The Irish Devil

by Donna Fletcher

  Now, though, through a small miracle she faced the prospect of her dreams coming true, but at a cost that was dear to her.

  Her honor.

  How could she surrender the very thing that she had fought so hard to maintain? Whenever she was called a shameful name, she held her head high. Whenever a man made an inappropriate suggestion to her, she held her head high. Whenever she thought she could bear no more insults, she held her head high. And when her family completely rejected her, she held her head high.

  Throughout the whole sad ordeal she retained her own sense of honor, refusing to give in to the injustice of her situation. It had been a struggle in so many ways and there were times she often wished to give up and accept her sorrowful fate.

  But her self-respect always won out, forcing her to fight, forcing her to retaliate, forcing her to succeed. Now she faced another battle. Would she turn tail and run, choose the easy path, or stand up for her beliefs?

  She sensed in Eric a goodness that could not be denied and though he fought to conceal his own secrets she had caught a glimpse of his true nature. He was a man capable of loving deeply. She saw it in the attentive way he treated his men, in the way he cared for Borg and in his patience for his new wife who he unselfishly allowed to deliver a babe on their wedding night.

  This man was no devil, and while lust filled his thoughts she truly believed love drove his emotions.

  So what was she to do?

  She smiled to herself and hugged his garments tighter to her chest. “I will teach the devil to love.”

  She called out for Rook, who had apparently fled the cottage without her knowledge. The large, wet dog stuck his head in the door, his wide sorrowful eyes searching the room.

  “Lord Eric has gone, you may come in,” she instructed with a laugh. Was there anyone who did not fear the dark lord?

  She nodded as Rook shook the rain off him and answered her own question. “Me.”

  Feeling much relieved, she began telling Rook just how she planned to make the cottage her own.

  o0o

  Eric sat forward in his chair on the dais, his elbow on the table, his chin resting firmly against his hand and his intent glare focused on the double doors.

  “Staring is not going to make her appear any sooner,” Colin said, spearing a chunk of rabbit off his trencher with his knife.

  “She disobeys me yet again,” Eric said, a disgruntled growl rumbling deep in his chest.

  Colin shrugged. “Return her to her father and demand one of her sisters in return.”

  Eric winced and sat back in his seat. “Even the devil does not deserve such punishment.”

  “Then what is it you plan to do?”

  “Seek the truth.”

  Colin spoke low. “Will you be able to accept the truth?”

  Eric did not answer. His glance caught his wife’s hasty entrance and stayed steady upon her as she weaved her way around the trestle tables and benches to the dais. Rook, naturally, was right beside her.

  Colin whispered near his ear. “The truth is wisdom in disguise.”

  Eric looked oddly at his friend.

  “I am sorry, my lord,” Faith said, breathless as she hurried around the dais and collapsed in the chair to the right of Eric.

  Eric watched Rook make his nightly trip over to the servant girls who hovered nearby waiting to refill trenchers and tankards. They took pity on his ugly face and fed him enough for five men. He smiled, actually admiring the big dog’s tactics.

  Faith looked to his full trencher in disappointment. “You have already been served. Is there naught I can do for you?”

  “Now there is an invitation I would not turn down,” Colin whispered beside him.

  “You would turn down no woman,” Eric commented for his ears alone.

  Colin turned an arrogant smile on him. “I would not dare deprive a woman of my exquisite charm and skillful touch.”

  “What of love?” Faith asked, startling both men.

  Eric could have ordered her to mind her tongue that the conversation was for Colin and him alone, and not a proper subject for a wife to discuss. But he wanted to hear her response to Colin’s answer so he repeated her request. “Yes, Colin, what of love?”

  “An elusive emotion, almost impossible to find.”

  Faith smiled and spoke as if instructing pupils. “You do not find love, love finds you.”

  Colin laughed. “Do you mean my chases have been for naught, and that love will strike me when I least expect it?”

  “And from one you would never expect. ‘Tis why the emotion is so elusive,” Faith explained. “Many look in the wrong direction and lose their way when love is often right in front of them.”

  “How do you know of love?” Eric asked her.

  Faith’s smile turned serious. “I only know what I feel and love to me is not an emotion you can chase after or demand, it must be given freely, for only then can true love be known.”

  “I will remember your wise advice,” Colin said. “And what about you, Lord Eric? What think you of love?”

  Eric thought more of soundly thrashing his friend and the sharp look he sent him warned him to heed his taunting.

  His wife waited patiently for his reply and would no doubt wait all evening until she received one. So he surrendered his opinion on a subject that sorely irritated him, more so lately than ever before. Another thought that irritated him all the more.

  “Love is as fleeting as passion.”

  He had expected a stunned expression from her, but she simply nodded and gave his answer thought before expressing her opinion.

  “I think love and passion sustain each other, blending together to form true love. Therefore, if passion is fleeting, then it lacks love.”

  Colin slapped Eric on the back. “You wed a wise woman.”

  Her words disturbed Eric more than he cared to admit and long after they left the great hall and he lay alone in his bed did her words haunt him.

  o0o

  Faith was summoned to Eric’s solar early the next morning. She found him pacing the room, dressed in his usual red and black garb. She thought that he would not look so ominous if he dressed in brighter colors, but then, it was not her decision to make.

  He gave her no salutation, but got straight to the matter. “The running of this keep is driving me insane. You are my wife and will assume your rightful duties.”

  It was on her lips to question him, ask if he meant for her to stay and remain his wife. But she wisely sought no answer. She would take what he gave with a grateful smile and continue to instruct the devil.

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  He stopped pacing, his bold blue eyes upon her. “The cottage is yours to use as your healing place. But you will not spend all your time there. I wish for your presence to be known in the keep.”

  Her smile grew and she nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

  “And you will see that new garments are sewn for you.” He grew tired of seeing her in the same few dresses. Her garments did not befit her new station.

  “And you, my lord?”

  “Me?”

  “New garments. Would you not prefer a change of color on occasion?”

  He glanced over himself. “These colors suit me.”

  Change was difficult for most, so she did not force the issue though she did suggest. “Perhaps more red in your garment for a change.”

  He shrugged. “Do as you wish, but the colors remain red and black. I will instruct the servants to pay you heed. And mind you, if there is any problem you are to come directly to me.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  He stood staring at her for several moments before he continued. “I have decided that I no longer want you out of my sight.”

  His comment startled her.

  “You have failed to obey my dictate and have caused me to fail to obey my dictate. Besides, it is better to keep one’s adversary close.”

  “I am your adversary?” she asked softly.
<
br />   “I have yet to decide,” he replied firmly.

  “I am not adept at battles.”

  He laughed. “This is not a battle, it is a mere skirmish.”

  She smiled with confidence. “Perhaps then I could win.”

  “A foolish thought.”

  “A possibility.”

  “The odds are against it.”

  “Because I am not a skilled warrior?”

  He nodded. “Precisely.”

  “Then I will learn the way of the warrior.”

  “Courage, strength, tenacity,” he recited.

  “I possess them all,” she said, elated.

  “I have not finished.”

  She waited.

  He spoke solemnly. “Bravery to do what must be done.”

  Would she be brave enough to walk away from him with her honor intact if she must, or would she surrender’? And would he be brave enough to love her without his question being answered?

  She ached to reach out and touch him, feel the warmth of his face, taste the fullness of his lips, but he had warned her and his warning had served well. She would not touch him.

  She finally responded. “I do not know if I could do what must be done.”

  “Then you are not a warrior.”

  “No,” she admitted. “I am a woman.”

  “That you are,” he whispered with an ache that tore at her heart.

  She definitely was no warrior, for at that moment the urge to surrender overwhelmed her and her only thought was to throw herself into his arms and demand he make love to her. However, her tenacity reared its persistent head and warned of the consequences. Her self-respect would suffer a loss and the skirmish had only begun.

  It was time the devil met his match.

  “Is that all, my lord?” she asked sweetly.

  He looked at her strangely, his blue eyes more curious than lusty. “Aye, you may go.”

  Her hand was on the door latch when he asked, “Do you believe you would know love if you found it?”

  Faith turned. “Yes, my lord, I would know without a doubt. Would you?”

  She did not wait for his response. She turned and walked out of the solar, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Why did he feel as though she had just scored a victory? He shook his head and his stern expression softened, his mouth spreading in a smile. At least now he was on familiar ground. He would approach all encounters with her as a skirmish. He would be prepared as he had been for all his battles. And he would be victorious, as he had been in all his battles.

  He would have this matter between them settled before her father arrived and then when her father arrived he would settle it once and for all.

  He suddenly felt elated and took himself off to the practice field.

  o0o

  Faith stopped by Borg’s chambers after she had visited with the weavers and the women who tended to the sewing. She had given them specific instructions regarding the cloth that was to be made for Lord Eric’s new garments, suggesting more red be added to his clothes and then detailed ones she wished made for herself, though she informed them that the embroidery would be done by Bridget.

  She took time to speak with them and inquire as to their health and that of their families. The women relaxed and spoke freely with her. She promised to return with an herbal mixture for one woman who suffered from headaches and advised another that she would supply her with a paste that would remove the annoying wart on her hand. To their utter surprise she warned quite sternly that they were not to work themselves into exhaustion.

  By the time she had bid them a pleasant day she had won their hearts and respect.

  The door stood ajar and Faith listened, hearing Bridget’s familiar though troubled tone.

  “Do you care for me?” her voice demanded.

  There was a momentary hesitation before Borg responded and Faith leaned in closer to hear. “I do. I told you I did.”

  “When you thought yourself dying you spoke, but now you say nothing?”

  Faith could only imagine the giant’s red face and she smiled, feeling sympathy for him, though credited Bridget with the tenacity to follow her heart.

  “I-I-I am not good with words.”

  “I do not need a poet.”

  Another lapse of silence, and Faith strained harder to hear.

  “I-I—” Borg stumbled over his words.

  “I know what I want,” Bridget said sharply and Faith pictured her standing near the bed, her hands firmly planted on her full hips, her rosy cheeks glowing and her green eyes steady on the shy giant.

  Borg was able to speak but one word. “What?”

  “I want you.” Her voice softened. “I have since I first caught sight of you. My heart trembles when I am near you and aches when I am out of your sight.”

  Faith waited with bated breath for Borg’s response, her own heart fluttering with excitement for the couple. That was why she was caught off guard when an arm slipped around her waist and a hand covered her mouth.

  Fright raced through her.

  Her husband’s whispered voice comforted her. “Easy, it is me. You are safe.”

  He dropped his hand away from her mouth, though his arm remained firm around her waist. “You spy?” he asked, his voice low.

  She tilted her head up to look at him and spoke in a whisper. “Bridget proclaims her feelings for Borg. I wait for his response.”

  Eric smiled and nodded and leaned toward the door with his wife.

  “Come here, girl,” Borg said in a tone that surprised Faith. It held no hesitation, but was confident and strong.

  Eric whispered close to her ear. “He makes me proud.”

  She laughed softly and cautioned him to remain silent with a finger to her lips.

  “I am not a man of many words.”

  “Honesty, a good way to start a relationship,” Eric murmured and gave her waist a gentle yet possessive squeeze.

  “Shhh,” she scolded, her finger going to his lips this time.

  His blue eyes blazed with such a sudden passion that Faith yanked her finger away as if it had been scorched. She returned her full attention to the couple, the flutters having rushed from her heart to rest low in her belly.

  “It matters not, my mouth holds enough words for both of us,” Bridget said and Borg laughed.

  “I enjoy your endless chatter.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly,” Borg said. “I could listen to you talk all day and never grow tired of a word you say.”

  “He may be sorry he said that,” Eric whispered, and Faith jabbed her elbow in his ribs.

  A nervous hesitancy filled Bridget’s words. “You care for me?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you not wish to know if I care for you?”

  Faith grinned, the bold Bridget whom she was familiar with had returned, and along with her the shy giant.

  “I-I-I—”

  “Quiet, Viking,” she ordered with a laugh. “You are to rest and get well and then I will show you how very much I care for you.

  Faith wondered if this caring they spoke of was love. Neither had mentioned the word, and yet she felt certain the odd pair loved each other. But then Bridget was a servant and Borg a warrior. Could they ever truly unite?

  She turned a frown on her husband.

  “They will do well,” he assured her quietly and tugged at her waist, silently instructing that she was to follow him—which she did.

  They were descending the winding steps when he announced, “A traveling cleric has stopped at the castle. Do you wish to receive a blessing from him?”

  Silence answered him and he turned curious eyes on her. She was deathly pale, to the point he thought she would pass out. He rushed up the few steps that separated them and wrapped protective arms around her.

  “What is wrong?”

  “I do not feel well,” she said and buried her face against his chest.

  He grew concerned and carefully scooped her up
into his arms, feeling her body tremble. “I will take you to your chambers and summon Bridget to attend you.”

  “Do not disturb her. I need only to rest.”

  Her voice quivered and her body continued to tremble against his. He tightened his arms around her, his worry growing. His concern soared near out of control when he placed her on her bed and she grabbed at his hand.

  “Please stay with me,” she pleaded softly.

  “I know not what to do,” he admitted, feeling weak and inadequate for the first time in his life.

  “A wet cloth on my forehead and your presence is all I need.”

  He nodded, finding cloth and water bowl on the small table in front of the hearth. He rinsed the linen square and before folding it to place on her forehead, he gently wiped her paleface. Once the cloth was in place he sat beside her on the bed and took her hand in his.

  “Bridget would better serve you.” He was fearful that she needed more attention than he could provide.

  “Nay, my lord. It is you I need at the moment.”

  Her hand tightened around his.

  He felt completely helpless. All he could do was lend the strength of his touch. “Are you in pain?”

  She nodded and fought the tears that threatened her eyes. “My head pains me.”

  “Is there naught I can get you to diminish this pain?”

  “Rest will see to its passing.” She closed her eyes, her hand remaining firmly entrenched in his.

  He kept his hand clamped tightly around hers. The protective pressure seemed to soothe her, for each time he loosened his hold, she grasped tighter to him. Her strange actions perplexed him. He was well aware of fear and what it could do to a person. He had seen it grab hold of many a soldier on the battlefield and he himself remembered his first confrontation with it. But he had learned to combat it and use it to his advantage.

  Yet he never forgot the sickening feeling that had him retching and turning his face a deathly pale. He now saw that fear in Faith and could not understand the cause of it, but meant to find out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Eric emitted a low rumbling growl as he walked through the great hall. If one more person sang his wife’s praises he would strangle them. Her presence was now certainly known in the keep. The servants spoke of her as if she were a saint. To them she performed miraculous healings, always passed a pleasant word and forever wore a generous smile.