Page 7 of Celtic Love and Legends (Lords of Eire)

CHAPTER SEVEN

S he was back.

It was nearing the evening hours as Emllyn sat upon the chair that had been brought to her chamber that afternoon by one of the raggedy male servants, along with a table to go with it. It seemed that, bit by bit, the room was becoming more furnished and Nessa, Enda’s silent daughter, had even brought an armful of willow branches and tossed them onto the floor around the bed. The smell of fresh cut branches filled the room. But then, Eefha returned and the entire room smelled like her shite pipe again.

So she was back.

After a morning of reflecting on the fact that she’d lost her innocence to the Irish rebel and had actually enjoyed it, Emllyn had mercifully been alone to ponder that very fact. Hours of sitting and dwelling on a situation that had quickly veered out of control and how she’d done nothing to stop it. Her body had betrayed her and her mind had gone along with it, but it left her in a peculiar situation. Devlin was her captor. He was her enemy.

But he was also something else.

She wasn’t sure what that was… yet .

Before she’d had time to really think about it, the furniture had started coming. Food came. Eefha appeared and after that, she thought of Devlin no more. She decided to go about her business, which happened to be trying on the garments Eefha had given her. In fact, she was rather excited to try on the new clothing.

Her first order of business was to sort all of the items out and she took to the task eagerly. When all was said and done, with everything, including the garments Enda had brought her the day before, she had two shifts, three surcoats, a red silk robe that had beautiful gold stitching around the edges, a cloak, three belts that were made from various metal links or fabric, two pairs of leather slippers, and a leather sack that contained a bone comb, fine strips of cloth that were meant to tie off hair with, some kind of pomade in a small, heavy clay pot that smelled of rosemary and mint, and a very lumpy white hunk of what she assumed to be soap that smelled of pine, she thought. There were even flecks of green in it.

In all, it was an interesting horde, and Emllyn was quite pleased with all of it. Enda had left her a pitcher of water and a bowl earlier; she used the water to work the soap bar up into a reasonable paste just to make sure that it was, indeed, soap. The pomade in the pot that smelled of rosemary and mint seemed to be something to soften the skin because she rubbed it on her chapped hands and it soothed them nicely.

Next, she tried on the fine white shift and pulled another surcoat of white wool over it. It was very warm and fit her rather well. A belt of green silk with tassels draped around her waist. Thrilled that she finally had clothes that fit, and decent clothes at that, she proceeded to comb her hair with the bone comb and braid it. A heavy, silky reddish-blond braid draped elegantly over her right shoulder.

One of the belts seemed to have an issue with the weave so she sat in the chair again and tried to fix the problem. All the while, she kept glancing over at the stool next to the hearth where old Eefha sat. The woman was staring into the flames, puffing away on that stinky pipe. Emllyn found her attention increasingly on the silent old woman and she eventually lowered the belt to her lap.

“I am not entirely sure if you can understand me,” she said politely, “but I want to thank you for what you have given me. You are very kind. I realize I am the enemy and you could have very well disregarded me, but I am grateful that you did not.”

The old woman puffed and puffed, seemingly ignoring her. Emllyn wasn’t sure what more to say because the woman clearly didn’t understand her. Maybe she’d lost the ability to communicate normally long ago, speaking strangely as she did. With a sigh, perhaps of some regret that the woman didn’t understand her gratitude, she returned to the belt repair and murmured a song from her childhood simply to pass the time.

“‘Though oft of Fairy Land they spoke,

No eerie beings dwelled therein,

’Twas filled throughout with joyous folk

Like men, though freed from death and sin.’”

She continued to hum the tune and muttered a word now and again as she worked on the belt. She was about to start on the next verse when, from across the room, she heard another voice.

“‘And sure those bards were truest knights

Whose thoughts of women high were set,

Nor deemed them prizes, won in fights,

But minds like men’s, and women yet.”

Emllyn’s head popped up after the first few words were sung, realizing the old woman was doing the singing in her raspy, ancient voice. It was a common enough song but somehow, in those verses, meant they were speaking the same language. They both knew the same song. When Eefha finished the last word, she continued to stare at the fire and puff on her smelly pipe. Emllyn watched her closely for some kind of additional response but there was none. Then, she ventured softly with the last verse to see if she could elicit the same reaction as before.

“‘In forms like those men loved of old,

Naught added, nothing torn away….’”

Emllyn trailed off, waiting to see if old Eefha picked up the queue. It took several long moments but, eventually, the old woman finished the song.

“‘… The ancient tales again are told,

Can none their own true magic sway?”

When she finished the song she paused and puffed her pipe before very slowly turning to Emllyn. Their eyes met and, for a moment, they simply stared at one another. There was something warm in the air, perhaps a measure of understanding. Then, Emllyn broke out into a timid smile. This time, she was sure the old woman smiled back. And then she went back to smoking her pipe.

Emllyn laughed softly and returned to finish her belt but she felt, in that moment, as if she had accomplished something. Somehow, in the verses of that old song, she and old Eefha had communicated. It was progress. As she worked with the knots on the belt that needed mending, the chamber door rattled violently.

Startled by the loud burst, Emllyn nearly dropped the belt. Heart pounding in her throat, she didn’t move; she sat and waited for something else to happen. It wasn’t long in coming.

“Open the door, wench!” came a booming bellow. “Open it up or I’ll break it down.”

Emllyn was terrified. She sat, rooted to the spot, too frightened to even open her mouth. She simply sat there, hoping whoever was demanding entry would go away. But he banged on the door again, louder than before.

“Open this door, I say!” he yelled. “Open it or I shall beat you severely when I get into the room, and trust me when I tell you that I shall get into the room.”

Jolted out of inaction, Emllyn began looking around frantically for a weapon of some kind. She wasn’t entirely sure the old bolt would hold and wanted to make sure she could protect herself. As she bolted from the chair and began searching the room for something, anything, to protect herself with, Eefha quite calmly stood up from her stool by the hearth.

Emllyn was in the process of inspecting the chair she had been sitting on, undoubtedly to use it like a club, as the old woman headed for the door. Emllyn had her back to Eefha, unaware that the old woman was calmly moving for the bolted panel, and she was further unaware that the woman had unsheathed a sharp dagger buried in the folds of her robes. Emllyn only realized the old woman had moved when she heard the bolt unlatch. As she turned in horror, convinced she had just been betrayed, the old woman pulled open the door and plunged the dagger into the man standing on the landing outside. As quickly as she had buried the blade in his flesh, it was with equal swiftness that she removed it.

Frederick looked with shock at the wound in his gut. He stumbled back, howling, as he slapped a hand over the bleeding puncture. Seeing that it was Eefha who had stabbed him, his features contorted with pain and surprise. But the old woman simply lifted a clawed hand in his direction.

“Of great woe, for that cry is of thy own foolish mistake,” she said ominously. “Beware the protection dear of the fairest lady. In the next, thy life is forfeit.”

Frederick sagged against the corridor wall, his expression wrought with disbelief and agony. She had plunged the blade into the curve of his torso and he was bleeding fairly profusely, but he knew from experience that it more than likely wasn’t a mortal wound. Still, it hurt a great deal and needed to be tended immediately. More than his shock, he was bloody well furious.

“Why did you do that, you foolish sow?” he demanded.

Eefha didn’t say another word. She shut the door in his face and threw the bolt. Then, quite calmly, she returned to her stool and sat. All the while, she had been puffing steadily on the shite pipe. She never missed a puff.

Emllyn was stunned. She could hear Frederick on the opposite side of the door, cursing and grumbling, and she kept waiting for him to kick the door in and kill both her and Eefha. But he never touched the door; he cursed steadily and loudly and eventually his voice faded away. That was how Emllyn knew he was leaving; eventually, he simply faded into silence.

It was quiet again but for the popping of the fire. Emllyn looked at the smelly old woman through new eyes. The woman had clearly protected her from the enraged Irish warrior and Emllyn was shocked, appreciative, and touched. She was trying to figure out what to say to the old woman, conveying words of gratitude that she might hopefully understand, when the door jolted again with a series of heavy blows.

“Open the door!”

It was Devlin. Emllyn jumped up and raced to the door, throwing the bolt and pulling open the heavy panel. Before he could say a word, Emllyn pointed at Eefha.

“Your aunt stabbed a man who appeared at the door and demanded entry,” she said, breathless. “He came to the door and demanded I open it but I did not, so he said he was going to break into the room and punish me. Your aunt went to the door and stabbed him!”

She was pale-faced and excited. Devlin’s gaze lingered on her a moment before passing an amused glance at his aunt.

“Why do you think she has been coming to this chamber to sit with you?” he asked, pushing into the room and closing the door behind him. “She is a better protector than any seasoned warrior.”

Emllyn looked at the old woman with her mouth agape. “She is here to protect me?”

“Of course,” he replied as if an old lady with a knife was the most natural thing in the world. Then he began looking around the room and noted the table and new furnishings. “I see the accommodations are better today. Have you eaten yet?”

Emllyn shook her head. “I have not.”

Devlin ran his hand over the old table, warped and leaning. “We shall remedy that,” he replied. “Do you recognize this table?”

“Should I?”

“It came from one of your English ships.”

Emllyn looked at the table, the chair, pondering his statement, but she just as quickly pushed it aside. She wasn’t yet finished with the discussion of Eefha’s shocking offensive.

“Wait,” she demanded, throwing out her hands as to stop all chatter and action. “I care not where you got the table and chair at the moment. I want to know how you can so easily brush off what your aunt did. She stabbed a man!”

“I know. I saw him downstairs in the hall.”

Emllyn stared at him, aghast. “Is he dead?”

“Nay, but she sufficiently wounded him.”

“But you said she was not dangerous!”

“She is not dangerous to you ,” he said, amused with her bewilderment. “Lady, Eefha is here to protect you. She did what she is supposed to do. Freddy will think twice before coming back up here and trying to molest you. In fact, I would wager to say he will not try it again, at least not with Eefha around.”

Emllyn let it all sink in. So she was being protected by an old mad woman who was fearless with a dagger. It was unconventional to say the least but in the same thought, it was quite pleasing. She felt strangely comfortable with the old woman’s protection. Still, one more thought crossed her mind as she gazed at Devlin. It was a serious thought and her expression reflected it as such.

“Will she protect me from you?” she asked.

Devlin’s humor faded. “She will not need to protect you from me,” he said. “I will not harm you.”

She lowered her gaze. Technically, that was true. He’d never harmed her. But he had given her the most glorious experience of her life, wicked as it had been. Be compliant, her mind screamed because, so far, being compliant had worked wonders. The mighty beast of de Bermingham had softened to her. But the last shards of stubbornness flared in her at his softly uttered statement. She found she could not keep silent on the subject.

But, God’s Bones, the man’s mere presence was making her heart race.

“That is a matter of opinion,” she said. “It is true you’ve not drawn blood or physically caused me great pain, but you have… that is to say, you have touched me.”

Devlin didn’t disregard her remark as he would normally have done. He didn’t posture angrily and point out that she belonged to him again because she already knew that. So he met her head–on.

“And you have hated every minute of it, have you?” he asked in a mocking tone. “I know for a fact that you have not. You have derived as much pleasure out of it as I have. Your consent was in your actions, lass. I heard you loud and clear.”

The conversation was turning serious and uneasy, mostly because he wasn’t wrong and she knew it. Emllyn kept her gaze averted, her cheeks flushing a dull red as she moved towards the lancet window. She was trying to put distance between their conversation and Eefha. Although she wasn’t entirely sure the old woman could understand what they were saying, still, it was a private and embarrassing subject, one she did not wish to discuss in front of a third party.

“I wish you would stop,” she finally whispered. “I do not want you to do that to me anymore. Please, for mercy’s sake, I beg you.”

Devlin’s eyebrows lifted. “I have every right,” he said. “By the laws of my people, you are my property now. I have marked you and no other man will touch you.”

“What do you mean you have every right?”

“You are my concubine.”

Emllyn’s mouth popped open in outrage. “Your concubine ?” she repeated, appalled. All thoughts of being compliant fled and she was no longer willing to bow down to the man, not now. Not with that foolishly uttered statement. Damn her pride ! “I am no such thing!”

Devlin nodded patiently. “The first time I touched you as a man touches a woman, you became my concubine,” he said. “Men in the Bible had concubines. I will have one also. In fact, there is a story I once heard about a man named Jacob who had a wife and a concubine. There is no shame in such a status.”

Emllyn gazed at him in utter horror. He was absolutely serious and after a moment, she plopped down onto the chair behind her. Then she burst into tears.

Devlin frowned, watching her weep. He went to her. “Why do you weep?” he asked, his tone considerably softer than it had been moments before. “You do not like the term ‘whore’. I thought ‘concubine’ would be better.”

Emllyn howled angrily. “I do not want to be a concubine,” she sobbed. “It is as bad as being a whore and you cannot make either term sound remotely acceptable. I am the sister of an earl, descended from Welsh royalty, and I fostered in one of the finest houses in all of England. A proper and advantageous marriage was always planned for me. Now I find myself the whore of an Irish rebel and you tell me there is no shame in that?”

She was so angry that she was off the chair, wagging a finger at him. Devlin had never seen her truly furious and he had to admit that she was rather intimidating. He realized that he wanted to appease her. Seeing her so upset made him uncertain and frustrated.

“Then what do you want?” he asked. “Do you want me to marry you? Would it be better to be the wife of a rebel than the whore of one?”

Emllyn froze in the midst of her tears, her eyes wide with astonishment at his suggestion. After a pause of epic proportions, she squealed with fury and was off on another crying jag, this one louder than before. She was so angry that she stamped her feet as she turned her back to him, evidently having a full-fledged tantrum right before his eyes.

Devlin wasn’t sure what more to say. Anything he said seemed to make it worse. Uneasily, he sat down on the bed, far away from Emllyn and her fit, and pondered his next move. She didn’t want to be a whore, a concubine, or a wife. But what she wanted was of little matter; he would do what he had to do. He would not apologize for anything he had said or done, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold his tongue. He didn’t like upsetting her, although it truthfully shouldn’t matter to him if she was upset or not. But it did. In confused silence, he left the chamber.

With the object of her frustration gone, Emllyn eventually calmed her weeping and stamping. Exhausted both emotionally and physically, she sat morosely, cursing the day she decided that stowing away on a ship bound for battle had been a wise decision. She had placed herself in this predicament and now there was no escape. She would have to face her mistakes and live with the consequences. Perhaps the reality was that being a concubine now was the best she could hope for. It was a sickening realization.

Depressed over a future filled with nothing she had imagined for herself, Emllyn eyed the old woman sitting by the fire, puffing on his shite pipe that now seemed to be running out of fuel. Was this to be the rest of her life now, being protected by a crazy old woman and bearing children for a man who viewed her as his whore? A day ago, the situation did not seem real, but as of this evening, circumstances were beginning to settle. Reality was upon her.

Aye, now this was her future. Even if she discovered that Trevor was still alive in Black Sword’s dungeons, he certainly would not want her now. She was destined to stay with de Bermingham forever because the man had indeed marked her. She belonged to him and no other. Sadly, she sighed.

“I do not want to be here, Eefha,” she muttered. “Can you not understand? I want to know if Trevor is alive and then I want to go home. I do not want to be a concubine of an Irish rebel.”

The old woman continued to puff and Emllyn knew her words were falling on deaf ears. Pulling the robe she wore more tightly around her to ward off the cold evening temperature, she gazed out of the lancet window and up to the stars on a surprisingly clear night. It was beautiful outside, crisp now that the storms had blown away. As she sat and gazed into the blanket of stars, the door to the chamber lurched open.

Devlin entered with Enda and Nessa behind him. The women were bearing great trays of food and Devlin was carrying a clay pitcher and a pair of pewter cups. He directed the women to set the food over on the table and they did, with Nessa giving Emllyn a shy smile. Emllyn smiled back, somewhat startled when the girl pressed something cold into her hand before fleeing the room. Emllyn kept her hand in her lap, glancing down to see what Nessa had given her, as Devlin pulled up the second chair up to the table.

“I thought you might feel better if you ate,” he said as he began pulling apart of big, thick-crusted loaf of bread. “We have bread, cheese, boiled onions with mustard, roast fowl, figs, and walnuts. Help yourself, my lady.”

Emllyn was looking at the trinket that Nessa had slipped into her hand; it was a hair comb made of nickel or tin; it was hard to tell. Someone had rather skillfully worked it into the shape of a butterfly, and it was evidently well-used as it was bent a bit, but it was a very sweet little comb.

Emllyn fought off a smile as she gazed down at the gift from an Irish lass she’d never said more than two words to. It was a very nice gesture, surprising since she thought all of the Irish in this Godforsaken castle hated her. She would make sure to thank her next time she saw her.

But the smell of the food on the table was distracting her. The scent was divine and Emllyn’s dark mood began to lift as she tore off a leg of the roast bird and began to eat. The meat was succulent and juicy and in little time, she was competing with Devlin for who could eat the most and not vomit it all up. The feast had her attention at the moment and for a few minutes she could actually forget about everything. At the moment, there was no captivity or concubine; it was simply the food and that was all she focused on.

It was a rather oddly silent meal, Devlin was thinking as he watched Emllyn stuff food in her mouth. He knew she was distracted, and saddened, but at least she wasn’t hysterical any longer. He was grateful for that. After taking Eefha a bird leg, he returned to the table and sat heavily as he collected his cup of wine.

“We shall be leaving for de Cleveley’s settlement on the morrow,” he told her as he poured more wine. “We will have to travel lightly; practically nothing at all since we are supposed to be prisoners escaped from Black Sword’s dungeon. Think carefully about what you will take with you because even then, it may be too much. You must think of what only a prisoner would be allowed to possess or would be able to steal.”

Emllyn looked at him in mid-chew. “I am a prisoner,” she said flatly. “I will take the clothes on my back and nothing else. What more do I have? And what do you mean by we are supposed to be prisoners?”

He took a long drink of wine before looking at her. “I am going with you.”

She cocked her head curiously. “To escort me as you said you would?”

He drained his cup. “I am going with you into the belly of the beast,” he said, realizing she had no knowledge of the plans he’d discussed with Shain and the others. “You see, lady, I do not want you going in there alone. I fear that they will never let you go if you do. Therefore, I will go with you. We are to pose as two escaped prisoners from Black Sword’s dungeons, you being Fitzgerald’s fine sister and me being a warrior from an enemy clann. We will tell them I am mute because in that respect, they may trust me more and of course you will validate my presence. You will tell them that I helped you escape and that I have been your mute protector ever since. If you trust me, they will trust me. Then we shall discover what we can and flee. Is this in any way unclear?”

Emllyn was looking at him with wide, astonished eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” he said. Then, he reached out and grabbed her wrist, his iron grip conveying a thousand silent words of intimidation and foreboding. “If you do not do everything in your power to convince them I am no threat to them, or if you betray me, know that I have given orders to have every one of the English captives killed. Their lives depend upon your behavior.”

By this time, she was pale with apprehension and fury. “Why do you threaten me?” she asked hoarsely.

Devlin’s jaw ticked. “I tell you the truth. Betray me and everyone dies. Obey me and mayhap you shall discover that your lover is indeed still alive. Are we agreed?”

Emllyn thought about yanking her hand free from his grasp but stopped short. He was holding her so tightly that she would probably snap her wrist in the attempt. His grip was heated, too, and her mind inadvertently turned to those very big hands and how they had touched her body. His big fingers had penetrated her, making her experience things she had never known to exist. Shuddering, she forced away those thoughts and lowered her head. Back came thoughts of Trevor, of the English captives, and of the Irish rebels to whom she was at the mercy of. For God’s sake, now is the time to be totally compliant!

“I will not betray you,” she muttered.

“Swear it on the Blessed Virgin.”

“I swear.”

“Then I believe you.”

“Let go of me now.”

A flicker of humor crossed Devlin’s expression. “Why?”

“Because I have asked you to.”

“And if I do not?”

Emllyn turned her head away. “It would be nothing new.”

“What do you mean?”

She tried to pull away. “When have you ever done anything I asked?”

Devlin was feeling his alcohol. He’d had most of the pitcher and could feel the warmth in his veins. When have you ever done anything I asked ? He had never done anything she’d asked. But, then again, it wasn’t her place to ask anything of him. She was the captive and he was her conqueror. The sooner her proud English soul recognized that, the better for them all. God, he could feel his lust for her flushing his veins like a wildfire as he watched her squirm. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman in his life.

Swiftly, he stood up and yanked her to her feet. Emllyn let out a startled cry as he scooped her into his arms and, in three long strides, tossed her onto the bed. Emllyn barely had time to scream before he was on her, his soft lips and bristly beard covering her mouth. His enormous arms wrapped around her body as his mouth suckled her with all shades of lust and glory.

Emllyn tried to avoid his seeking lips, to turn her head, but he would have no part of it. She pushed on his shoulders as he kissed her lustily, sucking the air right out of her.

“Nay,” she breathed when she managed to pull away. “Not when you have been drinking!”

He ignored her as his hands began to roam, tugging at belts and tossing them aside. But Emllyn wasn’t fully compliant yet.

“Your aunt is in the room,” she hissed. “Please, for the love of God, not in front of her !”

His mouth was forging a blazing trail across her jaw. “She is asleep,” he said breathlessly. “Can’t you hear her snoring?”

Emllyn had no idea if she could hear the woman snoring or not. All she knew was that Devlin intended to take her in front of an audience. She was horrified. As she opened her mouth to protest, he clamped his lips down over hers and kissed her so hard that she nearly lost consciousness.

She couldn’t breathe. She could hardly think. Devlin’s mouth finally released her and she twisted away from him, weakly trying to climb off the bed. Collecting the belt he’d pulled off her waist, the one she had repaired that afternoon, he managed to capture both flailing hands and using the belt, he tied them together snuggly. Then he took the tail end of the belt and lashed it to the head of the bed.

Emllyn’s arms were effectively trapped but she didn’t give up the fight. She tried to kick him in the groin when he shifted and she barely missed. Devlin pushed himself off of her, rolling over to sit at the edge of the bed. He put out a hand and shook Eefha gently.

“ Aintín ?” he said gently, waking her. “Go to bed, now. I will see you on the morrow.”

Eefha snorted and shifted on the stool, puffing furiously on the now-cold pipe as a reflexive action of being awoken out of a stone-cold sleep. She grunted and waved Devlin off, standing up wearily and making her way to the door. She never once looked at the bed or noticed Emllyn. The old woman shut the door behind her and Devlin bolted it.

When the door was secured, he turned to his captive on the bed. She was in a perfect position for him to have his way with her but he didn’t; something was holding him back although he wasn’t sure what. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d asked him not to brutalize her anymore. As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps he was actually bending to her request. She was very compliant when he coaxed her enough. That was the Emllyn he wanted. But she gazed back at him with an expression between fear and outrage.

“Untie my hands,” she demanded.

He put his hands on his hips. “I will not because you will only try to kick me again.”

“I kick you to defend myself,” she fired back.

He continued to face her, fists on his hips, and an odd expression on his face. Emllyn kept waiting for him to pounce on her but he remained standing. She watched him warily because he seemed rather pensive. After several long moments, he broke his stance and shifted towards the bed.

“Tomorrow we embark on a journey that, in order to be successful, must see some measure of trust between us,” he said quietly. “You and I are not comrades. We are not family nor are we even remotely kin. You are the sister of my enemy, a man I am rebelling against because he claims my lands as his own and holds my people as slaves. Did it ever occur to you that I am treating you the way your brother treats my people?”

He was being somewhat deliberate and calm in his delivery, a far cry from the lustful man from moments before. It was difficult not to take him seriously because his expression and words were sincere. Emllyn gazed back at him as she pondered the different responses she could give him. She settled on one.

“My brother does not force himself upon women as you do,” she said, trying not to sound angry or accusing. “I fail to see the similarities.”

Devlin cocked his head thoughtfully. “Your family has raped Irish lands for decades,” he said. “Our women have been taken back to England as concubines or worse. You know this to be true because you have Irish women working for you at Llansteffan.”

“How would you know that?”

“There is a great deal I know.”

He was, in fact, correct. Emllyn watched him a moment, studying his handsome face, before relaxing somewhat. The conversation was strangely civil and her terror from moments earlier was gone. “I asked you this once before,” she said. “Are you to punish me for the sins of my brother and father, and all of my male relatives before them that have staked a claim in Ireland?”

Devlin shook his head. “Punish you?” he said. “Nay, not punish. But I have made it clear that you belong to me. I will never, ever return you to your brother and it is my intention to breed strong sons from you. If this is distasteful, then I am sorry for you. But it is the way of things.”

Emllyn could feel the familiar sting of tears but she resisted. It would do no good to cry, anyway. She had learned that much about him.

“What would you have me say to all of that?” she whispered. “There is nothing I can say and nothing I can do. But you and I have a bargain and I will hold you to it; you want to discover what de Cleveley’s plans are for you. I want to know if Trevor is among the captured. I told you that I would discover what I can and I have no intention of going back on my word. You have mentioned that there must be some trust between us– my word is my bond and I would assume the same with you, as a knight. You told me I could see the English captives once our task is finished. I am trusting your word just as you are trusting mine. What more do you want?”

Devlin listened to her reasonable words. She made sense. After a moment, he shook his head. “I told you I believed you when you swore not to betray me,” he said. “I still believe you. That has not changed. But… but I do not want to be fighting with you the entire time. We must have some level of cooperation or I fear we will fail, and that will mean death for us both.”

Emllyn tried not to give him an expression of total disbelief. “It is a simple thing to gain cooperation if that is what you truly want,” she said. “Untie my hands. Treat me with respect and you shall gain mine in return. Mayhap it is foolish to tell the man who took my innocence that I will show him a measure of respect, but I sense in you a man of honor, Devlin de Bermingham. I am not sure how or why, but I can see it in you. You are indeed a paradox; brutal and barbaric one moment and then civil and intelligent the next. I should hate you with every drop of my blood but I cannot seem to manage it because if I admit it to myself, you indeed have a grievance. I cannot say I would not behave the same way if a family that had no right to my lands or property claimed it for their own. But what you’ve done to me… I had nothing to do with my brother or father or grandfather’s claim in Ireland, yet you have indeed punished me for their sins. The barbarian in you ruined me but the warrior in you… he is a different man, one who is trying to save his people. I can understand that. But the barbarian… I hate him as much as he hates me.”

Devlin was stunned by her words. But along with that sensation came a sense of regret and guilt so powerful that he actually had to lower his gaze. He couldn’t look her in the eye. He had sworn all along that he would not be sorry for how he had treated her but at this moment, he was. Odd how this one moment in time and the lady’s gentle statement had turned the tides in his heart. His remorse was overwhelming, but not enough to let her go completely. She was still his and he intended to keep her, but not simply because she was his captive. There was something about her, as a woman of spirit, that he didn’t want to be without.

Silently, he went to the bed and untied the belt, letting her hands go free.

Emllyn sat up, rubbing her wrists and watching him as he went to the hearth and stoked the fire, throwing a few chunks of peat on it. He seemed very subdued and she wondered if her words had any impact on him. With de Bermingham, it was difficult to tell. She couldn’t read the man’s moods by any means.

“We will leave early on the morrow so I would suggest you pull together what possessions you plan to bring,” he said, giving the fire a final poke before rising. “When I leave this chamber, bolt the door behind me but know I will return.”

Emllyn simply nodded, watching the man make his way to the door, catching a glimpse of his big hands as he moved past her and thinking those same heated thoughts she’d had before– hands that had made her feel things she had never felt in her life, sensations of such pleasure that even the mere thought of them was enough to cause her breathing to quicken. She was almost sorry that he was leaving. Part of her wanted him to stay, part of her wanted him to go.

It was a very strange conflict.

Devlin quit the room and Emllyn got up out of the bed to throw the bolt behind him. There was such an odd mood between them, something she pondered deeply as she went in search of her meager possessions as Devlin had instructed. Even as she packed, she thought of him, of their conversation, and how he had seemed rather vulnerable at times.

She knew there was a sensitive man beneath the warrior facade. She could sense it. A barbarian with a poet’s soul, a brute with a soft heart he kept hidden. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. As she finished tying off her possessions that she had wrapped up in one of the hides, she lifted her hands to smell them. She could smell Devlin’s scent upon them from where she had fought with him.

The scent made her heart flutter.