Lords of Ireland II

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Devlin just stared at her. He could feel a sense of grief and rage sweeping over him, filling his veins until every part of his body was hot with fury. The fingers grasping Nessa tightened on her arm to the point of causing her pain. She shrieked softly and tried to pull away.

  Emllyn had been listening with horror. She could hardly believe what she was hearing and when Nessa winced because Devlin was hurting her, she pried the man’s hands off of the serving wench. She grasped the woman, giving her a gentle shake and forcing her to look at her.

  “Nessa,” she said, trying to keep an even tone because she could see how affected Nessa and Devlin were. “Tell us what happened from the beginning; you said that Sir Frederick returned? Returned from where?”

  “He tried to kill me,” Devlin told her, his voice faint and dull. “When I returned to Black Castle after leaving you at Glenteige, Freddy poisoned my wine but Iver drank it instead. He also tried to kill Shain but failed. When Freddy fled Black Castle, we feared he had come here to Glenteige because he knew of my plan to spy on the English. We thought he had come here to betray me and, consequently, put you in great danger. That is why Victor has only known you as Emllyn and why his men have only called you Emllyn. They did not want to put you in any danger in the eyes of your host.”

  Emllyn listened with seriousness in her expression. “But Sir Frederick did not come to Glenteige,” she said, confused. “If not here, then where did he go?”

  Devlin sighed heavily; it was all becoming very clear to him now what had happened. He and Shain had discussed two options; Frederick would either go to Glenteige to betray Devlin or he would go to an enemy and side with them against Black Sword. It would seem that even though Frederick hadn’t gone to Glenteige, he’d clearly created issues elsewhere. The man simply hadn’t faded away.

  Devlin was overwhelmed with the realization of Frederick’s actions but he fought it; a muddled mind would do him, or his people, little good. What mattered now was what to do about it. Struggling for composure, he faced the weeping servant.

  “What happened when Freddy returned?” he asked her quietly.

  Because Devlin was calming, Nessa calmed, too. “He came back after ye had left,” she said, sniffling. “He begged for Shain’s forgiveness. He wept and called him brother. Shain believed him and feasted with him but that night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Sir Frederick murdered the gate guards and opened up the gates. The O’Byrne came in and killed everyone they could, including my mother. I escaped with Sir Shain and we fled. Shain sent me to find ye because most of yer soldiers are dead or have scattered.”

  More than rage, Devlin felt utter and complete devastation at the thought of Neart. “And my falcon?”

  Nessa sniffled sadly. “They took him first when they came into the keep,” she said. “A man cut his head off and they roasted him.”

  Tears popped to Devlin’s eyes for his falcon, his friend and companion, who had suffered at the hands of his hated enemy. Devlin would make them pay; with God as his host and witness, he would make those bloody bastards pay.

  There was a spark of revenge burning in his chest, growing by leaps and bounds. The fire filled his veins, causing his hands to shake and his heart to pound. It was revenge against the O’Byrnes, to be sure, but more than that it was revenge directed against Frederick. He’d always defended the man against others, refusing to think ill of him even when his maliciousness was obvious. But this was where every last scrap of good will towards Frederick ended and now, he became Devlin’s most deadly enemy.

  He would find Frederick and the man would pay with blood and anguish a thousand times over. Now, Devlin’s vengeance was unleashed. Somehow, his anger helped him think clearer. He knew what he had to do.

  “Emllyn,” he turned to her as she held Nessa’s hand. “Go inside and bring Victor to me. Bring him here, please, love.”

  Emllyn nodded obediently and left them behind the wagon as she went into the hall. Meanwhile, Devlin turned to Nessa.

  “Where is Shain and the remnants of my people?” he asked, his voice oddly calm now that his initial shock and fury had faded. Devlin was, if nothing else, able to maintain a level control in the face of madness. It was one of Black Sword’s greatest attributes.

  “At Dungans Castle,” Nessa said.

  Devlin’s gaze glimmered with recognition, and also with some concern. “Did he take the tunnel?”

  Nessa nodded firmly. “That was his intention,” she said. “I heard Sir Shain order men to collapse it so that the O’Byrne couldn’t follow them.”

  There had been a tunnel linking Black Castle and Dungans Castle since the two castles had been built and shared by the same clann. That had been decades ago, however, and both castles had changed hands many time since then. Now, Dungans belonged to a sect of Hospitallers, men who were hermits and most fearful. In fact, Devlin had never had any dealings with them, mostly because it was common knowledge to stay away from them. Rumors abound through the Wicklow countryside that the Hospitallers were really worshippers of Satan and that they drank human blood. Devlin wasn’t sure if he believed that, but he had stayed clear of them nonetheless.

  “The castle must have been greatly compromised if Shain chose to take the survivors through the tunnel to Dungans,” he muttered. “That is a feared place.”

  Nessa nodded. “I am glad I did not go with them,” she admitted. “Sir Shain lowered me over the wall as the castle was overtaken. I just started running and never looked back.”

  “Then you do not know if they actually made the trip to Dungans?”

  “Nay, my lord.”

  Devlin sighed heavily as he pondered the information. “It’s very possible they never made it,” he muttered. “Those tunnels are very old. They could have been blocked any number of ways. It’s very possible that they are still at Black Castle, all of them, and if that is the case, then I must go directly to Black Castle.”

  Now that her information was delivered and the highs and lows of her emotion were even for the moment, Nessa was showing signs of real exhaustion. She slumped back against the wagon wheel, sitting in partial mud and not even realizing it.

  “There weren’t many, my lord,” she said. “I heard Sir Shain say there were no more than a few dozen men left.”

  With that, she fell silent. Devlin sat next to her, his mind whirling with the revelations that had come this night. He knew he had to return and reclaim his castle; there was no doubt in his mind. But he needed men in order to accomplish that. He didn’t have any men at his disposal; but de Noble did.

  De Noble did.

  As he sat there and pondered that possibility, Emllyn returned with Victor. When Victor saw Devlin and a distraught serving woman hiding behind the wagon, he peered at Devlin with great curiosity.

  “My lord?” he asked with concern. “You have need of me?”

  Devlin did. He had need of an Englishman. In fact, he had need of many Englishmen. With a heavy sigh, he rose to his feet.

  “Aye,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “I have just received word that Black Castle has been overrun by the O’Byrne clan.”

  Victor’s eyes widened with surprise. “O’Byrne?” he repeated. “By God, if those aren’t the most warring men we’ve ever come across. They’ve overrun most of northern Wicklow and have destroyed several Kildare estates. Once we reclaimed Black Castle, Kildare intended to use Black Castle as a base to recover lands held by O’Byrne.”

  Devlin smiled weakly as the man revealed some of Kildare’s most secretive plans. “They are a scourge,” he agreed. “They have ever been our enemies just as they have been yours.”

  “They are everyone’s enemies, English or Irish,” Victor said with conviction. “I know de Cleveley has had problems with them as well.”

  “Anyone in Wicklow has. What they have just done to me, they can do to Kildare and de Cleveley alike.”

  “What will you do?”

  Devlin sighed sharply, his mind working quickly.
As he looked at Victor, he could only think of one thing.

  My enemy’s enemy is my friend.

  “You and I are soon to be related,” he said softly. “You said yourself that I am therefore your son. As your kin, I am to assume I have your support in all things.”

  Victor’s gaze lingered on the man for a moment before shaking his head in resignation. “Black Sword,” he hissed. “She had to marry Black Sword, didn’t she? Why not a good, clean English knight who lives piously and is kind to his mother?”

  “I am kind to my mother.”

  “You are?”

  “I would be if she was still alive.”

  Victor tried to look disgusted by the comment but ended up laughing. His gaze moved to Emllyn, standing next to Devlin and gazing back at Victor with so much hope in her eyes. It was the hope of the young and foolishly in love. But Victor could not deny her.

  “Aye,” he finally said. “I will support you above all others, including Kildare should it come to it. But you and he had better make peace very soon or you will put me in a very bad position.”

  “Agreed,” Devlin said. “But for now, I need you to stand with me. Will you do it?”

  “I will.”

  “Then come with me. I have something to say to de Noble.”

  Victor suspected what it was. Dreading that particular conversation, he followed Devlin and Emllyn back into the warm and glowing great hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  De Noble was in conversation with de Ferrer when Devlin, Emllyn, and Victor entered the great hall. Thrilled to see Emllyn return, he rose from his seat and headed in her direction but Devlin waved him off. It was then that he noticed that Emllyn had been holding on to Devlin’s hand, very tightly. When de Noble cast them both a quizzical glance, Devlin kissed Emllyn’s hand and turned her over to Victor.

  Standing near the open hearth with its great pile of blazing wood, Devlin faced an increasingly puzzled and frustrated de Noble. He was braced for the conversation.

  “My lord,” he said politely. “I have a matter of great importance I wish to discuss with you. Something critical has happened that will affect us all.”

  De Noble wasn’t in the mood for a farmer’s sermon. His eyes narrowed. “I have no idea what could be so important,” he growled. “But your behavior towards the Lady Emllyn is both astonishing and distasteful. By what right do you kiss her hand?”

  “By mine,” Emllyn said firmly; she wasn’t going to let de Noble bully Devlin. “I have given him permission. In fact, we are to be wed.”

  De Noble’s eyebrow rose in shock. “Wed?” he repeated, incredulous. “What’s this you say?”

  Devlin garnered the man’s attention once more. “You will hear me and hear me well,” he said in a tone that de Noble had never heard from him before. “I have just received word that the O’Byrne have overrun Black Castle. They killed many men and are now in control of the fortress. If you know the O’Byrne as I suspect you do, then you know they are wicked and barbaric. If they are on a rampage, the next fortress they overrun could be yours. They will kill you, rape and murder your daughter, and destroy everything you have worked to establish here. Do you understand me?”

  De Noble was pale with shock and outrage. “How would you know this about Black Castle?” he demanded. “Who has told you this?”

  “A servant who lived at Black Castle,” Devlin told him. “She escaped the carnage and has informed me of the status of the fortress. Unless we regain Black Castle and move to stop the O’Byrne, I fear this is just the beginning. You have served in Ireland a long time, de Noble; you know what I am saying is true.”

  De Noble was confused and agitated. He eyed Devlin with exasperation. “Of course I know it to be true,” he said. “But I fail to see why any of this is your concern? You are a mere farmer!”

  Devlin shook his head slowly, his eyes glimmering in the weak firelight. “I have never touched a plow in my life,” he said lowly. “But I have touched a sword, many times. My name is Devlin de Bermingham. I am the knight they call Black Sword.”

  A collective gasp went up in the room; Elyse even shrieked. By now, everyone was listening to the conversation between Devlin and de Noble, and several of de Noble’s men went for their weapons. Seeing this, Victor emitted a piercing whistle to his men seated at the nearest table and they all leapt up, rushing to Victor as the man indicated for them to encircle Devlin. They did, without question, including Trevor. In fact, Trevor picked up a burning log, flaming madly at one end, and swiped it at the nearest de Cleveley man who tried to charge forward.

  It was a protective circle they had placed around Devlin and de Noble both, keeping out the element that would seize Black Sword as a prize. It was English against English as the skirmish lines were established. As the men surged and a fight was imminent, Victor leapt upon to the nearest table and emitted a whistle so shrill that even the dogs cried. Men froze where they stood, all gazing up at the English knight who had commandeered their attention with his piercing sounds.

  “Enough!” Victor roared. “Touch de Bermingham and you will have to deal with me. You, de Noble; you will listen to him. If you do not, you risk your life, your daughter’s life, and the safety of your fortress. If anyone moves against de Bermingham, my men have orders to kill.”

  The room was crackling with uncertainty as men eyed each other with hostility. There was inbred hatred against Black Sword but there was also a sense of self protection and curiosity. Great curiosity, oddly enough. Something bold and epic was unfolding before their eyes and unless de Noble himself told his men to charge, they were going to hold their actions. Things were happening, historic things.

  The only man in the room that hadn’t moved during the entire shuffle was Devlin. He simply stood there, gazing at de Noble as if there was no one else in the room. He had a great deal to say to the man and wanted to make sure he was clearly understood.

  “The O’Byrnes threaten us all,” he said steadily. “Right now, it is me. They have killed my men and confiscated my castle, but tomorrow, it could be you. It could be any of the English settlements in Wicklow. We must rid Wicklow of the O’Byrnes once and for all or, at the very least, subdue them. But I cannot do it alone; none of us can. If we band together, however, I believe we can accomplish this and make Wicklow a peaceful place once again.”

  De Noble was taut with rage. It was very difficult for him to control himself. “What peace?” he snarled. “Black Sword has ensured that there has been no peace for years. You are the worst rebel of the lot of them, the Irish revolutionary that has moved Ireland’s resistance against the English by leaps and bounds. If I had a sword I would kill you or if I had a rope I would hang you, but I only have my hands at the moment and you are bigger and stronger than I am. You would kill me first.”

  Devlin could see the fury in the man’s face. “Would you rather kill me and face the O’Byrne’s alone?” he asked. “You cannot win against them. They will destroy you as they have tried to destroy me.”

  “In God’s name, what do you want from me?”

  Devlin’s eyes flashed. “I hold no great love for the English,” he said, showing some emotion for the first time. “They have moved across Ireland like a disease, killing and looting and taking lands to satisfy their greedy hearts. You are an invader in my land, de Noble. Never forget that. Yet I am willing to overlook that in order to save us both. Are you going to be so stubborn and arrogant that you would rather die than join forces with the Irish?”

  De Noble was trembling with rage, with shock, but he forcibly calmed himself. Taking a deep breath, he raked his fingers through his graying hair. He glanced over his shoulder at de Ferrer and Connaught, who were looking rather stricken about the entire thing. Elyse was in tears. Drawing in another heavy breath, he faced Victor, still standing on the table top.

  “You,” he said to Victor. “How, in the name of all that is holy, can you support Black Sword? The man destroyed Kildare’s fleet and held you p
risoner. You accompanied him here and swore he was your ally. You lied.”

  Victor shook his head. “You sully my honor, de Noble,” he said with threat in his voice. “It is true that Black Sword defeated Kildare’s armada, but let us be honest about it; we are warriors and defeat is part of that vocation. We were moving in to attack Black Castle, to reclaim her for Kildare, and de Bermingham did what he had to do in order to hold her. Would you do any less if someone was trying to take Glenteige away?”

  De Noble didn’t like the man’s response. “No one is taking Glenteige away,” he growled. “No one can.”

  Victor scowled. “Do not be so ridiculous, man,” he said. “Glenteige was an Irish holding before de Cleveley’s ancestors confiscated it and anyone can take it away from you if their army is powerful enough. We have all had our share of give and take, of property won and lost. Did Black Sword hold me and my men prisoner? He did indeed. But when the heat from battle had passed and in an act of mercy rarely seen, he released us, cleaned us, and fed us. And here we are. In spite of his reputation as a rebel and a barbarian, Black Sword is also a man capable of mercy. It is for that fact that I stand with him now. He tended my men when he did not have to, and now he needs our help. He is trying to help all of us. Is your hatred for the man so great that you cannot see he is trying to do good for us all?”

  De Noble saw he had no ally in Victor and it frustrated him. It frustrated him more that Victor made some sense. Was it really true? Was Black Sword trying to band all of them together to fight, and destroy, a common enemy? He was having a great deal of difficulty entertaining the fact that it just might be possible. The truth was that he feared the O’Byrnes; they all did. If Black Castle fell, which was a shock in and of itself, then there was no knowing if the O’Byrnes would set their sights on Glenteige.

  “This is madness,” he finally hissed. “It is madness to ally with Black Sword!”

  “Would you rather be with him or against him?” Victor asked.

  Victor looked disgusted, mostly because he knew what the logical answer was. With him, he thought. I would rather be with him if I have a choice in all of this. But he still wasn’t completely sold. With exasperation, he looked at Devlin.