Lords of Darkness and Shadow (56 page)

“We will remedy that,” she assured him as she looked up at Emllyn. “I will try to be very gentle, my lady. If it hurts, you will tell me and I will stop.”

Emllyn gazed back at the woman with a mixture of fear and trust. “I will,” she said. “I am very thirsty. Could I please have something to drink?”

The words had barely left her mouth before Elyse was in motion, whipping her servants into a frenzy as they disappeared out of the service doors and went scurrying around the room. As a pale young servant girl brought Emllyn a cup of whatever was in the pitcher by Elyse’s bed, they heard commotion at the chamber door.

“Cattle!” came the screech. “All of you crowded around this door like cattle! One would think you have never seen a lady’s chamber before and judging by the lot of you, that’s probably close to the truth!”

Devlin, Emllyn, and Elyse looked over to the chamber entry to see a small man with a worn leather satchel push his way through the knights that were clustered there. He was round and pale, with sparse graying hair and clad in dirty brown robes. He looked like a monk. He waddled his way over to the bed where Emllyn lay, eyeing the wound on her leg before he ever looked his patient in the eye.

“Barbarians,” he hissed. “Who sewed this wound? My dog could have done a better job of it.”

Elyse vacated her stool for the man. “This is the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald, sister of the Earl of Kildare,” she said, eyeing Emllyn and hoping she wasn’t frightened by the man’s curt manner. “My lady, this is Merradoc, our physic.”

The old physic barely flicked an eye in Emllyn’s direction; his focus was entirely on the wound. He set his satchel on the floor next to him and began pulling out pouches and phials.

“I need vinegar and the strongest ale you can find,” he snapped at Elyse. “You will also bring me silk thread. I must re-sew this. And put the powder in that brown pouch into a half-cup of wine and bring it to me. Do this now before I grow old from sheer boredom and the lady dies from a raging infection.”

He was dramatic and snappy in a hilarious sort of manner. Had Devlin not been so taken aback at the man’s horrendous bedside manner, he would have laughed at his brusque impatience. Elyse, however, was on the move, handing off the pouches to her servants as more of them rushed through the servant door with boiled linens in their arms. Everyone was running around doing Merradoc’s bidding and soon enough, there was a half-cup of wine being handed to Elyse. She brought it over to Emllyn’s bedside.

“You must drink this,” she said softly. “It will make you sleep while he tends your leg.”

Emllyn wasn’t so sure about being put into a drugged sleep; she was still holding Devlin’s hand tightly, eyeing him anxiously as she spoke to Elyse.

“What will the physic do?” she asked.

Elyse glanced over her shoulder at the old physic, who was pulling out a razor-sharp knife from his satchel.

“Clean your wound and fix it,” she replied gently. “You do not want to be awake for that, my lady. Please drink this.”

Emllyn knew the woman was trying to help her but she was still frightened. Devlin squeezed her hand reassuringly and she looked up at him, perhaps more fearful for him at the moment than she was for herself. She could see the English knights clustered back by the door. She had a feeling they were not there for her.

“He stays,” she said to Elyse. “I do not want him going anywhere. Even if I fall asleep, I do not want him removed. Please make it so.”

Elyse nodded firmly. “I will not allow him to go anywhere, I promise,” she said. “Will you drink this now?”

Reluctantly, Emllyn complied, and within fifteen minutes she was snoring upon the linens. She seemed to be very sensitive to sleeping potions, as she had been sensitive to the draught Eefha had given her as well. Once she was fully asleep, evidenced when the physic pinched her toe, the old man finally went to work.

As promised, Devlin remained at Emllyn’s bedside. He sat on the floor by Emllyn’s head as the physic removed the cat gut sutures he had put in her leg and replaced them with boiled silk thread. He put in fine, neat stitches. The physic also cleaned the poison out of the wound and doused it repeatedly in vinegar and ale. When he was finished with that, he bound her leg up tightly and left her to sleep. The entire procedure took less than fifteen minutes, a swift and confident undertaking by the snappy physic. When he was satisfied with his work, he began packing his items away.

“I am going to bring her some rotten tea,” he told Elyse. “I will return later tonight with it. It will help her fever.”

Elyse listened to him intently. “What should I do for her in the meanwhile?”

The physic glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping patient. “Keep her warm and watch her closely,” he said as he collected his satchel and moved for the door. “If she begins to sweat or becomes delirious, send for me. Otherwise, I will return tonight.”

Elyse thanked the man and ushered him to the door. The physic beat back the three remaining knights who were still standing in the entry, as the rest of the crowd had returned to their duties. De Ferrer remained, as did Elyse’s escort and another man, an older one who had made an appearance only a few minutes earlier. He had seen the old physic as the man finished stitching up the leg of the strange woman lying on his daughter’s bed, but nothing more than that. He stopped the physic before the man left the room completely.

“How is the lady?” he asked.

Merradoc glanced back into the room again, at the big bed where an enormous man sat on the floor next to it and an injured lady slept peacefully. He shrugged his shoulders.

“We shall see,” he said. “The cut is deep. It looks like a sword wound to me. I shall see what I can do for her but no promises.”

The older man nodded and let the physic continue out of the room. Then, he stepped into the chamber and headed for Elyse.

“I hear we have had a visitor,” he said, eyeing Devlin seated on the floor. “De Ferrer told me about the lady and her savior. I have come to see for myself.”

Elyse smiled at the man. “Greetings, Father,” she said as she gestured to Emllyn, fast asleep. “This is the sister of the Earl of Kildare, the Lady Emllyn Fitzgerald. She had sailed on her brother’s war fleet but was injured in a battle at Black Castle. She washed ashore and this farmer found her and helped her. We owe him a great deal of gratitude for saving her.”

Sir Raymond de Noble was fixed on Devlin. A tall man with a full head of gray hair, de Noble seemed rather calm and wise, giving Devlin a good going-over as he stood there. De Noble’s dark eyes missed nothing as he studied him. Devlin stared back at de Cleveley’s  brilliant commander. He’d fought the man before; now, he was seeing him face to face. It was an odd realization.

“Indeed we do,” de Noble finally said, but it was clear he wasn’t finished scrutinizing Devlin. “What is your name?”

“John, m’lord,” Devlin replied.

De Noble acknowledged him with a bob of the head. “John,” he repeated. “I was told you have a farm south of Black Castle.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“I am also told you have been inside of Black Castle.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Where do your sympathies lie, John?”

It was an interesting question, now with the other knights listening in. Devlin wasn’t a fool; he knew he had to play the game, but it was harder than he thought. He wanted to jump up and roar for the victory of the Irish, but he kept still. He had been fighting men like de Noble for years and had served under them for longer still. The English had always given him commands or oppressed him one way or the other, and his natural urge to rebel was strong. But his sense of self-preservation, and of the preservation of Emllyn, was stronger.

“I have never had a quarrel with the English,” he said. “In fact, my fellow Irishmen seem to give me more trouble.”

“How is that?”

Devlin shrugged, thinking now would be a very good time to start gaining English sympathy and trust. “Men from Black Castle raid my fields and steal my vegetables,” he said. “The O’Connors have been known to steal my stock. When the English want something from me, at least they pay me for it.”

That brought a thin smile from de Noble. Looking Devlin over, he could see that the man appeared very exhausted. The dark blue eyes were dull. But as he gazed at him, he also found the man strangely familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, because all Irishmen looked alike to him, but there was something vaguely recognizable. Ah, perhaps it would come to him at some point. For now, he was intent to glean what information he could out of the man about Black Castle, only his tactics were far more subtle than his lesser officers.  He was a man who knew how to get what he wanted.

“That sounds typical,” he replied after a moment. “When was the last time you ate, John?”

Devlin thought about it. “Yesterday, m’lord.”

“You must be starving,” de Noble said. “Would you join me for a meal? I have not yet eaten myself and I would like to hear more about this defeat of Kildare’s armada.”

Careful,
Devlin told himself. He knew it was more than an invitation; it was a directive because they wanted to probe him. He was on to their game. “I am not sure what I can tell you, m’lord,” he said. “I only heard about it from others.”

“But you found a woman who said she was with Kildare’s fleet.”

“Aye, I did, but she didn’t tell me more than that.”

De Noble didn’t push. He would get the information he wanted, eventually. “Will you come and eat with me, John?”

Devlin hesitated; he didn’t want to walk into a trap, lured by a smooth-tongued Englishman, but he knew he could not refuse. “Can I return when we are finished?”

“Of course.”

Elyse, who had been listening to the conversation, went to Devlin and put her hand on his arm. “Go now and eat with my father,” she said encouragingly. “He will bring you back here when you are finished.”

Devlin didn’t want to be rude and refuse, not when he was trying to establish some trust, but he was very hesitant to leave Emllyn. Still, he had little choice. Stiffly, he climbed to his feet.

“Will you send word to me if something changes with her?” he asked Elyse.

The woman nodded patiently. “Of course,” she said, giving him a little push in her father’s direction. “Go and eat now. We will be here when you return.”

Genuinely exhausted, Devlin allowed himself to be led out of the chamber by de Noble and wasn’t surprised when the knights who had been lingering by the door closed ranks behind him, effectively escorting him out of the room. Together, the small group made their way back down the stairs to the feasting hall below. 

De Noble called for food and soon, they were swarmed with more food and drink than Devlin had seen in a very long time. He was starving, shoving the succulent beef into his mouth and downing very good English wine. De Noble ate along with him and gave him plenty of time to drink more wine before commencing with the questions.

It was then that Devlin realized he shouldn’t have drank so much wine. The clear-headed English commander had plenty of questions for him.

∾

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Black Castle,” de Noble said slowly as he poured Devlin more drink. “I was there once, several years ago during the peace. Before the rebellions, when it was still Kildare’s holding. It is a big place.”

Devlin was minimally drunk and he could clearly see that de Noble was trying to get him drunker. He was fairly certain that the man didn’t suspect his true identity but he knew the man was trying to press him for information. If Devlin had been in de Noble’s position, he would have done the same thing. Sometimes the peasants heard and saw things that were valuable during a time of crisis. With that in mind, Devlin put the ale to his lips but he didn’t drink; he just pretended to. He wasn’t going to allow himself to become more addled than he already was.

“Me da used to take me there,” Devlin said, playing the part of the ignorant peasant. “Me da was a farmer, too, and we would take our produce to Black Castle when I was young, when Kildare was still in possession. I still remember the big English knights and their big swords. As a boy, that was exciting.”

De Noble smiled faintly. “And now?” he asked. “Do you still find big English knights with their big swords exciting?”

Devlin shook his head and pretended to take another drink, spilling some of it clumsily as he set the cup down. That would throw de Noble off somewhat on exactly how much he had imbibed.

“Nay, m’lord,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I don’t find it exciting. I find it a burden.”

“Why?”

“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.

“
What
is 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. “My
daughter
promised 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.

“Then I am sorry for you,” he said. “I will permit you to know how the lady is faring, then. But after you stay here tonight, you will return home. There is no longer any need for your presence.”

That wasn’t a directive that Devlin wanted to hear. He decided to swallow his pride completely and open himself up, hoping they’d let him stay. He didn’t want to leave Emllyn and the very thought was causing him tremendous grief.

“But… I can be of help to you here,” he said eagerly. “I am strong; I can shoe horses or help in the kitchens. I can butcher animals or tend the horses. As I told you, my crops are seedlings and I have no more income for a while. With the Irish raiding my fields, I have almost nothing left. I would be a good worker, m’lord, I swear it.”

De Noble’s gaze lingered on him a moment before he turned his attention to de Ferrer and Connaught. He smiled faintly as he toyed with his cup.

“He
is
a big one,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind using him as a body guard. I would imagine he’d be fairly formidable in a fight.”

De Ferrer and Connaught looked at Devlin from across the table, each man studying him. Devlin could feel their stares, the hostility, perhaps the jealousy or curiosity. It was difficult to get a read. He was trying to look hopeful and not look intimidating, which was a difficult stretch. He hated being at the mercy of the damnable English, begging them for a job. It was to gain information, that was true, but more than that, he realized he didn’t want to be separated from Emllyn, not even for an hour. Already, it was killing him and it hadn’t even been that long. All he wanted to do was go back and sit by her bed just to be near her. It was a stunning realization but a powerful one nonetheless.

He simply didn’t want to be without her.

“Can you fight?” de Ferrer asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Devlin pushed aside images of Emllyn and focused on the older knight. “I can use me fists and feet,” he said. “I’ve been known to brawl.”

“Have you ever fought for the rebellion?” Connaught fired at him. “Have you ever joined your kinsmen in taking up arms against the English?”

Devlin looked at the man, studying him a moment. There was something brash and fiery about him. “I have never fought for the rebellion,” he said. It was the truth; he had
led
the rebellion. “And who are you to ask me? I detect Irish in you, lad. So you take up arms for the English and fight against your countrymen?”

Those were hostile words as far as Connaught was concerned. He bolted to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword in threat. “You will not question my loyalty, you lowly whoreskin,” he snarled. “I am an English knight and you are shite beneath my feet.”

“Sit down, Chris,” de Noble held out a hand to him, easing the young man back into his seat. “He didn’t mean it as an accusation. It was merely a question.”

Connaught wasn’t happy in the least. He hissed his displeasure and plopped down in his seat, unwilling to participate in the conversation any longer. De Noble’s attention dwelt on the man for a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to rise up and charge their guest before returning his focus to Devlin. His expression seemed to harden.

“Connaught is a legacy knight for de Cleveley,” he said. “He was born in Ireland and his heritage is Irish, but his family is sworn to de Cleveley. His father and father before him served as ambassadors for de Cleveley here in Ireland.”

The worst kind of Irishman as far as Devlin was concerned. Traitors to their own country. Devlin couldn’t help the look of contempt he gave Connaught, who fortunately wasn’t looking at him. If he had, there might have been punches thrown at the very least. Devlin eventually returned his focus to de Noble.

“You have many Irish here that serve you,” he said. “Allow me to serve you as well. You have been helpful and kind in assisting the injured lady and I owe you me gratitude. At least let me repay you your kindness.”

De Noble sat there a moment and gazed at him. It was clear he was contemplating something. With a long sigh, he moved to pour himself more wine. He also poured more in Devlin’s cup even though Devlin hadn’t touched it since the last time he’d filled it. Now, they were getting down to business.

“If you want to show your gratitude, then I have a proposition for you,” de Noble said. “You claim you have been to Black Castle and, presumably, the people at Black Castle know you as a farmer. You can move easily in and out of Black Castle and no one would question or suspect you. John, we have been at war against Black Sword for quite some time. He is a great battle commander and men naturally follow him. However, it has been our suspicion for some time that Devlin de Bermingham is gathering the clanns to launch a massive attack against Glenteige. When you told us that you had seen O’Connor troops there, that only confirmed our suspicions. My proposition to you is this – if you return to Black Castle and gather information about what Black Sword is planning against us, I will let you return to see your lady friend. I will even let you spend time with her. But you would be far more help to us inside of Black Castle, seeing what Black Sword is up to, than you would be here shoeing horses or butchering pigs. Will you do this for us, John? Will you do this for your lady friend who will undoubtedly be in danger should Black Sword lay siege to our settlement? There is information I must know and I think you are the perfect man to get it.”