Sir Victor nodded. “He is,” he replied. “Why? Do you know of him or his family?”
Devlin shook his head. “Who is his family?”
“The le Mons of Chateroy Castle, descended from the kings of Anglecynn,” he replied. “He comes from a fairly important family. I am sure they would pay a hefty ransom for his return.”
Devlin cocked an eyebrow at him. “And you would willingly divulge this information to me?”
Sir Victor shrugged. “You will want to know it eventually, and we wish to return to our families. I see no reason to withhold truths if it will get us home faster.”
It was the logical thought process from a seasoned veteran. “I take it that you have been ransomed before, then?” Devlin asked.
Sir Victor smiled ironically. “Twice,” he said. “My family is fairly wealthy as well. Name your price and I am sure they will pay it. I have a wife and five daughters waiting for me at home.”
Devlin grunted his disapproval. “Then I must send you home if for no other reason than to give your wife a son,” he said. “No man should be publicly thrilled with five daughters.”
Sir Victor laughed softly, surprised by Black Sword’s sense of humor. Or, at least de Bermingham’s sense of humor. Somehow, the two entities were becoming separate as a result of de Bermingham’s humane treatment. There was the legend… and then there was the man.
“They are good girls,” he said. “But I must find husbands for them eventually, so do not ransom me for too much. I will need that money for dowries.”
Devlin’s lips twitched with a smile. “You will need to kidnap men in your own right to hold them for ransom so that you may pay for that brood,” he said, but le Mon caught his attention again. “Le Mon… he and that man he is with seem like good friends. Is it his brother?”
Sir Victor glanced over at the pair as le Mon ran his fingers over his companion’s wet hair. He shook his head. “Nay,” he replied, the humor gone from his tone. “That is his lover.”
Devlin tried not to look too shocked. “Lover?” he repeated. “He is not… that is to say, he prefers men?”
Sir Victor nodded and looked away from the affectionate pair, rolling his eyes. “Pity,” he said. “The man is a fine knight, a good commander, and comes from an excellent family. He could command a very fine wife, but he has no interest in women. In fact, my eldest daughter has made no secret of her interest in him but he repeatedly rebuffed her.”
Devlin had to make a conscious effort to hide his shock. “Yourdaughter?” he said, confused and astonished. “Your daughter is interested in him?”
“Aye.”
“But… what of the Lady Emllyn?”
Sir Victor looked at him. “So you have heard of her?” he asked. Then he shook his head. “As far as I know, the Lady Emllyn showed no such interest in him. She and my daughter are great friends, you know, or at least they were until the Lady Emllyn died of a fever last winter. Cate still has not recovered. She and Emllyn were friends since birth, practically. They grew up together, fostered together. They had all of the same friends and essentially the same life experiences. It was a terrible blow to her to lose her very best friend.”
Devlin was reeling. In fact, the world was rocking unsteadily and he struggled to gain control over his equilibrium. “Cate? She is your daughter?”
Sir Victor nodded. “Her name is Catherine but we call her Cate,” he said. “She is my eldest. You’ve never seen a more beautiful woman; refined, talented, intelligent. She is a good girl with excellent common sense except when it comes to Trevor le Mon. She is mad over him and I do believe she would do anything for him.”
Devlin felt sick; literally sick. He couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around the fact that from what St. John was describing, it was his daughter who had been in love with le Mon and not Emllyn.Emllyn Fitzgerald was dead. Was it possible, then, that his beloved Emllyn wasn’t Emllyn at all? Was it possible that she was, in truth, someone else?
It didn’t make any sense. The sickness swept him and he began to sweat profusely. He remembered back to when he had told Emllyn that Sir Victor had been in the vault and how she had begged for the knight’s life.Of course she would have! He is her father!There were more questions than answers, questions that hammered away at him like a drum.She lied to me about her identity! Did she also lie when she told me she loved me?He couldn’t seem to grasp his thoughts, his mind swirling with bewilderment. He just didn’t understand any of it.God, it’s just not possible!
Body quivering, mind clouded with confusion, he looked at the man who had delivered such revelations. Truth be told, he didn’t know Sir Victor at all and it was quite possible the man was lying to him, too, mayhap to throw him off somehow. But why? What would be his purpose? One thing was certain, however; until he could get to the bottom of things, and until he could talk to Emllyn, she was still Emllyn to him and not the Lady Catherine St. John as Sir Victor had suggested.
She was still his Emllyn!
Yet, as his mind reeled about Emllyn, it also reeled about Sir Trevor. Two incredulous bits of information in as many minutes. If what Sir Victor said was true, then it made perfect sense as to why Sir Trevor had rebuffed Emllyn. The man preferred men in his bed but rather than tell Emllyn outright, as he would not have so boldly announced such a thing, he had led her to believe that he simply wasn’t interested in her. And Emllyn, determined, gave chase.
The entire situation was convoluted with lies and truths, things he couldn’t easily discern as they rolled over and over in his brain. But one thing was increasingly clear to him; he had to get to Emllyn because he had to discover the truth and then, and only then, would he be able to settle down.
With strained composure, he turned to Sir Victor. God’s Blood… he and the man had much to discuss, now more than ever.
“If you are finished grooming, then finish dressing and I will order food,” he said in an oddly strained tone. “You and I have much to confer.”
Sir Victor did as he was told. Very quickly, he had his clothes on although the armor had been taken from him because it was so badly rusted that there was no way he could wear it. In fact, there was a pile of mail and another smaller pile of plate armor at the corner of the kitchen yard. As he finished securing his tunic and approached Devlin once again, he pointed off to the pile of expensive protection.
“I believe that is salvageable, my lord,” he said to Devlin. “I hope you aren’t intending to melt it down.”
