Page 11 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“B lack Castle,” de Noble said slowly as he poured Devlin more drink. “I was there once, several years ago during the peace. Before the rebellions, when it was still Kildare’s holding. It is a big place.”

Devlin was minimally drunk and he could clearly see that de Noble was trying to get him drunker. He was fairly certain that the man didn’t suspect his true identity but he knew the man was trying to press him for information. If Devlin had been in de Noble’s position, he would have done the same thing. Sometimes the peasants heard and saw things that were valuable during a time of crisis. With that in mind, Devlin put the ale to his lips but he didn’t drink; he just pretended to. He wasn’t going to allow himself to become more addled than he already was.

“Me da used to take me there,” Devlin said, playing the part of the ignorant peasant. “Me da was a farmer, too, and we would take our produce to Black Castle when I was young, when Kildare was still in possession. I still remember the big English knights and their big swords. As a boy, that was exciting.”

De Noble smiled faintly. “And now?” he asked. “Do you still find big English knights with their big swords exciting?”

Devlin shook his head and pretended to take another drink, spilling some of it clumsily as he set the cup down. That would throw de Noble off somewhat on exactly how much he had imbibed.

“Nay, m’lord,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t find it exciting. I find it a burden.”

“Why?”

“Because I take me produce to market at Black Castle but the peasants are so a-feared of Black Sword that there is hardly any commerce there anymore,” he said, pretending to be upset by it. “Black Sword keeps the castle fairly bottled up. Not many pass between the gates these days. But… well, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I was there about a month ago. I had gotten to the castle before sunrise and sold some of me goods to the castle cook. As I was leaving, many men entered the castle, men in blue tartan that someone said were O’Connor men. There must have been hundreds of them. It looked as if Black Sword was planning a meeting with them.”

De Noble was listening intently. “What kind of a meeting?”

Devlin shook his head and took another pretend drink of the ale, spilling it on his chin to disguise the fact that he’d swallowed nothing. He was starting to see that de Noble was willingly listening to anything he said so he thought it would be a great opportunity to feed the man false information. His clever mind was working quickly; if de Noble was foolish enough to try and play him for an idiot, then Devlin would comply– and he would turn the tables on him.

“I don’t know,” Devlin said, pretending to be very dumb about the entire thing. “But there were a lot. Do you think they were the same men who destroyed Kildare’s fleet? It could have been. I heard that the Irish banded together for that battle, uniting under Black Sword. They say they are remaining united, for something very big. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

By this time, de Ferrer and the Lady Elyse’s escort, a tall and handsome man introduced as Sir Christopher Connaught, were leaning in to listen. They were all evidently very interested in what the enormous, and rather dumb, Irishman had to say.

“ What is very big?” Connaught asked; he had a slight Irish accent mixed in with his Norman speech pattern. “What have you heard about Black Sword’s future plans?”

Devlin looked at the man with feigned reluctance, as if he had already said too much. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I’m just a farmer and that is all I want to be. I don’t like war and I don’t like the Irish who wreak havoc for havoc’s sake. I don’t like the English who rape our women and steal our lands. I just want to be left alone.”

De Noble silently waved Connaught off. “You know,” he said casually, “you speak very well for a farmer.”

Devlin looked at the man. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you speak like an educated man.”

Devlin just stared at him. Then, he smiled weakly and averted his gaze. “Me mother could read,” he said. “She taught me what I know. I can read and I can write a little.”

De Noble nodded faintly, although he was staring at Devlin with more than an intense stare; there was something glittering in the depths of the man’s dark eyes, something knowing. Devlin didn’t want to stare at him too much to try and figure it out; all he knew was that it made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like the way the man looked at him. It was more than scrutiny; it was calculating. De Noble was being very calculating.

“So you do not like the Irish yet you do not particularly like the English,” de Noble ventured after a moment. “In truth, I do not blame you. For a peaceful and simple man, these are difficult times.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“When were you last at Black Castle?”

Devlin pretended to think. “Over a week ago, I think,” he said. “It was the last of my winter produce and my spring crops are just little seedlings now.”

“I see,” de Noble said thoughtfully. “And when you were last there, what was it like? Were there still O’Connor troops there?”

Devlin’s brow furrowed in thought. “If they were, they must have been hiding, for I don’t remember seeing a lot of men,” he replied. Then he reached for his drink and knocked it completely off of the table, spilling it. He grinned apologetically. “I fear I’ve had too much to drink, m’lord.”

De Ferrer picked the cup off the floor and handed it to de Noble, who picked up the ale pitcher and refilled it. “Nonsense,” he said. “For aiding the Lady Emllyn, you deserve a rest and good food and good drink. You will be our guest for the night.”

Devlin nodded gratefully. “Thank you, m’lord,” he said. After a moment’s hesitation, he continued. “I would like to know how the lady is faring, if I can.”

De Noble was looking at him with his razor-sharp stare. “She is no longer your concern, John,” he said steadily. “We will take care of her now.”

Devlin could feel his heart begin to race, just a little. “But… but I told you I would not leave her with people I did not know or trust,” he said, suddenly sounding not quite so drunk. “You promised the lady that I could stay.”

De Noble shook his head. “My daughter promised that you could remain,” he clarified. “I said nothing of the kind. A lady of that high ranking wants nothing to do with a dirt farmer. Surely you know that.”

Devlin didn’t react for a moment because he could feel rage building in his chest and he knew that it would do him no good. Therefore, he could do one of two things– he could protest vigorously, which would only get him thrown out, or he could try another avenue, one of sympathy and pain. Swallowing his pride and his natural urge to battle the English, he lowered his gaze and stared at his lap.

“I do,” he muttered. “’Tis just… well, I have protected her since I found her. I hid her from a patrol of Black Sword’s men after Kildare’s armada was destroyed and I’ve kept watchful eye on her. You see, I lost… I lost me own wife and daughter not too long ago and the lady reminds me a good deal of me wife. If… if I could just see the lady for tonight, to see how she is feeling, I would be grateful. I know the English are more generous than me own people, so I would hope for your permission.”

He kept his gaze lowered, hoping his lie would garner some sympathy. If it didn’t, he wasn’t quite sure what more he was going to do except lay siege single-handedly to the keep, which would not produce good results.

As Devlin hoped, de Noble relented somewhat. It wasn’t an unreasonable request so he truly had no reason to deny it. The older knight took a drink from his cup, his gaze shifting from Devlin and taking on a far-away look. He was reflecting on something.

“I know what it means to lose a wife,” he said finally. “My wife died a few years ago but I think I lost her even longer before that. She did not like Ireland. She wanted to remain in England, so I permitted it.”

Devlin could see that he’d hit a nerve with his talk of a dead wife. He took advantage of it. “Me wife was a good woman,” he said. “We had grown up together so we had been together a very long time. But she got sick, as did my child, and I lost them both.”

De Noble wallowed in his own reflection a moment longer before looking at Devlin. His expression went from wistful to controlled in a split second; he didn’t like to think about his dead wife and he certainly didn’t want to discuss her with this peasant. He was an intensely private man.

“Then I am sorry for you,” he said. “I will permit you to know how the lady is faring, then. But after you stay here tonight, you will return home. There is no longer any need for your presence.”

That wasn’t a directive that Devlin wanted to hear. He decided to swallow his pride completely and open himself up, hoping they’d let him stay. He didn’t want to leave Emllyn and the very thought was causing him tremendous grief.

“But… I can be of help to you here,” he said eagerly. “I am strong; I can shoe horses or help in the kitchens. I can butcher animals or tend the horses. As I told you, my crops are seedlings and I have no more income for a while. With the Irish raiding my fields, I have almost nothing left. I would be a good worker, m’lord, I swear it.”

De Noble’s gaze lingered on him a moment before he turned his attention to de Ferrer and Connaught. He smiled faintly as he toyed with his cup.

“He is a big one,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind using him as a body guard. I would imagine he’d be fairly formidable in a fight.”

De Ferrer and Connaught looked at Devlin from across the table, each man studying him. Devlin could feel their stares, the hostility, perhaps the jealousy or curiosity. It was difficult to get a read. He was trying to look hopeful and not look intimidating, which was a difficult stretch. He hated being at the mercy of the damnable English, begging them for a job. It was to gain information, that was true, but more than that, he realized he didn’t want to be separated from Emllyn, not even for an hour. Already, it was killing him and it hadn’t even been that long. All he wanted to do was go back and sit by her bed just to be near her. It was a stunning realization but a powerful one nonetheless.

He simply didn’t want to be without her.

“Can you fight?” de Ferrer asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Devlin pushed aside images of Emllyn and focused on the older knight. “I can use me fists and feet,” he said. “I’ve been known to brawl.”

“Have you ever fought for the rebellion?” Connaught fired at him. “Have you ever joined your kinsmen in taking up arms against the English?”

Devlin looked at the man, studying him a moment. There was something brash and fiery about him. “I have never fought for the rebellion,” he said. It was the truth; he had led the rebellion. “And who are you to ask me? I detect Irish in you, lad. So you take up arms for the English and fight against your countrymen?”

Those were hostile words as far as Connaught was concerned. He bolted to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword in threat. “You will not question my loyalty, you lowly whoreskin,” he snarled. “I am an English knight and you are shite beneath my feet.”

“Sit down, Chris,” de Noble held out a hand to him, easing the young man back into his seat. “He didn’t mean it as an accusation. It was merely a question.”

Connaught wasn’t happy in the least. He hissed his displeasure and plopped down in his seat, unwilling to participate in the conversation any longer. De Noble’s attention dwelt on the man for a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to rise up and charge their guest before returning his focus to Devlin. His expression seemed to harden.

“Connaught is a legacy knight for de Cleveley,” he said. “He was born in Ireland and his heritage is Irish, but his family is sworn to de Cleveley. His father and father before him served as ambassadors for de Cleveley here in Ireland.”

The worst kind of Irishman as far as Devlin was concerned. Traitors to their own country. Devlin couldn’t help the look of contempt he gave Connaught, who fortunately wasn’t looking at him. If he had, there might have been punches thrown at the very least. Devlin eventually returned his focus to de Noble.

“You have many Irish here that serve you,” he said. “Allow me to serve you as well. You have been helpful and kind in assisting the injured lady and I owe you me gratitude. At least let me repay you your kindness.”

De Noble sat there a moment and gazed at him. It was clear he was contemplating something. With a long sigh, he moved to pour himself more wine. He also poured more in Devlin’s cup even though Devlin hadn’t touched it since the last time he’d filled it. Now, they were getting down to business.

“If you want to show your gratitude, then I have a proposition for you,” de Noble said. “You claim you have been to Black Castle and, presumably, the people at Black Castle know you as a farmer. You can move easily in and out of Black Castle and no one would question or suspect you. John, we have been at war against Black Sword for quite some time. He is a great battle commander and men naturally follow him. However, it has been our suspicion for some time that Devlin de Bermingham is gathering the clanns to launch a massive attack against Glenteige. When you told us that you had seen O’Connor troops there, that only confirmed our suspicions. My proposition to you is this– if you return to Black Castle and gather information about what Black Sword is planning against us, I will let you return to see your lady friend. I will even let you spend time with her. But you would be far more help to us inside of Black Castle, seeing what Black Sword is up to, than you would be here shoeing horses or butchering pigs. Will you do this for us, John? Will you do this for your lady friend who will undoubtedly be in danger should Black Sword lay siege to our settlement? There is information I must know and I think you are the perfect man to get it.”

Devlin was stunned by the proposal. His first reaction was to laugh at the suggestion but he wisely kept his reaction suppressed; of all of the tasks or questions or proposals, he had been asked to spy on himself!

It was nearly too much for him to bear but in the same breath, he realized that he could beautifully manipulate the situation if he had de Noble’s trust. But he would very carefully have to temper what information he gave the man because if they discovered who he was and of his treachery, then they would logically suspect that Emllyn was a part of it. It would reflect horribly on her.

Nay; that couldn’t happen. In order to keep Emllyn safe, Devlin would have to be extraordinarily careful. He could hardly believe how twisted and complex the situation had become. He had set out to make Emllyn as spy on his behalf and now, he was to become a spy for the English.

The tides had turned on him and it would take a calm and intelligent man not to be caught in a trap of his own making. This was a chance of a lifetime and he truthfully had no other recourse than to take it. He was in deep and it would only get deeper.

“Aye,” he said after a moment, with a hint of reluctance. “I will do it. To keep the lady safe, I would do anything.”

De Noble’s expression was as close to triumphant as the emotionless man could get. “Excellent,” he said. “Then let us eat and drink to celebrate our new association. I will send a servant up to see how the lady fares but on the morrow, you will set out for Black Castle.”

Devlin didn’t feel much like talking after that and he pushed the alcohol away so he wouldn’t drink anymore. He tended to get moody when he’d had too much to drink and he didn’t want to do or say anything that might jeopardize everything. The English knights, however, were quite willing to drink to excess and eat. Devlin simply sat in silence and watched them.

A servant was sent to see to Emllyn’s welfare and returned some time later to say that the lady was asleep and that Lady Elyse was watching over her. It was the only bit of news Devlin received and it did not make him happy. As the evening wore on, he became increasingly unhappy and morose as the feasting English continued into the night.

By midnight, he had shifted to a seat by the massive hearth, surrounded by farting and snoring English dogs, wondering what in the hell he had gotten himself in to.

*

When Emllyn opened her eyes, it was dark in the chamber except for the glow of the firelight.

She lay there a moment, studying her surroundings without moving her head, unable to see much in the dark reaches of the room. It took her several moments to orient herself and remember where she was, and then it all came back to her. De Cleveley’s holding , Devlin had told her. They had gained entrance according to plan. She didn’t know if she felt better or worse to know that.

They were in.

But what wasn’t according to plan was her wound. That had nearly destroyed everything. Shifting slightly, she had barely moved when there was a face in her field of vision. She recognized the gentle and lovely features as the Lady Elyse.

“My lady?” Elyse said, a warm smile on her face. “How are you feeling?”

Emllyn wasn’t entirely sure; she blinked as she pondered the question. Her thinking and reasoning seemed to be clearer, at any rate.

“My head aches a great deal,” she said, her voice hoarse and scratchy. She moved her body a little, including her leg. “My leg hurts also, which is of no great surprise.”

Elyse smiled sympathetically. “I know,” she said, putting a gentle hand on her forehead to feel for fever. “Your fever seems to have eased.”

“Is it still there?”

“Still, but it seems much less.”

Emllyn was grateful for the improvement. She began to look around the room, noting that other than Elyse and a serving woman who was over near the hearth, they were alone. Devlin wasn’t in the room. Seized with anxiety, Emllyn tried to sit up.

“Where is D… John?” she stumbled as she tried to climb off the bed. “Where did he go?”

Elyse rushed to her side, putting her hands on the woman to try and keep her in bed. “He is supping with my father,” she assured her quickly. “He is well, my lady. Do not fear.”

Emllyn wasn’t eased in the least. Her eyes welled with fat tears. “Bring him here,” she begged tightly. “Please bring him here.”

Elyse was trying her best to soothe her. “My lady, I swear he is unharmed,” she said. “As soon as he finished eating, he will return.”

Emllyn struggled with her fear, wiping away the tears that fell. Elyse was so soothing and kind that she couldn’t help but be eased. Still, she was very worried.

“I am afraid the knights will try to harm him because he is Irish,” she said. “He… he saved my life. I owe him much. I do not want him out of my sight.”

Elyse nodded soothingly, gently forcing her back on the bed. “I will go myself and bring him here,” she said. “He seems to be very attached to you as well. I suspect we could not keep him from you if we tried.”

Emllyn’s anxiety eased as a concern of another sort took hold at Elyse’s statement. He is very attached to you. There was something about the way she said it, as if Devlin’s attention was more than just simple camaraderie. She said it as if it was meant to be something sweet, and the statement unnerved her. It also excited her.

“Why would you say that?” she asked.

Since her patient was now awake and fairly mobile, Elyse began to remove Emllyn from the heavy cloak she was wearing. It was filthy and torn.

“Because he is very protective of you,” she said, gently pulling at the cloak and removing Emllyn’s arms from it. “It is apparent that he feels responsible for you.”

Emllyn fell silent, pondering the woman’s observations, as Elyse proceeded to remove her from the cloak and surcoat. When she was down to the shift, she called for a bath and in little time, a small army of servants brought forth a big copper tub, lined with linen, and began filling it with warm water.

Meanwhile, Elyse had gone to her wardrobe, overflowing with goods, and brought forth a beautiful silk robe that she put around Emllyn’s shoulders as the servants filled the tub. She also brought forth things for the bath; soaps, scrapers, oils, and a giant sponge.

Emllyn watched the activity and felt tears sting her eyes again; God, it would be so good to be clean and warm again. She felt as if she hadn’t been clean or warm, in pleasant company or in a well-furnished room, for years. The past few days of her life had made such an imprint on her that it was difficult to think past them. She was to be treated with kindness and civility again, and not surrounded by people that hated her. The tears were those of joy.

When the tub was nearly full, Elyse put her hand in it and tested the water. Satisfied, she poured a measure of oil in the water that made the room smell like roses. Then she went to Emllyn where she sat upon the bed.

“I realize that you have an injury and that you still are with fever, and mayhap it is very foolish to put you in water under those conditions, but mayhap a bath will make you feel better,” she said. “Let’s try, shall we?”

Emllyn nodded as she went to stand gingerly on her sore leg. Elyse grabbed hold of her and steadied her as she walked to the bath.

“Thank you, my lady,” Emllyn said. “Your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”

Elyse simply smiled as she helped remove Emllyn from her shift, exposing her naked body to the glow of the firelight. Elyse tried not to stare but she had to admit that Lady Emllyn had a delicious figure, ripe and round in all of the right places. Elyse was rather slender, everywhere. She wished for such full breasts as Emllyn had. As Emllyn carefully lowered herself into the bath, Elyse helped her keep her leg out of the water by propping it up on the edge of the tub.

“I am sorry the water is not terribly hot,” Elyse said. “I did not want to aggravate your fever. But we shall get you warm and clean, my lady, have no fear. Water will wash away all of the sins of the world, I say.”

Emllyn closed her eyes as Elyse and a servant went to work, pouring water over her head and setting about scrubbing and oiling every inch of her body. The water smelled like an entire field of roses and Emllyn settled back, letting Elyse take charge. Already, she was feeling better.

“May I beg you to tell me a little about yourself, my lady?” Elyse asked as she worked. “Living here at Glenteige with only my father and a few others for company, I very much miss the companionship of ladies such as yourself. It is a rather lonely life here at times.”

Emllyn had been laying against the back of the tub, eyes closed but she opened her eyes and looked at Elyse when the woman spoke.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I am afraid I am not very exciting. I went to foster at Kenilworth Castle when I was very young. In fact, Kenilworth feels more like my home than my brother’s castle ever did. I had many friends there. I was sad to leave when I had to return home.”

Elyse was busy scrubbing the toes of her left foot. “Tell me of your friends at Kenilworth,” she said. “Were they handsome and dashing knights or fine and fair ladies?”

Emllyn smiled at the memories the question was provoking. “Both,” she said. “I had friends that were male, of course. Two that come to mind are Kenneth St. Héver and Stephen of Pembury. They would try to play jokes on me but I was smarter than they were; I would turn the tables on them. Oh, they were good times.”

Elyse smiled because Emllyn was. “Young knights?”

Emllyn nodded. “Very young,” she said. “We were about the same age and they always thought they could tease me. Well, at least Stephen did. He was a terrible jokester. Somehow Kenneth always got into trouble, too, because the two of them were inseparable. I can still see the earl berating the pair for having played a joke on me which I turned around on them. It was great fun.”

Elyse was still smiling as she rinsed off the left foot and moved onto the right. “I have fond memories of fostering, too,” she said. “I fostered at Winchester Castle.”

Emllyn watched the woman wash her foot. “When did you come to Ireland?”

Elyse’s smile seemed to fade. “Two years ago,” she said. “It was after my mother died and my father did not wish me to stay in England alone, so he sent for me. I have no other family, you see. Just my father. I had a brother but he was killed by Black Sword in the wars a few years ago.”

Killed by Black Sword. Emllyn’s smile faded and her nerves began to make a return, for Devlin’s sake. To be truthful, she’d only heard two sides of Black Sword’s legend– her brother’s version and Devlin’s version. She was curious about Elyse’s version but she was also curious to know if the woman had any insight into her father’s activities against Devlin. Devlin wanted to know if de Cleveley intended to launch an attack against him; perhaps this was a place to start. Women often heard things they weren’t supposed to.

“I am sorry for your brother,” she said softly. “Black Sword destroyed my brother’s entire fleet. It seems to me that he is very powerful.”

Elyse shrugged as she finished with her right foot and put it back into the water. “He is very much hated,” she said. “Everyone in the settlement both hates the man and fears him. I do believe some of the knights even admire him. They say he is very clever.”

Emllyn simply nodded her head to the statement as she deliberated what direction to take the conversation in. She’d never been particularly manipulative so this was new territory for her. Worse, she was actually coming to like Elyse. The woman was very kind and seemingly genuine. She didn’t want to use that kindness in a self-serving way but she had little choice. She was here on a mission and would do what she had to in order to achieve her goal.

“He must be if he defeated my brother’s armada as thoroughly as he did,” she said. “Has no one even tried to meet with the man and see what his demands are? I realize I am not a warrior, and I’m not even particularly clever, but it seems to me if there is a problem that men should discuss it. What good is it to go around killing each other if no one really knows what it’s all about?”

“They know what it is all about,” Elyse corrected her. “It is about the Irish wanting to rule their own lands when everyone knows they are too stupid to do so. Except for Black Sword; I have heard my father say he has the makings of a great ruler.”

“Why?”

“I do not know. I believe it has something to do with the way he plans his battles.” She paused and appeared thoughtful. “He is the bastard son of the Earl of Louth, you know. He served with his father in the Irish Bruce Wars a few years ago and it was said he was instrumental in a very big victory. His father’s family has been in Ireland for centuries and even though they are descended from Normans, they are still considered Irish. And Black Sword’s mother is the daughter of kings, so I suppose that makes him royalty.”

Emllyn tried not to show much interest in what she was saying, although it was more than she’d ever heard about Devlin. “How would you know all of this?”

Elyse grinned. “My father told me,” she said. “He says that Black Sword has all of the cunning and savagery of the Irish gods. He says that Black Sword always has great plans.”

Emllyn shrugged as she began splashing water on her face. “Then mayhap your father should meet with the man and discuss a plan that will not see so many men die.”

Elyse grinned at the frank assessment of a complex situation. “My father has met him, once,” she said. “It was a long time ago but he said even then, in his youth, there was something about Black Sword that spoke of greatness.”

Emllyn’s blood ran cold. My father has met him . God’s Blood, was it possible the man had recognized him? Was that why he invited Devlin to sup with him? Emllyn began to feel very, very nervous.

As Elyse washed her hair with soap and rinsed it with flat ale, all Emllyn could think of was Devlin sitting in the midst of English knights, men who would gladly run him through if they knew who he was. She was wrought with worry over Devlin’s current status, so much so that she had ceased to enjoy her bath and now saw it as an obstacle that stood in the way of having Devlin returned to her room. She had to tell Devlin that de Noble had seen him once and quite possibly might recognize him. It was a terrifying thought.

When the bath was over, Elyse and the serving woman helped Emllyn from the tub and dried her off with a soft linen towel. Standing in front of the fire where it was nice and warm, the servant rubbed rose-scented oil all over her skin as Elyse began to comb through her hair to dry it. When the oil was absorbed into her skin, the servant put the beautiful silk robe back on her and Elyse had her sit down in front of the fire so that the heat could better dry her hair.

As the red-gold hair dried into fine, soft curls, Emllyn could wait no longer. She had to see Devlin. When the serving woman brought her mulled wine to drink, she turned to catch a glimpse of Elyse as the woman worked steadily over her hair.

“Will you please return John now?” she asked. “I would like to see him.”

Elyse nodded, immediately switching places with the serving woman and removing the apron she had donned to help Emllyn bathe. She was quick and efficient in her movements, exuding the image of the perfect chatelaine.

“I will go and find him,” she said. Then, her gaze lingered on Emllyn hesitantly. “Of course, it is not my place to say so, but it is my sense that it would not be entirely… proper for the man to stay here with you. In fact, I will be sleeping in this chamber and although I know John makes you feel safe, to have him sleeping here is rather… discomforting to me. Moreover, my father would never allow it.”

Emllyn thought on that a moment. “I have no desire to make you uncomfortable, of course,” she said. “But… you were right when you said I feel very comfortable with John. I am sorry if that seems strange, being as I hardly know the man and he is not my husband, but I would prefer to stay with him. He makes me feel very safe. If you must move us out of your chamber in order to accomplish that, I would be very grateful.”

Elyse appeared rather distressed. “But,” she said hesitantly, “my lady… he is….”

“He is the man who saved my life and took great care of me until now,” Emllyn said, interrupting her hostess. She wasn’t trying to be rude but she truly didn’t want Devlin out of her sight, fearful of what would happen if they were separated. “I find myself in a strange castle with people I do not know and even though you have been sweet and gracious, I am not trying to be cruel when I say that I would feel much more comfortable with a man I have established some trust with rather than a lady I have only known a few hours. Please do not think me unkind; it is simply the way I feel at this moment.”

Elyse sighed and forced a smile; she would not argue with her guest. “If that is your wish, then of course I shall comply,” she said. “There is a small chamber on this floor where I can put you. It is rather cramped, but I will make it comfortable for you.”

Emllyn nearly collapsed with relief. “Thank you, my lady,” she said sincerely. “And I will put your mind at ease that nothing inappropriate or unseemly shall occur. I look at John as my watchdog, and so should you. He gives me comfort and that is all.”

Elyse merely smiled without answering and Emllyn suspected it was because she didn’t believe her but was too polite to say so. Putting her apron down, she scooted out of the chamber and shut the door softly behind her. Emllyn had a feeling that she had offended the woman with her requests but it couldn’t be helped; her concern was for Devlin.

While Elyse went in search of Devlin, the serving woman helped Emllyn change into a lovely soft shift and heavy sleeping robe that was lined in rabbit fur and had long, belled sleeves. It was a gorgeous piece of blue brocaded silk. The serving wench also put warm doeskin slippers on Emllyn’s feet that were a bit too small but nonetheless comfortable. Then, she braided her nearly dry hair into a thick braid and wrapped it around her head in an attractive style, securing it firmly with iron pins.

Feeling warm, clean, and tended, Emllyn sat down on the bed with her leg elevated and indulged in more mulled wine, cheese, bread, and dried apricots. She was full of food and good wine when the door opened but instead of Elyse returning, it was Merradoc.

The old physic barged into the room with his satchel clutched under his arm, immediately waving a careless hand at the serving girl.

“Wine!” he snapped. “Enough for two. Bring it now, you silly wench, before I grow moss on my north side from having been kept waiting too long.”

The serving girl fled and Emllyn sat up straight on the bed as the man approached. Merradoc went right up to her and put a fat hand on her forehead, paused, then felt the pulse of her wrist. After a moment of feeling the strength of her heart, he peeled back her right eyelid and looked into her eye. Satisfied, he set his bag down on the bed next to her and began rummaging around. The first thing he pulled out was a long, black strip that looked like leather. Then he pulled out a second one. He handed her one of the strips.

“Chew it!” he barked.

Emllyn immediately put it in her mouth, fearful of what would happen if she didn’t. Merradoc began chewing on the second strip and within the first few chews, Emllyn made a horrible face.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Licorice root,” the old physic told her. “Children and imbeciles like it.”

Emllyn didn’t like it at all but she continued chewing it. “It’s terrible,” she said. “What is it good for?”

“Nothing,” Merradoc said. “I just thought I’d give it to you. Now, tell me how you feel and no lies. I will know.”

Emllyn took the licorice root out of her mouth because it was truly foul. She made a face and stuck out her black tongue.

“I felt better until you gave me that odious root,” she said, licking her lips of the disgusting taste. “But I suppose I do feel much better. My leg aches but I am sure that is a normal occurrence.”

With the root sticking out of his mouth, Merradoc lifted up the edge of her robe and began unwrapping the wound. Emllyn watched apprehensively as he unwrapped it completely and then eyed the wound intently. She strained to catch a glimpse of the cut, now sutured up with fine white silk thread. It was still red, but the swelling had gone down considerably. The physic eyed it for a few more moments before returning his attention to his satchel and digging around again.

Emllyn watched him curiously as he rummaged about. The serving girl returned with a crystal decanter of wine and two fine cups, and she set it upon the table next to the bed. Merradoc downed two cups in swift succession before removing a bladder from his satchel, popping open the plugged top, and pouring the dark contents into an empty glass. He filled it about half full before sealing up the bladder and lifting the cup to Emllyn.

“You will drink this,” he said.

Emllyn wasn’t so apt to take it after he’d tricked her with the licorice root. “What is it?”

“Rotten tea,” the physic replied. “You must drink it three times a day for the next five days. It will cure the poison in your leg and heal you completely.”

Dubious, Emllyn peered at the dark liquid but when she went to smell it, the stench nearly knocked her over.

“God’s Blood,” she hissed, pinching her nose. “What is this terrible stuff?”

Merradoc had no time for her foolishness. “I told you, silly goat,” he said brusquely. “Rotten tea. It will cure you. Do you want to live?”

“Of course, I do, but….”

“ Drink it!”

He nearly roared at her and, fearful, Emllyn instinctively downed the tea in one big gulp. It was horrible and she nearly vomited it up back up again but the physic handed her a glass of the fine wine, ordering her to drink it immediately, and she did. It killed most of the terrible taste, but not completely. She burped and the taste came up again. She almost gagged.

“Oh, my,” she breathed, hand at her throat and an awful expression on her face. “What is that made from?”

Merradoc shrugged as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “Bread is rotted until it grows green fuzz, and then the bread is put into water and kept warm for days on end. It creates a liquid that cures almost anything.”

Emllyn exposed her tongue as if the air would dry away the awful taste. “If that potion does not kill me, I will surely be surprised.”

Merradoc set the bladder with the rotten tea in it on the table next to the bed. “I would not worry over the taste,” he said. “If we do not cure the poison in your leg, you could lose it. Is that what you want? To be a one-legged maiden? No man will want you then because you will be both freakish and revolting.”

Emllyn looked at the man, horrified and disgusted. “By God, man, you surely speak your mind in crude and ghastly ways,” she said. “Have you never been told this?”

Merradoc fought off a grin. “All of the time,” he said. “But they need me around here so I can say what I please. If you do not like it, then do not drink my potion and I shall have to cut your leg off. I shall make it extra painful, too, to teach you a lesson.”

Emllyn could see he was trying to get a rise out of her and she refused to give it to him. He was, in truth, rather humorous; or at least he would have been had he not been saying those hateful things to her. To another, it would have been great fun.

“I will not give you the satisfaction,” she declared. “I will heal and you’ll not take a knife to me, you bloodsucker. Leave this room before I slap your face.”

Merradoc let out a crow of laughter. “My lady, I retreat in terror,” he said, throwing up his hands. Then he poured himself another cup of wine and downed it in one swallow before collecting his satchel. “Mayhap you will overcome your violent tendencies by the time I return later tonight to see how you are faring. It will be another opportunity for me to shove more of that terrible brew down your throat.”

She scowled at him. “And I’ll not give you the satisfaction for that, either,” she said. “I will drink the potion before you come so you shall not see me suffer. You shall get no more gratification out of me, wicked man.”

Merradoc laughed all of the way to the door. He put his hand on the latch. “I do hope you survive this, my lady,” he said. “I rather like you.”

“Well, I don’t like you !”

He howled with laughter as he quit the room. Emllyn could hear him laughing as he descended the stairs and it made her grin. She had to admit that she was looking forward to his return, if only for the entertainment it brought. Now that she understood him a little, it would make conversations with him much more interesting.

Once the laughter was gone, she sat upon the bed and finished off what was left of the wine. The serving wench remained crouched by the hearth, keeping the fire stoked and boiling water in a small iron pot over the fire. She was also doing something else, which actually looked like baking, but Emllyn couldn’t tell. In truth, she wasn’t much interested because it occurred to her that Elyse had not yet arrived with Devlin. His retrieval was taking some time.

As the night deepened and still no Devlin, Emllyn began to seriously worry. She had no idea what would be keeping both Elyse and Devlin unless something terrible had happened. Not knowing the layout of the castle or even the town, it wasn’t as if she could go out looking for them. She would have no idea where to look. Furthermore, she suspected she wouldn’t get very far on her bad leg. Therefore, there was nothing left to do but wait.

… and wait….