“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 farbetter 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. Shecouldn’tthink 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 seethe 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.”
