Page 10 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)
CHAPTER TEN
T he 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.”
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 must 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.
It was the keep that had his attention as Lady Elyse led him towards it. It was at least three stories, built of the same gray stone that the wall was built from. It was sunk deep into the side of a small hill, as the entire complex was on a slight slope, and the entry door that opened wide to them was a massive thing built of iron and wood. The keep was also built in an odd shape; it seemed to have what looked like small wings off to the east and the west. He didn’t have time to study it, however, as Lady Elyse brought him swiftly into the dark depths of the donjon.
Once inside, Devlin struggled to adjust his eyes to the darkness. The massive door had been deceiving, for the entry it opened into was very small and box-shaped. There were also holes in the walls on either side of the room and he realized they were archer holes; should the door be breached, archers would be positioned to shoot down anyone foolish enough to enter. It was rather clever.
Lady Elyse directed them down the narrow corridor leading from the entry, which opened up into a large room that stretched for the length of the keep. It was a feasting hall because it had several well-worn tables arranged in it and a massive hearth that was spitting ribbons of gray smoke into the air. Dogs were wandering the room, scavenging for scraps, and Lady Elyse rushed past them. At the far end of the chamber was a spiral staircase, built into the thickness of the wall, and she encouraged Devlin to follow her.
He did, struggling with his bulk to make it up the stairs and not smack Emllyn’s head into the wall into the process. It was then that he realized several men were following them including Lady Elyse’s escort. Devlin wasn’t surprised but he knew he might be in for great difficulty once he turned Emllyn over to Lady Elyse’s care. He was fairly certain the English were going to try and separate him from Emllyn. He had to be prepared.
The third floor was arranged exactly like the second floor which, he discovered, was fairly complex in design. This was a Norman castle and reflected the engineering skills of that race. The third floor also had the big room that stretched the length of the keep, this one with big wooden dividers in it that separated bed chambers, but next of this room was a second room that also stretched the length of the keep. It was into this chamber that Lady Elyse took him.
“There,” she pointed at an enormous canopied bed over near the equally enormous hearth. “Please put her there.”
Devlin did as he was told, making his way through the sumptuous and well-appointed chamber to lay Emllyn gently on the bed that was surely covered in feathers. He’d never seen anything so light or soft. He stood there a moment, gazing apprehensively at Emllyn, as Lady Elyse came up beside him.
“Where is her wound?” she asked.
Devlin lifted Emllyn’s skirts to reveal the bandaged left leg. “Here,” he said. “It looks like a battle wound, evidence that she was indeed in some sort of battle. That is why I believed what she said, that she was on Kildare’s armada. And she… she is very fine. Her hands are fine and her skin is fine. She is a woman of great breeding.”
He didn’t realize that his voice had softened dramatically as he spoke of Emllyn, but Lady Elyse was very aware. In fact, she actually came to a halt in her inspection of the unconscious lady, staring at the massive farmer who spoke of the woman with such tenderness. It was a surprising show of emotion.
“I promise I will take great care of her,” she assured Devlin softly. “Now, let me take a look at her wound.”
Devlin was very aware of the English knights standing back by the door to the chamber. He could feel their stares upon his back. He knew they wanted to speak with him but he remained next to the bed, vigilant, as Lady Elyse carefully unwrapped Emllyn’s leg. As she pulled the last of the wrappings off, she saw the mud poultice and stopped any further unwrapping.
“Sir,” she said to Devlin as she gestured over near the hearth. “There is a bell for the servant. Will you please ring it?”
Devlin looked over his shoulder. He saw no bell at first glance but he saw a silken cord that was strung up along the top of the wall. Following the silk cord until it ended, he could see a big silver bell at the end of it. He tugged on the end of the cord so hard that it pulled right off and rang the bell crazily. He turned to Lady Elyse apologetically with the cord still in his hand.
“I am sorry,” he told her, laying the cord down at the end of the bed. “I suppose I shouldn’t have pulled so hard.”
Lady Elyse was grinning. “You must be careful with your strength,” she agreed, eyeing the pure size of the man. He was quite handsome in her opinion, and she thought the fact that he seemed so protective over the lady to be very sweet. “What is your name?”
Devlin hesitated slightly; it was the only part of his plan he hadn’t covered because up until a few hours ago, he was to be a mute. He wouldn’t have to tell anyone his name and he figured that Emllyn would call him something and he would just accept it. But now, he had been asked, so he said the first thing that came to mind.
“John, m’lady,” he said. “It was my father’s name.”
It wasn’t a lie; indeed, it was his father’s name. Lady Elyse smiled politely. “You are a farmer?” she said, repeating what she had heard the soldiers say. “That is a difficult profession. No wonder you are so strong. You must work very hard.”
Devlin could see that Lady Elyse was a genuinely kind woman and he was surprised; all he’d ever heard of English women was that they were frail and silly. But Emllyn had changed his opinion and now Lady Elyse was coming to change it as well. He nodded at her statement.
“Aye, m’lady.”
Lady Elyse maintained her polite smile and was preparing to say something more when she caught sight of a servant out of the corner of her eye. Excusing herself, she went to speak to the servant, leaving Devlin standing alone with Emllyn. His focus returned to Emllyn, lying so pale against the fine coverlet. As he stood gazing down at her, his chest tight with apprehension, Emllyn suddenly stirred. Then she stirred again and groaned when she moved her leg. Devlin bent over her about the time her eyes fluttered open.
“Shhhh,” he whispered to her. “You are safe. Speak quietly, Emllyn. There are many ears around us.”
All Emllyn could see was Devlin’s big face filling her field of vision. She blinked her hot, crusty eyes. “Dev… Devlin?” she breathed. “What has happened?”
He shushed her again, his gaze soft upon her. “You must not call me by my name,” he whispered. “I am John. You must remember that– John.”
Emllyn was disoriented. “John?”
Devlin nodded faintly, a quick bob of the head because he knew the English soldiers were watching him. He was terrified that one of them was going to walk up and pull him away, so he spoke quickly. “Can you listen to me?” he breathed. “It is important.”
Emllyn blinked her eyes again, becoming more lucid. She could see that they were in a room, somewhere, and there were things about her that she did not recognize. Frightened, she fixed on Devlin.
“Where are we?” she murmured.
“De Cleveley’s settlement,” he whispered. “You must know me only as John. I am a farmer who found you after Kildare’s defeat. Do you understand me?”
Emllyn could only slowly comprehend. After a moment, she nodded. “Aye.”
Devlin’s eyes twinkled warmly at her. “Good lass,” he murmured. “The poison in your leg is raging so I brought you here. A very nice lady is willing to tend you, so I don’t want you to worry. All will be well.”
Emllyn only moderately understood what she was told. Her mind was very muddled. As she lay there, gazing up at Devlin and struggling to digest what was happening, she caught a glimpse of a small, elegant lady with blond hair. Startled and apprehensive, she grabbed hold of Devlin’s hand as Lady Elyse drew near.
Lady Elyse was surprised to find her patient awake. She smiled kindly at Emllyn. “Greetings, my lady,” she said in her soft, sweet voice. “I am the Lady Elyse de Noble. You have been brought to me because you are very ill. I would like to help you if you will allow it.”
Emllyn was frightened and bewildered, and tears popped to her eyes. “Aye… aye, I would be grateful,” she murmured as a tear trickled down her temple. “Where am I?”
Elyse had a bowl of warmed water a servant had brought her and sat on a stool that another servant had pulled up to the bed for her. “You are at Glenteige Castle,” she said. “My father is Sir Raymond de Noble, commander of Lord de Cleveley’s garrison. You are safe, I assure you.”
Emllyn was still holding on very tightly to Devlin’s hand; he ended up taking a knee beside the bed, holding her small hand between his two big mitts. Emllyn’s attention moved back and forth between Elyse and Devlin before finally settling on Elyse.
“I am the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald, sister of the Earl of Kildare,” she said softly. “He is allied with de Cleveley.”
Elyse nodded as she and another servant began to bathe the mud off of Emllyn’s wound. “I know,” she said. “We are most honored to have Kildare’s sister as our favored guest.”
Emllyn seemed to relax somewhat although she maintained a tight hold on Devlin. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I… I do not even know how I came here, to tell you the truth. I do not remember much, but please know that I am very grateful for your hospitality.”
Devlin thought he should probably say something to address her complete bewilderment in the situation. She was waking up to a strange place and strange people. He didn’t want her to inadvertently contest his story because, at the moment, they were scrutinizing everything about him. One wrong word might see him living the rest of his days out in the vault.
“I found you washed ashore on the beach after Kildare’s defeat at Black Castle, m’lady,” he said. “You told me that you were aboard the armada to witness your brother’s victory over Black Sword. You also had a very bad wound on your leg. Do you not remember any of this?”
He lifted his eyebrows at Emllyn as he spoke. Please understand what I am telling you; this has become our story now! Emllyn gazed back at him intently as her mind churned over information that, in a better frame of mind, she would have caught on to quickly. It took her several long moments but eventually he could see the glimmer of understanding in her eye. Yes, it was all coming clearer now. A brief nod of her head told him that.
“Aye,” she finally said. “I… I believe I do. I was on my brother’s flagship and we sailed to Ireland to meet the rebels who had taken over his lands. The ships… they crashed against each other when they made shore because the weather was so bad. I… I truly do not know how I made it out alive.”
Devlin breathed a long sigh of relief. “I found you on the beach,” he repeated. “You must have swam away from the destruction.”
Emllyn blinked, struggling to think clearly. “Mayhap,” she said softly. “I do not remember clearly.”
There wasn’t much more to say; she had played into his plans perfectly and Devlin could not have been more pleased or more at ease. He squeezed her hand and resisted the urge to kiss it as well; instead, he turned his focus to Elyse as the woman began to gingerly bathe away the mud from Emllyn’s leg.
“It was very swollen and painful,” he told Elyse, trying to be helpful. “I had nothing to give her for the pain.”
Elyse was focused on her work, eventually washing away the mud to see the angry red cut beneath. She visibly cringed when she saw how bad it was.
“We will remedy that,” she assured him as she looked up at Emllyn. “I will try to be very gentle, my lady. If it hurts, you will tell me and I will stop.”
Emllyn gazed back at the woman with a mixture of fear and trust. “I will,” she said. “I am very thirsty. Could I please have something to drink?”
The words had barely left her mouth before Elyse was in motion, whipping her servants into a frenzy as they disappeared out of the service doors and went scurrying around the room. As a pale young servant girl brought Emllyn a cup of whatever was in the pitcher by Elyse’s bed, they heard commotion at the chamber door.
“Cattle!” came the screech. “All of you crowded around this door like cattle! One would think you have never seen a lady’s chamber before and judging by the lot of you, that’s probably close to the truth!”
Devlin, Emllyn, and Elyse looked over to the chamber entry to see a small man with a worn leather satchel push his way through the knights that were clustered there. He was round and pale, with sparse graying hair and clad in dirty brown robes. He looked like a monk. He waddled his way over to the bed where Emllyn lay, eyeing the wound on her leg before he ever looked his patient in the eye.
“Barbarians,” he hissed. “Who sewed this wound? My dog could have done a better job of it.”
Elyse vacated her stool for the man. “This is the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald, sister of the Earl of Kildare,” she said, eyeing Emllyn and hoping she wasn’t frightened by the man’s curt manner. “My lady, this is Merradoc, our physic.”
The old physic barely flicked an eye in Emllyn’s direction; his focus was entirely on the wound. He set his satchel on the floor next to him and began pulling out pouches and phials.
“I need vinegar and the strongest ale you can find,” he snapped at Elyse. “You will also bring me silk thread. I must re-sew this. And put the powder in that brown pouch into a half-cup of wine and bring it to me. Do this now before I grow old from sheer boredom and the lady dies from a raging infection.”
He was dramatic and snappy in a hilarious sort of manner. Had Devlin not been so taken aback at the man’s horrendous bedside manner, he would have laughed at his brusque impatience. Elyse, however, was on the move, handing off the pouches to her servants as more of them rushed through the servant door with boiled linens in their arms. Everyone was running around doing Merradoc’s bidding and soon enough, there was a half-cup of wine being handed to Elyse. She brought it over to Emllyn’s bedside.
“You must drink this,” she said softly. “It will make you sleep while he tends your leg.”
Emllyn wasn’t so sure about being put into a drugged sleep; she was still holding Devlin’s hand tightly, eyeing him anxiously as she spoke to Elyse.
“What will the physic do?” she asked.
Elyse glanced over her shoulder at the old physic, who was pulling out a razor-sharp knife from his satchel.
“Clean your wound and fix it,” she replied gently. “You do not want to be awake for that, my lady. Please drink this.”
Emllyn knew the woman was trying to help her but she was still frightened. Devlin squeezed her hand reassuringly and she looked up at him, perhaps more fearful for him at the moment than she was for herself. She could see the English knights clustered back by the door. She had a feeling they were not there for her.
“He stays,” she said to Elyse. “I do not want him going anywhere. Even if I fall asleep, I do not want him removed. Please make it so.”
Elyse nodded firmly. “I will not allow him to go anywhere, I promise,” she said. “Will you drink this now?”
Reluctantly, Emllyn complied, and within fifteen minutes she was snoring upon the linens. She seemed to be very sensitive to sleeping potions, as she had been sensitive to the draught Eefha had given her as well. Once she was fully asleep, evidenced when the physic pinched her toe, the old man finally went to work.
As promised, Devlin remained at Emllyn’s bedside. He sat on the floor by Emllyn’s head as the physic removed the cat gut sutures he had put in her leg and replaced them with boiled silk thread. He put in fine, neat stitches. The physic also cleaned the poison out of the wound and doused it repeatedly in vinegar and ale. When he was finished with that, he bound her leg up tightly and left her to sleep. The entire procedure took less than fifteen minutes, a swift and confident undertaking by the snappy physic. When he was satisfied with his work, he began packing his items away.
“I am going to bring her some rotten tea,” he told Elyse. “I will return later tonight with it. It will help her fever.”
Elyse listened to him intently. “What should I do for her in the meanwhile?”
The physic glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping patient. “Keep her warm and watch her closely,” he said as he collected his satchel and moved for the door. “If she begins to sweat or becomes delirious, send for me. Otherwise, I will return tonight.”
Elyse thanked the man and ushered him to the door. The physic beat back the three remaining knights who were still standing in the entry, as the rest of the crowd had returned to their duties. De Ferrer remained, as did Elyse’s escort and another man, an older one who had made an appearance only a few minutes earlier. He had seen the old physic as the man finished stitching up the leg of the strange woman lying on his daughter’s bed, but nothing more than that. He stopped the physic before the man left the room completely.
“How is the lady?” he asked.
Merradoc glanced back into the room again, at the big bed where an enormous man sat on the floor next to it and an injured lady slept peacefully. He shrugged his shoulders.
“We shall see,” he said. “The cut is deep. It looks like a sword wound to me. I shall see what I can do for her but no promises.”
The older man nodded and let the physic continue out of the room. Then, he stepped into the chamber and headed for Elyse.
“I hear we have had a visitor,” he said, eyeing Devlin seated on the floor. “De Ferrer told me about the lady and her savior. I have come to see for myself.”
Elyse smiled at the man. “Greetings, Father,” she said as she gestured to Emllyn, fast asleep. “This is the sister of the Earl of Kildare, the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald. She had sailed on her brother’s war fleet but was injured in a battle at Black Castle. She washed ashore and this farmer found her and helped her. We owe him a great deal of gratitude for saving her.”
Sir Raymond de Noble was fixated on Devlin. A tall man with a full head of gray hair, de Noble seemed rather calm and wise, giving Devlin a good going-over as he stood there. De Noble’s dark eyes missed nothing as he studied him. Devlin stared back at de Cleveley’s brilliant commander. He’d fought the man before; now, he was seeing him face-to-face. It was an odd realization.
“Indeed we do,” de Noble finally said, but it was clear he wasn’t finished scrutinizing Devlin. “What is your name?”
“John, m’lord,” Devlin replied.
De Noble acknowledged him with a bob of the head. “John,” he repeated. “I was told you have a farm south of Black Castle.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“I am also told you have been inside of Black Castle.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“Where do your sympathies lie, John?”
It was an interesting question, now with the other knights listening in. Devlin wasn’t a fool; he knew he had to play the game, but it was harder than he thought. He wanted to jump up and roar for the victory of the Irish, but he kept still. He had been fighting men like de Noble for years and had served under them for longer still. The English had always given him commands or oppressed him one way or the other, and his natural urge to rebel was strong. But his sense of self-preservation, and of the preservation of Emllyn, was stronger.
“I have never had a quarrel with the English,” he said. “In fact, my fellow Irishmen seem to give me more trouble.”
“How is that?”
Devlin shrugged, thinking now would be a very good time to start gaining English sympathy and trust. “Men from Black Castle raid my fields and steal my vegetables,” he said. “The O’Connors have been known to steal my stock. When the English want something from me, at least they pay me for it.”
That brought a thin smile from de Noble. Looking Devlin over, he could see that the man appeared very exhausted. The dark blue eyes were dull. But as he gazed at him, he also found the man strangely familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, because all Irishmen looked alike to him, but there was something vaguely recognizable. Ah, perhaps it would come to him at some point. For now, he was intent to glean what information he could out of the man about Black Castle, only his tactics were far more subtle than his lesser officers. He was a man who knew how to get what he wanted.
“That sounds typical,” he replied after a moment. “When was the last time you ate, John?”
Devlin thought about it. “Yesterday, m’lord.”
“You must be starving,” de Noble said. “Would you join me for a meal? I have not yet eaten myself and I would like to hear more about this defeat of Kildare’s armada.”
Careful, Devlin told himself. He knew it was more than an invitation; it was a directive because they wanted to probe him. He was on to their game. “I am not sure what I can tell you, m’lord,” he said. “I only heard about it from others.”
“But you found a woman who said she was with Kildare’s fleet.”
“Aye, I did, but she didn’t tell me more than that.”
De Noble didn’t push. He would get the information he wanted, eventually. “Will you come and eat with me, John?”
Devlin hesitated; he didn’t want to walk into a trap, lured by a smooth-tongued Englishman, but he knew he could not refuse. “Can I return when we are finished?”
“Of course.”
Elyse, who had been listening to the conversation, went to Devlin and put her hand on his arm. “Go now and eat with my father,” she said encouragingly. “He will bring you back here when you are finished.”
Devlin didn’t want to be rude and refuse, not when he was trying to establish some trust, but he was very hesitant to leave Emllyn. Still, he had little choice. Stiffly, he climbed to his feet.
“Will you send word to me if something changes with her?” he asked Elyse.
The woman nodded patiently. “Of course,” she said, giving him a little push in her father’s direction. “Go and eat now. We will be here when you return.”
Genuinely exhausted, Devlin allowed himself to be led out of the chamber by de Noble and wasn’t surprised when the knights who had been lingering by the door closed ranks behind him, effectively escorting him out of the room. Together, the small group made their way back down the stairs to the feasting hall below.
De Noble called for food and soon, they were swarmed with more food and drink than Devlin had seen in a very long time. He was starving, shoving the succulent beef into his mouth and downing very good English wine. De Noble ate along with him and gave him plenty of time to drink more wine before commencing with the questions.
It was then that Devlin realized he shouldn’t have drunk so much wine. The clear-headed English commander had plenty of questions for him.