Devlin, who had managed to regain most of his composure whilst Sir Victor dressed, turned to look at the pile the man was addressing. He grunted in response.
“I am not going to melt it down,” he said, leading Sir Victor over to where several long tables from the great hall had been brought outside and were now assembled near the stable yard entry. Servants were setting out all manner of food for the Englishmen who were winding down their bath and beginning to dress in clean, stiff clothing. “I am going to return it to you and your men and you will have the unhappy task of cleaning the rust from it. You’re going to need it again, and fairly soon by my estimation.”
Sir Victor was mildly confused by the statement. “Why is that?”
Devlin took a seat at the end of the table and indicated for Sir Victor to sit on the bench next to him. He silently indicated for Victor to partake of the bread and wine that had been laid out and Victor did eagerly. As Victor ate, Devlin spoke.
“First, I will dispense with the formality of titles,” he said, his voice low. “I see no need to address you as ‘sir’ and surely you see no need to address me as anything other than de Bermingham.”
Victor, his mouth full, nodded in agreement. “As you wish.”
Devlin continued. “What I am about to tell you is the gist of the situation since Kildare’s ships crashed upon my shore,” he said, his gaze intense. “Much has occurred since you were locked up in the vault and I will swear you to secrecy on this. If you divulge this information to anyone I do not approve of, you will never see your wife and five daughters again. Are we clear?”
Victor wasn’t intimidated but he took the threat seriously. “Of course. I will not speak a word without your approval.”
Devlin eyed the man before moving on; he knew he had to tell him of the situation involving Emllyn because he had no choice. The entire purpose of releasing the English prisoners was, in fact, to use them as a bargaining chip to regain Emllyn should Frederick have gone to Glenteige to betray Devlin. Butnow, there was so much more to it if, in fact, Emllyn was in reality the Lady Catherine St. John.
Devlin’s head was still swirling with the possibility and it was a terrible struggle not to feel anger or betrayal or utter grief about it. So he took a deep breath and pushed on.
“As I mentioned, much has occurred since you were locked up in my vault,” he said. “The most important occurrence has to do with the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald. I am not quite sure how to address this so I will simply come out with it; a woman declaring that she was the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald stowed away on Kildare’s armada.”
Victor stopped chewing and his eyes widened. “What’s this you say?” he repeated, shocked. “Lady Emllyn? But… but that is impossible. The woman died last winter.”
Devlin could see how astonished the man was and he understood the feeling well. “Be that as it may, a woman declaring she was the sister of Kildare was captured when the fleet foundered,” he said quietly. “She was brought to me and became my property. I need not explain what that entails, do I?”
Victor pushed aside his bread, his face pale with shock and horror. “You do not,” he said, his tone hoarse. “But since the Lady Emllyn is dead, I am curious as to who this woman is and why she said she was the Lady Emllyn.”
Devlin sighed heavily; there was a pitcher of wine off to his right and he collected it, drinking straight from the pitcher. He found he desperately needed it.
“She said she was following her lover, a Sir Trevor, into battle because she wanted to prove to him what a good and fearless wife she would be,” he said. He took another drink before looking St. John in the eye. “Does that sound like anyone you know?”
Victor was beside himself. The calm, collected, and seasoned veteran looked to be verging on a breakdown. “Of course it does!” he finally hissed. “It sounds like Cate!”
Devlin nodded, the feelings of nausea and despair overwhelming him once more. “She is a petite woman with reddish-gold hair and beautiful green eyes,” he said, his tone dull and lifeless. “She has a dusting of freckles on her nose and a darker freckle near her right ear. Does this sound like the Lady Emllyn to you?”
Victor shook his head, closing his eyes tightly against the realization. “It does not,” he muttered. “You have described my daughter perfectly.”
Devlin actually felt tears in his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He was so utterly devastated. “Why would she tell me she was the Lady Emllyn?”
Victor was devastated, too. He was so very pale with astonishment. “I do not know,” he muttered. “I am sure she was terrified to have been captured in battle. Mayhap she told you she was the Lady Emllyn because she hoped you would treat her with more respect than if she told you she was a mere knight’s daughter. But you didn’t treat her with respect, did you? You… you brutalized her anyway.”
Devlin couldn’t look at the man; he was staring at the pitcher in his hand. “She was a casualty of war,” he said softly. “She became my property to do with as I pleased.”
“She was an innocent young maiden!”
“An innocent young maiden who stowed away on a battle armada to be with her lover,” Devlin reiterated steadily. “Even after I claimed her as my own, she could have told me at any time that she was not the Lady Emllyn. The damage had already been done to her and pretending to be an earl’s sister wasn’t providing her with any safe securities.”
Victor’s pain-filled gaze lingered on him for several long seconds before looking away. He had to; the longer he looked at Devlin, the more grief-stricken he became. “I do not know the answer to that, either,” he whispered. “As with all lies, the more time passes the more difficult it is to tell the truth. Mayhap she was fearful of your reaction should she tell you who she really was.”
“Mayhap.”
“For the love of God, where is she?”
Devlin hesitated. “You should know that I love her,” he said, feeling the man’s pain mingle with his own. “She started out as my property but she became my heart. I suppose I honestly do not care if she is Emllyn or Cate; I love her regardless.”
Victor didn’t think he could have possibly been more astonished, but he was. “You love her?” he asked in disbelief. “Or is she simply a possession you are fond of?”
“I love her with everything that I am.”
