As de Noble lifted his eyebrow dubiously, they could all hear a faint cry as Elyse and Connaught came together on the floor above. A few moments later, they could distinctly hear a much louder shriek as Emllyn caught sight of Devlin. They could even hear Devlin’s low laughter.
It was a good sound. Merradoc turned back for the solar, accepting a cup of brandywine from de Noble, who had also given one to Victor. Raymond lifted his cup to the two of them in a toast.
“To love,” he murmured.
Victor grinned as he lifted his cup as well. “To the future.”
Merradoc lifted his cup last. “To me!” He downed the drink in one gulp.
All was right in the world again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
1328 A.D.
Black Castle
He knew he was in trouble. God’s Blood, they were all in trouble.
Devlin was carrying his second son towards the keep of Black Castle and the child was screaming loudly in his ear, having just been clobbered in a mock fight by his older brother. Flynn, Devlin’s eldest son, was scurrying after his father.
“Daven and I were only playing, Papa,” Flynn was trying to explain. “He wanted to fight me, truly. My sword slipped.”
Devlin glanced over his shoulder at the blond five-year-old on his heels. “I know,” he said with tension in his tone. “I was there.”
“Will Mam be angry with us?”
Devlin sighed heavily, trying to comfort Daven and hold his hand over the puncture wound on the child’s forearm at the same time.
“I am afraid she will,” he said with resignation. “She has told us she does not like us fighting with swords, hasn’t she? She does not know that you and Daven have swords. I did not tell her I gave them to you.”
Flynn thought on that a moment. “Then she will be angry with you, Papa.”
“Thanks for the confidence, lad,” Devlin grunted. “I will be fortunate if her fury is the only thing I receive.”
As they neared the keep, they could see old Eefha emerging from the entry. Her pipe was smoking away as she crossed the footbridge, heading towards them. Flynn, seeing the old woman, ran over to her.
“Daven has been wounded,” he told her urgently. “You must fix his arm.”
Eefha patted the boy on the head as Devlin came to a halt in front of her, his son howling unhappily. Eefha pulled away the piece of linen on the child’s soft white arm to reveal a little nick. It was hardly anything to grow so upset over, but Daven screamed as if he’d been mortally wounded.
“Will you take him and clean the wound?” Devlin asked the old woman as he handed her the child. “I fear that Emllyn will hear him crying. She hears everything, you know. She will….”
He was cut off by the sight of his wife emerging from the keep. Too late, he thought. Dressed in flowing dark green linen with her beautiful hair braided and wound into a bun at the nape of her neck. Emllyn had a toddler in her arms as she crossed the footbridge towards them, her skirt whipping about in the sea breeze. Devlin did the only thing he could do; he went right to her to try and block her vision of Daven’s injury. He hoped that Eefha would immediately take the child away but the old woman stood there, smoking on that damnable pipe and setting Daven to his feet so she could use both hands to inspect the injury. She was only making the matter more obvious now.
Emllyn was looking at Devlin and her older boys with curiosity and concern. Devlin met her just as she crossed the bridge, putting his arms around her and kissing her. The baby in her arms, however, didn’t take too kindly to his father kissing his mother and put his baby hand on Devlin’s bearded mouth to prevent him from going any further. Devlin laughed softly at his two-year-old son, Corey.
“You cannot have her all to yourself, lad,” he said. “She belongs to me.”
Corey didn’t like that response and started slapping at his father as Devlin continued to laugh, kissing the fat baby hand. Emllyn, meanwhile, would not be distracted; Daven was crying over something and she would know what it was.
“What is the matter with Daven?” she asked. “I could hear him crying from the keep.”
Devlin was trying to avoid the question. “He and Flynn were playing and he has a small cut on his arm,” he said casually, reaching out to take Corey from her arms. “Eefha will tend him. It is nothing to worry over.”
Flynn, seeing his mother and having no idea that his father had not told her what had truly happened, ran over to her. He was a very big boy for his age, and husky like his father, nearly coming up to his mother’s chest in height as he stood next to her.
“We were playing, Mam,” he said eagerly. “I poked Daven but I did not mean to.”
Emllyn’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean that you poked him?” she asked. “Poked him with what?”
Devlin rolled his eyes as Flynn looked at his father fearfully when he realized that his mother had no idea what had happened. Devlin took pity on the child; as the father and the instigator, it was his duty to take the blame.
“With his toy sword,” he said with the greatest reluctance. “They were mock fighting with Shain and Daven was accidentally poked with the dull tip of Flynn’s sword.”
Emllyn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and outrage. “What toy sword is this?” she demanded.
Corey decided that now would be a good time to pat his father in the face and as Devlin tried to explain, he had to suffer through the two-year-old’s displays of affection.
“The one I had made for them,” he said honestly as Corey smacked him in the mouth. “Love, I realize you don’t like the boys playing with anything that has the potential to harm them, but they are growing older now and must be made comfortable around weapons. It is important to their growth as warriors that they learn how to handle a sword. I know that I should have told you I had swords made for them, but it’s often difficult to discuss things with you once your mind is set. You can be very stubborn.”
Emllyn looked at him with an increasingly threatening scowl. Without a word, she went over to Daven to inspect his injury. The young lad was being tended to by Eefha but when he saw his mother, he lifted his arms to her, sniffling. Emllyn took a quick look at the boy’s arm and, seeing that it wasn’t a terrible wound, lifted him up and began to carry him back towards the keep.
She didn’t say a word as she walked past Devlin and Flynn and Corey. They all watched her walk across the footbridge, carrying Daven with his feet dangling, and disappear into the keep. When she was gone, Devlin looked at Flynn and, with a resigned wriggle of the eyebrows, followed his wife into the keep. Flynn skipped after him.
The keep was dark and cool in the entry, leading into the feasting hall with its big tables and pack of dogs. Flynn went to play with a litter of puppies near the hearth as Devlin carried Corey up the narrow spiral stairs. By the time he reached the big chamber at the top of the keep, Emllyn had Daven stripped from the waist up. She was washing his little torso with cool rosewater and as Devlin came up behind her and set Corey to his feet, Emllyn began cleansing Daven’s wound with witchhazel.
Devlin sat silent on the chair near the wall, watching Corey as the baby wandered over to the three little beds near the window where the boys slept. It was a messy spot. The big chamber, which had once been Devlin’s lair, was now home to five people. Devlin and Emllyn’s big bed was still where it always was, now with a big wooden screen blocking it off from the rest of the chamber, and then the boys had their beds near the tall lancet window that overlooked the sea.
Devlin’s eyes perused the big chamber, thinking that it was the place most in the world where he derived comfort. He had his entire family here with him, his three boys and his wife, who was newly pregnant with their fourth child. Perhaps that was why he was so afraid to upset her. Early pregnancy tended to make Emllyn quite emotional.
“Are you ever going to speak to me again?” he asked softly.
As he feared, she was cross with him. “You hid your covert deeds from me and
then you accuse me of being stubborn,” she said, wiping at Daven’s arm and then pulling the cloth away to wave at Devlin to emphasize her point. “I do not want them to have swords because they are too young to properly handle them. This time, it was only Daven’s arm that was injured. What if it is an eye next time?”
He was properly contrite, his gaze soft on her. “I was watching them the entire time,” he said quietly. “They were doing quite well and listening to my instruction.”
That wasn’t a good enough answer for Emlllyn. In fact, it was no answer at all. “They are just babies, Dev,” she scolded. “I realize they are Black Sword’s sons and there is a certain legacy attached to that, but they are my sons, too, and it is my job to keep them safe.”
“You do an excellent job,” he said. “I have never seen a better mother.”
Emllyn removed a strip of boiled linen from the basket of items she kept in their chamber, items meant to clean and tend three active little boys. She began to wrap the strip carefully around Daven’s small arm.
“If that is true, then why do you give them swords when I ask you not to?” she asked.
Devlin was coming to feel like a terrible man. “I only gave them the swords today,” he said. “I had the metalsmith make them and I was going to keep them until the boys were a little older, but I just couldn’t help myself. It was a proud moment to see my boys hold a sword for the first time.”
Now Emllyn was starting to feel like an ogre for scolding the man. He was only doing what was natural to him. As she finished wrapping Daven’s arm, she sighed heavily, a gesture of defeat, and glanced at her husband.
“You know I cannot become angry when you put it that way,” she said softly. “But I think the boys are far too young to play with swords, even as a toy. They see you and Shain and even Connaught with weapons and they naturally want to be like the knights. Thank the Lord that Elyse only has girls or I am sure her children would be the same way. As it is, we are the only ones with lively little boys who want to do everything the knights do and sometimes it is very frustrating when I do not get any cooperation from you.”
Devlin tried not to feel guilty. “I am sorry,” he said. “I will take the swords away from them for now. But next year, we will have this conversation again. The boys must start learning to handle weapons at some point, love. It’s the way of our world. The sooner they become used to them, the sooner they will become adept at not putting eyes out or stabbing their brother.”
Emllyn knew that but she didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t want to admit her boys were growing older. She stood up and went over to the big chest where she kept the boys’ clothing and pulled out a clean tunic that wasn’t torn or dirty. Silently, she went back to Daven and pulled it over his head. Resilient as children were, his tears were forgotten as he went to see what Corey was playing with. The toddler had little wooden cart and the two began fussing with it. Emllyn watched her two younger children as they tussled over the toy.
“I got something else from the metalsmith today,” Devlin said, hoping to break her out of her morose mood. She looked like she was about to dissolve into tears at the thought of her boys growing up. “Come to me and I will show you.”
She wandered over to him and he reached out, grasping her hand and pulling her down onto his lap. She relented fully as his big arms went around her and he buried his face in her neck. It was enough to douse her irritation as she felt the man against her. As Flynn barreled into the room with two fat puppies, Devlin turned to his wife.
“When I was at the metalsmith, I had him make something for you, too,” he said.
Emllyn cocked an eyebrow. “A sword?”
He grinned, displaying his big white teeth. “Nay,” he said, “because you would more than likely use it on me in moments like this.”
Emllyn broke down into soft laughter. “I would consider it.”
The boys began squealing because Flynn wasn’t sharing his puppies. Emllyn went over to break up their argument before returning to her husband. Just as she resumed her seat on his lap, he held up something in his fingers. Clutched between his thumb and forefinger was a small piece of metal; upon closer inspection, Emllyn could see it was a ring. She plucked it out of his grip and inspected it.
“When we were married, I never gave you a token of our union,” he said softly as he watched her study the ring. “Although you have never asked for one, I have been thinking more and more on it as of late. I am sorry it has taken me so long.”
Emllyn had never been concerned at the lack of a wedding ring; her life had been so full and her marriage so wonderful that it never really crossed her mind. But as she held the smooth, gold ring in her hand, she was genuinely touched by his gesture.
“It’s gold,” she said appreciatively. “I have never seen that metalsmith do anything other than steel or pewter.”
Devlin nodded. “I know,” he said. “But I asked him if he could do a gold ring for you and he said that he could. I paid him well and he bought the gold in Dublin. It’s a simple ring, without stones. I hope you don’t mind.”
Emllyn shook her head firmly. “I love that it is without adornment,” she said. “It is something very solid and beautiful. Like you.”
He smiled at her, reaching out to turn the ring over so she could see the inside of it. “I had him inscribe words,” he said. “Can you see them?”
Emllyn had to strain to see what he was talking about but when the message dawned on her, tears sprang to her eyes. “Everything leads me to thee,” she murmured.
Devlin kissed her cheek and took the ring from her, sliding it down over the third finger on her left hand. It was a bit large but fit nonetheless. Emllyn admired it greatly.
“Thank you,” she said, giving him a sweet kiss. “It is the most wonderful ring I have ever received.”
Devlin was pleased with her delight. “I’m glad you think so.”
Emllyn admired it a few more moments before wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. It was a sweet and tender moment as their boys played a few feet away, the sons Devlin had threatened her with those years ago, only now it was not a threat. It was a reality, and one she had embraced completely. A new generation of sons, a legacy to their great and noble father. Emllyn was proud to be part of it, proud to bear the sons of the man she loved with all her heart. Letting go his neck, she kissed his cheek and resumed admiring her ring.
“Dev?” she asked.
He was enjoying watching her expression as she loved up her ring. “Aye, love?”
Her attention came off the ring and her expression washed with reluctance. “I… I suppose it would be well enough for the boys to have toy swords,” she said. “But only if you are with them. They are never to use them alone.”
Devlin’s grin broadened. “Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“I didn’t give you the ring so you would agree to the swords.”
“I know. But you are correct; it is their legacy, after all. They must learn.”
Devlin wasn’t too enthusiastic in his response because he wanted Emllyn to feel as I she had final say in the matter. Were he too happy about it, she might have second thoughts because she would think he was happy that he had his way in all things.
“I promise we won’t run out and start any wars with them,” he said, but shrugged as if reconsidering. “At least, not this week. Mayhap next week. Mayhap we’ll ride down to Glentiege and challenge Connaught and de Noble to a battle.”
Emllyn laughed softly. “You would, wouldn’t you? And Connaught would lay down and pretend to die while de Noble tried to explain to them the finer art of swordplay.”
Devlin wriggled his eyebrows in agreement, glancing over at his three boys, healthy and intelligent children that he was extraordinarily proud of. They were, after all, his legacy, as his wife had said. They were born of this land.
“I will do the teaching,” Devlin said. “I told you once we would breed fine Irish sons to w
reak havoc on the English. Mayhap it’s not so much havoc now as it is now an understanding.”
“What understanding is that?”
Devlin looked at her. “That sometimes peace and family is the far better path to take,” he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “And that no matter what, you cannot put a price on true happiness.”
Emllyn smiled faintly. “Is this what you hope to teach them?”
He nodded, watching Flynn and Daven chase a puppy under the bed. “God, what glorious days lie ahead for us,” he said, squeezing her gently. “And no matter what happens, no matter where I go or what I do, know that everything leads me to thee.”
She did.
Epilogue
Present day
National Museum of Ireland
Dublin
Tuesday morning and he could already hear the schoolchildren yelling in the foyer. As a docent for the archaeological department of the National Museum of Ireland, he always seemed to get the school children who, at times, acted more like wild animals than human offspring. He wished for ladies’ clubs but those always went to the female docents who couldn’t be heard over the shouting of excited kids.
As he approached the foyer, listening to the yelling of the wild scallywags reverberate off the one-hundred-year-old walls of the museum, he braced himself. It was going to be a long day.
The children were primary school-aged, dressed in their Catholic school uniforms. But there were Catholic schools all over Dublin so one uniform didn’t look too different from another. As he approached the group, he headed for the woman who seemed to be the zookeeper. She was up to her ears in wild beasts. When he caught her attention, he forced a smile.
“Hello,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Peter Ward. I’m to be your guide today.”
The woman took his hand and shook it. “Hello,” she responded. “Helen Walker. Thank you so much.”
Peter continued to smile weakly, watching the children who were thumping each other and generally playing loudly. He eyed Ms. Walker. “May I?”
Lords of Ireland II Page 36