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 towardsthe 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. “Yourconcubine?” 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 wifeanda 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 nowthere 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,nowthis 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 theroom. 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. “Iama 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 byweare supposed to be prisoners?”
He took a long drink of wine before looking at her. “I am going with you.”
