“Is she your daughter, Victor?” he asked softly.
Victor paused before answering. “Do you really want to know?”
Devlin suspected the answer but stopped short of pressing the man. After a moment, he simply shook his head.
“I suppose it does not matter,” he said. “I fell in love with Emllyn. She will always be Emllyn to me.”
“As well she should be.”
Victor’s men were starting to gather around them so they let the subject die, never to be discussed again. Neither man saw the need. Whether she was Catherine or Emllyn, it simply didn’t matter any longer. She was loved either way. Together, Victor and Devlin led the ragtag band of English soldiers into the embrace of their ally’s fortress.
Once the party reached the enclosure that contained the great stone keep, de Noble sent out men and servants with blankets to assist them into the feasting hall where they would be fed and tended to. De Noble was also there to greet Devlin in the flesh. He made a point of seeking the man out as he stood next to the feasting table where the English were eating, stuffing his mouth with roast fowl. Two days without decent food had left him ravenous.
Devlin looked big and raggedy, and his hair was starting to grow in as bristly as a thistle. He was also starting to look more and more like someone de Noble had once seen, although he still couldn’t place him. He came up behind Devlin and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Greetings, John,” he said rather amiably. “It seems you are the English’s greatest ally in Ireland. I am sure you have already been thanked profusely for rescuing these men from Black Sword’s vault, but let me add my thanks as well. We are very fortunate to have you on our side.”
Devlin turned to the man, swallowing the food in his mouth as he did so. He forced a smile as de Noble reached out and took his hand to shake it.
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “I was glad to assist.”
“But how?” de Noble wanted to know. “How did you manage to do it?”
Devlin had to think fast. He didn’t dare look at Victor for fear of appearing uncertain, so he simply began speaking.
“When I arrived at Black Castle after I left Glenteige, all was quiet for the most part,” he said. “Since I had no produce for delivery, I tried to get in to see the cook under the pretense of finding out what he needed so I could supply the appropriate things. I managed to get into the fortress because they knew me but shortly after I arrived, Black Castle was besieged and I was trapped inside.”
It was mostly the truth, at least about being trapped inside. De Noble nodded in understanding.
“We heard that Black Castle was besieged,” he said. “Did she hold?”
Devlin nodded. “She did,” he replied. “Say what you will about Black Sword, but the man is a master tactician. Brilliant. In any case, once the siege was over, there was general chaos. I heard talk about killing the English prisoners because they could no longer feed them, so I managed to get into the vault and released them. We escaped through the postern gate and here we are.”
It was a simplified tale, one he prayed de Noble wouldn’t demand more details to. He honestly wasn’t sure how much more he could tell the man and not start tripping himself up with lies. But then, de Noble asked him a question that completely stumped him, more than any other question could have. It was very simple.
“But why?” de Noble wanted to know. “Why would you do this?”
Devlin was momentarily stumped. He did look at Victor, then, to see that the man was gazing back at him. He had heard the question, too, and was curious to see what Devlin would say. Weakly, Devlin smiled.
“I’m not sure, to be truthful,” he said. “My grandmother was English and I loved her very much. Then, I found an Englishwoman on the shore and saved her life. I brought her here and met a great many English who were kind. Why did I save Black Sword’s English prisoners? Because I couldn’t let them die. I just couldn’t. I cannot explain it any better than that, my lord. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
De Noble, fortunately, did. He smiled at Devlin. “Then you are a truly noble and self-sacrificing man,” he said. “We are grateful. But I did send you to Black Castle with a task in mind, John. Do you remember?”
Devlin knew what he meant; he had been waiting for the man to get to this line of questions. “I do,” he replied.
“And?”
“And I heard or saw nothing that would interest you,” he said, quite honestly. “It seems to me that Black Sword has his hands full with the O’Byrne. He’s not planning anything against Glenteige.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I just told you; he’s consumed with the O’Byrne. The English are of little consequence right now.”
That seemed to satisfy de Noble, at least initially. But it was clear his mind was working. “Very well,” he said, still chewing on the information. “Finish your meal and then we shall speak more when you are finished.”
Devlin was grateful for the momentary reprieve but there was something else on his mind, something he wanted very much. “And the Lady Emllyn?” he asked. “You said I could speak with her if I completed my task satisfactorily. I would hope that freeing Black Sword’s English prisoners will buy me a few moments with her.”
Jealousy shot up de Noble’s spine; he could read the interest in Devlin’s face and it cut him to the bone. How could he compete with this big, handsome man? He couldn’t, of course, and he knew it. He’d suspected that the Lady Emllyn had romantic intentions towards the man even though she had denied it, and now he could hear that same amorous hope in Devlin’s voice. It inflamed him. He turned away from Devlin, struggling to control himself.
“Mayhap later,” he said, almost coldly. “She has not been feeling well. I will see if she is willing to receive visitors.”
Devlin wasn’t happy with that answer at all. He could see the man’s demeanor change when he brought up Emllyn and immediately, he suspected that de Noble was deliberately denying him. He fought back his rage; he was so close he could nearly smell her. He wasn’t about to let this insignificant English commander deny him his heart’s desires. He was a man who was never denied anything, by anyone. His quick mind began to concoct a plan.
“Thank you,” he said, although he didn’t mean it. “Since I face the prospect of visiting a fine lady, I would like to wash me hands and face. Is there somewhere I could accomplish this?”
De Noble was moving for the pewter pitcher of wine on the table. He glanced at Devlin as if to see for himself that the man was dirty. Where there had once been pleasantness between them, the mention of Emllyn’s name had erased all hint of that. Jealousy was in each man’s mind. Now, there was tense politeness.
“Aye,” he said. “There is a well outside and soaps in the knight’s quarters. Ask any soldier or servant. They will assist you.”
“Thank you,” he said politely. “If you will excuse me, then, I’ll go wash.”
De Noble let him go; at the moment, he seemed more interested in speaking with Victor, who suspected where Devlin was going. He also suspected he’d better occupy de Noble for as long as he could. He certainly didn’t want de Noble following Devlin or, worse, showing up at Emllyn’s door and hearing things he shouldn’t.
He had to keep the man busy.
Chapter Twenty
“Thirty-three English prisoners,” Merradoc said with disgust. “And I am supposed to tend them. They’re in the great hall as we speak, eating all of our food and shedding their lice everywhere. The Romans would have stuck the whole lot of them in a giant bath and made them stay there until their hides were nearly boiled off of them!”
Emllyn giggled. “Again with the Romans?” she asked. “I heard they were a violent lot.”
“No more so than the Irish.”
Chuckling, Emllyn turned back to her embroidery loom. Seated in her cozy chamber with Merradoc, who was hiding from de Noble’s command because he did not want to tend a bunch of filthy pr
isoners, he was creating a bit of a distraction for her. It was rather off-putting. Emllyn was so bloody excited to see Devlin that she could hardly sit still, and it was an effort to focus on her embroidery. Merradoc was just creating more chaos.
Emllyn had moved the Garden of Eden scene up from Elyse’s solar and it was now the main piece she was working on because the words emblazoned upon it meant so very much to her. Everything leads me to thee. She had finished stitching the letters in fine green silk, as bold and bright as the sun. The garden picture was taking shape around it. When finished, it would be a magnificent piece.
But there was something more pressing on her mind at the moment other than Merradoc’s tantrums or lovely embroidery; Victor had said he would send Devlin to her and she didn’t want Merradoc to be in the chamber when Devlin made an appearance. She didn’t want to have to restrain herself and she certainly didn’t want Merradoc and his flapping lips to witness the reunion. Therefore, she had been subtly attempting to get the man out of her bower for the past half hour, at least since the prisoners arrived. But Merradoc was unwilling to go. He lay upon her bed and rolled around in the linen pillows feigning misery.
Misery that was feeding her impatience. Emllyn opened her mouth to make another go of removing Merradoc when the door to her chamber opened and Eefha entered. The old woman waddled in, puffing on her shite pipe as she brought in a tray of bread and cheese. Merradoc took one look at the woman and her stinking pipe and hurled himself off the bed.
“Good God,” he said, scowling as he moved past the old woman. “Medusa appears with her shitty pipe. Did we ever figure out who this woman belongs to? Why do you allow her to serve you?”
Emllyn fought off a grin, pleased that Eefha’s appearance had accomplished what she had not yet been able to; get Merradoc off her bed.
“Because she is quiet and respectful,” she said. “She does not talk my ear off and she cleans up after me. Why would I not want her around?”
Merradoc turned his nose up into the air. “Very well, you ungrateful goat,” he said. “I will leave you now and I shan’t ever return.”
“Promise?”
He looked at her as if greatly hurt. “This would please you?”
Emllyn broke down into giggles. “Of course it would not,” she said. “But I would suggest you go downstairs and tend to the English prisoners. You know de Noble will come looking for you and if you lead him to my doorstep because you are hiding from him, I shall never forgive you.”
Merradoc lifted his eyebrows in resignation. “I would believe that,” he said. “Very well, then; I shall take my leave of you. But if I catch lice from those prisoners, I will come back and give them to you.”
“You’d better not.”
Merradoc snorted as he headed out of the door. “I suppose I have no choice but to go and see to the lot,” he muttered sarcastically. “I would seek out Elyse to keep me company, but she is with Connaught somewhere doing something naughty because her father is occupied. Oh, the thrill of it! Next year I will be able to deliver her two-headed baby who will look just like his idiotic father.”
He shuffled off, muttering to himself, leaving Emllyn far gone with laughter. The man was humor personified, even when he was being petulant and nasty. As she continued to snort, Eefha moved to the door and shut it quietly.
Emllyn’s smile faded as she paused in her embroidery, looking at the closed door, wondering when Devlin would be able to visit her. She knew he was here, in the complex, and she was wrought with anxiety over the fact that he had yet to make an appearance. He should have been here the very moment he set foot in Glenteige. If he truly loved her, then he would have made all due haste.
But then… there was Victor. Darker thoughts swamped her. She knew that Victor had spent time with Devlin and she knew that words had been spoken between them about her. She had been worrying about it, terrified that Devlin would think she was a deceiver and a liar. She was terrified that perhaps he might have changed his mind about her, although Victor didn’t seem to indicate that. In fact, he had seemed rather calm and resigned about the entire situation, unusual for a man who was normally very protective of those he cared about.
It had been a silly thing for her to do, of course. All of it. From the moment she stowed away on the war cog until the moment she’d met Devlin de Bermingham and he had asked her name, all of it had been wrought with foolishness. But she’d had her reasons. With a sigh, this one of sadness, she returned to her embroidery.
As Emllyn lost herself in sorrowful reflections, Eefha settled into her usual place, a chair near the window so the smoke from her pipe would have an immediate outlet. She knew that Emllyn was not fond of the smell so she was considerate about it, as least as considerate as the old woman could be.
As Emllyn stabbed at the fabric, sewing her careful little stitches and struggling not to let her apprehension overwhelm her, there was a soft knock at the door. Eefha struggled to her feet and shuffled over to the panel, quietly opening it.
Emllyn didn’t look up to see who it was before making her last stab in the fabric. Finished with the stitch, she finally looked up to see Devlin standing just inside the doorway. Startled at the sight of him, Emllyn stood up from her loom so abruptly that she nearly knocked the loom over. She hastily grabbed it to steady it although her eyes never left Devlin. She was incapable of looking at anything else.
But his focus seemed to be on Eefha as the old woman pulled him into the chamber quickly and shut the door behind him. Devlin hugged his aunt, as he hadn’t seen her in weeks and had no idea of her whereabouts until this very moment. He was very glad to see her alive, thrilled that she had somehow made her way into Glenteige to watch over Emllyn. When he was finished hugging the tired old bag of bones, he finally turned his attention to Emllyn. That was what he had come for, after all.
Their eyes met and bolts of excitement, of longing, and of pain hurled between them. There was tangible emotion in the air, tense with uncertainty. Emllyn’s eyes were wide on Devlin and, for a moment, the words seemed to catch in her throat. She had no idea what to say to him and the fact that he wasn’t rushing at her and throwing his arms around her was concerning. Her heart began to race and her stomach to twist, violently, so much so that she began to tremble. But somehow she managed to find her tongue.
“Devlin,” she finally murmured, tears stinging her eyes. “They said Black Castle was besieged. Are you well?”
He was standing a few feet away, his face pale with emotion. He looked utterly drained and overcome. “I am,” he assured her softly. “The castle held.”
She sighed with great relief. “I am so glad,” she murmured. “As long as you are whole and sound, that is all I am concerned with.”
“I am.”
“Then my heart is eased,” she said. “I saw Victor earlier today and….”
“Emllyn,” he cut her off, his voice low and gritty. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth about who you really were?”
Emllyn’s eyes filled with tears. She could hear the accusation in his tone, or at least she thought she did. Her stomach bunched up in knots and she abruptly turned her back on him, plopping down on her chair. She was so ashamed and so distraught over the situation, knowing that he had more than likely come to berate her and then walk from her life forever. Already, she couldn’t stand the pain.
“Because,” she said, breaking down into tears. “I had foolishly stowed away on a vessel chasing a knight who clearly had no interest in me. When I was captured and brought to you, I thought that if I told you I was the earl’s sister, someone with great nobility, that you would spare me your wrath. But you didn’t; it made no difference to you. In fact, it seemed to feed your bloodlust at the thought of bedding Kildare’s sister. And then, when it was over, what good would it have done to tell you that I was the daughter of a lesser knight? You would have thought I was lying. You might have even killed me for it. So I let you think I was the Lady Emllyn simply to keep myself alive. In
Kildare’s sister, you had a valuable prize. In a mere knight’s daughter, you had an expendable commodity.”
She was weeping so much that it was difficult to hear her, but Devlin understood much in those halting words. God, it made so much sense now. He should have known her reasons, or at least sensed them, and her pain radiated outward, grabbing at him with icy fingers. He could not avoid the pull. But it only added to the pain he was feeling himself, feeling so very barbaric and cruel. He had once thrived on his reputation; all men feared the great Black Sword and his horrific rule. But at this moment, watching Emllyn weep as if her heart was broken, all he could feel were daggers through his soul, like great shards of glass. They were shredding him. He wasn’t used to emotion on this level, not by a far sight.
“But you were so clear with everything,” he said hoarsely. “You told me of Emllyn’s life down to the last detail. You made me believe that you were her.”
She nodded, not bothering to wipe the tears that were dripping off her chin and onto her yellow surcoat. “Emllyn and I had been best friends since we were babies,” she whispered. “I knew every detail of her life as she knew mine. We fostered together and knew the same people. It was not such a great stretch to tell you that I was her. Even the things about her brother I told you… he did not care for her at all. He let her die in that cold room in his cold castle. The poor woman deserved some happiness and he gave her none. I miss her every day.”
Devlin could hear the pain in her voice. “Then you will answer a question and you will not lie to me,” he said quietly. “When you told me you loved me… was it just to save yourself? Were you afraid I would kill you if you told me otherwise?”
She shook her head, so hard that her careful hairstyle began to come undone. “Never,” she hissed. “When I told you I loved you, it was because I did. I still do. I love you more than anything in this world, Devlin. Everything leads me to thee.”
Devlin felt tears sting his eyes as he watched the back of her head. This time, he didn’t try and stop them; he let them come. Slowly, and very quietly, he made his way over to Emllyn as she sat on the chair and sobbed. He lowered his bulk beside the chair, on his knees before her, as he gently grasped her by the arms and turned her to face him.
Lords of Ireland II Page 30