“Aye,” he finally said. “I will support you above all others, including Kildare should it come to it. But you and he had better make peace very soon or you will put me in a very bad position.”
“Agreed,” Devlin said. “But for now, I need you to stand with me. Will you do it?”
“I will.”
“Then come with me. I have something to say to de Noble.”
Victor suspected what it was. Dreading that particular conversation, he followed Devlin and Emllyn back into the warm and glowing great hall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
De Noble was in conversation with de Ferrer when Devlin, Emllyn, and Victor entered the great hall. Thrilled to see Emllyn return, he rose from his seat and headed in her direction but Devlin waved him off. It was then that he noticed that Emllyn had been holding on to Devlin’s hand, very tightly. When de Noble cast them both a quizzical glance, Devlin kissed Emllyn’s hand and turned her over to Victor.
Standing near the open hearth with its great pile of blazing wood, Devlin faced an increasingly puzzled and frustrated de Noble. He was braced for the conversation.
“My lord,” he said politely. “I have a matter of great importance I wish to discuss with you. Something critical has happened that will affect us all.”
De Noble wasn’t in the mood for a farmer’s sermon. His eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what could be so important,” he growled. “But your behavior towards the Lady Emllyn is both astonishing and distasteful. By what right do you kiss her hand?”
“By mine,” Emllyn said firmly; she wasn’t going to let de Noble bully Devlin. “I have given him permission. In fact, we are to be wed.”
De Noble’s eyebrow rose in shock. “Wed?” he repeated, incredulous. “What’s this you say?”
Devlin garnered the man’s attention once more. “You will hear me and hear me well,” he said in a tone that de Noble had never heard from him before. “I have just received word that the O’Byrne have overrun Black Castle. They killed many men and are now in control of the fortress. If you know the O’Byrne as I suspect you do, then you know they are wicked and barbaric. If they are on a rampage, the next fortress they overrun could be yours. They will kill you, rape and murder your daughter, and destroy everything you have worked to establish here. Do you understand me?”
De Noble was pale with shock and outrage. “How would you know this about Black Castle?” he demanded. “Who has told you this?”
“A servant who lived at Black Castle,” Devlin told him. “She escaped the carnage and has informed me of the status of the fortress. Unless we regain Black Castle and move to stop the O’Byrne, I fear this is just the beginning. You have served in Ireland a long time, de Noble; you know what I am saying is true.”
De Noble was confused and agitated. He eyed Devlin with exasperation. “Of course I know it to be true,” he said. “But I fail to see why any of this is your concern? You are a mere farmer!”
Devlin shook his head slowly, his eyes glimmering in the weak firelight. “I have never touched a plow in my life,” he said lowly. “But I have touched a sword, many times. My name is Devlin de Bermingham. I am the knight they call Black Sword.”
A collective gasp went up in the room; Elyse even shrieked. By now, everyone was listening to the conversation between Devlin and de Noble, and several of de Noble’s men went for their weapons. Seeing this, Victor emitted a piercing whistle to his men seated at the nearest table and they all leapt up, rushing to Victor as the man indicated for them to encircle Devlin. They did, without question, including Trevor. In fact, Trevor picked up a burning log, flaming madly at one end, and swiped it at the nearest de Cleveley man who tried to charge forward.
It was a protective circle they had placed around Devlin and de Noble both, keeping out the element that would seize Black Sword as a prize. It was English against English as the skirmish lines were established. As the men surged and a fight was imminent, Victor leapt upon to the nearest table and emitted a whistle so shrill that even the dogs cried. Men froze where they stood, all gazing up at the English knight who had commandeered their attention with his piercing sounds.
“Enough!” Victor roared. “Touch de Bermingham and you will have to deal with me. You, de Noble; you will listen to him. If you do not, you risk your life, your daughter’s life, and the safety of your fortress. If anyone moves against de Bermingham, my men have orders to kill.”
The room was crackling with uncertainty as men eyed each other with hostility. There was inbred hatred against Black Sword but there was also a sense of self protection and curiosity. Great curiosity, oddly enough. Something bold and epic was unfolding before their eyes and unless de Noble himself told his men to charge, they were going to hold their actions. Things were happening, historic things.
The only man in the room that hadn’t moved during the entire shuffle was Devlin. He simply stood there, gazing at de Noble as if there was no one else in the room. He had a great deal to say to the man and wanted to make sure he was clearly understood.
“The O’Byrnes threaten us all,” he said steadily. “Right now, it is me. They have killed my men and confiscated my castle, but tomorrow, it could be you. It could be any of the English settlements in Wicklow. We must rid Wicklow of the O’Byrnes once and for all or, at the very least, subdue them. But I cannot do it alone; none of us can. If we band together, however, I believe we can accomplish this and make Wicklow a peaceful place once again.”
De Noble was taut with rage. It was very difficult for him to control himself. “What peace?” he snarled. “Black Sword has ensured that there has been no peace for years. You are the worst rebel of the lot of them, the Irish revolutionary that has moved Ireland’s resistance against the English by leaps and bounds. If I had a sword I would kill you or if I had a rope I would hang you, but I only have my hands at the moment and you are bigger and stronger than I am. You would kill me first.”
Devlin could see the fury in the man’s face. “Would you rather kill me and face the O’Byrne’s alone?” he asked. “You cannot win against them. They will destroy you as they have tried to destroy me.”
“In God’s name, what do you want from me?”
Devlin’s eyes flashed. “I hold no great love for the English,” he said, showing some emotion for the first time. “They have moved across Ireland like a disease, killing and looting and taking lands to satisfy their greedy hearts. You are an invader in my land, de Noble. Never forget that. Yet I am willing to overlook that in order to save us both. Are you going to be so stubborn and arrogant that you would rather die than join forces with the Irish?”
De Noble was trembling with rage, with shock, but he forcibly calmed himself. Taking a deep breath, he raked his fingers through his graying hair. He glanced over his shoulder at de Ferrer and Connaught, who were looking rather stricken about the entire thing. Elyse was in tears. Drawing in another heavy breath, he faced Victor, still standing on the table top.
“You,” he said to Victor. “How, in the name of all that is holy, can you support Black Sword? The man destroyed Kildare’s fleet and held you prisoner. You accompanied him here and swore he was your ally. You lied.”
Victor shook his head. “You sully my honor, de Noble,” he said with threat in his voice. “It is true that Black Sword defeated Kildare’s armada, but let us be honest about it; we are warriors and defeat is part of that vocation. We were moving in to attack Black Castle, to reclaim her for Kildare, and de Bermingham did what he had to do in order to hold her. Would you do any less if someone was trying to take Glenteige away?”
De Noble didn’t like the man’s response. “No one is taking Glenteige away,” he growled. “No one can.”
Victor scowled. “Do not be so ridiculous, man,” he said. “Glenteige was an Irish holding before de Cleveley’s ancestors confiscated it and anyone can take it away from you if their army is powerful enough. We have all had our share of give and take, of property won and lost. Did Black Sword hold m
e and my men prisoner? He did indeed. But when the heat from battle had passed and in an act of mercy rarely seen, he released us, cleaned us, and fed us. And here we are. In spite of his reputation as a rebel and a barbarian, Black Sword is also a man capable of mercy. It is for that fact that I stand with him now. He tended my men when he did not have to, and now he needs our help. He is trying to help all of us. Is your hatred for the man so great that you cannot see he is trying to do good for us all?”
De Noble saw he had no ally in Victor and it frustrated him. It frustrated him more that Victor made some sense. Was it really true? Was Black Sword trying to band all of them together to fight, and destroy, a common enemy? He was having a great deal of difficulty entertaining the fact that it just might be possible. The truth was that he feared the O’Byrnes; they all did. If Black Castle fell, which was a shock in and of itself, then there was no knowing if the O’Byrnes would set their sights on Glenteige.
“This is madness,” he finally hissed. “It is madness to ally with Black Sword!”
“Would you rather be with him or against him?” Victor asked.
Victor looked disgusted, mostly because he knew what the logical answer was. With him, he thought. I would rather be with him if I have a choice in all of this. But he still wasn’t completely sold. With exasperation, he looked at Devlin.
“Why?” he finally asked. “Why are you suggesting an alliance with the English? Surely you have Irish allies who would do just as well.”
Devlin was honest. “There is an old proverb that says my enemy’s enemy is also my friend,” he said. “O’Byrne is an enemy to all of us. Of course I have other Irish allies to turn to, but none of them with the risk that you and I face daily against that savage clann. Moreover, my Irish allies would not fight off O’Byrne from Glenteige. They would let you burn. That is why I have come to you; this is something very important to all of us that face this threat. Help me against the O’Byrne and I will help you, too. Should you ever need my support, all you need do is summon me and I will come.”
It made complete and utter sense and de Noble, as resistant and uncertain as he was, could no longer deny it. De Bermingham was correct in every way. Turning to look at de Ferrer and Connaught, he could imagine them in a fight against the O’Byrnes. Then he could see his lovely Elyse in the clutches of the barbarian clann, being tortured and raped. It was just too much to bear. He had to release his pride. He had to take a stand for the common good.
Pushing aside the last of his resistance, de Noble focused on Devlin. “Very well, then,” he said. “Let us say, for argument’s sake, that the O’Byrnes are on a rampage. Now they have Black Castle. What will we do?”
Devlin was feeling some hope at the man’s reaction; at least he was willing to discuss it. “You and I will ride with your army north to Black Castle and reclaim it,” he said. “I will summon more de Bermingham men from my father as well as O’Connor men. I can have an army of five thousand men within a week. At that point, we ride north to Kiltimon Castle and destroy it. We will burn it and everything that reeks of O’Byrne. With Kiltimon destroyed, attacks in south Wicklow will ease considerably. We will also march upon Balleyhorsey and Ashford. Once those smaller castles are taken, I will turn them over for Kildare and de Cleveley to administer. You can station English armies there.”
De Noble hated to admit it but he liked very much what he was hearing. But there was one thing left he wasn’t clear on. “What about Black Castle?”
Devlin’s gaze was deadly. “That remains my holding. I will not give it up.”
At least he was honest with his intentions. De Noble looked up at Victor. “What say you about that?” he asked. “It is Kildare’s property, after all.”
Victor considered the question. “I am sure the earl will relinquish it to Black Sword if he gains new properties instead,” he replied. “Kildare will receive Ashford and Kiltimon.”
“Then de Cleveley will receive Balleyhorsey.”
Attention returned to Devlin. Deals were being made and they wanted his reaction. He had, after all, started the entire thing. De Noble, much calmer than he had been minutes earlier, cocked his head.
“It would seem we have made a deal with the devil, de Bermingham,” he said. “I hope I do not live to regret it.”
“Nor do I,” he said honestly. “Look at it from my perspective; I just promised three Irish castles to English lairds. I have spent years trying to force the English out of Ireland but in this case, if it will save my castle, my people, and wreak havoc with the O’Byrne, I am willing to compromise. If anyone is making a deal with the devil, it is me.”
De Noble’s gaze lingered on him. There were many things on his mind at the moment but one thought in particular; strange it would occur to him now.
“Several years ago, I saw you with your father when I visited Dublin,” he said. “It was a meeting between Irish chieftains and English lords. You had flaming red hair and were as big as a bull. Now that your hair is growing in, I can see you haven’t changed much. When you walked into my keep those weeks ago, I knew I had seen you somewhere but I simply couldn’t place you.”
Devlin was feeling a huge amount of relief now that the conversation was becoming one of understanding. It could have gone so badly in so many ways. He finally took his eyes off of de Noble to see that there was still a ring of Englishmen surrounding him, protecting him from a roomful of hostile men. He found it rather ironic.
“And now you have,” he said. “I would presume that I need not fear for my life within the walls of Glenteige now.”
De Noble looked around at his men and motioned them to lower their weapons. “Nay,” he said, a hint of defeat in his voice. “Although it would have made a mighty prize to capture Black Sword.”
“I will make a better ally than a prize.”
De Noble’s expression took on a hard cast; even though they’d made the deal, trust in an innate enemy was still hard to come by. “I sincerely hope so,” he said. “And by the way; I have one request to make of you.”
“What is that?”
“Three years ago, if you recall, you looted Glenteige.”
“I recall.”
De Noble’s brow furrowed and he frowned most terribly. “You took something that belonged to me,” he said. “I want my damn chair back!”
Devlin, de Noble, Victor, de Ferrer, and Connaught had stayed up most of the night discussing strategies and plans, and the English got their first real look into the brain of a brilliant rebel, a man who mapped out tactics and strategies better than they had ever seen. He was precise, deliberate, and covert. After the first few minutes of strategizing, de Noble shut his mouth and let Devlin do the rest. He knew genius when he saw it. No wonder Black Sword had never been beat. His respect for the man grew.
Devlin’s basic strategy was two-fold; the majority of de Noble’s eight hundred man army would approach Black Castle from the front and divert attention while they went through battle preparations, while seventy hand-selected men would approach from the sea side. The cliffs were sheer and difficult to pass, but there was a very narrow and secretive staircase carved into the side of the cliff just below the keep that could be used to breach the castle. It had been used long ago by supply ships approaching from the sea but they had given up using it because it was so treacherous. Devlin seemed to think that it was the perfect opportunity to sneak into the keep and take the fortress from within, and those around him were forced to agree.
So after much planning and wine, the die was cast and those who could grabbed a few hours of sleep before sunrise. De Noble had offered Devlin a bed in his solar where Victor, Trevor, and William du Reims were sleeping, and Devlin accepted his offer only to sneak up to Emllyn’s chamber after everyone had gone to sleep. He had to see her before he left. There was so much pain and longing in his heart for her already that he was sure it would kill him. He was desperate to hold her one last time.
Not surprisingly, she was awake and waiting
for him. While Eefha snored in the corner, Devlin came into her room and swept her into his massive embrace, feeling her life and warmth against him. He continued to hold her, very tightly, for quite some time. Emllyn finally had to force him to release her because she couldn’t breathe. With a grin, he complied.
“Come and lay with me,” Emllyn took him by the hand and led him over to her bed. “Tell me what is happening.”
She climbed onto the bed and he lumbered up after her. Together, they snuggled in the folds of her linens. It was simply enough to hold one another at the moment; no wild lust, no fevered passion… this was more than that. It was emotion, in its purest form, the need to hold and be held, to love and be loved.
Devlin buried his face into the back of her hair, thinking how much he had changed since he had first met her. In the first few days of their acquaintance, all he could think of was bedding her. It was purely a physical need, something that required satisfaction. But now, being with Emllyn went beyond the physical. His heart was so full of emotion for her that to feel her alive and well in his arms was the most wonderful thing he could imagine.
“Well?” she prompted him.
He grinned; he hadn’t realized he’d lost himself in his reflections. “We leave before dawn,” he murmured. “We hope to reach Black Castle in two days whereupon we will commence with a strategy to remove the O’Byrne from my fortress.”
Emllyn waited for more of an answer but none was forthcoming. “That’s all?” she asked. “No great revelations or plans?”
He kissed the back of her head. “None that would interest you,” he said. “It will be a great comfort to me knowing you are here, safe with Eefha to watch over you.”
Emllyn gazed off into the darkness, her soft hands caressing the arms that were around her. “I will not pretend that I am not concerned for you,” she said softly. “This is a great and terrible undertaking.”
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