Emllyn didn’t know what to say; she looked at Elyse in shock, unsure how her friend was going to handle the news. She couldn’t tell from the woman’s expression.
“Are you still going to meet him by the well?” she finally asked. “You cannot do that now that you know it ’tis him.”
Elyse appeared concerned but not distressed. “Mayhap… mayhap you should just continue to ignore the notes,” she said. “Although I do not want to see my father disappointed, mayhap it would be best if you did not respond.”
Emllyn agreed. “I will not,” she said, eyeing Elyse. “I am sorry if this makes you uncomfortable.”
Elyse shook her head. “It does not,” she said. “I simply cannot believe my father is showing interest in a woman. It is shocking.”
Merradoc entered the conversation, sitting forward to look Elyse in the eye. “By God’s Holy Rood, Elyse,” he exclaimed softly. “Your father is not dead. He saw an attractive woman and reacted naturally. There is nothing mysterious or shameful about that.”
Elyse thought on that a moment before nodding her head. “I suppose not,” she said, regaining some of her humor. “It is a bit strange, though.”
Emllyn agreed, sipping her wine but refraining from saying anything more. She was already uncomfortable enough as it was.
The three of them continued to drink and tell stories for the rest of the afternoon until the storm outside passed and shades of a lovely sunset were visible to the east. At that point, the ladies excused themselves to prepare for the evening meal while Merradoc, with de Noble’s note still in his hand, wandered out to the well at sunset just to see what he could see. The note had said the well, after all.
De Noble was indeed waiting. Merradoc was initially going to have some fun with him but when he saw how disappointed the man became when Emllyn didn’t appear, he decided against it. After some general chatter and nonsensical conversation, none of which had anything to do with the subject of Emllyn, Merradoc escorted the man into the feasting hall of Glenteige and sat with him while he became drunk and depressed.
It would seem that prim and proper men had deep and fragile hearts.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Black Castle
The wind waswhipping and the rain lashing as a violent storm battered the coast. Black Castle, caught in the storm’s path, took the brunt of it. The wind howled and the seas swelled as inside the keep, the smaller feasting hall was stuffed with men, smelling of vomit and unwashed bodies.
It was much like the night when Kildare’s fleet ran aground; men were high on glory and bellowing stories of victory, but these were not of victories over the English. They were victories over the Irish. Devlin sat in the chair he had stolen from de Cleveley with Neart perched over his left shoulder, watching Shain and Iver and Frederick tell grand stories of battle. Even though Devlin’s mind should have rightly been on the stories being told, all he could see to think about was the fact he had met Emllyn on a night not dissimilar to this one.
Everything leads me to thee.
God, she was all he could think of. It had been two weeks since he had left Emllyn at Glenteige and traveled back to Black Castle; initially, he thought to stay away only a week, enough time to pretend he’d been doing what he’d agreed to do, but on the eve of the sixth day, they’d had an unexpected rush from the north.
The Clann O’Byrne, the hated enemies of de Bermingham, had made an unexpected push against Black Castle because of all of the booty they had collected from Kildare’s fleet. Rumors, of course, had spread about Devlin’s victory against the armadaand his men had been pulling apart the ships for weeks, storing the treasures.
The O’Byrnes, a greedy and barbaric clann, had decided that they wanted some of the English treasures and had laid an unorganized but somewhat intense siege to Black Castle, an event that lasted for four days and nights until Devlin and his men launched a counter-attack that had seen brutal combat for nearly two days. It was combat that had seen Devlin lose more than two dozen men, but the O’Byrne losses had been even greater.
The O’Byrnes had retreated and Devlin’s men had set about congratulating each other on their victory. Even now, they had been feasting for two solid days, celebrating victory and planning their next battle. De Cleveley’s settlement had come up several times as a target. Devlin knew his men were charged up on the smell of blood so he simply let them vent. But all he could think about was how the O’Byrne’s unexpected siege had delayed his return to Glenteige, and to Emllyn.
Frederick was the worst of the revelers. He was absolutely electrified with the scent of battle, feeding off of the excitement of the men, and he had been telling great and bloody tales of victory against O’Byrne. As this evening dragged on and the storm outside intensified, Frederick became more and more drunk. He soon ran out of tales about O’Byrne and moved back to the destruction of Kildare’s fleet, which got the men riled up again. Not only did Devlin have to worry about the English planning an attack against him, but now he had a resurgence of violence from the O’Byrnes, and Frederick was more than happy to work the troops up into a frenzy about it. It was coming at Devlin from all sides but he was able to keep a cool and calculated head about it. He would have to or all would be lost.
“I say we take the English prisoners in our vault and make an example out of them,” Frederick was saying; he was drunk,which always gave him an overflowing mouth. “Why are we keeping them locked up if we do not intend to do anything about them?”
The men roared in agreement, banging their tankards against the heavy feasting table. They were banging so hard that chips of wood were spitting all over the floor, sending the dogs scurrying with fright. All attention inevitably turned to Devlin, who was sitting quite calmly with one big leg thrown up over the arm of the chair. He was watching everything with calculating eyes and when he saw that he had the attention of his men, he knew he had to speak or Frederick might cause him some serious problems.
“Those men are mine to do with as I please,” he said loudly, turning a baleful eye to Frederick. “I will decide what’s to be done with them.”
“Butwhatwill you do?” Frederick demanded. “We have a right to know what’s to be done! We should have the right tosaywhat’s to be done!”
Devlin could feel his patience waning. “You have no rights. I will tell you what your rights are.”
Frederick’s dark eyes bulged and he jabbed a finger in the direction of the gatehouse and subsequently the vault. “Those English belong to all of us, not just you!”
Devlin was finished humoring the man. If he didn’t make a show of strength now, in front of everyone, it was possible that the situation might turn even more volatile. Men were on edge, fed by blood. Quick as a flash, Devlin launched himself out of his chair and, in the same motion, clobbered Frederick in the jaw with a crushing blow.
Frederick was a big man but he wasn’t nearly as big or as powerful as Devlin, which made withstanding a blow such as the one Devlin delivered an impossible feat. Frederick tumbled backwards, falling over the feasting table and several men in theprocess. Devlin went after him, kicking men aside as he reached down and grabbed Frederick by the neck, throwing another punch into his face that knocked the man out completely. Picking Frederick up, he turned to the room full of stunned and confused men.
“Is this who you listen to?” he bellowed. “A fool of a man who uses drink to bolster his courage? Freddy is a good warrior and he is my kin, but I swear by God I will kill him and every man who listens to him if he goes against my directive. There can only be one leader and that isme!”
