“Because I take me produce to market at Black Castle but the peasants are so a-feared of Black Sword that there is hardly any commerce there anymore,” he said, pretending to be upset by it. “Black Sword keeps the castle fairly bottled up. Not many pass between the gates these days. But… well, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I was there about a month ago. I had gotten to the castle before sunrise and sold some of me goods to the castle cook. As I was leaving, many men entered the castle, men in blue tartan that someone said were O’Connor men. There must have been hundreds of them. It looked as if Black Sword was planning a meeting with them.”
De Noble was listening intently. “What kind of a meeting?”
Devlin shook his head and took another pretend drink of the ale, spilling it on his chin to disguise the fact that he’d swallowed nothing. He was starting to see that de Noble was willingly listening to anything he said so he thought it would be a great opportunity to feed the man false information. His clever mind was working quickly; if de Noble was foolish enough to try and play him for an idiot, then Devlin would comply– and he would turn the tables on him.
“I don’t know,” Devlin said, pretending to be very dumb about the entire thing. “But there were a lot. Do you think they were the same men who destroyed Kildare’s fleet? It could have been. I heard that the Irish banded together for that battle, uniting under Black Sword. They say they are remaining united, for something very big. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
By this time, de Ferrer and the Lady Elyse’s escort, a tall and handsome man introduced as Sir Christopher Connaught, were leaning in to listen. They were all evidently very interested in what the enormous, and rather dumb, Irishman had to say.
“Whatis very big?” Connaught asked; he had a slight Irish accent mixed in with his Norman speech pattern. “What have you heard about Black Sword’s future plans?”
Devlin looked at the man with feigned reluctance, as if he had already said too much. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I’m just a farmer and that is all I want to be. I don’t like war and I don’t like the Irish who wreak havoc for havoc’s sake. I don’t like the English who rape our women and steal our lands. I just want to be left alone.”
De Noble silently waved Connaught off. “You know,” he said casually, “you speak very well for a farmer.”
Devlin looked at the man. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you speak like an educated man.”
Devlin just stared at him. Then, he smiled weakly and averted his gaze. “Me mother could read,” he said. “She taught me what I know. I can read and I can write a little.”
De Noble nodded faintly, although he was staring at Devlin with more than an intense stare; there was something glittering in the depths of the man’s dark eyes, something knowing. Devlin didn’t want to stare at him too much to try and figure it out; all he knew was that it made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like the way the man looked at him. It was more than scrutiny; it was calculating. De Noble was being very calculating.
“So you do not like the Irish yet you do not particularly like the English,” de Noble ventured after a moment. “In truth, I do not blame you. For a peaceful and simple man, these are difficult times.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“When were you last at Black Castle?”
Devlin pretended to think. “Over a week ago, I think,” he said. “It was the last of my winter produce and my spring crops are just little seedlings now.”
“I see,” de Noble said thoughtfully. “And when you were last there, what was it like? Were there still O’Connor troops there?”
Devlin’s brow furrowed in thought. “If they were, they must have been hiding, for I don’t remember seeing a lot of men,” he replied. Then he reached for his drink and knocked it completely off of the table, spilling it. He grinned apologetically. “I fear I’ve had too much to drink, m’lord.”
De Ferrer picked the cup off the floor and handed it to de Noble, who picked up the ale pitcher and refilled it. “Nonsense,” he said. “For aiding the Lady Emllyn, you deserve a rest and good food and good drink. You will be our guest for the night.”
Devlin nodded gratefully. “Thank you, m’lord,” he said. After a moment’s hesitation, he continued. “I would like to know how the lady is faring, if I can.”
De Noble was looking at him with his razor-sharp stare. “She is no longer your concern, John,” he said steadily. “We will take care of her now.”
Devlin could feel his heart begin to race, just a little. “But… but I told you I would not leave her with people I did not know or trust,” he said, suddenly sounding not quite so drunk. “You promised the lady that I could stay.”
De Noble shook his head. “Mydaughterpromised that you could remain,” he clarified. “I said nothing of the kind. A lady of that high ranking wants nothing to do with a dirt farmer. Surely you know that.”
Devlin didn’t react for a moment because he could feel rage building in his chest and he knew that it would do him no good. Therefore, he could do one of two things– he could protest vigorously, which would only get him thrown out, or he could try another avenue, one of sympathy and pain. Swallowing his pride and his natural urge to battle the English, he lowered his gaze and stared at his lap.
“I do,” he muttered. “’Tis just… well, I have protected her since I found her. I hid her from a patrol of Black Sword’s men after Kildare’s armada was destroyed and I’ve kept watchful eye on her. You see, I lost… I lost me own wife and daughter not too long ago and the lady reminds me a good deal of me wife. If… if I could just see the lady for tonight, to see how she is feeling, I would be grateful. I know the English are more generous than me own people, so I would hope for your permission.”
He kept his gaze lowered, hoping his lie would garner some sympathy. If it didn’t, he wasn’t quite sure what more he was going to do except lay siege single-handedly to the keep, which would not produce good results.
As Devlin hoped, de Noble relented somewhat. It wasn’t an unreasonable request so he truly had no reason to deny it. The older knight took a drink from his cup, his gaze shifting from Devlin and taking on a far-away look. He was reflecting on something.
“I know what it means to lose a wife,” he said finally. “My wife died a few years ago but I think I lost her even longer before that. She did not like Ireland. She wanted to remain in England, so I permitted it.”
Devlin could see that he’d hit a nerve with his talk of a dead wife. He took advantage of it. “Me wife was a good woman,” he said. “We had grown up together so we had been together a very long time. But she got sick, as did my child, and I lost them both.”
De Noble wallowed in his own reflection a moment longer before looking at Devlin. His expression went from wistful to controlled in a split second; he didn’t like to think about his dead wife and he certainly didn’t want to discuss her with this peasant. He was an intensely private man.
