to let her go.

  Confusion laced her voice, “You’re so different…”

  Tray gave a harsh laugh, crossing his booted feet and staring pensively down at them. “Different? Now you’re being kind. People usually use much different words to describe me, such as devil, or monster.”

  “No…they couldn’t. They’re wrong.”

  He chanced a brief look at Alyssa and closed his eyes, unable to deal with the compassion he saw flooding her face. “It’s good that you’re blind or you’d agree with them. Just ask Sean. Hasn’t he told you that I’m like a huge, hulking monster, silently treading the halls of Shadowhawk like a satanic effigy?”

  Alyssa heard the bitterness in his quiet voice, unable to understand his sudden sadness. “Why, no. He’s frightened of you, but only because you’re English.”

  “Welsh,” Tray corrected. “Now, what other questions do you need answered?”

  Just the gentle teasing in his voice gave her the courage she needed. “My father, Colin.”

  “What about him?”

  “He was on board that ship, too.”

  “A prisoner?”

  Alyssa nodded.

  Tray sat up. “Don’t tell me your whole family was caught in the middle of that uprising?” His tone was incredulous.

  Alyssa chewed on her lower lip. If she told Tray the truth, that her father and her brother, Dev, were a part of the rebellion, he might well send Sean to the coal mines to die. She had to continue the lie Sean had invented for them. “Yes.”

  Tray clenched his fist. “Damn those hotheaded English soldiers,” he hissed blackly. He had heard that the English army under General Lake’s banner were killing, maiming and torturing thousands of helpless victims who had taken no part in Wolfe Tone’s poorly executed rebellion in Ireland. Tray looked up into her innocent features. “That ship doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning. They’re taking on water at Colwyn Bay. I’ll send one of my servants to locate my half brother and we’ll see what can be done to free your father, Alyssa.”

  His words took her aback. Did Tray’s power extend that far? Colin Kyle had taken part in the rebellion, and so had she. She clasped her sweaty hands together, fear racing through her. She was a prisoner who had been intended for Newgate Prison in London, to be hanged beside her father. Alyssa blanched with guilt. She had abused Tray’s generosity by lying to him. And now she was going to try to use his family connection to free her father. If she protested against his intervention too strongly, Tray would question her closely, and she didn’t want to risk Sean’s safety by blurting out the truth. Perhaps…perhaps Tray’s brother would be too busy to come to Shadowhawk. Then Tray would never know the truth, and both she and Sean would be safe. Oh, Mother Mary, why had she lied! Tray didn’t deserve her deceit.

  “Now it’s your turn,” Tray said, breaking into her cartwheeling thoughts. “Tell me about yourself, your family. Are you seacoast Irish or inland born?”

  Alyssa closed her eyes momentarily, trying to contain all her roiling emotions and fears. “My last name is Kyle,” she began, her voice low and unsteady, “and I was born in County Wexford, near the town of Wexford. My family farmed for a living until—until my father was unable to meet the taxes that the English placed upon us because we were Catholic.”

  Tray grimaced. How many independent Irish had had their farms stolen from beneath them, their homes burned or destroyed, their families forced into a life of wandering impoverishment? He was familiar with the religious persecution. Catholic farmers were given only a twenty-one-year lease on their land, while Protestant farmers were given three lifetimes to keep and till their farms. Eventually the Catholic farmers had ended up as squatters, barely surviving in windowless, thatched hovels made of mud and straw, built on other people’s land. The Kyles were probably no different. “Brothers? Sisters?”

  “Two older brothers. Devlin is four and twenty. Gavin is three and twenty.”

  “And you were their spoiled baby sister?” he baited gently, smiling, thinking how pretty she must have been with her innocent green eyes, beautifully shaped mouth and freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks.

  Alyssa twisted the sheet between her fingers. “Loved, but not spoiled,” she countered.

  “And your mother? You haven’t mentioned her.”

  Alyssa grew still. “Mama died the first winter we were driven from our home. She had consumption, and Father didn’t have enough money to get a doctor to treat her.” She compressed her full lips and her hands stilled.

  “I’m sorry,” Tray said, breaking the silence between them.

  She gave a small, defeated shrug. “That was a long time ago.”

  “How old were you when she died?”

  “Six. I don’t remember much about it. Gavin took care of me while Father and Dev hunted the countryside for food.”

  Tray’s face mirrored her pain. “But when you were old enough, you took over the duties of caring for all of them?”

  She nodded and then gave a small, forced laugh. “Even to this day I’m not a good seamstress. I can’t card wool properly…I can’t do much very well, if you want the truth.”

  “That’s because your mother died before she could teach you those skills properly,” he countered quietly. “How old were you when you took over the household duties?”

  “Nine, ten…I don’t really recall.”

  Tray stared hard at Alyssa, fighting back the images that her young life brought to mind. Had the Kyle family dug holes in the ground and burrowed in them like animals to stay out of the wet, damp weather of winter, with nothing more than a few thin rags covering their starving, flea-bitten bodies? Had they eaten grubs and insects to stay alive, and chewed on the bark of trees during the cold months to keep from starving? His heart contracted as he stared at her unmarred face. She had gone through so much in her short life. And now, she had been a victim of the rebellion, once again caught, abused and brought to her knees by the damned English. His fists knotted until his knuckles turned white.

  “You’re getting shadows beneath those lovely eyes of yours, little one. Why not sleep? It’s nearly five in the afternoon. You’ve done much for one day.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to reach your half brother before he sails?” Alyssa asked, praying that he could not.

  Tray rose heavily to his feet. “I don’t know. All we can do is try. If that fails, I’ll send word to London for Vaughn to come back to Shadowhawk at his first opportunity. He has it within his power to do something for your father, but I can’t promise you anything definite right now.”

  “By doing this much, my lord, you’ve helped.”

  Tray felt a smile tug at one corner of his mouth. He felt oddly buoyant as he left the bedchamber and walked down the hall toward his study.

  * * *

  The next four days brought a consistency to Alyssa’s life that she had not known in years. To her great relief, Tray’s half brother was unable to come to Shadowhawk before sailing, but he had promised to ride from London after the ship docked. Sean was safe for a while. Perhaps Lord Trayhern could be convinced to allow the boy to remain at Shadowhawk, despite their lies.

  Alyssa moved restlessly in bed, mulling over t
hat last thought. After the truth came out, would Lord Trayhern allow Sean to stay or keep his word and return them both to Ireland? She pushed herself up in bed, resting against the headboard, her face thoughtful. What of Dev and Gavin? Had they escaped the English soldiers and fled into the countryside? She drew her lower lip between her teeth, frowning. How she missed her brothers! And each time she thought of her fiery-tempered father in manacles and chains, she wanted to cry. The English would hang him at Newgate. Why couldn’t they just be allowed to live in peace? Why did the English have to tear their farm away from them? Losing their land had killed her mother. She could remember her mother saying that they had lost everything. Everything. That was what had killed her.

  Alyssa ran her fingers through her long, heavy hair in an effort to tame it into some semblance of order about her shoulders. Tilting her head slightly, she heard a cock crowing strongly in the distance. It must be morning. Alyssa’s thoughts swung back to Lord Trayhern, as they often did in quiet moments. She had never realized that the English could be as kind as he was. She was bewildered by Tray’s care of her and Sean. Who would want a blind Irish girl who was useless to his household? And then a cold terror seeped through her sleep-ridden mind: she had heard of the lords taking mistresses. Reflexively, her fingers went to her cheek.

  Lords, it was whispered, took only beautiful women as their mistresses. Alyssa’s fingers lingered on her rose-hued skin. Except for having occasionally seen her reflection in a quiet pool of water, she knew little of her appearance. No one had ever said she was beautiful. Dev often teased that she had turned down all marriage proposals because she was waiting for a rich Catholic Irishman to come along. That wasn’t true. She loathed the idea of being torn from her family; she loved her brothers and father too much to part from them. She would rather live in the embrace of the forests, trying to make a home for them in some burned-out thatched hut or whatever they found along the way, than live with a strange new family.