Emllyn watched him as he tightened the bandage. “I truly do not feel that bad,” she assured him softly because he seemed to be worrying a great deal. “I am tired, but other than that I feel well enough.”
Devlin didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to frighten her. Truthfully, her wound could go either way; it could clear up on its own or it could get very, very bad. He hoped it wasn’t the latter. When he was finished tightening the bandage he scooped her up into his big arms and stood up.
“You will not be walking,” he informed her in a tone that suggested the subject was not up for debate. “I will carry you the rest of the way.”
Emllyn wrapped her arms around his neck purely to steady herself, realizing almost instantaneously that the last time she was this close to him, he was doing unspeakable things to her. She could smell his skin and feel his warmth all around her, and her heart began to thump against her ribs. Perhaps it was fear, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt more like excitement.
The man was big, strong, and passionate about everything he did. During the times he’d taken her, it had been with such passion that, although rightly terrified and embarrassed, it was something that had ultimately not left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. He hadn’t hurt her in any way; all he’d done is give her pleasure like she had never known to exist. More and more, she realized she couldn’t bring herself to hate him for it. It was a ridiculous realization, but one she couldn’t deny.
Cradled in Devlin’s arms as he began their trek south towards de Cleveley lands, Emllyn tried not to look at him more than necessary and she definitely tried not to make eye contact with him. Her thoughts were running from silly, foolish thoughts of the man’s powerful arms to the reflection of the past three days with him. She was more concerned than she dared to admit about the man placing himself in danger simply to gain information that might save his people and, consequently, his rebellion.
Emllyn was very concerned that she might say or do the wrong thing that might jeopardize her chances of keeping her end of the bargain, but more than that, she was concerned that something terrible might befall Devlin. He was a rebel, a thief, and in many eyes a murderer as well, but he was also someone who was trying to do something noble for his people and doing it any way he could. Her opinion, and her defiance against him, was starting to waver.
After an hour or so of such thoughts, her mind began to grow muddled and weary. It wasn’t long before her head was against his shoulder and her eyes were drooping. She was so very, very tired, and she soon fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Emllyn was passed out cold with a raging fever by the time the old wooden and stone walls of de Cleveley’s settlement came into view shortly after mid-day.
Chapter Ten
The great settlement of the House of de Cleveley, heirs to the barony of Bowland, was one of the largest Norman settlements in Ireland. An early Lord de Cleveley had come to Ireland a few years after William the Conqueror had started his systematic takeover of England and had staked out rich and prosperous lands in Wicklow with the help of a few thousand Norman soldiers. He used local and conquered tribes to build him a castle in the village of Wicklow proper and also one to the south near the small village of Glenteige.
Wicklow Castle had been captured by the O’Byrnes about five years earlier. On the coattails of the O’Byrnes, Devlin and his father had managed to clear the de Cleveleys out of a major portion of Wicklow and subsequently chase the Fitzgeralds out of neighboring lands, resulting in the capture of Black Castle. While Devlin had an organized rebellion against Kildare with the purpose of regaining a massive portion of Wicklow for the de Berminghams, the O’Byrnes ran wild in Ulster, burning and looting and killing, which had reduced the de Cleveley holdings to the southern portion of the county.
It was a bit of a complex situation and one that was extraordinarily volatile. It was for that reason that the de Cleveley settlement was surrounded by an enormous wall built from wood and stone, and surrounded by a ditch that was several miles in length. The ditch was filled with seawater which washed in with the tides because some Norman engineer had designed an ingenious system. It was a fairly impregnable compound.
Devlin had never been inside the complex but he had seen it, many times, and he had even helped the O’Connors lay siege to it twice. He knew that the wall surrounded a settlement that housed several thousand people and he also knew there was a central castle and keep buried deep in the complex. Being that it was a village, a living and breathing entity, the gatehouse remained open during the day for trade and commerce to commence. There were always dozens of guards near the gates and the gatehouse itself were heavily manned by English soldiers who hated the sound or sight of anything Irish.
It was going to be a problem for Devlin considering the plans he had forged at Black Castle, the scheme he and Emllyn had rehearsed over and over, was now nil. Emllyn had been unconscious for a few hours at least and would be unable to tell anyone who, or what, she was. Worse, Devlin’s plans of pretending to be a mute were now dissolved. He had to speak because Emllyn couldn’t, so he had spent the past two hours desperately trying to concoct a believable story. He’d come up with two or three versions but wasn’t entirely comfortable with any of them. Still, he had little choice; Emllyn needed a surgeon. With each step he took, he was growing increasingly worried over her condition.
He found himself wishing Eefha had not deserted them because he knew the old woman would know what to do. Eefha had a way of healing. He also began to wonder if it wouldn’t have been better for him to return to Black Castle, but that would have taken at least two days on foot. It was no option at all. As he drew closer to the gatehouse of the de Cleveley settlement, he braced himself for what was to come and prayed he could come across convincingly in this new plan he was forced to perpetuate. Their lives depended on it.
Being that it was after midday, most of the farmers and other vendors that usually did business in the morning hours were gone and there wasn’t a great deal of traffic at the gates. Sentries were checking everyone who entered the complex and as Devlin drew close, he took a deep breath for courage and moved towards two English soldiers who were watching the activity of the gates.
“M’lords,” he said, trying to sound timid and polite. “I have come from the north. There was a great sea battle there four nights ago at Black Castle. Have ye heard?”
The soldiers, dressed in well-worn mail and de Cleveley tunics, looked at him with both curiosity and suspicion.
“What sea battle?” an older soldier asked.
“Kildare,” Devlin said, struggling not to react to these English soldiers who represented everything he hated. He’d probably fought them on many occasions, and even killed some of their kin, but he couldn’t think of that now. “Kildare came ashore at Black Castle and was destroyed by Black Sword. Have you not heard the news?”
The soldiers looked at him with shock. One even called his superior officer and relayed the news. The superior officer was an older knight, short and bald, with dark eyes and a growth of beard. He eyed Devlin a moment, his focus shifting between Emllyn’s limp form and the very big Irishman in rags.
“What’s this you say about a battle at Black Castle?” he asked. “Where did you come from?”
Devlin increasingly struggled with his attitude towards the haughty English. He wanted very much to reach out a massive fist and smash the swagger right out of the knight’s face. Instead, he clutched Emllyn tighter, finding a strange and calming comfort in her. She soothed him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand.
“To the north about ten miles, m’lord,” he said. “I have a farm to the south of Black Castle. There was a great sea battle four nights ago and the English were defeated. I have come because this woman washed upon the shore and I found her. Before she went unconscious, she told me that her name was Emllyn Fitzgerald, sister to the Earl of Kildare. She’s very sick, m’lord. She needs help. I tried to tend her but she is so much worse.�
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The bald knight’s gaze lingered on Devlin a moment before focusing on Emllyn. He went to her, peering down at her unconscious face curiously. He eyed the clothing she wore, as it was Irish in design and fabric. He didn’t look particularly sympathetic.
“What would Kildare’s sister be doing on a battle armada?” he asked dubiously.
Devlin didn’t hesitate. “She said something about witnessing the victory for her brother,” he replied. “Will you please help her?”
The knight eyed Devlin for a long moment before turning and walking back into the gatehouse. Devlin could see him in the shadows of the gate, speaking with another man dressed in expensive mail. The second man was tall, with gray hair, and he kept looking at Devlin as the bald knight spoke to him. Finally, he emerged from the gatehouse and approached Devlin with the bald knight following close behind.
“Who are you?” the gray-haired knight demanded. “No lies, now. Who has sent you?”
Devlin didn’t like the man in the least; he had a very clipped and unsympathetic manner about him. Rather than react with hostility, he fought down his instincts and labored for control.
“As I told these other knights, m’lord, there was a great battle at Black Castle four nights ago,” he said. “Kildare’s fleet was destroyed and this woman washed upon the shore. She says she is Kildare’s sister. She is very ill so I brought her here.”
The gray-haired knight did the same thing the others did; his gaze lingered on Devlin with suspicion before turning his attention to Emllyn. He leaned over to peer at her but didn’t touch her. After a few moments of inspection, he lifted his eyebrows.
“Hmmm,” he said. “I was not aware that Kildare had a sister. Even if he did, what on earth would she be doing on a ship bound for battle?”
Devlin repeated what he’d told the bald knight. “She said that she was there to see victory on behalf of her brother,” he replied. “She has a bad wound on her leg. Will you please help her?”
The gray-haired knight pondered the question. He stepped back from Devlin, sizing him up. “What do you do?” he demanded. “Are you a warrior? A soldier? Answer me.”
“I am a farmer,” Devlin replied quickly. “I tend the soil. I grow vegetables and sell them at market.”
“Where at market?”
Devlin had already told them his farm was south of Black Castle so there was no alternative but to tell him the closest marketplace which, in fact, was Black Castle. He had absolutely no choice and prayed his answer wouldn’t cost him.
“At Black Castle,” he replied steadily. “It is the nearest marketplace.”
The gray-haired knight’s manner turned to one of marginal interest. “You have been inside the castle?”
Devlin nodded. “I have.”
“Do you know Black Sword?”
“Do you?”
The gray-haired knight wriggled his eyebrows and glanced at the soldiers around him. “Nay,” he admitted reluctantly. “But you did not answer my question. Do you know him?”
Devlin replied carefully. “I have seen men I was told were his generals but Black Sword keeps himself hidden,” he said. “I was told the man is eight feet tall and breathes fire.”
That brought a grin from the gray-haired knight. “Ah, the ignorance of the Irish, and this one as big as a bull.”
The men around him laughed at Devlin’s expense. After that, they all seemed to loosen up a great deal as they came to realize that Devlin wasn’t there to do them any harm. Devlin was trying to come across as an ignorant peasant and evidently doing a good job of it from the reaction of the English. The gray-haired knight nodded his head in Emllyn’s direction.
“One of my men will take her,” he said. “As for you, I am interested in speaking with you further to discover what more you know about Black Castle.”
Devlin didn’t like that at all. He shook his head. “I will not leave the lady, m’lord,” he said as respectfully as he could. “I found her and I am responsible for her. I’ll not leave her alone with a host of English soldiers to molest her.”
The smile faded from the gray-haired knight’s lips and his eyes turned hard. “Turn her over,” he commanded. “You will come with me.”
Devlin refused and took a step back, away from a soldier who was coming for Emllyn. But the man came too close and Devlin threw out a big elbow, catching the man in the face. Blood spurted and as he fell back, a gang of soldiers rushed forward with the intention of separating him from Emllyn. As Devlin held Emllyn tightly and prepared to fight for his life, a shout from the gatehouse brought the mounting skirmish to a dead-halt.
“Cease!” a man roared. “De Ferrer, what goes on there?”
Sir George de Ferrer, the gray-haired knight, turned swiftly in the direction of the command, as did Devlin and the other soldiers. Standing just inside the gatehouse was a tall, well-dressed knight with a very finely clad woman on his arm. The gray-haired knight immediately broke away from the group and headed towards the pair.
“My lord,” he greeted politely, then bowed respectfully to the woman. “Lady Elyse. You are looking very well this day.”
The well-dressed knight spoke before the woman on his arm could respond. “What is going on?” he asked. “Who is that man? And what happened to the woman he is carrying?”
De Ferrer looked over his shoulder at Devlin, now surrounded by a host of hostile English soldiers.
“That man claims he is a farmer from the Black Castle area,” he said. “He told us that four nights ago, there was a great and terrible sea battle in which the forces of the Earl of Kildare were defeated by Black Sword. The man says that the woman in his arms washed up on shore after the battle and that she is badly injured. He also told us that she is the sister of the Earl of Kildare.”
Before the well-dressed knight could reply, the woman on his arm, the Lady Elyse, let go of his arm and swiftly made her way over to Devlin. The English soldiers gave her a wide berth, making way for her, as she came to within a few feet of Devlin. She came to a halt, then, and looked timidly at Devlin.
“I am the Lady Elyse,” she introduced herself politely. Then she gestured at Emllyn. “May I see her, please? I only wish to help.”
Devlin gazed steadily at the Englishwoman; she was short, with very blond hair and big blue eyes. She had a very polite and practiced way about her, refined and elegant, and Devlin was put at ease. He couldn’t sense anything hostile from her in the least. After a moment, he nodded stiffly, and Lady Elyse advanced.
With small, white hands, she carefully touched Emllyn’s face and lifted up an eyelid, peering at a sightless eye. Then she felt the pulse on her neck. When she was done with that, she looked up at Devlin.
“What happened to her?” she asked. “Where is she injured?”
“Her leg,” Devlin replied. “She has a wound that is poisonous. She needs help or she will die.”
Lady Elyse nodded fervently. “I will help her, have no fear,” she said, her gaze lingering on Devlin. “What is your relationship to her?”
Devlin was moderately honest, at least as much as he intended to be. “I found her,” he said. “I am responsible for her. I will not leave her alone with men I do not know or trust.”
Lady Elyse smiled faintly. “I do not blame you,” she said. “Will you trust her with me?”
“I will.”
Lady Elyse turned to the men behind her. “I will take the lady to my chamber,” she announced. “Send the surgeon to me immediately.”
At her command, men began to move. It was as if God himself had issued the order. As a soldier ran off to fetch the surgeon, the well-dressed knight who had been Lady Elyse’s escort was evidently uncomfortable with what she was suggesting. He sought to plead with her.
“Your chamber?” he repeated. “We could put her in the servant’s quarters just as well. She does not need to be in your chamber.”
Lady Elyse turned to him. “She is very ill,” she said, seriously but sweetly. “I mu
st tend her and you would not want me spending an inordinate amount of time in the servant’s quarters, would you?”
The man was trapped. He cleared his throat unhappily. “Of course not,” he said. “But your chamber?”
Lady Elyse waved him off as she walked past him, turning to motion Devlin to follow. “Bring her along,” she told him. “Hurry, now. There is no time to waste.”
Devlin didn’t argue; he found himself thanking God for the appearance of this small woman who could move men to do her bidding better than any battle commander. Swiftly, he moved after her, not daring to look at the English warriors he was leaving behind in his wake.
Lady Elyse was fast as she led him through the gatehouse and out into the complex beyond. Devlin glanced at his surroundings as he followed her; it was as if an entirely new world opened up before him, one of neat dirt avenues and huts made from wattle and daub, with thatched roofs. People were everywhere, children and men and women, going about their daily lives. Lady Elyse led him through a town square of sorts, small in size, but with a central well and businesses and trades surrounding it. He could smell the acrid smoke from the smithy shacks. Everything was surprisingly well organized and more populated than he would have imagined. It was an interesting bit of knowledge on a well-protected settlement. This was some of the intelligence he was hoping to obtain.
But he didn’t have much time to inspect his surroundings as Lady Elyse swiftly took him down a larger avenue which opened up at the end. Spread before him in all of its glory was another wall, this one of big gray stone, with a moat around it. The moat was as a moat should be; filled with muck and sewage, smelling up the area horrifically. The site was heavily guarded and Lady Elyse waved off the soldiers who stepped forward to inspect Devlin. The men backed away, eyeing Devlin with hostility and suspicion, as the Lady Elyse brought him into the guarded complex.
Inside the inner compound, the layout was simple; there was a block of stables to the left, another wattle and daub building to the right that was big enough for a substantial great hall, and the keep directly in front of him.
Lords of Ireland II Page 15