De Noble frowned. “Andyouare embarrassing me,” he said. “You should be encouraging your friend to allow my suit rather than running off with her every time you as much as hear my voice. And if anyone should be ashamed of anyone, it should be me of you. Do not think for one minute that I don’t know what you and Connaught do when you think I’ve gone to sleep. I’m not an idiot, Elyse, but evidently you are. I thought I had raised you better than to be a common whore.”
Elyse’s mouth popped open in shock before bursting into tears and fleeing to the keep. Emllyn, her mouth agape at the turn of events, pulled away from Merradoc and ran after her. No one seemed to notice that Eefha, too, was headed after them. With the woman all running into the keep, Merradoc turned to de Noble.
“I hope you are proud of yourself,” he said, disgust in his voice. “Even I would never say to her what you just did.”
De Noble scowled at the man. “Shut up, you woman,” he snapped. “You are the worst of the bunch. Are you sure there is a manhood between those legs? From the way you gossip and congregate with womenfolk, I would be sure it was a great gaping cow’s vagina between those skinny limbs.”
Merradoc threw up his hands in an astonished gesture. “Good God, de Noble!” he cried. “When you throw an insult, you can do it with the best of them! I would not have believed you capable of it, old man!”
He was actually giggling as he scurried after the women, leaving de Noble alone with Connaught. The young knight was looking at the ground, waiting for the inevitable blast to come his direction. In fact, he would be lucky if it was only a verbal lashing. From an enraged father, the punishment could be anything up to and including a physical bashing.
But de Noble didn’t anything to him right away. He gaze lingered on Merradoc as the man disappeared into the keep. Then, as the dust settled from the verbal sparring, he turned to Connaught.
“Did you really believe I was that stupid that I did not know what was happening?” he asked the knight.
Connaught shook his head firmly. “Nay, my lord.”
“What do you intend to do about it?”
“Marry your daughter, my lord.”
De Noble’s gaze moved over him a moment, feeling disgust and frustration coming out of every pore of his body. After a moment, he took a deep breath, struggling to calm himself. He realized that he had just said everything he’d always wanted to say to the gossipy little group and strangely felt better now that he had. Perhaps a bit of honesty was good for the soul.
“You’d better,” he finally growled, his eyes fixed on the keep. “But for now, you are going to go up to see how my daughter and Lady Emllyn are faring after I unleashed my barrage of insults.I care not about the physic, but at least see how the women are. Then, after they are sufficiently calm, you are to bring the Lady Emllyn to my solar. Is that clear?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“And do not tell her where you are taking her; otherwise, she will not come. Tell her that she has been summoned by another.”
“Aye, my lord.”
With that, de Noble headed off to the keep, leaving Connaught to wonder what next step the man was going to take in the pursuit of the Lady Emllyn.
He couldn’t imagine that he was going to remain passive any longer.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kiltimon Castle
Newcastle Village, 40 miles north of Black Castle
Frederick had neverbeen to the O’Byrne stronghold before and even though he was on a mission of allegiance, it was difficult not to feel apprehension clawing at him. As he rode into Newcastle Village three days after leaving Black Castle, everything around him was dark and dull and warped. The village itself was warped, twisted little structures without much light or life. It was a depressing sight.
The Clann O’Byrne was a very large clan that had once held much of the land to the north and east of Wicklow. They had never been particularly fond of the House of de Bermingham because they were not native Irish even though they had owned a vast amount of land for hundreds of years and held an earldom. De Bermingham was more Irish than Norman, but it still didn’t matter. The O’Byrnes had been their enemy for more years than anyone could remember. They hated de Bermingham in general and they had a special hatred reserved for Black Sword.
Kiltimon Castle sat atop a rise outside of Newcastle Village, a great stone keep built from field stone and a great hall with a thatched roof, all set within a massive circular wall. Just like the village, the castle seemed to be dark and foreboding too, and Frederick had spent several days in the village, living in alleyways or out in the surrounding forest, trying to gain access to the castle.
Evidently, the O’Byrne didn’t trust strangers and, unlike Black Castle, Kiltimon was sealed up tight and did not permit farmers or other tradesmen to conduct business at the castle. All business was conducted in town. So, after six days of languishing, Frederick decided to announced his identity. He hoped that would at least get the interest of the castle commander.
Unfortunately, the names Black Sword and Black Castle did more than gain the man’s attention; it gained his ire as well. Within seconds of Frederick standing at the front gate and announcing his name and his relations, the iron grate man-door set within the massive gates opened and several men rushed forth.
In little time, Frederick found himself tied hand and foot, and in this state he was carried into the castle grounds and the door sealed up behind him. They took him into the great hall where they proceeded to toss him onto the floor and kick him.
This went on for hours. It wasn’t enough abuse to truly damage him but it was certainly enough to make him hurt. Frederick screamed and yelled angrily as he was kicked and beaten, but he eventually fell silent, even when they kicked him in the groin and caused him horrible pain. But eventually, they did stop, and when they did, Frederick proceeded to vomit all over the dirt floor of the hall. And then he simply lay there in utter pain and silence, wondering if his intention to side with O’Byrne had indeed been a good idea. He was coming not to think so.
He lay in front of the smoldering hearth until morning, his cheek and part of his head sticky from where he had lain in his own vomit. At some point he had slept, but sleep had been fleeting and uneasy. He awoke in the morning when servants began milling around him, lighting the hearth and preparing for the coming day. He had briefly opened his eyes to see themmoving about, wary of his presence. Therefore, he kept his eyes closed until someone rolled him over onto his back.
“You,” came a deep, steady voice. “Open your eyes.”
