“Open this door, I say!” he yelled. “Open it or I shall beat you severely when I get into the room, and trust me when I tell you that I shall get into the room.”
Jolted out of inaction, Emllyn began looking around frantically for a weapon of some kind. She wasn’t entirely sure the old bolt would hold and wanted to make sure she could protect herself. As she bolted from the chair and began searching the room for something, anything, to protect herself with, Eefha quite calmly stood up from her stool by the hearth.
Emllyn was in the process of inspecting the chair she had been sitting on, undoubtedly to use it like a club, as the old woman headed for the door. Emllyn had her back to Eefha, unaware that the old woman was calmly moving for the bolted panel, and she was further unaware that the woman had unsheathed a sharp dagger buried in the folds of her robes. Emllyn only realized the old woman had moved when she heard the bolt unlatch. As she turned in horror, convinced she had just been betrayed, the old woman pulled open the door and plunged the dagger into the man standing on the landing outside. As quickly as she had buried the blade in his flesh, it was with equal swiftness that she removed it.
Frederick looked with shock at the wound in his gut. He stumbled back, howling, as he slapped a hand over the bleeding puncture. Seeing that it was Eefha who had stabbed him, his features contorted with pain and surprise. But the old woman simply lifted a clawed hand in his direction.
“Of great woe, for that cry is of thy own foolish mistake,” she said ominously. “Beware the protection dear of the fairest lady. In the next, thy life is forfeit.”
Frederick sagged against the corridor wall, his expression wrought with disbelief and agony. She had plunged the blade into the curve of his torso and he was bleeding fairly profusely, but he knew from experience that it more than likely wasn’t a mortal wound. Still, it hurt a great deal and needed to be tended immediately. More than his shock, he was bloody well furious.
“Why did you do that, you foolish sow?” he demanded.
Eefha didn’t say another word. She shut the door in his face and threw the bolt. Then, quite calmly, she returned to her stool and sat. All the while, she had been puffing steadily on the shite pipe. She never missed a puff.
Emllyn was stunned. She could hear Frederick on the opposite side of the door, cursing and grumbling, and she kept waiting for him to kick the door in and kill both her and Eefha. But he never touched the door; he cursed steadily and loudly and eventually his voice faded away. That was how Emllyn knew he was leaving; eventually, he simply faded into silence.
It was quiet again but for the popping of the fire. Emllyn looked at the smelly old woman through new eyes. The woman had clearly protected her from the enraged Irish warrior and Emllyn was shocked, appreciative, and touched. She was trying to figure out what to say to the old woman, conveying words of gratitude that she might hopefully understand, when the door jolted again with a series of heavy blows.
“Open the door!”
It was Devlin. Emllyn jumped up and raced to the door, throwing the bolt and pulling open the heavy panel. Before he could say a word, Emllyn pointed at Eefha.
“Your aunt stabbed a man who appeared at the door and demanded entry,” she said, breathless. “He came to the door and demanded I open it but I did not, so he said he was going to break into the room and punish me. Your aunt went to the door and stabbed him!”
She was pale-faced and excited. Devlin’s gaze lingered on her a moment before passing an amused glance at his aunt.
“Why do you think she has been coming to this chamber to sit with you?” he asked, pushing into the room and closing the door behind him. “She is a better protector than any seasoned warrior.”
Emllyn looked at the old woman with her mouth agape. “She is here to protect me?”
“Of course,” he replied as if an old lady with a knife was the most natural thing in the world. Then he began looking around the room and noted the table and new furnishings. “I see the accommodations are better today. Have you eaten yet?”
Emllyn shook her head. “I have not.”
Devlin ran his hand over the old table, warped and leaning. “We shall remedy that,” he replied. “Do you recognize this table?”
“Should I?”
“It came from one of your English ships.”
Emllyn looked at the table, the chair, pondering his statement, but she just as quickly pushed it aside. She wasn’t yet finished with the discussion of Eefha’s shocking offensive.
“Wait,” she demanded, throwing out her hands as to stop all chatter and action. “I care not where you got the table and chair at the moment. I want to know how you can so easily brush off what your aunt did. She stabbed a man!”
“I know. I saw him downstairs in the hall.”
Emllyn stared at him, aghast. “Is he dead?”
“Nay, but she sufficiently wounded him.”
“But you said she was not dangerous!”
“She is not dangerous to you,” he said, amused with her bewilderment. “Lady, Eefha is here to protect you. She did what she is supposed to do. Freddy will think twice before coming back up here and trying to molest you. In fact, I would wager to say he will not try it again, at least not with Eefha around.”
Emllyn let it all sink in. So she was being protected by an old mad woman who was fearless with a dagger. It was unconventional to say the least but in the same thought, it was quite pleasing. She felt strangely comfortable with the old woman’s protection. Still, one more thought crossed her mind as she gazed at Devlin. It was a serious thought and her expression reflected it as such.
“Will she protect me from you?” she asked.
Devlin’s humor faded. “She will not need to protect you from me,” he said. “I will not harm you.”
She lowered her gaze. Be compliant! Her mind screamed because, so far, being compliant had worked wonders. The mighty beast of de Bermingham had softened to her somewhat. But the last shards of stubbornness flared in her at his softly uttered statement. She found she could not keep silent on the subject.
“That is a matter of opinion,” she said. “It is true you’ve not drawn blood or physically caused me great pain, but you have… that is to say, you have molested me.”
Devlin didn’t disregard her remark as he would normally have done. He didn’t posture angrily and point out that she belonged to him again because she already knew that. So he met her head–on.
“And you have hated every minute of it, have you?” he asked in a mocking tone. “I know for a fact that you have not. You have derived as much pleasure out of it as I have.”
The conversation was turning serious and uneasy. Emllyn kept her gaze averted, her cheeks flushing a dull red as she moved towards the lancet window. She was trying to put distance between their conversation and Eefha. Although she wasn’t entirely sure the old woman could understand what they were saying, still, it was a private and embarrassing subject, one she did not wish to discuss in front of a third party.
“I wish you would stop,” she finally whispered. “I do not want you to do that to me anymore. Please, for mercy’s sake, I beg you.”
Devlin’s eyebrows lifted. “I have every right,” he said. “By the laws of my people, you are my property now. I have marked you and no other man will touch you.”
“What do you mean you have every right?”
“You are my concubine.”
Emllyn’s mouth popped open in outrage. “Your concubine?” she repeated, appalled. All thoughts of being compliant fled and she was no longer willing to bow down to the man, not now. Not with that foolishly uttered statement. Damn her pride! “I am no such thing!”
Devlin nodded patiently. “The night I claimed you is the night you became my concubine,” he said. “Men in the Bible had concubines. I will have one also. In fact, there is a story I once heard about a man named Jacob who had a wife and a concubine. There is no shame in such a status.”
Emllyn gazed at him in utter hor
ror. He was absolutely serious and after a moment, she plopped down onto the chair behind her. Then she burst into tears.
Devlin frowned, watching her weep painfully. He went to her. “Why do you weep?” he asked, his tone considerably softer than it had been moments before. “You do not like the term ‘whore’. I thought ‘concubine’ would be better.”
Emllyn howled angrily. “I do not want to be a concubine,” she sobbed. “It is as bad as being a whore and you cannot make either term sound remotely acceptable. I am the sister of an earl, descended from Welsh royalty, and I fostered in one of the finest houses in all of England. A proper and advantageous marriage was always planned for me. Now I find myself the whore of an Irish rebel and you tell me there is no shame in that?”
She was so angry that she was off the chair, wagging a finger at him. Devlin had never seen her truly furious and he had to admit that she was rather intimidating. He realized that he wanted to appease her. Seeing her so upset made him uncertain and frustrated.
“Then what do you want?” he asked. “Do you want me to marry you? Would it be better to be the wife of a rebel than the whore of one?”
Emllyn froze in the midst of her tears, her eyes wide with astonishment at his suggestion. After a pause of epic proportions, she squealed with fury and was off on another crying jag, this one louder than before. She was so angry that she stamped her feet as she turned her back to him, evidently having a full-fledged tantrum right before his eyes.
Devlin wasn’t sure what more to say. Anything he said seemed to make it worse. Uneasily, he sat down on the bed, far away from Emllyn and her fit, and pondered his next move. She didn’t want to be a whore, a concubine, or a wife. But what she wanted was of little matter; he would do what he had to do. He would not apologize for anything he had said or done, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold his tongue. He didn’t like upsetting her, although it truthfully shouldn’t matter to him if she was upset or not. But it did. In confused silence, he left the chamber.
With the object of her frustration gone, Emllyn eventually calmed her weeping and stamping. Exhausted both emotionally and physically, she sat morosely, cursing the day she decided that stowing away on a ship bound for battle had been a wise decision. She had placed herself in this predicament and now there was no escape. She would have to face her mistakes and live with the consequences. Perhaps the reality was that being a concubine now was the best she could hope for. It was a sickening realization.
Depressed over a future filled with nothing she had imagined for herself, Emllyn eyed the old woman sitting by the fire, puffing on his shite pipe that now seemed to be running out of fuel. Was this to be the rest of her life now, being protected by a crazy old woman and bearing children for a man who viewed her as his whore? A day ago, the situation did not seem real, but as of this evening, circumstances were beginning to settle. Reality was upon her.
Aye, now this was her future. Even if she discovered that Trevor was still alive in Black Sword’s dungeons, he certainly would not want her now. She was destined to stay with de Bermingham forever because the man had indeed marked her. She belonged to him and no other. Sadly, she sighed.
“I do not want to be here, Eefha,” she muttered. “Can you not understand? I want to know if Trevor is alive and then I want to go home. I do not want to be a concubine of an Irish rebel.”
The old woman continued to puff and Emllyn knew her words were falling on deaf ears. Pulling the robe she wore more tightly around her to ward off the cold evening temperature, she gazed out of the lancet window and up to the stars on a surprisingly clear night. It was beautiful outside, crisp now that the storms had blown away. As she sat and gazed into the blanket of stars, the door to the chamber lurched open.
Devlin entered with Enda and Nessa behind him. The women were bearing great trays of food and Devlin was carrying a clay pitcher and a pair of pewter cups. He directed the women to set the food over on the table and they did, with Nessa giving Emllyn a shy smile. Emllyn smiled back, somewhat startled when the girl pressed something cold into her hand before fleeing the room. Emllyn kept her hand in her lap, glancing down to see what Nessa had given her, as Devlin pulled up the second chair up to the table.
“I thought you might feel better if you ate,” he said as he began pulling apart of big, thick-crusted loaf of bread. “We have bread, cheese, boiled onions with mustard, roast fowl, figs, and walnuts. Help yourself, my lady.”
Emllyn was looking at the trinket that Nessa had slipped into her hand; it was a hair comb made of nickel or tin; it was hard to tell. Someone had rather skillfully worked it into the shape of a butterfly, and it was evidently well-used as it was bent a bit, but it was a very sweet little comb.
Emllyn fought off a smile as she gazed down at the gift from an Irish lass she’d never said more than two words to. It was a very nice gesture, surprising since she thought all of the Irish in this Godforsaken castle hated her. She would make sure to thank her next time she saw her.
But the smell of the food on the table was distracting her. The scent was divine and Emllyn’s dark mood began to lift as she tore off a leg of the roast bird and began to eat. The meat was succulent and juicy and in little time, she was competing with Devlin for who could eat the most and not vomit it all up. The feast had her attention at the moment and for a few minutes she could actually forget about everything. At the moment, there was no captivity or concubine; it was simply the food and that was all she focused on.
It was a rather oddly silent meal, Devlin was thinking as he watched Emllyn stuff food in her mouth. He knew she was distracted, and saddened, but at least she wasn’t hysterical any longer. He was grateful for that. After taking Eefha a bird leg, he returned to the table and sat heavily as he collected his cup of wine.
“We shall be leaving for de Cleveley’s settlement on the morrow,” he told her as he poured more wine. “We will have to travel lightly; practically nothing at all since we are supposed to be prisoners escaped from Black Sword’s dungeon. Think carefully about what you will take with you because even then, it may be too much. You must think of what only a prisoner would be allowed to possess or would be able to steal.”
Emllyn looked at him in mid-chew. “I am a prisoner,” she said flatly. “I will take the clothes on my back and nothing else. What more do I have? And what do you mean by we are supposed to be prisoners?”
He took a long drink of wine before looking at her. “I am going with you.”
She cocked her head curiously. “To escort me as you said you would?”
He drained his cup. “I am going with you into the belly of the beast,” he said, realizing she had no knowledge of the plans he’d discussed with Shain and the others. “You see, lady, I do not want you going in there alone. I fear that they will never let you go if you do. Therefore, I will go with you. We are to pose as two escaped prisoners from Black Sword’s dungeons, you being Fitzgerald’s fine sister and me being a warrior from an enemy clann. We will tell them I am mute because in that respect, they may trust me more and of course you will validate my presence. You will tell them that I helped you escape and that I have been your mute protector ever since. If you trust me, they will trust me. Then we shall discover what we can and flee. Is this in any way unclear?”
Emllyn was looking at him with wide, astonished eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Of course,” he said. Then, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, his iron grip conveying a thousand silent words of intimidation and foreboding. “If you do not do everything in your power to convince them I am no threat to them, or if you betray me, know that I have given orders to have every one of the English captives killed. Their lives depend upon your behavior.”
By this time, she was pale with apprehension and fury. “Why do you threaten me?” she asked hoarsely.
Devlin’s jaw ticked. “I tell you the truth. Betray me and everyone dies. Obey me and mayhap you shall discover that your lover is indeed still alive. Are we
agreed?”
Emllyn thought about yanking her hand free from his grasp but stopped short. He was holding her so tightly that she would probably snap her wrist in the attempt. His grip was heated, too, and her mind inadvertently turned to those very big hands and how they had touched her body. His big fingers had penetrated her, making her experience things she had never known to exist. Shuddering, she forced away those thoughts and lowered her head. Back came thoughts of Trevor, of the English captives, and of the Irish rebels to whom she was at the mercy of. For God’s sake, now is the time to be totally compliant!
“I will not betray you,” she muttered.
“Swear it on the Blessed Virgin.”
“I swear.”
“Then I believe you.”
“Let go of me now.”
A flicker of humor crossed Devlin’s expression. “Why?”
“Because I have asked you to.”
“And if I do not?”
Emllyn turned her head away. “It would be nothing new.”
“What do you mean?”
She tried to pull away. “When have you ever done anything I asked?”
Devlin was feeling his alcohol. He’d had most of the pitcher and could feel the warmth in his veins. When have you ever done anything I asked? He had never done anything she’d asked. But, then again, it wasn’t her place to ask anything of him. She was the captive and he was her conqueror. The sooner her proud English soul recognized that, the better for them all. God, he could feel his lust for her flushing his veins like a wildfire as he watched her squirm. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life.
Swiftly, he stood up and yanked her to her feet. Emllyn let out a startled cry as he scooped her into his arms and, in three long strides, tossed her onto the bed. Emllyn barely had time to scream before he was on her, his soft lips and bristly beard covering her mouth. His enormous arms wrapped around her body as his mouth suckled her with all shades of lust and glory.
Emllyn tried to avoid his seeking lips, to turn her head, but he would have no part of it. She pounding on his shoulders as he kissed her lustily, sucking the air right out of her.
Lords of Ireland II Page 11