Page 3 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)

CHAPTER THREE

A fter Devlin had left her that morning, Emllyn spent the rest of the day huddled in the corner of the chamber, as miserable as she could possibly be. The day that had dawned somewhat clear had turned cloudy by the nooning hour and by sunset, the rain and wind had begun.

Water lashed in through the lancet window as lightning lit up the darkening sky. Other than the bread and cup of stale ale that had been brought to her that morning, she’d had nothing else to eat. There wasn’t even a fire in the dark and sooty hearth. Cold and hungry, Emllyn sat in the dark corner clad in the tatters of her sandy and damp surcoat, the remains of her shredded shift strewn about her arms and shoulders to try to give her some measure of feeble warmth.

She had dozed on and off during the day with dreams of Trevor, her tall and dark love, but then she had awoken to the reality of her situation. Worse still, she very much needed to use the chamber pot but there was none so, without any choice, she had pissed in the corner over near the window where there was a drain built into the floor. She thought it might be the garderobe but she could not be certain. Everything about the room was so old and run down and dirty.

She felt like an animal.

Emllyn was dozing once again when the door to her chamber shook. Instantly awake and instantly fearful, she remained huddled in the darkness as the panel opened. In the dim light, she could see a pair of women, entering with their arms laden with items, and behind the women came a couple of men bearing a big, dented copper pot between them.

Eye contact was made between Emllyn and the intruders. She remained coiled against the wall as the women, an older one with missing teeth and a younger one that was very pale and plain, timidly approached the bed. The men with the pot moved to the hearth and set it down, quickly vacating the room only to return with peat and kindling. The men were old, dressed in rags, and evidently servants or slaves. They deftly piled the peat and lit it before they vacated the room again and returned a third time bearing great buckets of sloshing water. The water was dumped into the pot and the pot scooted against the peat as the flame began to gain in strength.

Meanwhile, the women had been busy near the bed with its stiff and smelly straw mattress. Now, Emllyn was more curious than fearful as she watched them cover the mattress with the hides they had carried with them. Great sheep hides covered up the old mattress now as they turned to another bundle they’d brought with them and began to pull out some manner of textiles.

Several types of garments were strewn neatly across the hides. Emllyn was curious about them but didn’t move from her position against the wall. She was still too afraid to. The younger woman had a hide sack with her from which she pulled out a lumpy white bar of soap and a few other things including a comb. As Emllyn focused on the soap and combs that were being brought forth, the older woman finally spoke.

“I’m Enda, m’lady,” she said politely but with a very heavy Irish accent. “This is me daughter, Nessa. Sir Devlin has asked us to help ye dress.”

Emllyn eyed them a moment before very slowly, and very stiffly, rising to her feet. “I am hungry,” she said. “Did you bring me something to eat?”

Enda nudged Nessa and the young girl fled. “Me daughter will bring ye something,” she said, indicating the now-steaming water in the pot against the fire. “Can I help ye bathe?”

Emllyn wasn’t about to deny her. She was so miserable that, at the moment, she would have let the Devil himself help her if it meant warmth and cleanliness. With a short nod, she moved for the pot as Enda grabbed one of the long stretches of fabric on the bed and spread it down on the ground in front of the pot. She also brought forth a small, three-legged stool that she had brought with her and she set the stool upon the fabric on the floor. She indicated for Emllyn to sit, and sit she did.

Emllyn had no sooner sat down than the woman began to pull the dirty surcoat from her body. Emllyn felt somewhat exposed, and embarrassed, but the woman was firm yet gentle in the removal. When Emllyn was completely nude the woman began throwing bowls of steaming water on her, which splashed down onto the fabric spread on the floor. It was a mat of sorts, absorbing the water off of the stone floor. The very warm water felt wonderful and as the woman put a bowl on the floor in front of Emllyn and told her to put her feet in it, she simultaneously grabbed the lumpy white bar of soap and began to scrub Emllyn from the feet upwards.

The sand, the dirt, and the chill came off of Emllyn quickly as the skinny old woman washed her vigorously. True, she was sitting naked on a stool in the middle of the room, but the fire in the hearth was burning strongly now so she felt no chill. Enda, like any good mother, Irish or English or otherwise, used a rag and the soap to wash every nook and cranny on her body, including between her buttocks, which actually had Emllyn stifling a giggle at one point.

But the old woman took her job seriously and she cleaned the sand and dirt away. Perhaps it was the mother in her that made her sympathetic to the frightened young woman, English or no. At the moment there were no countries or enemies, simply one woman to help another.

The bar of soap smelled like grass and herbs. It was a very clean smell and one Emllyn liked very much. The old woman had lathered her up in it, rinsing as she went along, and she used the soap to lather up her hair. There was a good deal of sand in her scalp and it took several rinses to get it all out, but it eventually ran clean. When Emllyn was finally scrubbed clean, the old woman used another one of the lengths of fabric strewn across the bed and vigorously dried her off.

In the heat of the room, it didn’t take long to dry her skin. Enda handed her yet another pile of fabric from the bed which turned out to be a shift made of linen that was surprisingly soft but far too large. Over that, she donned a heavy garment of green wool that was more like a giant tunic than a surcoat. It had long sleeves, a tie about the waist, and dragged along the floor when she walked, but it was very warm and that was all Emllyn truly cared about. As she sat on the stool while Enda ran a bone comb through her hair to dry it, the door to the chamber opened.

Enda’s daughter appeared with a tray in hand. Upon the tray was a bowl with something steaming in it, a big hunk of bread, a wedge of white cheese, and a warped wooden cup. There were also a pair of well-used leather slippers, which Enda promptly slipped on Emllyn’s feet. They were a bit too small but still comfortable. As Emllyn slurped down a barley and bean stew, she felt better than she had in days.

As she ate her meal, Enda got down on her hands and knees and mopped the floor up with the wet mat. She swept the water in the direction of the corner drain, sweeping it out until there were no longer puddles on the floor. Nessa, meanwhile, had taken over her mother’s hair-combing duty and when Emllyn’s hair was nearly dry, she braided it tightly and wound the braid into a bun at the nape of Emllyn’s neck. Pinning it with several big iron pins, Emllyn made quite a presentable picture.

Bathed, dressed, and combed, Emllyn swallowed down the last of her meal. She was so full she could hardly move, but still, she licked the bowl. Food had never tasted as good to her as it did at that moment. As she handed the bowl back to Nessa, hovering next to her, the rainstorm outside worsened.

It had beat steadily most of the evening but now grew stronger. Sitting near the fire on the three-legged stool, Emllyn watched the rain beat against the windowsill and splash inside onto the floor. It was near the drain in the floor and she began to see why there was a drain there; water coming in through the window flooded to the drain and was sent back outside again. As she pondered the clever Irish engineering, Enda cleared her throat and spoke.

“Will there be anything else, my lady?” she asked.

Emllyn looked over at the old woman and her daughter. After a moment, she shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “You have been very kind to me. Thank you.”

Enda nodded, not quite sure what to say. She had simply been doing her duty as commanded by Sir Devlin. She motioned for her daughter to begin collecting the rags and bowls they brought with them.

“I’ve brought hides for the bed so ye should be warm,” she said. “And I’ve brought ye another coat and another shift to wear if the weather worsens. It can be very cold up here.”

Emllyn looked at the garments the woman was indicating, strewn about at the bottom of the bed. She fingered the surcoat she wore. “Who does this belong to?” she asked.

Enda collected a wet cloth from the floor. “Sir Devlin’s mother,” she said. “There are several trunks with her possessions still. I will see if there are more serviceable things for ye.”

Emllyn looked up from the garment she was wearing. “Is his mother here?” she asked. “At this castle?”

Enda shook her head. “She died a few years ago,” she said. “Her sister is still here, a kin to Sir Devlin, but there is no more family here.”

Emllyn was starting to show some interest in her surroundings as it applied to the natural flow of conversation. “What is this place called?” she asked.

“Black Castle, my lady,” Enda replied, almost apologetically. “This is Black Castle.”

Emllyn thought on that a moment. Devlin had told her that he was the Lord of Black Castle, so she should have supposed that was where she found herself– at Black Castle. She had heard the name from her brother, something about a rally point for the rebellion on his Irish holdings, and it began to make a good deal of sense.

Black Castle .

She was in the belly of the beast.

True, she had known that the ship she stowed away on was headed for battle but she hadn’t known precisely where. That had been foolish on her part, she knew, but it didn’t matter now. What was done, was done. Her idiocy had landed her in the middle of the Irish rebellion, in the very stronghold that was the heart of the resistance. Realizing that, she closed her eyes at the truth of what she had gotten herself into and she turned away.

“My thanks,” she murmured.

Enda eyed the woman’s lowered head. She felt some pity for the young woman but she couldn’t let it interfere with her duty. Grabbing Nessa by the arm, she shooed the girl out and, collecting the rest of the things she had brought with her, quietly closed the door behind her.

Emllyn heard the door shut, turning to see that she was alone in the room once more. It was much warmer, and far better furnished, than it had been earlier, lending to a somewhat comfortable feeling, but the truth was that it was still her prison no matter how it was dressed up.

Oh, God , she thought to herself, looking around the room and feeling more despair than she ever had. The past night and day had passed in somewhat of a blur, as if she were living a nightmare, but now the nightmare had vanished and all it left in its wake was a heady sense of reality. Now, everything was real and terrible. She was in Ireland, captive in an Irish castle. She knew it was only a matter of time before Devlin did something she would sorely regret. Truth be told, the man wasn’t unpleasant to look at. There was something powerful and virile about him, something that made her feel the least bit giddy along with her fear. But she would not think that way about him. She couldn’t think that way about him. But visions of de Bermingham inevitably gave way to the very reason why she was here.

Trevor.

Dear God, what had become of him? De Bermingham said that he had been killed, but how did he know? He wouldn’t let her see the prisoners for herself, so there was every chance that Trevor was alive… and every equal chance that he was dead. The thought of his demise devastated her but after all she had seen last night, the death and destruction, she realized that she was very fortunate to be alive and more inclined to think of her own safety at the moment. She couldn’t spare any more tears for Trevor, not now. She had to stay alive if there was any chance of discovering his fate. And the only person who held the power to grant her request was, in fact, de Bermingham.

Deception.

If de Bermingham was the man who had the power over life and death, then perhaps she needed to give the man all of the respect he demanded in order to gain his permission to see the English captives. Perhaps if she was to be compliant and obedient, then he might grant her wish. But to be compliant and obedient with him would mean surrendering to his will. The mere thought of it made her feel hot all over, a heat that was unfamiliar and consuming. It was not as if she had any real choice in the matter, but perhaps a willing captive might make him more apt to grant her request. Perhaps she was going to have to play his game in order to gain her wants.

Compliance.

Emllyn was in the process of concocting a plan when the chamber door rattled and popped open. Startled, she looked up to see Devlin in the doorway. He was dressed in black leather breeches, a faded tunic, and a heavy black leather vest that strained against his muscular chest. He just stood there, gazing at her with that same hard and intimidating expression she had seen before, yet… there was something else there, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. His eyes, so deep and blue, seemed to have an odd glimmer to them.

It was an oddness that unnerved her and Emllyn rose slowly from the stool, facing him nervously. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears, waiting for him to reach out and grab her with those massive hands.

Compliant! Her mind screamed. You must be compliant!

“My lord,” she greeted, her voice quivering.

He didn’t reply but his gaze moved to the garments she was wearing. He seemed to focus on the clothes.

“Enda said she brought you my mother’s old coats,” he said, looking her up and down. “They are much too big for you.”

Emllyn looked down at herself. “They will do nicely,” she said. “They are warm and clean.”

“And big,” he said, stepping into the room and closing the door. “My mother was three times your size. She was a very big woman.”

Emllyn fingered the green wool, not sure what to say to that because she was fearful of insulting his mother with anything she said.

“I find them quite suitable,” she said, looking up at him. “Thank you for your generosity.”

He grunted, looking around the room and noticing the hides on the bed. “So she brought you something to sleep on as well,” he said, moving to the bed and flipping up the hides to inspect the quality. “These should do you nicely.”

Emllyn looked at the bed and the fluffy sheep’s hides. “I thank you again for your generosity,” she said. “I am grateful for the consideration.”

He looked at her, then. If he thought she was being too compliant, he didn’t say so. He simply continued to look at her.

“Were you well fed?” he asked.

Emllyn nodded firmly. “I was, thank you.”

Devlin’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer before scratching his red head and easing his big body down onto the bed. The last time he was here, they’d had a rather violent encounter. But he’d also experienced attraction like he’d never known. It was an odd combination to say the least.

Emllyn hovered near the hearth, waiting for the next move, wondering if she was going to end up on the bed again with her clothes ripped off. When Devlin suddenly shifted on the bed, she jumped, but he didn’t notice. He seemed distracted.

“I will ask you a question and you will answer me truthfully,” he finally said, looking up at her. “Anything less than truth will be swiftly punished. Is that clear?”

Fear began to clutch at her. “It is, my lord.”

He sighed heavily as he collected his thoughts. “I have spent most of the day observing the results of last night’s victory,” he said. “Your brother’s ships are now my ships and his men are either dead or my captives. This was a resounding defeat for your brother. Do you understand that?”

“I do.”

“You will tell me what you know of his further intentions to attack me,” he said, his voice low. “Your brother did not send all of the men he has. Surely there are more to come.”

Emllyn blinked, stumped by the statement. “I… I would not know, my lord,” she said honestly. “My brother did not share his military plans with me.”

Devlin cocked an eyebrow. “Yet you knew enough to stow away on a ship bound for Ireland,” he said. “You knew ships were sailing and you knew where they were going. You know more than you are telling me.”

Emllyn shook her head firmly. Then she gave a rather ironic chuckle. “My lord, you must understand that my brother and I were never close,” she said. “He is much older than I am and we did not even grow up in the same house. He was away when I was born and when I was sent away to foster, I did not see him for almost seven years. He views me as I view him– as a distant relative. He resents me a great deal because I am twenty years of age and not yet married. He has been trying to find me a husband for years but our father left a stipulation in his will stating that I was allowed to approve or disapprove of any husband selected for me. So far, the man has selected only fools and I have not yet married. Therefore, I believe he views me as a drain on his household finances.”

It was a well-spoken and frank statement. Devlin believed her. “Yet you stowed away on a ship bound for battle because you wanted to be near your lover,” he pointed out. “Did your brother know you loved this man?”

Emllyn nodded. “He did,” she replied, “but Trevor comes from a family that does not have a great deal of wealth. My brother wants me to have a wealthy husband so he naturally disapproves.”

Devlin pondered the information but as he did so, he was coming to see one thing– when she wasn’t hysterical or fighting, she was very well spoken and quite eloquent. She had a beautiful manner about her, something he found quite attractive. Dressed as she was in clean clothes and her hair pulled back in a bun at the nape of her neck, he’d never seen such a lovely woman and with that realization, he was coming to feel extremely guilty about the way he had treated her. She was elegant and intelligent; fear, battle, and the situation had turned her into something quite different, but now by the calm light of the fire and in a calm conversation, he could see what a glorious creature she was.

“Does Trevor want to marry you, then?” he asked quietly. “Surely the man would want to.”

Emllyn actually smiled, but it wasn’t one of joy. It was one of resignation. “I believe he is in love with the knighthood more than me,” she said. “That is why I stowed away; I wanted to come with him to prove I was strong and able. I wanted to prove I was not a pampered lady, which he detests. He likes a capable woman.”

Devlin’s focus lingered on her a moment before he averted his gaze and resumed scratching his scalp. “Was he one of your brother’s more responsible knights?”

Emllyn shook her head. “Nay,” she replied softly. “He was a younger knight without command responsibilities but very skilled. Unfortunately, my attraction to him seemed to put him in a bad light in my brother’s eyes. That is why he sent him to Ireland, I believe, to send him away from me.”

Devlin glanced at her. “Then your brother kept men behind with him?”

Emllyn nodded. “I am not sure how many, but he kept some of his men behind in England. However, I will say with some certainty that he sent most of his men here. The castle was quite empty when we departed.” She fell silent a moment, eyeing him in the firelight. “You know, of course, that my brother is the Lord Justice of Ireland. King Edward appointed him three years ago in reward for his service against Robert the Bruce. My brother can summon the king’s men if he needs to.”

Devlin nodded slowly, chewing pensively on his lip. “I know,” he said. “I know a good deal about your brother. What I want to know from you is what more you can tell me about his plans for Ireland.”

Emllyn wasn’t as terrified as she had been earlier; now, the conversation was calm, almost normal, and she was feeling moderately comfortable with it. She felt safe enough to move away from the hearth.

“Most men do not mention their battle plans to their wives, mothers, or sisters,” she said softly. “Does your wife or sister know of your battle plans?”

He eyed her. “I do not have a wife or a sister,” he said, although he could see her point. “But you will tell me honestly if you have ever heard your brother mention future plans for Ireland. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll turn the dogs on you.”

She knew he wasn’t entirely serious simply by his manner. It was surprisingly calm and almost casual. Still, she couldn’t be completely sure.

Be compliant !

“I swear to you that I do not know anything of his future plans,” she said, and it was the truth. “However, I do know that he has had much communication with Lord de Cleveley of Anchorsholme Castle. The man has lands south of Wicklow, I believe.”

That drew Devlin’s interest. “What communication?”

She shook her head. “I do not know, but I know they correspond quite frequently.”

Devlin could only imagine what those missives contained. De Cleveley had a massive expanse of land to the south near what was known locally as the Vale of Clara. The de Cleveleys had been in Ireland as long as the Fitzgeralds, soaking up the good Irish soil for their greedy needs and assimilating the Irish people into their fold. If the Earl of Kildare was corresponding heavily with de Cleveley, it could not mean good things for Devlin. Perhaps Kildare’s fleet was the first wave in what would be an onslaught against him. If that was the case, they met the first test of their strength well.

But more threats were coming.

He was sure of it.

As he pondered the potential implications of the communication between de Cleveley and Fitzgerald, Emllyn moved back towards the hearth and the small stool that Enda had left there. She sat upon it, averting her gaze, not knowing what more to say to de Bermingham as he sat silently upon the bed. Even though their conversation was civil, she was still on edge. All she had ever known from de Bermingham was domination and she dreaded the coming night. The man had shown surprising restraint in their violent encounters, but she suspected that wouldn’t last forever.

Surely, another battle was coming.

The thought of such a struggle brought tears to her eyes. She was exhausted and afraid, and she knew she wasn’t strong enough to fight him off again. Be compliant ! Nor should she fight him off if she was to earn his trust so she could gain her wants. Still, now that things were calm between them, she thought perhaps to ask him again about the English captives. It wasn’t such an unreasonable request, she thought. Moreover, she could put a spin on it that might work in her favor.

Devlin seemed concerned with future plans and attacks; perhaps she could use his paranoia to her advantage. Struggling for courage, she lifted her gaze to him.

“Even though I do not know anything about the correspondence between my brother and de Cleveley, there were many of my brother’s men that were aware of it,” she said, trying not to sound sly with her suggestion. “You mentioned that there were English captives. If I could see them, I could tell you who, if any, held a position of power for my brother. That man would know much more than I would.”

Devlin looked at her. His first thought was that she was indeed cunning– he didn’t believe for a minute that she was actually trying to help him seek answers to his questions. He knew for a fact that she wanted to see if her lover was among the captives. Still, it was a very good suggestion.

But he had a better one.

“I am sure that he would know more than you do, if such a man is still alive,” he said, his eyes glittering in the firelight. “But I have a better suggestion. Does de Cleveley’s commander in Ireland know you on sight?”

Emllyn had no idea what he was driving at. It seemed to her to be a swift change of subject. “I… I do not believe so,” she said. “I have never had contact with any of de Cleveley’s men. But I am sure he would know my name and my brother’s name.”

Devlin was creating a plan, one that would supersede Emllyn’s. She wanted something from him; he wanted something from her as well. He stood up from the bed and made his way over to her, his massive fist resting firmly on his hips. He meant to intimidate her because he very much wanted his way in all things. He wouldn’t give her a chance to refuse him.

“I will allow you to see the English captives, my lady, but first you will do something for me,” he said. “I will send you south to de Cleveley’s holdings and you will present yourself as my escaped captive. Surely your English comrades will take you in and protect you. While you are in their bosom, you will discover what you can about their plans against me and against Black Castle, and you will return to inform me of your discovery. I will keep the English captives alive long enough for you to return, but if you betray me or if you do not return, I will kill every one of them and put their heads on poles for all to see. Is this in any way unclear?”

By this time, Emllyn was pale with horror. “But…” she stammered, swallowing. “But how will I discover anything? They will not tell me of their battle plans.”

“They will if you are clever in your inquiry,” he replied, eyeing her. “You are an intelligent woman. I suspect you will be able to discover a great deal if you set your mind to it. I also suspect you will do what you are told if you know your lover might be alive. You stowed away on a ship for him. I suspect you would do anything for him.”

Emllyn was verging on tears but she fought it. She found that she was very angry that he was trying to manipulate her. Still, she knew she had no choice and it was difficult for her to swallow her pride and realize he had outsmarted her.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

“As you say, then,” she whispered hoarsely. “But I want to see the prisoners before I go. I will not go unless I see all of them.”

“Nay,” he said flatly. “If your lover is not among them, then there will be no reason for you to infiltrate de Cleveley. ’Twill be the hope that he is among my captives that will keep you on task.”

It was a rather fair deal as far as deals go, but Emllyn felt as if she were making a deal with the devil. Damnation, but the man was clever. She refused to look at him, averting her gaze and discreetly wiping at the tears in her eyes. Still, she couldn’t surrender so easily. She didn’t like the feeling of being bested.

“Very well,” she said quietly. “I will agree to your terms. But you will agree to mine also.”

She was a plucky little thing. Devlin had to give her credit. As he’d realized before, he rather liked that about her. He folded his big arms across his chest expectantly.

“What are your terms?” he asked.

She looked at him, then, and he could see a steely coldness in her pale eyes. It was a surprising show of strength. “If I discover any useful information and return to you safely, I will not tell you what the information is until you allow me to see the captives,” she said. “If Trevor is among them, you must promise to let him go before I give you the information.”

He cocked a thoughtful eyebrow. “How do I know you will tell me the truth? You could say that you have valuable information and after I let your lover go, you could have nothing at all. It could be a lie simply to obtain his release.”

She shook her head. “I am honorable,” she insisted. “I would not lie to you.”

He didn’t want to insult her integrity by disagreeing with her. Something about the woman made him believe completely that she would never lie to him. If he was a good judge of character, and he was, he was inclined to believe that she wasn’t the type. His life often depended upon who he could and could not trust. He believed he could trust her word.

He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it.

“What if you return from de Cleveley and have no valuable information to tell me?” he wanted to know. “What then?”

She sighed faintly. “If I have no valuable information upon my return, I ask that you let me see the captives regardless,” she said softly. “If Trevor is alive, then I ask that you allow me to be in captivity with him. It is a small thing to ask, I think. You would have us both remain captives.”

Devlin didn’t like that answer at all and immediately shook his head. “If you return to me with no valuable information, then you will not see the English captives and you will never know if your lover is among them. You will remain my prize and the English captives will be my slaves. There is no other recourse.”

Emllyn was going to argue with him but thought better of it. She could agree to the terms and perhaps in time, change his mind. Be compliant! Perhaps someday she would see the English captives; perhaps one day they would all be freed. She would not give up hope.

“As you say,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.

Devlin could hear defeat in her voice and he struggled not to react to it, one way or the other. She was very proud, he could tell. She was also stubborn. Then again, so was he. He realized he saw many of his own qualities in his captive. They were qualities to respect.

He moved to within a foot or so of her, lingering close and watching her instinctively flinch. He didn’t like it when she flinched from him but he knew why– he’d only shown her aggression and dominance since they had first met. Although the man had never known a strong sense of regret, he thought he might be coming to feel something close to it. Crouching his bulk down, he met her on her own level.

“Then we have a bargain?” he asked.

Emllyn looked at him, the man’s smooth skin and intelligent features. It suddenly occurred to her that he was a handsome man, although the thought just as quickly shocked her. The man was her captor, a barbarian and worse– he was an Irish rebel, the beating heart of the resistance that had kept her brother frustrated. But he was also ruggedly and beautifully handsome, like a wild horse that refused to be tamed. The way he was looking at her made her heartbeat quicken, just a little.

“We do,” she whispered. “But how will I get to de Cleveley’s encampment? I do not know where to go.”

Devlin was watching the way the firelight illuminated her face. “I will take you there myself,” he said. “I will watch over you to make sure you make it safely to their fortress. In fact, I may send one of my men with you as an escort. He will also help you return to Black Castle when the time is right.”

Emllyn’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she averted it and looked to her hands. There was an odd pull she was beginning to feel, something unexpected and unsettling. His eyes were a vortex with which to suck her in and she averted her gaze purely out of surprise more than anything. Her heart was beating faster now and her palms were sweating, and it had nothing to do with fear or intimidation.

It had everything to do with him, as a man.

Oh, God, she was going crazy !

“When do I go?” she asked softly.

Devlin felt the pull between them, too. He also felt a jolt when she tore her gaze away, a jolt that left him with a rapidly beating heart. He almost couldn’t catch his breath. He stood up and moved away from her in order to reclaim his composure.

“I am not certain,” he said. “In a day or two. I must make plans and then we shall move forward with them.”

Emllyn simply nodded her head, unwilling to look up at him again because she was fearful that the strange pull would start again and she might not be able to break away from it. She’d never known anything like it, not even with Trevor. Trevor! Her thoughts drifted to him once again.

“Until such time as you move forward with your plans, where am I to be kept?” she asked.

Devlin looked around the room. “This is the most comfortable chamber in the keep, and probably the entire castle,” he said. “The floor is not dirt but stone and planking. It would be better for you here.”

Emllyn lifted her head, daring to look at him. “But where are the other English prisoners kept?”

His expression seemed to harden. “Deep in the ground.”

“What do you mean?”

That strange pull was starting again and he struggled to ignore it, but the longer he gazed into that lovely face, the stronger the pull became.

“Trust me when I say it is not a pleasant place,” he said.

“You mean the vault?”

“Aye.”

“Since I am a prisoner, you should put me there.”

“You are better off here.”

Emllyn was feeling the pull so strongly that she almost couldn’t reply. She had to think hard on forming a sentence. Tearing her eyes away from him, she looked around the chamber, seeing it as it was now, with furs and a fire. But there were things around the chamber even before those things had been brought that suggested it had not been an empty one. She’d been told it had been his mother’s chamber, but there was more to it. Something told her that it had been Devlin’s also and that’s why she’d been brought there.

To him.

“Does this chamber not belong to someone already?” she asked.

He nodded. “It is mine.”

So much for being compliant. When he admitted it was his chamber, that drew a reaction from her. “For mercy’s sake,” she said. “Shouldn’t you move me to another chamber so I will not be caged here… with you?”

He lifted a well-defined eyebrow. “How many times must I tell you that you belong to me?” he said. “That means you will be caged here in my chamber, with me, because that act alone will preserve your personal safety. Do you realize how many men want to kill you simply for being English? You have a great many enemies in this castle, my lady. Rather than look upon me as your jailor, I would suggest you look upon me as your protector.”

She was growing angry. “A protector who has intimidated me and brutalized me,” she said, lowering her gaze. She spoke before she could stop herself. “A protector would keep me safe from harm, but I do not feel safe with you.”

Devlin could feel himself stiffen to her accusations. Deep down, he knew she was right to a certain extent, but he didn’t see it that way. He wasn’t used to anyone questioning his behavior or actions, and it didn’t sit well with him.

“I did not harm you,” he countered. “There are no bruises upon you. You are not bleeding, nor did I break any bones. I would be careful what you accuse me of.”

Her head shot up. “What I accuse you of?” she repeated, incredulous. “Then what you would call it?”

His eyes glittered but he held himself in check, like a coiled snake before it strikes. “I would call it victory,” he said simply. “The sooner you come to terms with that, the better for us both.”

Emllyn met his gaze a moment longer before looking away, disgusted. “You are not my protector,” she said. “Call me what I am– a prisoner, and you are my jailor. A protector is someone who is gallant and chivalrous, which you have not been. You did not like it when I called you an animal. Mayhap you should not act like one if you wish for me to reform my opinion.”

He was rebuked. Fighting off the urge to bellow at her, Devlin stared at her a good, long moment before sighing sharply. He was resisting the strong impulse to throw her down on the bed and show her just what kind of a brute he could really be, but in that same thought, he realized it wasn’t punishment as much as it was simply a very strong desire to bed her. There was so much emotion and confusion rolling around in his chest that his hands began to quiver. Why didn’t he just take her and be done with it? She belonged to him, didn’t she?

… didn’t she?

Jesus … what was happening to him?

“For a woman who sailed to Ireland on an invasion fleet, you have little right to accuse me of being an animal,” he muttered. “Your brother has slaughtered thousands of Irish and taken thousands more as slaves, and he justifies his actions because he believes Lord Justice of Ireland gives him that right. The English in general slaughter Scots and Welsh by the thousands because they covet their lands. How are the English any less animals than I am?”

Emllyn stared at the fire. “My brother does not brutalize a woman he claims to be protecting.”

“So this is all about me, is it? I am the worst rebel there is and your brother is a saint?”

She shook her head. “I did not say he was a saint,” he said. “But he has as much right to these lands as you do. They belonged to my grandfather and his father before him.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Devlin broke from his stance near the bed and swooped in on her, grasping her by the arms and yanking her up from the stool. He had her trapped up against his massive chest, his eyes blazing at her.

“Your grandfather’s father stole lands from my family,” he snarled. “They do not belong to any Englishman. They belong to Ireland and if God is merciful, I will soon restore them to my people. Never again lecture me about brutality and conquest because, my lady, your people have done far worse than I could ever hope to achieve.”

Gazing up into Devlin’s angry blue eyes, Emllyn began to feel some fear. Not the pure, abject terror she had felt earlier, but a deeper-seated fear. She was afraid of him, but not for obvious reasons. She wasn’t afraid that he was going to kill her– she knew enough about the man that she knew he would not. She was afraid of what he was going to do to her and of how she might not be willing to stop him. It began to occur to her that perhaps she was afraid of herself because she liked having him close. She liked his big, hard body against hers and his lips on her earlobe.

There was something about him that made her entire body quiver with desire.

“So you will punish them by ravaging me?” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “You have been threatening to do it since we met. You were quite clear when you told me of your plans for me. What kind of man takes out his frustrations on the weak and helpless?”

Devlin didn’t answer her; he was too furious to. But he was also consumed by the feel and smell of her, something that instantly aroused him. She was provoking him; he could sense it. She was being reckless with her words, reckless to the point of punishment and as he gazed into her eyes, he could see a tumult of emotion that matched whatever he thought he was feeling, too. He didn’t like it one bit. For a man perpetually in control, he didn’t like the thought of being unable to control whatever it was he felt for her. If he even felt anything at all.

Perhaps all he felt was lust and nothing more.

Whatever it was, he was overwhelmed by it.

Devlin’s mouth came down on Emllyn’s, so hard that he drove her teeth into her soft lip. He was kissing her with something short of fury. There was passion and lust and angst there, feelings that made him pull her more tightly against him. He could taste her blood as he sucked her lips, vaguely aware that she was struggling. She was trying to pull away but she wasn’t trying very hard. It was more that she knew that she should try to fight him but didn’t really wanted to. As he savaged her with his lips, her struggles stopped entirely. Somehow, her body was weakening. Relaxing . He thought he felt her hands on his face and it threw him over the edge.

The next he realized, she was in his arms and together they fell upon the bed.

Devlin could hear Emllyn weeping softly, begging him to do… something. His mouth moved down her neck to the exposed cleavage and he grabbed the hands that were near his face, trapping them above her head. With her arms trapped, he began to fumble with his breeches, pulling them down even as he lifted her heavy skirts. Emllyn’s legs were thrashing about and he wedged himself in between them so she could hardly move. His hand, now roaming free, went under her skirts and could feel the moist heat between her legs. He was no longer content with toying with her, his hands on her hips or other areas of her body that didn’t bring him pleasure. Nay, he wasn’t content to restrain himself any longer. Not in the least.

He wanted her.

He knew she wanted him.

Now, his hands was on her thigh. His mouth suckled her chin, her neck, and all Emllyn did was lay there and gasp in pleasure. At least, he thought it was pleasure. She wasn’t fighting him any longer, soft and pliable in his arms, and he took it as an invitation.

“You are mine,” he whispered, his hand hovering near the junction between her legs. “Say it, Emllyn. Say that you are mine.”

Emllyn didn’t have a mind of her own. Everything about him was overwhelming her and her greatest fears were realized. She couldn’t resist him, nor did she want to. His touch was heated and gentle. He was being surprisingly gentle. His kisses were tender, his mouth hot, and she wasn’t afraid of a touch that only last night had terrified her.

She couldn’t understand it.

Perhaps she didn’t want to.

“I am your prisoner,” she breathed.

He lifted himself up to kiss her mouth. “Tell me that you belong to me.”

“I belong to you.”

“And you will give yourself over to me.”

“I am your prison…”

He kissed her to silence her. “Nay,” he said. “Tell me you will give yourself over to me.”

Emllyn was hardly able to speak. “Give… give over…?”

A smile creased his lips. “You will like this, very much.”

“Like what?”

He inserted two big fingers into her wet and glistening woman’s center, listening to her groan with surprise. She stiffened, but only momentarily, as he stroked into her with shocking gentleness.

“This,” he breathed as he suckled her tender neck. “You will like this . Do you feel me inside of you? This is where I will take my pleasure with you and where you will bear my sons. Already, I am making way for my seed and you shall accept it, do you hear? You shall accept it and you shall bear me a son.”

He thrust into her with his fingers, mimicking what he would soon be doing with his large, throbbing member. Emllyn’s gasped every time he thrust his fingers into her tight, slick heat. He would have liked to have tasted her but he had her where he wanted her, and he furthermore didn’t want to get kicked in the head if she started to fight again, so he settled for touching her. He liked the feel of her. It wasn’t long before he could feel her body start to quiver, the beginnings of her first release of ecstasy, so he quickly removed his fingers and thrust into her as her body was overcome with a climax.

Devlin could feel her body convulsing around him as he filled her with his manhood. She was virgin, he could tell, but there hadn’t been any dramatics on her part. No crying as he impaled her. He’d prepared her, and calmed her, and now she lay beneath him as he firmly thrust into her yielding form. She was hot and wet, her gasps of passion filling the air as he snaked a hand under the shift and he found her breasts, pinching the nipples and feeling her twitch. Nay, this wasn’t a woman who was resisting him.

She was welcoming him.

Devlin was so highly aroused that he released himself far sooner than he had hoped, feeling his hot seed mingle with her wet heat. It was the most glorious thing he had ever known.

Exhausted, spent, he collapsed on top of her.

Truthfully, he hadn’t intended to bed her, but his urges had conquered him. He was wildly attracted to her and simply couldn’t deny it any longer. There had been something about her from the beginning that he’d been drawn to, something he’d never experienced before. It was true that she belonged to him, as his captive, but there was so much more to it.

He couldn’t explain it.

All he could do was feel it.

The sounds of his heavy breathing filled the air as Devlin struggled to catch his breath while beneath him, Emllyn simply lay there, eyes closed and her head turned away from him. She was breathing heavily, too, lying motionless for the most part. Devlin stared at her in the firelight, thinking he’d never in his life seen anything more beautiful. He wondered what it would be like for her to respond readily to him, for her to touch him as he touched her. The mere thought was enough to harden him again and in little time, he was slowly and sensually thrusting in and out of her again. His face was buried in her neck, smelling her, as his hips moved in the ancient primal rhythm.

“Please,” Emllyn gasped. “Please… I should have…”

Devlin responded by covering her mouth with his, kissing her with something just short of tenderness. It was slow and delicious, his tongue invading her mouth as he listened to her gasp. He was being very careful and deliberate, his thrusts as gentle as they could be. He was unbelievably aroused, letting go of the arms he had trapped over her head and using the free hand to burrow under her shift and fondle her breasts. That seemed to arouse Emllyn, who began lifting her pelvis to him when he thrust. It was an innate reaction, as if she’d always done it this way. Realizing she was responding to him, he moved a big hand in between them, to where their bodies joined, and began to gently stroke her.

Emllyn groaned, overwhelmed with the new sensations he was creating. Devlin was literally panting as he watched her face, seeing the pleasure upon it and knowing she was feeling what he was feeling. It was too good to be true, mating that was only dreamt of or told of in fables of lore. It was pleasure beyond pleasure, passion beyond passion, and it seemed as if their bodies were only made for each other. Devlin had bedded many women in his life, but never like this. He had never even dreamed of anything like this. When he felt Emllyn’s tremors begin again, causing her to gasp frantically, he thrust into her several times before releasing in a burst of glory.

The fire in the hearth snapped softly as heavy breathing filled the room. Devlin was collapsed on top of Emllyn as she lay with her hands over her eyes. He could hardly catch his breath and neither could she, but eventually the breathing died down and the room fell silent but for the crackle of the fire. Devlin still lay atop Emllyn, his body still joined to hers, thinking a great many thoughts. Mostly, he thought he might possibly be going mad. It would seem that she was no longer the captive.

It would seem that now, somehow, he belonged to her instead.