“Wait,” he commanded softly. “Sit down.”
Emllyn frowned. “Why?”
His reply was to direct her to a rock that was jutting out of the side of the hill and pushed her down on it. As she fussed at him, he lifted her skirt to reveal the wrap that Eefha had put on it. He went to unwrap it but Emllyn tried to stop him. Pushing her hands away, he unwrapped the wound.
An angry, oozing injury faced him and his heart sank. He could see that it was becoming poisonous and he touched it, feeling that it was very hot. Emllyn winced in pain at his touch and pushed his hand away, but he ended up cupping her face with both hands to feel that she was with fever. It wasn’t bad but he knew it soon would be. He tried not to feel an inordinate amount of panic.
“Your wound is developing poison,” he told her as he took his hands from her face. “You have a fever.”
Startled, Emllyn put her hands to her face as if to confirm his diagnosis. “I do?” she felt her cheeks. “But I do not feel terrible, simply tired.”
Devlin’s gaze lingered on her face a moment before returning his attention to her leg. He sighed heavily. “This changes things,” he muttered. “I cannot take you back to Black Castle because it is too far away on foot. De Cleveley’s settlement is closer.”
Emllyn was puzzled by the comment. “We are going there anyway, are we not?” she said. “I fail to see why anything has changed.”
She wasn’t feeling his apprehension; Devlin could see that. Either she was too foolish or too naïve to realize the danger she was in, but he brushed it all aside. He had to get her to help nomatter how unconcerned she was. But he would try to do what he could before they set out on foot, at least enough to keep the poison from growing rapidly. They had so very few possessions with them, and certainly nothing that could ease poison from the body. They were supposed to be escaped prisoners, and escapees didn’t usually travel well-stocked. Thinking quickly, he stood up and pointed a finger at her.
“Remain here,” he instructed. “Don’t move.”
He moved away from her before she could answer and headed to the small steam that flowed near the base of one of the hills that surrounded the vale. Emllyn’s attention was divided between her swollen, oozing injury and Devlin’s movements. He crouched down beside the stream and she could see that he was doing something although she couldn’t see exactly what. It looked to her as if he was playing in the mud along the banks of the idyllic water. He was rubbing and kneading very seriously. Eventually, he stood up with his hands cupped together and headed back in her direction.
Emllyn watched curiously as he knelt beside her and began packing mud against her wound. But there was something else in the mud because she could see white and green flecks. He packed the mud tightly and she winced.
Devlin noticed that she was flinching with every poke and every press, but she didn’t utter a sound. She seemed more interested in watching him work.
“What are you doing?” she finally asked.
Devlin wiped his muddy hands off on his hose and picked up the bandage that had been wrapped around her wound. He began to re-wrap it.
“The mud will help draw out any poison,” he said. “I found some snowdrops and clover by the stream which helps with healing. I’m afraid it is the best I can do for now. I don’t haveanything else with me to tend the wound so we will have to make haste to de Cleveley’s village and depend on their mercy.”
Emllyn watched him as he tightened the bandage. “I truly do not feel that bad,” she assured him softly because he seemed to be worrying a great deal. “I am tired, but other than that I feel well enough.”
Devlin didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to frighten her. Truthfully, her wound could go either way; it could clear up on its own or it could get very, very bad. He hoped it wasn’t the latter. When he was finished tightening the bandage he scooped her up into his big arms and stood up.
“You will not be walking,” he informed her in a tone that suggested the subject was not up for debate. “I will carry you the rest of the way.”
Emllyn wrapped her arms around his neck purely to steady herself, realizing almost instantaneously that the last time she was this close to him, he was doing unspeakable things to her. She could smell his skin and feel his warmth all around her, and her heart began to thump against her ribs. Perhaps it was fear, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt more like excitement.
The man was big, strong, and passionate about everything he did. During the times he’d taken her, it had been with such passion that, although rightly terrified and embarrassed, it was something that had ultimately not left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. He hadn’t hurt her in any way; all he’d done is give her pleasure like she had never known to exist. More and more, she realized she couldn’t bring herself to hate him for it. It was a ridiculous realization, but one she couldn’t deny.
Cradled in Devlin’s arms as he began their trek south towards de Cleveley lands, Emllyn tried not to look at him more than necessary and she definitely tried not to make eye contact with him. Her thoughts were running from silly, foolish thoughts of the man’s powerful arms to the reflection of the pastthree days with him. She was more concerned than she dared to admit about the man placing himself in danger simply to gain information that might save his people and, consequently, his rebellion.
Emllyn was very concerned that she might say or do the wrong thing that might jeopardize her chances of keeping her end of the bargain, but more than that, she was concerned that something terrible might befall Devlin. He was a rebel, a thief, and in many eyes a murderer as well, but he was also someone who was trying to do something noble for his people and doing it any way he could. Her opinion, and her defiance against him, was starting to waver.
After an hour or so of such thoughts, her mind began to grow muddled and weary. It wasn’t long before her head was against his shoulder and her eyes were drooping. She was so very, very tired, and she soon fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Emllyn was passed out cold with a raging fever by the time the old wooden and stone walls of de Cleveley’s settlement came into view shortly after mid-day.
CHAPTER TEN
The great settlementof the House of de Cleveley, heirs to the barony of Bowland, was one of the largest Norman settlements in Ireland. An early Lord de Cleveley had come to Ireland a few years after William the Conqueror had started his systematic takeover of England and had staked out rich and prosperous lands in Wicklow with the help of a few thousand Norman soldiers. He used local and conquered tribes to build him a castle in the village of Wicklow proper and also one to the south near the small village of Glenteige.
Wicklow Castle had been captured by the O’Byrnes about five years earlier. On the coattails of the O’Byrnes, Devlin and his father had managed to clear the de Cleveleys out of a major portion of Wicklow and subsequently chase the Fitzgeralds out of neighboring lands, resulting in the capture of Black Castle. While Devlin had an organized rebellion against Kildare with the purpose of regaining a massive portion of Wicklow for the de Berminghams, the O’Byrnes ran wild in Ulster, burning and looting and killing, which had reduced the de Cleveley holdings to the southern portion of the county.
It was a bit of a complex situation and one that was extraordinarily volatile. It was for that reason that the de Cleveley settlement was surrounded by an enormous wall built from wood and stone, and surrounded by a ditch that was several miles in length. The ditch was filled with seawater which washed in with the tides because some Norman engineer had designed an ingenious system. It was a fairly impregnable compound.
Devlin had never been inside the complex but he had seen it, many times, and he had even helped the O’Connors lay siege to it twice. He knew that the wall surrounded a settlement that housed several thousand people and he also knew there was a central castle and keep buried deep in the complex. Being that it was a village, a living and breathing entity, the gatehouse remained open during the day for trade and commerce to commence. There were always dozens of guards near the gates and the gatehouse itself were heavily manned by English soldiers who hated the sound or sight of anything Irish.
