Page 15 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

F rederick had put up a fight, one that had almost cost Shain his life. He had awoken from his drunken stupor as Shain and two other men had carried him out of Black Castle on that dark and rainy night and just about the time they reached the suspension footbridge that linked the keep with the rest of the fortress, Frederick had come alive.

The two men carrying him had caught the brunt of his panic and fury. He managed to stab one man with his dirk and the second man had been tossed over the bridge, forty feet down into the rocks and roiling sea below. Shain, who was already across the bridge at that point, unsheathed his broadsword and raced back onto the bridge to engage Frederick in a fight for his life. Frederick was without his broadsword but he had his dirk, a long and wicked looking thing, and he had charged Shain with it, who had easily knocked it out of his hand.

But Frederick wasn’t finished. He kicked at Shain, driving the man off of the bridge so that he could come off of it, too. Once on solid land, he reached down and grabbed a great handful of dirt and rocks and threw them right at Shain’s face. Shain had been hit in the nose by a fairly large rock and had been momentarily stunned from the blow. It had been enough of a pause for Frederick to gain the upper hand; the man then slugged Shain in the face, sending him to the ground. Then he stole Shain’s sword and gored him in the shoulder. It would have been the chest but Shain had turned just in time and took the blade in his upper arm. With Shain’s sword, Frederick had fled.

Devlin had come barreling out of the keep in time to see Frederick steal a horse and ride from the gates, just as Shain was struggling to pick himself up off the ground. As he helped Shain, the sentries shouted to him and told him what had happened. Devlin didn’t order anyone to follow Frederick; it was too dark and the weather was too threatening. Frederick would be lucky if he survived such conditions, so Devlin wasn’t going to be foolish enough to send anyone after him. He was more concerned with the one remaining commander he had left.

He let Frederick go.

Now, on the morning following Iver’s death and Shain’s injury, Devlin sat in the hall of the keep, his feet propped up on the table as he pondered the smoking, glowing hearth of the now-quiet chamber. Shain had been put on a pallet next to the fire and had been sleeping heavily since Enda had given him a sleep potion the night before. Both Enda and Nessa had tended Shain in the absence of Eefha, who normally did most of the tending of the ill, and the pair had done an excellent job. Shain’s injury wasn’t serious but he had lost a fair amount of blood. He was weak. Devlin had stayed with the man the entire time, and sat with him even now. Exhausted and on edge, he hadn’t slept at all.

Neart sat over on another chair, pulling apart a small rodent he had captured. The bird had been kept inside during the siege by the O’Byrnes, mostly because everyone knew about Black Sword’s falcon and there would be many archers poised to take the bird down. Devlin, exhausted and pensive, eyed the animal affectionately. The bird was the one thing in his world that had always remained constant, so much so that it was like a family member. Its mere presence gave him comfort in a world that had little.

“Have you slept, Dev?”

Devlin turned away from the falcon pulling at the flesh of the rat to see Shain looking up at him. The man was pale but he was smiling. Devlin gave him a half-grin.

“I do not need to sleep,” he told him, eyeing him with concern. “How are you feeling?”

Shain took a deep breath, wincing when his shoulder hurt. “Well, considering,” he said. “I have been worse off many times. This is nothing but a scratch.”

Devlin pulled his legs from the table and sat forward so he could see Shain better. “I agree,” he said. “But it is best if you rest for today.”

Shain nodded faintly. “I suppose,” he said, his smile fading. “I am sorry about Freddy, Dev. I should have been more vigilant. I have no excuse.”

Devlin waved him off. “It is not your fault,” he said. “Freddy was out to kill us all, I think. He poisoned my wine. Iver drank it before I did and it killed him.”

Shain’s eyes widened. “Iver is dead?”

Devlin nodded, struggling against the sadness. “It was a swift death,” he said, although it didn’t make him feel any better to say it. “Then Freddy tried to kill you.”

“I was going to kill him ,” Shain said softly.

“That is true, but there is no way Freddy could have known that,” he said. “He was unconscious when you took him out of the hall. For all he knew, you were taking him back to his bed to sleep off too much drink. The sentries who saw what happened said he attacked you.”

Shain nodded faintly, recollecting the events from the previous night. “It happened very fast,” he muttered. “I should have been prepared.”

Devlin reached down and put a hand on the man’s arm. “I am simply thankful you are alive,” he insisted quietly. “But now we have a bigger problem; Freddy has fled. If he survived the initial flight into the darkness and in the bad weather, then the question needs to be asked– where would he go? Freddy is half mad with ambition and anger, so I am sure he was not thinking too clearly when he left here. He has no close relatives; his brother Henry was killed during the destruction of Kildare’s armada, although I do believe he has an aunt on his father’s side who lives in Dublin. Would he go there, I wonder?”

Shain was silent for a moment, eyeing a big dog who wandered past him, searching for scraps.

“Think about it,” he said. “If you had tried to murder your liege, and then tried to kill another knight, and you were furious and hurt that your grab for power had failed, where would you go?”

Devlin thought about that for a moment, pondering what his reaction might have been under such circumstances. “I would want revenge, I suppose,” he said. “If it were me, I would want to gain revenge on those who humiliated me.”

“And if you wanted to destroy them, where would you go? Think, Dev; think .”

The line of reasoning was beginning to become clearer. Devlin could see what Shain was driving at.

“My enemy’s enemy is my friend,” he said softly, the light of understanding coming to his eyes. “I could go to O’Byrne and pledge loyalty, or I could go to de Cleveley and ask for amnesty in exchange for what I know about Black Sword.”

Shain turned to look at him, nodding his head. “If Freddy goes to de Cleveley, Lady Emllyn is there,” he reminded the man of what he already knew. “You told me and Iver and Freddy of your plans with de Cleveley, and you further told us that you had posed as a farmer and that de Cleveley’s commander had asked you to return to Black Castle to spy on Black Sword. You agreed to do so to get into the man’s good graces in order to find out if he was planning an attack against you. You wanted to earn his trust.”

By this time, Devlin was on his feet, seized with the idea that Frederick might be heading to Glenteige Castle to betray both him and Emllyn. It was as good a possibility as any.

“He will tell de Noble that I am Black Sword and that Emllyn was in on the deception all along,” he said, feeling his heart race and his palms sweat with panic. “Sweet Jesus, if he does that, de Noble… de Noble could very well put Emllyn in the vault or, worse yet, execute her for treachery.”

“Frederick could have the last word in all of this,” Shain said softly. “He could ruin everything you’ve worked for.”

Devlin stared at him and Shain could see the emotion in the man’s face. It brought back the memory from their trip south, when Devlin had been so protective over Lady Emllyn and had shown her such consideration. Shain had asked him then if there was something between them but Devlin had skirted the subject. But now, looking at Devlin’s face, he could see that there was indeed something between them. Devlin must have sensed his thoughts because he lowered his gaze.

“Shain,” he said hesitantly, “I must tell you something, something I’ve not told anyone.”

“What is that?”

Devlin drew in a deep breath. “The night that Freddy brought Emllyn to me, I abused her,” he said quietly. “I abused her badly. I told her I wanted to fill her full of Irish sons to rebel against the English. But she was strong, Shain; she was so very strong against me. She was wise and she was reasonable. I have never met a woman like her.”

“I see.”

Devlin shook his head. “That isn’t what I wanted to tell you,” he went on. “She intrigued me more than I wanted to admit. And she is so incredibly beautiful. She is also witty and intelligent. She’s the most marvelous woman I have ever met.”

“Is that so?”

Shain was remaining very neutral about the whole thing and Devlin suddenly looked at him. “I love her,” he blurted, then winced because he had spilled it out without tact. He struggled to recover. “I love her and I do not regret it. She is the most miraculous thing that has ever happened to me, Shain. She has made me feel things I never thought I would feel. She is my sun and the stars. If she wanted the moon, I would give it to her.”

Shain had guessed as much. Although he didn’t exactly approve, he couldn’t fault the man his happiness. Still, it might come at a price.

“If Freddy has headed for Glenteige, then he will be there before you,” he said. “When you return there, and I know you will, you must be prepared for the damage he has done.”

Devlin thought on that long and hard. “It will all depend on if he can convince de Noble of the fact that the farmer he knew as John is actually Black Sword,” he said. “If he is able to do that, then they will know Emllyn was in on the treachery.”

“Not necessarily,” Shain said. “Didn’t you tell me that your story to de Noble was that you were a farmer who found the lady upon the shore? It would be possible that she really didn’t know you were Black Sword and only a man who found her and saved her after she washed ashore.”

Devlin shook his head. “I am not entirely certain she will deny knowing my true identity,” he said. “She is a righteous woman and not given to lies. If confronted, she could very well confess.”

Shain pondered that. “Then if that is the case, you will need to go to Glenteige and be prepared to bargain for her release,” he said. “You have thirty-three English prisoners in the vault. Mayhap they will exchange one small lady for thirty-three English soldiers.”

It was as logical a solution as any, at least initially. But Devlin knew it wouldn’t end there. “I have a feeling they will overlook the soldiers in favor of me,” he said softly. “They will want me in exchange for Emllyn’s freedom. Black Sword, after all, would outweigh the import of thirty-three Englishmen.”

Shain couldn’t disagree. He watched Devlin carefully, waiting to see how the man was going to react to all of this. But Devlin seemed to be oddly calm although it was evident that there was much on his mind. So much had happened, and so much was looming, that it was difficult to consider it all without emotion. Devlin was having to face a situation he’d never before faced; the peril of someone he loved.

“Mayhap I should go and see the English prisoners,” he finally said, rising wearily from his chair. “Mayhap they can give me insight as to how de Noble will deal with Emllyn if Freddy manages to destroy all I have worked for.”

He turned for the door but Shain stopped him. “Dev?” he called softly.

Devlin paused and turned. “Aye?”

“What will you do?” Shain asked. “If they want you in exchange for the lady, what will you do?”

Devlin sighed heavily and averted his gaze. “I will not let her suffer,” he muttered. “I could not live knowing she was imprisoned, or worse.”

Shain felt genuine apprehension at Devlin’s apparent intentions. “Don’t do it,” he begged quietly. “There can be another way, but if they get their hands on you… everything will be lost. We have told you that before, Devlin. You are the heart of this rebellion and if you are removed, then everything dies. Ireland dies.”

Devlin lifted his head and looked at him. “Ireland will not die,” he said. “There will be others to take my place. As for me… mayhap I have done all I can do. Mayhap it is time for this rebellion, and for me, to evolve.”

He left the hall after that, lumbering out into the early morning. He was a man of deep feeling, of deep intelligence, and now of deep pain. So much had changed. It would probably never be the same again.

Shain lay there with tears in his eyes.

*

The vault smelled worse than Devlin had remembered. As he headed down the dark, narrow stairs that led to the pit of despair, the pure stench from the urine nearly burned holes through his eyes. They were watering profusely by the time he hit the bottom and he nearly tripped because he was rubbing at them.

There were no longer any guards at this level because of the stench. A single torch burned, barely illuminating the darkness, but it was enough light for Devlin to see many weary and distraught faces. They were all gazing back at him as he stepped from the stairs and headed towards the iron cages. The first face he came to was Sir Victor’s.

The man had a growth of beard and the hazel eyes were dull with defeat and disillusionment. Devlin looked around at the others, seeing Trevor buried back in the group. The young knight looked haggard. Dirty, feces-covered straw covered the cells but men were sitting on it, anyway. They had no choice. It was a horrific sight and the longer Devlin gazed at it, the more disgusted he became. Turning around, he hunted for the key that was always kept on a peg upon the wall. They often kept it there to completely discourage the prisoners, who had no way of retrieving the key that would see them to freedom. Collecting the old iron key, he turned to Sir Victor on the other side of the iron grate.

“This is no way for men to live,” he said quietly. “I will release your men and they will follow me to the next destination without resistance. They will obey me implicitly, for the first man that tries to run or refuses my orders will be killed on the spot. Is that clear?”

Sir Victor drew in a long, deep breath and looked around to the men, all of whom were slowly dying. He was willing to agree to anything at that point and the prospect of being released, by Black Sword no less, was almost more than he could bear. Up until a few moments ago, he surely thought they were all going to die here, alone and forgotten. Hearing Black Sword’s proposal was a distinct shock. After a moment, he nodded.

“Aye,” he said, his voice hoarse and raspy. “I understand. No one will run or disobey.”

Devlin nodded shortly. “Then I will trust you.”

With that, he unlocked the first cell, Sir Victor’s cell, and swung open the door. Then he unlocked the second door and forced that one open as well. Men began to move slowly, groaning, as some held on to others for support. As the men were rousing, Devlin went to the stairwell and whistled sharply, producing several of his men who gathered at the top of the steps. No one dared come down into that stench. Devlin called up orders and a couple of the men began to move while the others remained in order to both assist the prisoners and guard them. Slowly, very slowly, men began to come out of the cells. Devlin directed them up the stairs.

It was a slow and laborious process, moving injured and weak men up that skinny flight of stairs. It was like moving a herd of animals. Devlin remained at the bottom, directing men up and steadying a few that wobbled as they moved. But gradually, they all moved up except for three of them who were directing the others. They had remained down in that horrific vault alongside Devlin, allowing the others to go first.

Devlin realized that Sir Victor along with Sir Trevor and another man were still with him, the remaining three knights from Kildare’s stable of twenty-seven that had come over on the battle armada. Even in defeat, they were still following protocol, still thinking of their men first. Their attitude impressed Devlin. He finally directed them up the stairs and followed on their rear.

Once up in the bright morning, Devlin could see that his men had held the prisoners at the mouth of the gatehouse until further orders. The entire group was sagging, dragging, and otherwise shielding themselves from the muted sunlight. To men who hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, it would take some time for their eyes to adjust. Devlin intended to take them all over to the great hall where they would be fed a decent meal and be tended to, but he soon realized that the stench from the vault had followed them into the daylight. The entire group smelled like hell. He wasn’t about to bring that kind of smell into the great hall.

So he set about cleaning them off. In the bright morning, oddly void of the clouds that were so prevalent this time of year, he had his men heat up vast iron kettles of water, and in the stable yards, they forced the English prisoners to wash themselves down. Clothes were taken from them and boiled, laid out in the sun to dry, and the English used lumpy bars of white soap to wash weeks of filth and despair from their bodies. Moods and manners soon perked up as the English scrubbed away.

But they were heavily guarded by Devlin’s men. The Irish lined the stable yard, armed with spears and swords, as the English washed themselves and each other. Razors were produced, only a pair of them so they could not be used as weapons, and the English were permitted to shave their faces. Since the sun was out, and vaguely warm at that, hair and bodies and clothes dried quickly. It was a perfect day for it.

Devlin stood and watched everything with a critical eye. He was mostly watching Sir Trevor as the man washed his tall, sinewy body and his dark hair. He was rather handsome, as Devlin was coming to discover, and he could feel the pangs of jealousy clutch at him. It was little wonder that Emllyn had fallen for the man. But as he continued to watch, he noticed that Sir Trevor and another man seemed particularly close, washing each other, laughing together, or passing what could have been interpreted as rather meaningful glances. It was rather odd. As Devlin pondered the behavior, he was approached by Sir Victor.

Shaven and clean, Sir Victor remained in his damp breeches and bare feet as he respectfully acknowledged Devlin. Massive arms folded across his chest in a somewhat intimidating stance, Devlin bobbed his head slightly.

“St. John,” he said. “I must say that you look rather different.”

Sir Victor smiled weakly. “I suppose that I do,” he acknowledged. Then, his smile faded. “I wanted to thank you, de Bermingham. What you are doing for us… you did not have to do this. I have never heard of any man treating prisoners this way and I am genuinely humbled. On behalf of my men, I thank you deeply.”

Devlin eyed the man. “I am not the beast that everyone thinks I am,” he muttered, looking out over the gang of washing men. “And your men are not animals. The vault you were in was not meant to hold so many men. It is only humane that I remove you and tend you. But know this; I have done this for a purpose. If I did not have a purpose, I could have very well left you down in that hole to rot.”

Sir Victor held an expression between curiosity and wariness. “What purpose would that be, my lord?”

Devlin looked at him, sizing him up. “I will tell you when you’ve had food in your belly, but for now, I must ask you something.”

He motioned the man over and Sir Victor went willingly. When he drew close to the big Irishman, Devlin spoke.

“That young knight,” he said, pointing over at Sir Trevor as he spilled water over his head. “That is Trevor le Mon?”

Sir Victor nodded. “He is,” he replied. “Why? Do you know of him or his family?”

Devlin shook his head. “Who is his family?”

“The le Mons of Chateroy Castle, descended from the kings of Anglecynn,” he replied. “He comes from a fairly important family. I am sure they would pay a hefty ransom for his return.”

Devlin cocked an eyebrow at him. “And you would willingly divulge this information to me?”

Sir Victor shrugged. “You will want to know it eventually, and we wish to return to our families. I see no reason to withhold truths if it will get us home faster.”

It was the logical thought process from a seasoned veteran. “I take it that you have been ransomed before, then?” Devlin asked.

Sir Victor smiled ironically. “Twice,” he said. “My family is fairly wealthy as well. Name your price and I am sure they will pay it. I have a wife and five daughters waiting for me at home.”

Devlin grunted his disapproval. “Then I must send you home if for no other reason than to give your wife a son,” he said. “No man should be publicly thrilled with five daughters.”

Sir Victor laughed softly, surprised by Black Sword’s sense of humor. Or, at least de Bermingham’s sense of humor. Somehow, the two entities were becoming separate as a result of de Bermingham’s humane treatment. There was the legend… and then there was the man.

“They are good girls,” he said. “But I must find husbands for them eventually, so do not ransom me for too much. I will need that money for dowries.”

Devlin’s lips twitched with a smile. “You will need to kidnap men in your own right to hold them for ransom so that you may pay for that brood,” he said, but le Mon caught his attention again. “Le Mon… he and that man he is with seem like good friends. Is it his brother?”

Sir Victor glanced over at the pair as le Mon ran his fingers over his companion’s wet hair. He shook his head. “Nay,” he replied, the humor gone from his tone. “That is his lover.”

Devlin tried not to look too shocked. “ Lover ?” he repeated. “He is not… that is to say, he prefers men?”

Sir Victor nodded and looked away from the affectionate pair, rolling his eyes. “Pity,” he said. “The man is a fine knight, a good commander, and comes from an excellent family. He could command a very fine wife, but he has no interest in women. In fact, my eldest daughter has made no secret of her interest in him but he repeatedly rebuffed her.”

Devlin had to make a conscious effort to hide his shock. “ Your daughter?” he said, confused and astonished. “Your daughter is interested in him?”

“Aye.”

“But… what of the Lady Emllyn?”

Sir Victor looked at him. “So you have heard of her?” he asked. Then he shook his head. “As far as I know, the Lady Emllyn showed no such interest in him. She and my daughter are great friends, you know, or at least they were until the Lady Emllyn died of a fever last winter. Cate still has not recovered. She and Emllyn were friends since birth, practically. They grew up together, fostered together. They had all of the same friends and essentially the same life experiences. It was a terrible blow to her to lose her very best friend.”

Devlin was reeling. In fact, the world was rocking unsteadily and he struggled to gain control over his equilibrium. “Cate? She is your daughter?”

Sir Victor nodded. “Her name is Catherine but we call her Cate,” he said. “She is my eldest. You’ve never seen a more beautiful woman; refined, talented, intelligent. She is a good girl with excellent common sense except when it comes to Trevor le Mon. She is mad over him and I do believe she would do anything for him.”

Devlin felt sick; literally sick. He couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that from what St. John was describing, it was his daughter who had been in love with le Mon and not Emllyn. Emllyn Fitzgerald was dead . Was it possible, then, that his beloved Emllyn wasn’t Emllyn at all? Was it possible that she was, in truth, someone else?

It didn’t make any sense. The sickness swept him and he began to sweat profusely. He remembered back to when he had told Emllyn that Sir Victor had been in the vault and how she had begged for the knight’s life. Of course she would have! He is her father! There were more questions than answers, questions that hammered away at him like a drum. She lied to me about her identity! Did she also lie when she told me she loved me? He couldn’t seem to grasp his thoughts, his mind swirling with bewilderment. He just didn’t understand any of it. God, it’s just not possible!

Body quivering, mind clouded with confusion, he looked at the man who had delivered such revelations. Truth be told, he didn’t know Sir Victor at all and it was quite possible the man was lying to him, too, mayhap to throw him off somehow. But why? What would be his purpose? One thing was certain, however; until he could get to the bottom of things, and until he could talk to Emllyn, she was still Emllyn to him and not the Lady Catherine St. John as Sir Victor had suggested.

She was still his Emllyn!

Yet, as his mind reeled about Emllyn, it also reeled about Sir Trevor. Two incredulous bits of information in as many minutes. If what Sir Victor said was true, then it made perfect sense as to why Sir Trevor had rebuffed Emllyn. The man preferred men in his bed but rather than tell Emllyn outright, as he would not have so boldly announced such a thing, he had led her to believe that he simply wasn’t interested in her. And Emllyn, determined, gave chase.

The entire situation was convoluted with lies and truths, things he couldn’t easily discern as they rolled over and over in his brain. But one thing was increasingly clear to him; he had to get to Emllyn because he had to discover the truth and then, and only then, would he be able to settle down.

With strained composure, he turned to Sir Victor. God’s Blood… he and the man had much to discuss, now more than ever.

“If you are finished grooming, then finish dressing and I will order food,” he said in an oddly strained tone. “You and I have much to confer.”

Sir Victor did as he was told. Very quickly, he had his clothes on although the armor had been taken from him because it was so badly rusted that there was no way he could wear it. In fact, there was a pile of mail and another smaller pile of plate armor at the corner of the kitchen yard. As he finished securing his tunic and approached Devlin once again, he pointed off to the pile of expensive protection.

“I believe that is salvageable, my lord,” he said to Devlin. “I hope you aren’t intending to melt it down.”

Devlin, who had managed to regain most of his composure whilst Sir Victor dressed, turned to look at the pile the man was addressing. He grunted in response.

“I am not going to melt it down,” he said, leading Sir Victor over to where several long tables from the great hall had been brought outside and were now assembled near the stable yard entry. Servants were setting out all manner of food for the Englishmen who were winding down their bath and beginning to dress in clean, stiff clothing. “I am going to return it to you and your men and you will have the unhappy task of cleaning the rust from it. You’re going to need it again, and fairly soon by my estimation.”

Sir Victor was mildly confused by the statement. “Why is that?”

Devlin took a seat at the end of the table and indicated for Sir Victor to sit on the bench next to him. He silently indicated for Victor to partake of the bread and wine that had been laid out and Victor did eagerly. As Victor ate, Devlin spoke.

“First, I will dispense with the formality of titles,” he said, his voice low. “I see no need to address you as ‘sir’ and surely you see no need to address me as anything other than de Bermingham.”

Victor, his mouth full, nodded in agreement. “As you wish.”

Devlin continued. “What I am about to tell you is the gist of the situation since Kildare’s ships crashed upon my shore,” he said, his gaze intense. “Much has occurred since you were locked up in the vault and I will swear you to secrecy on this. If you divulge this information to anyone I do not approve of, you will never see your wife and five daughters again. Are we clear?”

Victor wasn’t intimidated but he took the threat seriously. “Of course. I will not speak a word without your approval.”

Devlin eyed the man before moving on; he knew he had to tell him of the situation involving Emllyn because he had no choice. The entire purpose of releasing the English prisoners was, in fact, to use them as a bargaining chip to regain Emllyn should Frederick have gone to Glenteige to betray Devlin. But now, there was so much more to it if, in fact, Emllyn was in reality the Lady Catherine St. John.

Devlin’s head was still swirling with the possibility and it was a terrible struggle not to feel anger or betrayal or utter grief about it. So he took a deep breath and pushed on.

“As I mentioned, much has occurred since you were locked up in my vault,” he said. “The most important occurrence has to do with the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald. I am not quite sure how to address this so I will simply come out with it; a woman declaring that she was the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald stowed away on Kildare’s armada.”

Victor stopped chewing and his eyes widened. “What’s this you say?” he repeated, shocked. “Lady Emllyn? But… but that is impossible. The woman died last winter.”

Devlin could see how astonished the man was and he understood the feeling well. “Be that as it may, a woman declaring she was the sister of Kildare was captured when the fleet foundered,” he said quietly. “She was brought to me and became my property. I need not explain what that entails, do I?”

Victor pushed aside his bread, his face pale with shock and horror. “You do not,” he said, his tone hoarse. “But since the Lady Emllyn is dead, I am curious as to who this woman is and why she said she was the Lady Emllyn.”

Devlin sighed heavily; there was a pitcher of wine off to his right and he collected it, drinking straight from the pitcher. He found he desperately needed it.

“She said she was following her lover, a Sir Trevor, into battle because she wanted to prove to him what a good and fearless wife she would be,” he said. He took another drink before looking St. John in the eye. “Does that sound like anyone you know?”

Victor was beside himself. The calm, collected, and seasoned veteran looked to be verging on a breakdown. “Of course it does!” he finally hissed. “It sounds like Cate!”

Devlin nodded, the feelings of nausea and despair overwhelming him once more. “She is a petite woman with reddish-gold hair and beautiful green eyes,” he said, his tone dull and lifeless. “She has a dusting of freckles on her nose and a darker freckle near her right ear. Does this sound like the Lady Emllyn to you?”

Victor shook his head, closing his eyes tightly against the realization. “It does not,” he muttered. “You have described my daughter perfectly.”

Devlin actually felt tears in his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He was so utterly devastated. “Why would she tell me she was the Lady Emllyn?”

Victor was devastated, too. He was so very pale with astonishment. “I do not know,” he muttered. “I am sure she was terrified to have been captured in battle. Mayhap she told you she was the Lady Emllyn because she hoped you would treat her with more respect than if she told you she was a mere knight’s daughter. But you didn’t treat her with respect, did you? You… you brutalized her anyway.”

Devlin couldn’t look at the man; he was staring at the pitcher in his hand. “She was a casualty of war,” he said softly. “She became my property to do with as I pleased.”

“She was an innocent young maiden!”

“An innocent young maiden who stowed away on a battle armada to be with her lover,” Devlin reiterated steadily. “Even after I claimed her as my own, she could have told me at any time that she was not the Lady Emllyn. The damage had already been done to her and pretending to be an earl’s sister wasn’t providing her with any safe securities.”

Victor’s pain-filled gaze lingered on him for several long seconds before looking away. He had to; the longer he looked at Devlin, the more grief-stricken he became. “I do not know the answer to that, either,” he whispered. “As with all lies, the more time passes the more difficult it is to tell the truth. Mayhap she was fearful of your reaction should she tell you who she really was.”

“Mayhap.”

“For the love of God, where is she?”

Devlin hesitated. “You should know that I love her,” he said, feeling the man’s pain mingle with his own. “She started out as my property but she became my heart. I suppose I honestly do not care if she is Emllyn or Cate; I love her regardless.”

Victor didn’t think he could have possibly been more astonished, but he was. “You love her?” he asked in disbelief. “Or is she simply a possession you are fond of?”

“I love her with everything that I am.”

“Then tell me where she is.”

Devlin sighed heavily and took another long drink. “She is at de Cleveley’s settlement to the south,” he said. “I took her there myself. She is safe.”

“Why did you take her there?”

Devlin considered the pitcher again, pensively, before responding. “With Kildare’s attack, I was sure there was another one coming shortly,” he said. “Do you recall that we asked you of missives that had been delivered to de Cleveley? You told us that the missives indeed mentioned plans to regain Black Castle, as I had suspected, so I was convinced that de Cleveley was planning an attack on the heels of Kildare’s. This is where Emllyn came in; she and I had a bargain. When she first came to me, she very much wanted to see if Sir Trevor was amongst the English prisoners. I told her I would let her see the prisoners for herself if she went to de Cleveley and found out what more she could about an attack against Black Castle. Being Kildare’s sister, they should easily confide in her. But our plans did not go exactly as we had hoped.”

Victor was hanging on every word. “What do you mean?

Devlin thought back to those days leading up to Glenteige. “On our trip south to the settlement, we were set upon by raiders and Emllyn was injured,” he said. “By the time we got to Glenteige, she was very ill and unable to speak for herself, so I had to think of a suitable story to explain my presence. I told de Noble, the commander of the settlement, that I was a farmer who had found the lady washed up on shore after the defeat of Kildare’s armada. Somehow in our discussions, Black Castle came up and I told him I had been there before to sell my produce. Much as I used Trevor against Emllyn to ensure her cooperation, de Noble has used Emllyn against me to ensure mine. He believes that Black Sword is planning an attack on Glenteige and has sent me to gather information to that effect.”

Victor’s eyebrows lifted in surprise as he digested what he was told. “So… you are essentially spying on Black Sword?”

“Aye.”

“But you are Black Sword.”

Devlin nodded. “De Noble has assured me that I could see Emllyn upon my return to Glenteige, provided that I bring him crucial information.”

“Does he believe you in love with her?”

Devlin shrugged. “I spoke of her enough and asked repeatedly to see her after we arrived,” he said. “I am sure he figured it out without me saying so.”

Victor fell silent; he was reeling as much as Devlin was, about all of it. It was madness, all of it, but in truth he wasn’t surprised. Cate had always had a knack for inviting trouble, but this time, she’d invited more than she could possibly handle… if, in fact, Emllyn’s imposter was indeed his daughter. But all signs pointed to her.

“Then why am I here?” he finally asked Devlin. He gestured to the men now heading to the table to be fed. “Why are we all here? What do you want of us?”

Devlin eyed the men approaching as well. “One of my commanders has become an untrustworthy rogue,” he said, lowering his voice. “He knows of my plans with Emllyn and de Cleveley– that she is there to gather information on the English plans against Black Castle. It is my belief that he has gone to Glenteige with the purpose of betraying me and, consequently, Emllyn. If he does this, she will be in great danger. I realize we are bitter enemies, St. John, but in this case, we must forget all of that. We must help each other in order for all of us to survive. It is my intention to exchange thirty-three English prisoners for Emllyn should that now be the situation.”

Victor stared at him a moment before rolling his eyes miserably. “Dear God,” he breathed. “Is it truly possible?”

“It is.”

“But why would he do this?”

“The man is bitter and ambitious. He tried to kill me and when he realized he was unsuccessful, he fled. There is more to it than that simple explanation, but that is the gist of it. Mayhap he will side with the English because of his in-depth knowledge of me and of Black Castle. Mayhap he hopes to destroy me once and for all with the help of de Cleveley.”

Victor was studying his hands despondently. “And you are sure he has gone to de Cleveley’s settlement?”

“It is as viable a possibility as any,” Devlin replied. “In any case, I need Emllyn returned to me.”

Victor’s head came up. “What if she had not gathered sufficient information about the English plans towards you?”

“It does not matter. I simply want her back.”

Victor fell silent as the English soldiers crowded up to the table, taking seats and grabbing at food and drink. They were starving and helped themselves to whatever was offered but at the end of the table where Devlin and Victor sat, it was a quiet and morose atmosphere. It was as if the two of them were in their own little world.

“If the woman you know as Emllyn is my daughter…,” Victor ventured.

“If she is your daughter, then I will ask permission to marry her,” Devlin cut him off. “Make no mistake; she belongs to me already. The marriage is simply a formality.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I do not believe you will.”

“But if I do?”

Devlin’s features hardened. “Must I answer that?”

Victor met his gaze and, after a moment of seeing death and destruction in the man’s dark blue eyes, he shook his head and looked away. He knew this was a battle he could not win.

“You do not,” he said quietly. “But you will promise me something.”

“What?”

“Be good to her,” he said, his eyes welling with tears. “She is stubborn and willful, but she is also the sweetest and most glorious creature that God has ever created.”

Devlin was touched by the man’s obvious adoration for his daughter. Devlin leaned into him so no one else would hear.

“I vow upon my life that I will treat her only with the greatest respect,” he muttered. “And I will love her more than my own life until the day I die. She will be my queen, I swear it.”

“Black Sword’s queen.”

“Aye,” he whispered with a surprising show of reverence. “Black Sword’s queen.”

The English slept in the great hall that night and before sunrise the next morning, they were well on their way to Glenteige.