Cort answered. “There were four knights,” he said. “I found them in the Street of the Bakers at the same time Dillon and Brend did. We sent Arabella to safety, but Dera was told to hide. To make a long story short, my lord, the de Corlet knights attacked and we were forced to defend ourselves and subdue them, but not before Dera killed one of them.”
Denys’ eyebrows lifted. “Dera killed one of them?”
Cort exhaled slowly as if he, too, could still hardly believe it. “As we were battling the de Corlet knights, she found a knife – I still don’t know where she got it – and proceeded to jump on the back of one of the knights and nearly cut his head off. My lord, I have been in battle for twenty years. I have seen a lot of things. But I have never seen a woman kill a man like that. Dera displayed ferocity and fearlessness the likes of which I have never seen in my life.”
Denys sat there, absorbing what he was being told. He didn’t seem too surprised by it. After a moment, he scratched his head.
“She is a MacRohan,” he said. “The entire family is full of warriors. She has been around it her entire life.”
“Normally, I would agree,” Cort said. “But not like this. It was… savage. And there is something more you should know.”
“Go on.”
“Henry has sent me here.”
“But why?”
“Because of Dera,” Cort said. “He has been told through his network of spies that she could possibly hold some of the answers to the rebellion that is going on in Ireland. In fact, she could be part of those who captured Black Cove. While her father serves de Winter, it is possible that Dera serves the rebellion. There seems to be an understanding that Dera MacRohan is a warrior among the Irish rebellion and after what I’ve seen today, I can believe that. I have been tasked with discovering what she knows of the rebellion. Henry believes it is important.”
Denys eyed him a moment before sitting back in his chair. “Then the offer of your father’s assistance was a ruse.”
Cort shrugged. “In a way,” he said. “But my father will always come to your aid if you need it. But it was an excuse to get me to Narborough.”
Denys scratched his head, averting his gaze as he pondered the information. Truthfully, none of this surprised him. It was no secret that he’d sent his men to Ireland six months ago and although most stayed to reinforce the de Winter properties, Dera was brought back.
That had been strategic on Denys’ part because rumors of Dera MacRohan had been floating about for at least two years, probably more.
Rumors that Henry had heard.
Nay, Denys wasn’t surprised at all.
“What do you intend to do?” he asked Cort. “Subtle interrogation, I take it?”
“I have been ordered to seduce her and glean what I can.”
“God,” Dillion suddenly hissed. He could no longer remain silent. “Cort, we’re talking about Brend’s sister. Brend is your friend. He adores you. And you intend to bed his sister to get your information?”
Cort looked at him. “So you prefer to have a viper in your bosom even if she is Brend’s sister?” he fired back softly. “Because that is what we are facing, Dillon. I love Brend, but I love my country more. I am sworn to serve it, as are you. You will, therefore, not mention any of this to Brend. He may be a de Winter legacy knight, but he is a MacRohan by birth. We cannot be sure that he is not aware of his sister’s activities and we cannot be sure that he will not tell her why I am here. Do you understand me?”
Dillon did, but he hated it. Brend was like a brother to him. “Aye,” he finally muttered. “But Brend has never shown the slightest inclination towards Irish rebellion. He is as English as they come.”
“But the fact remains that he is not English,” Denys said softly, causing Cort and Dillon to look at him. He glanced up at the knights, his expression serious. “He is Irish, no matter how hard he wishes otherwise. Oh, I know he wishes he was English. I know he feels as if he is English. I also happen to know that he is in love with Arabella, and she with him, and the knowledge has been tearing me apart for a solid year. I love my daughter and I love Brend; do you not think that my denial of their affair might drive Brend back to his Irish heritage? I would have an Irish rogue in the midst of my own ranks, embittered that he cannot marry the woman of his choosing simply because he is Irish. That has been a fear of mine since I realized he and Bella were in love.”
Dillon tried not to appear too guilty for never having brought his sister’s romance up to his father. “You are speaking of Brend, Papa,” he said. “No matter what you think, and no matter what you deny him, he will be loyal to his oath. I believe that.”
“Would you stake your life on it?”
“Without question.”
“I have another idea,” Cort said, interrupting. “Forgive me if this is an offensive suggestion, but I must be practical in this matter. We can use Brend’s love for Bella to our advantage.”
“Cort…” Dillon hissed in disgust.
Denys put up a hand, quickly, to silence his son. “I am listening, Cort,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”
Cort sighed faintly, glancing at Dillon. “Forgive me, Dil,” he said quietly. “But let me finish before you condemn me. My lord, Brend has expressed his desire to me to wed Bella. It is very clear they are in love. What if you granted your permission for the marriage if he can tell us what he knows of his sister’s loyalties? He may be able to tell us what she will not. He is her brother, after all.”
“Bribe him with a betrothal?” Denys said, incredulous. “But how? I cannot give him permission to marry Bella when such a thing is illegal in England.”
“But only in England,” Cort said. “You can send him and Bella to France and they can marry there. It is perfectly legal. You have properties in France, do you not?”
Denys’ eyes widened. “I do,” he said. “Hereditary lands that have been in my family for four hundred years. There are several, but Chateau da Garosse is the largest.”
“Is there a place for Brend and Bella there? As a garrison commander, mayhap?” Cort sat forward, his gaze intense. “My lord, if Brend can provide us with information that saves the lives of a thousand de Winter and de Russe soldiers, why would you not take it? He loves Bella. Use it.”
It was a ruthless statement, one that had Dillon rising out of his seat and pacing the floor, disgusted and intrigued, but understanding it all at the same time. Cort de Russe came across, at times, like the arrogant knight with the world at his feet but deep down, he was as brilliant and brutal as his father ever was.
Behind that seductive smile was a heart of steel.
Denys sat back in his seat, looking at Cort as if the man had just physically struck him. He sat there and stared at him a moment before speaking.
“Dillon,” he said. “What are your thoughts on this?”
Dillon was still pacing, coming to a halt when his father asked him the question. “What are my thoughts?” he repeated. “I think this is cruel; terribly cruel.”
“Then you think Cort is wrong?”
Dillon looked at Cort, a man he loved dearly. His jaw was still working angrily, but he refrained from saying anything harsh. He was a knight; he understood what Cort was saying even if he didn’t like it. He postured for a few moments before finally turning away.
“He makes sense, Papa, but that does not mean I have to like it,” he said. “Using Brend’s love for Bella is incredibly cruel.”
“Why?” Cort asked. “In the end, he gets what he wants and we get what we want. Unless his love for Bella isn’t strong enough. Make him an offer like that and you shall find out just how serious he is about her.”
Dillon sighed sharply. “You are asking him to betray his sister.”
“I am asking him if he loves Bella more than he loves a family who sent him away when he was five years old,” Cort said, becoming more agitated. He stood up from the chair. “With the rebellion in Ireland right now, whether or not you like it,
you have the enemy living here at Narborough. Brend MacRohan is the enemy of England, or didn’t that occur to you? I love Brend; I have known him for twenty years. I know he is loyal to England above all, but he’s not English – he wishes he was, but the truth is he is not and that is why I think he will take this offer. If you ask him to tell you what he knows about his sister’s activities with the reward of Bella hanging over him, he may very well take it and we may be able to avert a disaster when you take your army into Ireland to regain Black Cove. Or is your loyalty to Brend worth more than a thousand English lives?”
Dillon flared. “You’re questioning my loyalty to England now?”
“I am saying you need to be realistic and take the emotion out of the situation, Dil. Is your loyalty to your family or to friendship?”
“You’re my friend, Cort. The same question could be asked of you.”
“Enough,” Denys said quietly, smacking his hand softly on the table to get their attention. “Dillon, Cort is not suggesting we disregard Brend all in the name of war, but he is right with everything he is saying and you know it. As much as I don’t want to face it, either, the truth is that Brend is Irish. I love and respect the man, but those are the facts. It is also a fact that he loves your sister, who loves him in return, and I will be honest when I say I do not think she would ever be the same if I denied her permission to marry the man she loves. You and Cort came to me with a concern over Dera MacRohan and I will tell you that I have the same concerns. Her father does, too, which is why he asked me to give her refuge here at Narborough. Is any of this confusing to you, Dillon?”
Dillon was worked up, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what his father was driving at. “Nay, Papa,” he muttered. “I just wish…”
He couldn’t finish and Denys nodded his head. “So do I, lad, but we may not have any choice,” he said. Then, he looked at Cort. “Dera MacRohan is a hostage here, Cort. I’ve allowed her a certain amount of freedom, but the truth is that she is a hostage.”
Cort nodded. “I assumed as much, my lord.”
Denys sat forward, his elbows on the table. “What do you want me to do?” he asked Cort. “You said that you had a directive from Henry to seduce Dera to gain information. Do you still want to go through with it? Because once I make Brend that offer, it is quite possible he will tell his sister and she will know that we are on to her. Right now, I would assume she is ignorant of the reasons for your visit here.”
“I am simply a friend of the family,” Cort said softly. “I am here to see Brend and Dillon and nothing more.”
“Then I would suggest we keep it that way for the time being,” Denys said. “Cort… you are charming. There is no doubt about it. If anyone can glean information from the woman without her being wise to it, it is you. I would prefer not to put her on the defensive while she is here and I would prefer not to make Brend an offer that is going to tear him in two, so for now… continue with your mission, but if you feel we need to approach Brend, you will tell me and I will make it so.”
Cort nodded, glancing at Dillon, who was still stiff with rage and apprehension over the situation.
“My lord, a request, if I may,” he said.
Denys nodded. “Proceed.”
“If I can get the information I need from Dera, will you send Brend and Bella to France, anyway?” he said. “I have only been here a short time and even I can see the love between the pair. I have never loved a woman, but it seems to me that it is cruel not to allow them to be together. They deserve to be happy.”
Denys sighed faintly, considering the request. “I have one daughter, Cort,” he said. “I had hopes of a great marriage for her.”
“Brend would be a great marriage. She could find no better husband.”
Denys lifted his eyebrows as he looked to his table, fidgeting with the papers and items that were there, delaying giving Cort an answer. But he finally gave in.
“Brend is one of the finest men I have ever known,” he said, but that was all he would say. “Go, now. Do what you must. Dillon, you will not mention any of this to anyone. Am I making myself clear?”
Dillon nodded in resignation. “Aye, Papa.”
“And you will keep an eye on Dera. If she’s a killer of Englishmen, we must be cautious of her.”
“Aye.”
With a flick of his hand, he dismissed Cort and Dillon, and the two of them unbolted the solar door, passing into the keep beyond. The great hall was off to their right, with servants busying themselves in preparation for the coming evening feast. Before Dillon could walk away, Cort grasped him by the arm.
“I did not mean to upset you, Dil,” he said quietly. “I did not mean to sound heartless. But there is much at stake. You know I would not hurt Bella or Brend for the world if I could help it.”
Dillon had calmed down a great deal at this point. He put his hand on Cort’s shoulder. “I know,” he said. “I know you are being practical and I know you are trying to save the lives of English soldiers. But… but it all seems so heartless.”
“I know. And I am sorry.”
Dillon gave him a weak smile, patting him on the cheek. “Not to worry,” he said. “Where will you go now?”
Cort shrugged, glancing at the spiral staircase that led to the upper floors. “Mayhap I will go and see how Dera fares after her brother’s browbeating,” he said. “I am certain Brend has not gone to see her.”
“No doubt,” Dillon agreed. “Do… do you really intend to seduce her?”
“I intend to do what I was ordered to do,” Cort said quietly. “Do not think I take any pleasure in this, for I do not. I am simply doing what I was ordered to do. If you see Brend getting wise to my attention towards his sister, I would appreciate you deflecting him as much as you can.”
“I will do my best.”
“I would hate to have an angry Irishman after me.”
Dillon snorted. “As would I,” he said. Then, he glanced out of the open entry, seeing that there was still several hours’ worth of daylight left. “While you are soothing Dera, I believe I shall go into Swaffham and find a certain fishmonger’s daughter.”
Cort grinned. “I am looking forward to meeting this alluring lass.”
Dillon laughed softly. “Not a chance,” he said. “One look at you and she would leave me. Stay away from her.”
“For you… anything.”
Dillon smirked at him, heading back out to the stables while Cort took a deep breath to fortify himself and headed up the spiral stairs in search of a young woman he was becoming increasingly curious about.
And perhaps even just the slightest bit interested.
But, God help him, he wouldn’t admit it.
CHAPTER NINE
“Stop crying, sweetheart,” Arabella said. “You’re going to make yourself sick and that will bring my mother. She’ll force terrible tonics down your throat to cure you.”
Dera was laying on her bed in her tiny chamber at Narborough. When she’d lain down on it only minutes earlier, she’d no intention of doing anything other than silently licking her wounds, but her emotions had the better of her. She lay on her side, facing the wall as the tears trickled onto her pillow.
Arabella sat next to her, her hand on Dera’s arm.
“Dera?” she said gently. “Please stop crying. Brend was simply afraid for you. You frightened him, I suppose, but what did you do to frighten him so? Did you truly have a knife? Won’t you tell me what happened?”
Dera sniffled. “I know you mean well, but I don’t want to speak of it,” she said. “Please, Bella. Just… leave me alone.”
Arabella sighed heavily, patting Dera one last time before standing up. Her gaze lingered on her friend, thinking that she should perhaps bring her some wine to steady her nerves. Clearly, something terrible had happened that Arabella hadn’t been witness to and Dera wasn’t willing to speak about it. With a lingering look at her sad friend, Arabella quit the chamber.
The castle was quiet at this
hour as the men worked outside and the servants were below in the hall, preparing it for the evening’s feast. Arabella was just coming down the stairs as Cort was coming up. They met somewhere in the middle of the wide spiral staircase.
“Are you well after the fight, Cort?” Arabella asked. “I did not have a chance to ask you before we left Lynn.”
Cort smiled weakly. “I am very well, thank you,” he said. “I came to see how Dera is. Has Brend been to see her?”
Arabella shook her head. “Nay, he has not,” she said. Then she hesitated before speaking again. “What happened in Lynn that has Brend so upset? Why did he shout at Dera so?”
Cort was careful in his reply. “Did you ask Dera?”
“She says she does not want to speak of it,” Arabella said. “I am going to fetch her some wine to calm her. She has been weeping since we returned.”
Cort scratched his chin absently, his gaze moving to the top of the stairs. “May I speak with her?”
Arabella shrugged. “She is in the small chamber to the left of the stairs,” she said. “What are you going to say to her?”
Cort fought off a smile. “I am going to ask her to run away with me since you have been untrue to me,” he said. “Truly, Bella, I am crushed. You chose Brend over me?”
It was the first time he’d brought it up to her, what he knew about her relationship with Brend, and Arabella’s face turned bright red as she averted her gaze.
“I do not know what you are talking about,” she said.
Cort laughed softly. “Not much, you don’t,” he said. Reaching out, he tipped her chin up gently so he could look her in the eyes. “If you had to throw me over for someone, I suppose that I am glad it is Brend. You know I adore him like a brother.”
Arabella grinned, greatly embarrassed, and fled down the stairs, leaving Cort chuckling as he made his way up.
The corridor was dim and cool, with spots of sunlight coming in through cracked doors from other chambers. There were five on this level, all of them around a small central corridor, and Cort went to the door that Arabella had indicated.
Dark Warrior (de Russe Legacy Book 9) Page 10