Devlin grunted his disapproval. “Then I must send you home if for no other reason than to give your wife a son,” he said. “No man should be publicly thrilled with five daughters.”
Sir Victor laughed softly, surprised by Black Sword’s sense of humor. Or, at least de Bermingham’s sense of humor. Somehow, the two entities were becoming separate as a result of de Bermingham’s humane treatment. There was the legend… and then there was the man.
“They are good girls,” he said. “But I must find husbands for them eventually, so do not ransom me for too much. I will need that money for dowries.”
Devlin’s lips twitched with a smile. “You will need to kidnap men in your own right to hold them for ransom so that you may pay for that brood,” he said, but le Mon caught his attention again. “Le Mon… he and that man he is with seem like good friends. Is it his brother?”
Sir Victor glanced over at the pair as le Mon ran his fingers over his companion’s wet hair. He shook his head. “Nay,” he replied, the humor gone from his tone. “That is his lover.”
Devlin tried not to look too shocked. “Lover?” he repeated. “He is not… that is to say, he prefers men?”
Sir Victor nodded and looked away from the affectionate pair, rolling his eyes. “Pity,” he said. “The man is a fine knight, a good commander, and comes from an excellent family. He could command a very fine wife, but he has no interest in women. In fact, my eldest daughter has made no secret of her interest in him but he repeatedly rebuffed her.”
Devlin had to make a conscious effort to hide his shock. “Your daughter?” he said, confused and astonished. “Your daughter is interested in him?”
“Aye.”
“But… what of the Lady Emllyn?”
Sir Victor looked at him. “So you have heard of her?” he asked. Then he shook his head. “As far as I know, the Lady Emllyn showed no such interest in him. She and my daughter are great friends, you know, or at least they were until the Lady Emllyn died of a fever last winter. Cate still has not recovered. She and Emllyn were friends since birth, practically. They grew up together, fostered together. They had all of the same friends and essentially the same life experiences. It was a terrible blow to her to lose her very best friend.”
Devlin was reeling. In fact, the world was rocking unsteadily and he struggled to gain control over his equilibrium. “Cate? She is your daughter?”
Sir Victor nodded. “Her name is Catherine but we call her Cate,” he said. “She is my eldest. You’ve never seen a more beautiful woman; refined, talented, intelligent. She is a good girl with excellent common sense except when it comes to Trevor le Mon. She is mad over him and I do believe she would do anything for him.”
Devlin felt sick; literally sick. He couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that from what St. John was describing, it was his daughter who had been in love with le Mon and not Emllyn. Emllyn Fitzgerald was dead. Was it possible, then, that his beloved Emllyn wasn’t Emllyn at all? Was it possible that she was, in truth, someone else?
It didn’t make any sense. The sickness swept him and he began to sweat profusely. He remembered back to when he had told Emllyn that Sir Victor had been in the vault and how she had begged for the knight’s life. Of course she would have! He is her father! There were more questions than answers, questions that hammered away at him like a drum. She lied to me about her identity! Did she also lie when she told me she loved me? He couldn’t seem to grasp his thoughts, his mind swirling with bewilderment. He just didn’t understand any of it. God, it’s just not possible!
Body quivering, mind clouded with confusion, he looked at the man who had delivered such revelations. Truth be told, he didn’t know Sir Victor at all and it was quite possible the man was lying to him, too, mayhap to throw him off somehow. But why? What would be his purpose? One thing was certain, however; until he could get to the bottom of things, and until he could talk to Emllyn, she was still Emllyn to him and not the Lady Catherine St. John as Sir Victor had suggested.
She was still his Emllyn!
Yet, as his mind reeled about Emllyn, it also reeled about Sir Trevor. Two incredulous bits of information in as many minutes. If what Sir Victor said was true, then it made perfect sense as to why Sir Trevor had rebuffed Emllyn. The man preferred men in his bed but rather than tell Emllyn outright, as he would not have so boldly announced such a thing, he had led her to believe that he simply wasn’t interested in her. And Emllyn, determined, gave chase.
The entire situation was convoluted with lies and truths, things he couldn’t easily discern as they rolled over and over in his brain. But one thing was increasingly clear to him; he had to get to Emllyn because he had to discover the truth and then, and only then, would he be able to settle down.
With strained composure, he turned to Sir Victor. God’s Blood… he and the man had much to discuss, now more than ever.
“If you are finished grooming, then finish dressing and I will order food,” he said in an oddly strained tone. “You and I have much to confer.”
Sir Victor did as he was told. Very quickly, he had his clothes on although the armor had been taken from him because it was so badly rusted that there was no way he could wear it. In fact, there was a pile of mail and another smaller pile of plate armor at the corner of the kitchen yard. As he finished securing his tunic and approached Devlin once again, he pointed off to the pile of expensive protection.
“I believe that is salvageable, my lord,” he said to Devlin. “I hope you aren’t intending to melt it down.”
Devlin, who had managed to regain most of his composure whilst Sir Victor dressed, turned to look at the pile the man was addressing. He grunted in response.
“I am not going to melt it down,” he said, leading Sir Victor over to where several long tables from the great hall had been brought outside and were now assembled near the stable yard entry. Servants were setting out all manner of food for the Englishmen who were winding down their bath and beginning to dress in clean, stiff clothing. “I am going to return it to you and your men and you will have the unhappy task of cleaning the rust from it. You’re going to need it again, and fairly soon by my estimation.”
Sir Victor was mildly confused by the statement. “Why is that?”
Devlin took a seat at the end of the table and indicated for Sir Victor to sit on the bench next to him. He silently indicated for Victor to partake of the bread and wine that had been laid out and Victor did eagerly. As Victor ate, Devlin spoke.
“First, I will dispense with the formality of titles,” he said, his voice low. “I see no need to address you as ‘sir’ and surely you see no need to address me as anything other than de Bermingham.”
Victor, his mouth full, nodded in agreement. “As you wish.”
Devlin continued. “What I am about to tell you is the gist of the situation since Kildare’s ships crashed upon my shore,” he said, his gaze intense. “Much has occurred since you were locked up in the vault and I will swear you to secrecy on this. If you divulge this information to anyone I do not approve of, you will never see your wife and five daughters again. Are we clear?”
Victor wasn’t intimidated but he took the threat seriously. “Of course. I will not speak a word without your approval.”
Devlin eyed the man before moving on; he knew he had to tell him of the situation involving Emllyn because he had no choice. The entire purpose of releasing the English prisoners was, in fact, to use them as a bargaining chip to regain Emllyn should Frederick have gone to Glenteige to betray Devlin. But now, there was so much more to it if, in fact, Emllyn was in reality the Lady Catherine St. John.
Devlin’s head was still swirling with the possibility and it was a terrible struggle not to feel anger or betrayal or utter grief about it. So he took a deep breath and pushed on.
“As I mentioned, much has occurred since you were locked up in my vault,” he said. “The most important occurrence has to do with the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald. I am not quite s
ure how to address this so I will simply come out with it; a woman declaring that she was the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald stowed away on Kildare’s armada.”
Victor stopped chewing and his eyes widened. “What’s this you say?” he repeated, shocked. “Lady Emllyn? But… but that is impossible. The woman died last winter.”
Devlin could see how astonished the man was and he understood the feeling well. “Be that as it may, a woman declaring she was the sister of Kildare was captured when the fleet foundered,” he said quietly. “She was brought to me and became my property. I need not explain what that entails, do I?”
Victor pushed aside his bread, his face pale with shock and horror. “You do not,” he said, his tone hoarse. “But since the Lady Emllyn is dead, I am curious as to who this woman is and why she said she was the Lady Emllyn.”
Devlin sighed heavily; there was a pitcher of wine off to his right and he collected it, drinking straight from the pitcher. He found he desperately needed it.
“She said she was following her lover, a Sir Trevor, into battle because she wanted to prove to him what a good and fearless wife she would be,” he said. He took another drink before looking St. John in the eye. “Does that sound like anyone you know?”
Victor was beside himself. The calm, collected, and seasoned veteran looked to be verging on a breakdown. “Of course it does!” he finally hissed. “It sounds like Cate!”
Devlin nodded, the feelings of nausea and despair overwhelming him once more. “She is a petite woman with reddish-gold hair and beautiful green eyes,” he said, his tone dull and lifeless. “She has a dusting of freckles on her nose and a darker freckle near her right ear. Does this sound like the Lady Emllyn to you?”
Victor shook his head, closing his eyes tightly against the realization. “It does not,” he muttered. “You have described my daughter perfectly.”
Devlin actually felt tears in his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He was so utterly devastated. “Why would she tell me she was the Lady Emllyn?”
Victor was devastated, too. He was so very pale with astonishment. “I do not know,” he muttered. “I am sure she was terrified to have been captured in battle. Mayhap she told you she was the Lady Emllyn because she hoped you would treat her with more respect than if she told you she was a mere knight’s daughter. But you didn’t treat her with respect, did you? You… you brutalized her anyway.”
Devlin couldn’t look at the man; he was staring at the pitcher in his hand. “She was a casualty of war,” he said softly. “She became my property to do with as I pleased.”
“She was an innocent young maiden!”
“An innocent young maiden who stowed away on a battle armada to be with her lover,” Devlin reiterated steadily. “Even after I claimed her as my own, she could have told me at any time that she was not the Lady Emllyn. The damage had already been done to her and pretending to be an earl’s sister wasn’t providing her with any safe securities.”
Victor’s pain-filled gaze lingered on him for several long seconds before looking away. He had to; the longer he looked at Devlin, the more grief-stricken he became. “I do not know the answer to that, either,” he whispered. “As with all lies, the more time passes the more difficult it is to tell the truth. Mayhap she was fearful of your reaction should she tell you who she really was.”
“Mayhap.”
“For the love of God, where is she?”
Devlin hesitated. “You should know that I love her,” he said, feeling the man’s pain mingle with his own. “She started out as my property but she became my heart. I suppose I honestly do not care if she is Emllyn or Cate; I love her regardless.”
Victor didn’t think he could have possibly been more astonished, but he was. “You love her?” he asked in disbelief. “Or is she simply a possession you are fond of?”
“I love her with everything that I am.”
“Then tell me where she is.”
Devlin sighed heavily and took another long drink. “She is at de Cleveley’s settlement to the south,” he said. “I took her there myself. She is safe.”
“Why did you take her there?”
Devlin considered the pitcher again, pensively, before responding. “With Kildare’s attack, I was sure there was another one coming shortly,” he said. “Do you recall that we asked you of missives that had been delivered to de Cleveley? You told us that the missives indeed mentioned plans to regain Black Castle, as I had suspected, so I was convinced that de Cleveley was planning an attack on the heels of Kildare’s. This is where Emllyn came in; she and I had a bargain. When she first came to me, she very much wanted to see if Sir Trevor was amongst the English prisoners. I told her I would let her see the prisoners for herself if she went to de Cleveley and found out what more she could about an attack against Black Castle. Being Kildare’s sister, they should easily confide in her. But our plans did not go exactly as we had hoped.”
Victor was hanging on every word. “What do you mean?
Devlin thought back to those days leading up to Glenteige. “On our trip south to the settlement, we were set upon by raiders and Emllyn was injured,” he said. “By the time we got to Glenteige, she was very ill and unable to speak for herself, so I had to think of a suitable story to explain my presence. I told de Noble, the commander of the settlement, that I was a farmer who had found the lady washed up on shore after the defeat of Kildare’s armada. Somehow in our discussions, Black Castle came up and I told him I had been there before to sell my produce. Much as I used Trevor against Emllyn to ensure her cooperation, de Noble has used Emllyn against me to ensure mine. He believes that Black Sword is planning an attack on Glenteige and has sent me to gather information to that effect.”
Victor’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as he digested what he was told. “So… you are essentially spying on Black Sword?”
“Aye.”
“But you are Black Sword.”
Devlin nodded. “De Noble has assured me that I could see Emllyn upon my return to Glenteige, provided that I bring him crucial information.”
“Does he believe you in love with her?”
Devlin shrugged. “I spoke of her enough and asked repeatedly to see her after we arrived,” he said. “I am sure he figured it out without me saying so.”
Victor fell silent; he was reeling as much as Devlin was, about all of it. It was madness, all of it, but in truth he wasn’t surprised. Cate had always had a knack for inviting trouble, but this time, she’d invited more than she could possibly handle… if, in fact, Emllyn’s imposter was indeed his daughter. But all signs pointed to her.
“Then why am I here?” he finally asked Devlin. He gestured to the men now heading to the table to be fed. “Why are we all here? What do you want of us?”
Devlin eyed the men approaching as well. “One of my commanders has become an untrustworthy rogue,” he said, lowering his voice. “He knows of my plans with Emllyn and de Cleveley – that she is there to gather information on the English plans against Black Castle. It is my belief that he has gone to Glenteige with the purpose of betraying me and, consequently, Emllyn. If he does this, she will be in great danger. I realize we are bitter enemies, St. John, but in this case, we must forget all of that. We must help each other in order for all of us to survive. It is my intention to exchange thirty-three English prisoners for Emllyn should that now be the situation.”
Victor stared at him a moment before rolling his eyes miserably. “Dear God,” he breathed. “Is it truly possible?”
“It is.”
“But why would he do this?”
“The man is bitter and ambitious. He tried to kill me and when he realized he was unsuccessful, he fled. There is more to it than that simple explanation, but that is the gist of it. Mayhap he will side with the English because of his in-depth knowledge of me and of Black Castle. Mayhap he hopes to destroy me once and for all with the help of de Cleveley.”
Victor was studying his hands despondently. “And you are sure he has g
one to de Cleveley’s settlement?”
“It is as viable a possibility as any,” Devlin replied. “In any case, I need Emllyn returned to me.”
Victor’s head came up. “What if she had not gathered sufficient information about the English plans towards you?”
“It does not matter. I simply want her back.”
Victor fell silent as the English soldiers crowded up to the table, taking seats and grabbing at food and drink. They were starving and helped themselves to whatever was offered but at the end of the table where Devlin and Victor sat, it was a quiet and morose atmosphere. It was as if the two of them were in their own little world.
“If the woman you know as Emllyn is my daughter…,” Victor ventured.
“If she is your daughter, then I will ask permission to marry her,” Devlin cut him off. “Make no mistake; she belongs to me already. The marriage is simply a formality.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I do not believe you will.”
“But if I do?”
Devlin’s features hardened. “Must I answer that?”
Victor met his gaze and, after a moment of seeing death and destruction in the man’s dark blue eyes, he shook his head and looked away. He knew this was a battle he could not win.
“You do not,” he said quietly. “But you will promise me something.”
“What?”
“Be good to her,” he said, his eyes welling with tears. “She is stubborn and willful, but she is also the sweetest and most glorious creature that God has ever created.”
Devlin was touched by the man’s obvious adoration for his daughter. Devlin leaned into him so no one else would hear.
“I vow upon my life that I will treat her only with the greatest respect,” he muttered. “And I will love her more than my own life until the day I die. She will be my queen, I swear it.”
“Black Sword’s queen.”
“Aye,” he whispered with a surprising show of reverence. “Black Sword’s queen.”
Brides of Ireland Page 61