by Gail Link
He would use Duvessa.
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"Where came you by this note?" Duvessa asked Yseult. She was checking on her sleeping son, who was curled into his cradle. She ran her finger along the soft cheek. It still amazed her that he was real, that he was healthy.
"Whilst I was in the village getting the items that you requested. I was coming from the draper and a hand covered my mouth and pulled me into a side street. I feared that it was some ruffian intent on harm and tried to get away. He was huge, and strong, and then finally he whispered for me to be calmin Irish. I ceased struggling when he relaxed his grip on me and spun around to see Auliffe. He said that Killroone was there and wanted me to deliver a message to you."
"Killroone is here?" Duvessa gasped. She had recognized the seal on the note. But here? Among Derran's own?
"Did you see him?"
"No. Auliffe slipped me the message and said that I was to see that none but you received it."
"Thank you, Yseult."
She nodded her head and left the room. Duvessa sank into a chair to read the note.
"My sweet cousin:
Your message finally reached me whilst I was in Wales with Bran. Foul weather prevented me from answering sooner.
I must see the Lady Sybelle and the babe. I look to you to arrange this. Contact me through Yseult. I shall be at the Flying Swan tavern.
Do not make me wait too long."
It was signed with a bold K. Duvessa crumpled the note and bowed her head. What was she to do? Should she tell Sybelle that Roll was here? Should she tell Hugh that Roll wanted a meeting?
Oh, no, she decided, that wouldn't be a good idea. Her husband loved his grandchildren; she wasn't sure how he would react should he learn of Rolf's presence. And Sybelle? How did she really feel? When she was with her babes she was alive, othewise there was about her a certain sadness, almost as if she were a widow, with only her children to remind her of her loss. Duvessa would come upon Sybelle and see in her eyes a wistfulness that defied logic. Mayhap if they could but meet again . . . but each was stubborn, proud, and very willful.
A sound from her son brought Duvessa's attention to him. He was only moving about. She tucked the linen blanket across his body once again. Aidan was a delight to Hugh, who she sometimes found merely staring at the boy. Rolf deserved the same contentment. And if they met, perhaps he and Sybelle could resolve their differences. It was worth the gamble.
Standing up, she went to the writing table. She took a sheet of parchment and picked up a quill and dipped it into the pot of ink.
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It was an unusually warm day. Spring had come early, it seemed, as plants hurried into bloom. Sybelle could smell it in the air. She would dress and take the twins outside. For far too long they had been confined to the manor house. The sun shone brightly, the breeze was mild. It would do them good to be exposed to the fine weather. She would have the garden to herself, as Duvessa and her father had gone for a trek into the village. Today was a special occurrence, as there was a troupe of players come to the village to entertain. There promised to be all sorts of entertainment, and since this was a rarity, everyone decided to go. All save Sybelle. She needed no entertainment; her twins were amusement enough. Besides, she would have an excuse for dwelling on her memories. And trying to find an answer to the questions that forever nagged at her soul.
She settled the babies on a large, thick fur pelt. They were awake and active. She bent over her son and tickled his stomach, and was rewarded with a cooing noise. Her daughter was silent; she seemed to be absorbed by Lugh's nose as the dog lay, head on his paws, and watched her. Sybelle was glad of Lugh's attention, though some expressed concern about the huge dog being so close to the children. But Lugh was an excellent nurse, another pair of eyes to keep a protective watch, Sybelle thought. She leaned back on her arms and felt the warmth of the sun on her upturned face; her shoulders and neck, exposed by the gown she wore, were richly shaded in peach. What was the weather like at this exact moment in Ireland? Or, more specifically, at Killroone's castle?
Rolf was never far from her thoughts. She had only to look into the faces of the twins to see him reflected there. Her daughter's eyes were turning that well-recalled shade of green. Her son bore the cleft in his chin. Alyce had remarked recently that they had the look of the fey about them. Etain had said that they were of Ireland, and therefore must one day return.
She mised Etain, who had returned to France several weeks after the birth of the babes. They had parted deep friends, Etain promising to return in several months' time. Her last words to Sybelle had been of Rolf. "He loves you, my lady. Whatever else, the Wolf loves you."
Sybelle wished that she could believe that. She needed to feel something other than this vague sense of bereavement. For even though she thought she had put Ireland and Killroone far behind her, they continued to haunt her, to probe at odd times into her raw feelings. Time had not silenced the whispers of what was. She had never succeeded in putting him from her heart. Silently, she raged at him for rest, for a respite. Was she never to be free?
Her daughter began to whimper. She picked her up and saw the look in those sweet green eyes. "Hungry, my love?" she asked. "Of course you are. Let us feed you, then," she said, unlacing the front of her gown. There was no one about, so she felt quite safe performing this function. A wet nurse had been hired to supplement the milk needed for the twins, and for her brother. Sybelle did not often use the young woman, for her own breasts were large with the supply needed for the twins. Her daughter's mouth fastened onto a plump breast and she suckled greedily. "Little pig," Sybelle crooned. ''Do not be in such a hurry. We've all afternoon."
Her son was now awake and she assumed that he was also ready for his meal. Sybelle patted his stomach. "Soon," she said.
A low growl in Lugh's throat forced her attention on the dog.
Lugh was up. He ran into the trees surrounding the garden. What could have made him react so? she wondered. Could there be someone in the wood? Only a token force of two men remained at the manor house, the rest having been given leave to attend the festival. More than likely 'twas an animal that Lugh had given chase to. Aye, that was probably it.
From a spot hidden from sight, Rolf watched Sybelle. When the dog bounded for where he was standing, he thought that she would surely know someone was there. But she paid no heed, concerned and intent on her duty. The sight that greeted him, after calming down the dog with a whispered command, was of Sybelle and a baby at her breast. She held it and talked to it with a look of obvious love. His child.
Then he heard the sounds that indicated another child was present. Another child? Was this Duvessa's? In her message she had explained that she was to deliver a child near Sybelle's time.
Rolf then recalled that he had seen his cousin with a babe in her arms at the village fair. Seeing Hugh Fitzgerald and his cousin together had given him pause. They were indeed much in love. It was clear in the warm gaze Duvessa bestowed on her husband, and palpable in the way Derran kept her by his side, his arm about her, and in the way he leaned over and spoke words for her ears alone. Where was his implacable resolve to destroy the man? Vanished, along with the need for revenge, the remnant of a period pushed aside for needs of the present, the promise of the future.
He had waited to see if Sybelle would accompany them. When it was apparent that she hadn't, he seized on this chance to see her undisturbed.
Sweet Jesu, then this child must also be his. Twins.
The realization startled him. And she wasn't going to tell him? An atavistic anger flooded through his system. They were his. They belonged in Ireland, with him. Not here, never here, in this country.
He stepped quietly through the foliage, knowing that Auliffe remained on guard lest anyone return early.
Sybelle heard the noise and looked up, expecting to see Lugh returning.
She was sure
it was a fantasy. It couldn't be him, here, now. Shock was evident in her eyes. Sybelle watched Rolf approach with wary fascination. He was realand more handsome than she had allowed herself to remember.
She observed him as his green eyes narrowed to take in the inescapable fact that there were two children.
His first words to her were spoken in harsh tones. "How dared you not tell me of my children?"
His anger cooled any desire on her part to greet him with civility. "I thought it best."
"You thought it best?" he demanded.
She removed her daughter from her breast and felt the heat of his gaze on her naked flesh. Sybelle blushed as she laid her daughter down and made to refasten her gown.
Rolf took this opportunity to lift the child into his arms, bringing her close for his inspection. She was truly an O'Dalaigh.
"What is she called?" he asked as he traced a long index finger around her tiny mouth, wiping away a drop of liquid that clung to the corner.
"I have named her Deirdre," she said softly, defiantly.
Rolf bent and placed her back on the fur, picking up the other child.
"That is Declan," she announced.
His second name. Rolf's gaze sought hers.
His son.
His heir.
He had been wrong. She must have hated him very much to have kept this knowledge from him. But she was still wearing the bracelet, he noted, somewhat confused.
"You did not plan to tell me?" His tone was clipped, his deep voice an accusation that flailed her.
"Would you have wanted to know, truthfully?"
The cold look he threw her way chilled Sybelle and brought a return of the fear that she felt coiling inside her.
"Do you even have to ask?"
Sybelle could see the answer on his face. It was stamped on the arrogance that was revealed there. These were the wolf's cubs; flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood.
Now that the moment was upon her, what did she want, truthfully? She observed the tenderness with which he examined his son, the finger he let be used for a sucking tool, the way his eyes crinkled with delight when Deirdre appeared to flash him a stare of importance. There must be a way, a compromise. For Sybelle was aware of the tingling of her nerves in response to being so close to him. She could feel the snapping of emotion between them, as if lightning were shooting through the sky. It was still there, this remembered pull, this attraction both dangerous and delicious. She wanted him. It was all she could do to mentally restrain herself from reaching over and helping him remove his shirt and doublet so that she could feel the warmth of his hairroughened skin against her hands. She longed to run her fingers through that black mane that had grown longer, thicker. It was a primitive reaction to a primitive man.
Roll wanted to feel her fragrant body next to his, to rend asunder the laces that held her gown in place and put his mouth to her bosom and suck the sweet fruits that gave sustenance to his children. He longed to fill his hands with her breasts, to seek the warmth of her thighs cradling him as he sought the refuge he demanded. Could one want to both punish and exalt? He wanted to master her body and show her who was in control. He wanted to worship at her temple. He wanted to kiss her for this most precious of gifts and vent his anger for refusing him knowledge of the same.
"They are to come with me," he said in a calm, cold voice.
"No!" Sybelle cried.
"They are O'Dalaighs and belong with their father."
"They are Fitzgeralds and belong to me," she declared with vehemence.
"Then we are at an impasse, my lady, are we not?"
Ask, she silently begged. Ask me, Rolf. Give me a sign.
He stood up, Declan in his arms. Sybelle took Deirdre in hers as she began to cry, as if sensing the dispute between her parents.
"It seems we have a solution of sorts here. My son shall come with me. Auliffe!" he called out and the big man came through the garden, Lugh at his heels. Rolf gave his son to the startled man.
"Rolf, I beg of you, do not do this," Sybelle pleaded. She grabbed for his doublet, watching her son disappear through the trees and out of her life.
Rolf removed her hand from his clothes and said simply, "You know where to find us, my lady, should you wish to."
She clung to her daughter, who began to whimper in earnest. Tears welled in Sybelle's eyes as she fell to her knees, sobbing. She looked up and saw Roll staring at her. How could he be that cruel? To tear her son from her care? "Rolf!" her voice rose in a cry as he disappeared.
Why wasn't there blood? she wondered as she rocked Deirdre back and forth, too stunned to run after him, Lugh licked her hand. Part of her heart had been ripped from her body. She would have expected to see blood.
Again he demanded, and took. He had only to ask, she screamed silently in her head. She would have given him all, gladly, for she realized that when she saw him there could be no full life for her without Roll O'Dalaigh. And now he had smashed her dreams, assassinated her hopes by stealing her child, his child, from her.
She was still in that position almost an hour later when Clare found her.
"Sybelle!" she screamed, racing to her sister's side. Clare could see the grief written on Sybelle's face.
"Declan is gone," she said sadly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"His father took him." Sybelle's dark eyes revealed her devastation.
"The Wolf? Here?" Clare asked, astounded.
Duvessa and Hugh entered the garden and saw Sybelle on the ground with only one of her children. Both hurried to her.
"Sybelle," Hugh spoke first, kneeling down, "where is Declan?"
"Gone."
"Gone where?"
Clare spoke up, her arms around Sybelle. "She said that Killroone was here and claimed him."
"Killroone? But how?"
"He found out about the babes," Sybelle murmured. "He decided that they belonged in Ireland. I told him no, that they will remain with me." She cradled her daughter closer to her heart. "He then decided, as if he were Solomon, to divide the babes: one for him, one for me."
"Get her inside," Hugh instructed Duvessa. "I shall see to this myself," he said, a bloodlust in his eyes.
Duvessa felt the tears coursing down her cheeks as she realized the havoc she had wrought by trying to heal. She never thought that Rolf was capable of such real cruelty.
No sooner were they about to enter the house when Sir John escorted a nun into their midst, carrying a large basket.
"My lord, I think that you should receive this woman," he said when Hugh waved to dismiss her.
His temper barely in check, Hugh barked, "What do you seek?"
"The mother of this child."
All eyes focused on the tall, robust woman and the bundle that she held. A cry emanated from the basket.
Sybelle shoved Deirdre into Clare's arms as she ran to the nun. Inside the basket, as she pulled back the blanket that covered him, was Declan.
"'Tis Declan," she declared, crying her joy as she pulled him from the basket.
Sybelle kissed his face, hugging him to her breast, which ached with the need to feed him. And judging by her son's wail, he was hungry.
Duvessa and Hugh and Clare all stood about with various signs of surprise on their collective faces.
"He sent him back to me," Sybelle said with surprise. Why? she asked herself. Why did Rolf return our son when he could have made off with him to Ireland? "Who gave you this child?" Sybelle demanded.
"A man, who was accompanied by another."
"Did he say anything? Did he give you any message?" Please, Sybelle thought, let him have said something, given a reason.
"He was a foreigner, Irish I am thinking," the nun said, and added, "all that he asked me to say was for the babe's mother." Although the nun had never met this woman, the Fitzgeralds' generosity to her order was well known, as was the devotion of the lady's sister, Lady Audrey. ''I was to say these words exactly: 'I forgive. The choice is yours.'"
> "Choice?" echoed three sets of voices.
Sybelle knew what he meant. Declan grabbed at her wristband. Tears of relief filled her eyes. Thank you, God, she said, for Roll has given me what I wanted. She rallied her reserves of strength and called to Clare, "Bring Deirdre and come with me," as she made for the house, leaving Duvessa and Hugh standing there as Sir John escorted the nun back to her pony cart.
Hugh was perplexed. His first reaction was to order men armed and ready to make for the coast to catch Killrooneand when he did, to extract punishment for his crimes. Now this. Just when he believed he knew his enemy, and his contempt was high, Killroone revealed something more. Why had he chosen to return Declan to Sybelle? Why?
"What do you make of that?" he questioned Duvessa.
Duvessa was aghast at the turn of events. She knew what she hoped this meant. She would have to handle her husband well as she explained. And she hoped that she was correct. Duvessa smiled as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Let us upstairs, Hugh, for I would talk to you in private."
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Miles away, two men on horseback stopped as they neared the coast. Neither had spoken since their departure from the convent. Auliffe was confused by the actions of his earl. He rubbed a hand over his beard. He yearned for Ireland and his wife and family, from whom he had been absent for far too long. And he was unsure now of what was expected of him. He had tried to question Killroone when they made the abrupt change and rode for the nunnery that sat on the hill, but he was silenced with a wave of his master's hand and had simply shut his mouth and did as he was bidden.
Rolf patted the neck of the horse. The poor beast was tired. This wasn't the quality of animal he was used to; Fergal would have lasted three times as long without being winded. He was bred for stamina, for speed. This poor nag was doing the best he could, Rolf supposed. As long as it got him to the coastline so that he could make passage to Ireland. Any point in Ireland. He cared not. He wanted to be back on his native soil.