Tray’s heart pounded heavily in his chest as he watched Vaughn saunter out of the bedchamber. He was going after Alyssa! He had framed her, making the authorities think that she had shot him. Sweat glistened over the taut planes of his face as he weakly raised his arm to pull the bell cord beside the bed. By the time Sorche arrived, Tray was gasping for breath, his dark gray eyes wide with pain.
“Tray? What’s wrong?” she asked, coming to his side and leaning down.
“Vaughn…he’s going to hunt Alyssa down and…kill her…got to get help…get up…”
“No!” She gently held him down on the bed, noticing a pink stain growing across the wound in his chest. “Rest, Tray. Let me get the doctor. Please, don’t struggle.”
He clenched his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly, tears squeezing out from beneath his lashes. “Aly…got to help her…can’t let Vaughn…” He lapsed into unconsciousness.
“What’s wrong?”
Sorche looked up to see Dr. Birch hurrying into the room. “Thank the saints, Doctor. Tray’s gone delirious. He’s feverish and talking out of his head.”
Birch frowned and placed his hand on Tray’s sweaty brow. “He has a fever,” he agreed, noticing the seeping wound. Mouth pursed, Birch glanced over at the anxious Sorche. “He’s overtaxed himself too soon. Quick, fetch me my bag. We must keep his fever down or, more than likely, he’ll die.”
“Oh, no…why was he so upset? I don’t understand it. He was resting so peacefully, Doctor.”
Shrugging, Birch pulled up several more covers to keep his patient warm. “Fever does odd things to people, Sorche. Have one of the maids bring a bowl of cold water. We must bathe him frequently.”
* * *
Brilliant sunlight filled the room, its rays snaking across the bed. Tray’s brow slowly wrinkled as he became aware of the warmth of the sun on him and the sounds of birds chirping outside the french doors. He was weak, more weak than he could ever recall being. He tried to lift his arm from beneath the blankets and forced his eyes open. As his blurred vision cleared, so did the cobwebs that inhabited his memory. Tray recalled everything with crystal clarity, and the ache in the region of his heart far outstripped the agony of his chest wound when he tried to move. He felt pitifully incapacitated.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Tray recognized Birch’s voice and slowly turned his head in that direction. “I’m thirsty,” he whispered rawly.
Birch smiled pleasantly and sat on the bed after pouring him a cup of water. Lifting his patient’s head, he allowed him to drink his fill. “Not too fast, my lord. You’ve been unconscious off and on for nearly three weeks.”
Tray lay back, savoring the cool liquid. “Three—weeks?”
Retrieving another cup of water, Birch came back to his bedside. “Indeed. Your wound became infected and we didn’t know whether you would live or die, quite frankly. And you’ve a lingering case of pneumonia. Every time you coughed, your wound began bleeding.” Birch gave him one of his rare smiles as he fed Tray the second cup of water. “Like Sorche said, you’re as strong as a bull. That and many prayers pulled you through. Now all you have to do is remain quiet and allow that wound to heal properly and regain your strength. You’ve lost nearly two stone.”
Tray blinked. “Three weeks. Alyssa? What about her?”
Birch set the cup aside, his face growing sober once again. “We’ve heard nothing, my lord. I’m sorry.”
“But—Vaughn. He said he was going after her. To kill her. Didn’t anyone try to stop him?”
“What?”
Tray sank back into the pillow, angered by his weakness. “Doctor, my half brother stood here and told me he was going to hunt down my wife. Not only that, he had fabricated a lie to the Liverpool officials saying that she shot me.” He opened his gray eyes. “Nothing could be further from the truth. The brigands that attacked us shot me. Alyssa is innocent.”
“Dear God, we thought you were delirious, my lord. We never took what you said seriously.” Birch looked apologetic. “I’m sorry.”
He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. Tray swallowed back the lump in his throat, shutting his eyes. “Get Sorche, Doctor. Right away.”
The bedchamber soon filled with people. Tray lay propped up in the bed, his flesh sallow and sunken as he looked at them. Sean’s welcoming smile was Tray’s only comfort. Every other face present spoke of strain and worry as they looked on at him in silence.
“Sorche, get me quill and parchment. I intend to write a short letter, which I want my attorney to deliver to the magistrate in Liverpool. Vaughn must be stopped.”
“Very well, my son.”
“Thomas?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Send your best rider on our fleetest horse south to Briarwood. Have him tell my father what has occurred. Tell Harold that if he doesn’t get to Vaughn as soon as possible and force him back to Wales, I’ll hunt Vaughn down myself. Tell him that if Vaughn so much as touches Alyssa, I’ll find him and kill him.”
Thomas bowed. “Right away, my lord.”
“And have Rasheed and Ghazieh shod. I want supplies gathered and prepared for the journey to Ireland.”
“But, Tray,” Sorche protested, “you can’t go anywhere yet! You’ve nearly died!”
“She’s right, my lord,” Dr. Birch seconded. “To ride horseback would greatly aggravate your healing wound. You could have a relapse.”
Tray tiredly closed his eyes. “These are preparations, good doctor. I’ll be little use to anyone in my present condition for quite a while. What I can do is prepare for the time when I’ll leave.”
“A wise decision, my lord.”
He opened his eyes, his gaze settling on Sean. “All of you,” Tray said, his voice growing weak, “may go. Sean, I want you to remain.”
They bowed and quietly left the bedchamber, shutting the door behind them. Sean walked over, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, watching Tray.
“Would you like some more water?” Sean asked shyly.
Tray felt his strength dissipating. He reached over, grasping Sean’s hand. “Please.”
Tray’s hands were shaking so badly that Sean had to hold the cup for him.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Sean blinked, watching Tray. “Are you hungry?”
Tray shook his head. “Just very tired right now.”
“Dr. Birch said you should eat, Tray. He says you’ve lost too much weight.”
He managed a poor semblance of a smile for Sean’s benefit. “Perhaps later. Come, sit by me. I need to talk to you.”
Obeying him, Sean crawled up on the bed, facing Tray.
“I need to know where Alyssa might be in Ireland,” Tray began with an effort, fighting off the grogginess that was stalking him. “Can you remember any places specifically where your family used to hide?”
Sean shrugged. “We moved so much, Tray. The English were always after us. We’d sometimes stay with squatters, becoming like them so the soldiers couldn’t find us.”
The squatters. They were the poor who had been ousted from their farms and lived in tattered, ill-formed groups anywhere that they could build their one-room, windowless thatched huts. They survived by cultivating potato patches and little more. “Where? Can you give me any idea of where Colin Kyle took all of you?”
“Mostly in southern Ireland. We’ve been as far north as Galway Bay on the western side and as far south as Bantry Bay.”
“Did Colin have a favorite haunt? Somewhere he considered safer than any other place?”
Sean searched his memory. “Colin always liked the mountains. He said there was less chance of the English soldiers taking the time to scour the hillsides or heavy groves.”
“Which mountains?”
“There’s Knockmealdown and the Slieve Bloom mountains.”
Tray was not familiar with either location. That didn’t matter, though. Right now he had to try to piece together where Alyssa might be. And his insti
ncts told him that the brigands had been her brothers. Otherwise, they would have attacked both him and Alyssa and left them for dead on the beach. His gray eyes narrowed on Sean’s face. “What about Devlin Kyle? Did he have a place he favored over all others? Think, lad. Think hard.”
Sean chewed on his lower lip, his mind racing. “D-do you think that Dev and Gavin took Lys?”
Tray nodded. “I think so.”
Sean bowed his head, ashamed. “They almost killed you. I know they wouldn’t have tried it if they had known you loved Lys.”
“I’m not angry with them, son. All I want to do is find Aly before Vaughn gets to her. That’s why I need your help. Did Dev favor those mountain areas, too?”
“Whenever the English were pressing Dev, he’d always disappear into the Blackstairs Mountains. There’s an old mud hut up on the eastern side of Mount Leinster that he used.”
“And where is the range located?”
“They’re near the Slanely lowlands in County Wexford. The slopes rise up and out of the Barrow Valley.”
“And the closest town?”
“New Ross.”
“If Dev did take Aly, what do you think he’d do?”
A pained expression came to Sean’s small forehead. “I—I don’t know….”
Tray closed his eyes, weariness encroaching upon him. “Tell me what kind of man Devlin is, Sean. Perhaps I can piece together what he might do.”
“Dev is like Colin Kyle. He’s got a temper.”
“Is he cruel?”
Sean shook his head. “No.”
“What was his relationship to Aly?”
“He loved her.”
And so do I, Tray thought in anguish. “Was Dev protective of her? Did he allow Aly to go on raids against the English?”
“Never. He always saw to it that the women and children were safe before the men left camp to attack the soldiers. Dev seemed to keep that in mind when a lot of the other men didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Dev always made a point of providing escape for the families in case anything happened.”
“What kind of escape plan, Sean?” Tray held his breath.
“Dev made sure enough cobs were available so that the women and children could ride for the mountains if they had to hide.”
The mountains. Tray patted Sean’s hand. “You’ve been a great help, son. Thank you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gavin brought in another armload of peat, piling it near the east wall. He glanced at his sister, who turned a freshly killed rabbit on the spit above the glowing embers of the fire. His gaze narrowed as he studied Alyssa. The green fabric of her dress stretched tightly across her breasts, which were swollen with milk. He wondered how she managed to work the hours she did each day with her belly as large as it had become. Her hair hung limply around her thin face and Gavin felt a spasm of anxiety. So many women lost their babies because they couldn’t get enough to eat.
He brushed his sleeves free of the peat and straightened up. “Dev ought to be here anytime now,” he said, coming over to Alyssa. “Here, why don’t you lie down? I’ll finish cooking the rabbit.”
Alyssa gave her brother a nod, slowly getting to her feet. Her fingers massaged her lower spine, trying to ease her protesting muscles. Her belly was large and the shift in weight had made her miserable in the last months of her pregnancy. Alyssa sat down on a small stool that Gavin had made for her.
“You look thin, Lys.” Gavin frowned. “You aren’t eating enough.”
Alyssa shrugged tiredly. The winter had been hard on everyone and food was scarcer than usual. Even Gavin, who was an expert at killing small animals, seemed unable to snare them with his usual efficiency. She stared at the rabbit that was being roasted, her stomach growling. For the first six days of February, they had subsisted on a few potatoes and turnips. Her mouth watered at the thought of eating a portion of the rabbit.
“I’m getting enough food,” she assured him softly, sending him an affectionate glance through the dim grayness of the hut. Outside, a fine drizzle was continuing, leaving the mountain muddy and impassable. “It’s just that as I draw nearer to having the baby, I don’t have much of an appetite, Gavin.”
“Humph. Ask me, you ought to be eating for two! Look at you, Lys. You’re skinny.”
She smiled. “Only in some places. What I’d give to have my waist back.” Her breasts, once small, were now full and tender. She had noticed in the last week that a clear, colorless liquid would occasionally drip from her nipples, staining the fabric of her chemise and dress. Soon, Alyssa thought, glancing down at her belly, soon you’ll come….
They were interrupted when Dev rode up. His dark burgundy hair was plastered against his skull, and his clothes clung to his large frame as he entered the hut, pushing aside the curtain.
“Well? What did you find out in New Ross?” Gavin asked.
Dev wiped the water from his glistening features, hunkering down by the fire. He cast a glance up at Alyssa. “The English are paying local farmers for information about us.”
Alyssa frowned, her hands automatically moving to her baby. She knew it would be impossible for her to run again if the English decided to begin combing the mountains for them. She bit down on her lip, watching Dev’s hard features.
“Is there anything we can do?” she asked.
Dev shed his cloak, spreading it out to dry. Black breeches clung to his lower body and his white peasant shirt outlined his chest. Alyssa felt an ache move through her. The clothes he wore reminded her sharply of Tray.
“The farmers in Barrow Valley have seen both Gavin and me on occasion,” he muttered. “They know we disappear into the scrub brush of the Blackstairs Mountains. It’s possible, because of the scarcity of food this year, that one of them could give them that information.”
Gavin looked over at his brother. “Lys can’t be moved.”
“I know that.”
“Did you find out anything else?”
Dev rubbed his face harshly, chilled by the long ride in the cold rain. His voice was dangerously soft as he spoke, holding Alyssa’s gaze. “Yes. Captain Vaughn Trayhern is leading a special group of English cavalry to find us.”
Alyssa gasped, her eyes widening. “No!” Oh God, all her terror and worry that Vaughn would come after her was materializing.
Dev nodded tiredly. “He’s staying at the manor of Lord Caldwell. Apparently Trayhern started his sweep from Drogheda and is slowly heading south. Word is that he’s staying in this area until the weather clears.”
Gavin sucked air in between his teeth. “We can’t let him find Lys. She’s going to have that baby any day now.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Dev suddenly stood, anger in his blue eyes as he paced the length of the small hut. His head spun with options and plans. There was little food available on the mountain, and Alyssa was incapable of hunting at this point. He ran his fingers through his damp hair, his eyes glittering with frustration.
“Lys, as soon as we can stockpile enough food for you, Gavin and I will leave.”
“But—”
“Hear me out. Trayhern means to find you, and right now, we’re practically sitting beneath his nose. You can’t travel in your present condition. You probably won’t be able to do anything for at least a month after the baby is born. I want Trayhern. I’m going to kill the bastard. Gavin and I will lead him away from the mountains. We’ll make him and his unit follow us to the west, toward Lough Derg. We can lose them in the lake marshes, circle back and then come back here to pick you up.”
Gavin stared at him. “You’re going to leave Lys alone up here? She’s going to have a baby. She might need help, Dev.”
“Damn it, don’t you think I’m aware of all that? Do you think I like the idea of her alone in this hut, having the baby? I know she needs help, but we can’t afford to have a midwife up here. And what if the woman talked? If Trayhern knows Lys is up here, he’ll come fo
r her.”
“I’ll be all right,” Alyssa told Gavin. “Dev’s right.” She compressed her lips, already feeling a sharp pang of loneliness. And fear. Women having their first child frequently had complications and needed help. She would have none. They couldn’t risk Vaughn finding them now.
Gavin cursed roundly. “But what if Lys has trouble, Dev?”
Alyssa saw the utter anguish in Dev’s eyes. “There’s been more than one woman who’s birthed alone, Gavin,” she said. She wished she could reassure them both that she would survive the ordeal.
Gavin grumbled under his breath. “When do you want to leave, Dev?”
Dev came back and knelt by the fire. “Tomorrow morning we’ll start getting in a supply of food for Lys. Maybe in a week.” His voice lowered. “And then, if we get the chance, I’ll kill Vaughn Trayhern. If not, we’ll at least lead him and his men away from here.”
* * *
The morning was cool and the sun was shining once again. Vaughn’s mood was sour as he guided his black thoroughbred gelding to the front. The other ten soldiers in their freshly cleaned red uniforms were moving in two orderly columns as he rode by them. The road was drying up, although rutted badly from the wheels of farmers’ wagons. Stone fences wound like gray ribbons on either side of the road that led up through Barrow Valley. To their right were the brush and oak-laden Blackstairs Mountains. Vaughn glared up at the tranquil scenery. Perhaps Lord Caldwell had been right, searching the Barrow Valley would be a wise choice. He would politely question the farmers while his men routed out the squatters, seeking information on the Kyles. This had been the region of the rebellion, which meant little voluntary assistance from the residents.
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