Chapter Two
Emllyn awoke to a surprisingly bright room. After the storm and madness of the night before, all she could feel was a sense of hollowness.
So much had happened since last night.
She lay there for quite some time before realizing she was alone.
Facing the wall as she was, she hadn’t been sure.
Slowly, she sat up in the big rope bed with the dirty straw mattress.
Inevitably, her thoughts turned to de Bermingham.
He was such a big man, powerful and overwhelming, that he could have easily taken what he wanted last night. For some reason, he hadn’t.
But she was certain that would not last.
Reconciling herself to her inevitable fate, the fact remained that she was here and, clearly, here to stay.
It wasn’t as if de Bermingham would release her.
He had a prize in her and he knew it. The only thing she could do was try to survive her situation, one that she had willingly put herself in.
That was the truth. De Bermingham hadn’t been wrong when he said it was foolish and stupid.
It had been.
Perhaps she deserved everything that was coming to her.
Gingerly, Emllyn climbed out of bed and tried to assess the damage to the tunic she was wearing, the one de Bermingham had torn.
As she struggled to pull the tear together with freezing fingers, she lifted her head to the sounds of noisy gulls, screaming outside of her window.
They were riding the sea breezes outside and for a moment, she was no longer the trembling captive of a brutish Irish lord.
She watched the birds and their graceful flight, taking simple pleasure in it.
There was something innately soothing about their cry, comforting even.
It was something familiar in this horrid alien land.
But her comfort was swiftly dashed as the door to the chamber suddenly jolted open.
Emllyn shrieked with fright, arms around her body protectively as she stumbled back against the cold stone wall behind her. Her eyes widened at the sight of Devlin standing in the doorway.
He looked every inch the conquering hero; her impression of him the previous night had been that of darkness and cruelty, but even as she pondered that impression, she also remembered his warm, powerful body against hers.
God, he had been so overwhelming and powerful, everything about the man filling her brittle senses.
Now, in the light of a new day, she could see just how large the man truly was; he was wearing leather breeches and a tunic that strained against his broad chest and muscled arms. His hands, those warm and rough things, were as big as her head.
His red hair had brilliant golden highlights in the sunlight and the deep blue eyes regarded her carefully.
Emllyn stared back. She had no idea what to say to him but she was fearful he was going to throw her on the bed again and do more than he did to her last night.
All things considered, it had been shockingly tame.
But perhaps this time, he wouldn’t stop at a hand on her hip.
For a moment, they did nothing more than stare at each other as each one reappraised the other. There was re-evaluation in the air.
There was curiosity.
Devlin finally broke the spell.
“So you are awake,” he said with his rolling Irish brogue. “I would assume you are hungry.”
He started to motion to someone standing outside of the door but she stopped him. “I would rather have dry clothing,” she said. “Mayhap it is much to ask, but I would be… grateful. I am cold and my clothing is still wet from last night.”
He looked at her, and at her state of dress, as a big, ugly Irishman entered the room with a hunk of bread in one hand and a rough wooden cup of something in the other.
Emllyn eyed the man fearfully and backed away, ending up over near the lancet window as the Irishman set the bread and cup down on the end of the bed.
When the man quit the room, Devlin finally spoke.
“I will see what I can find for you,” he said.
He was starting to close the door but she stopped him. “Wait,” she said, coming away from the wall. Her manner was anxious, uncertain, but there was boldness there. “And… and I would like a bath if it is not too much trouble. I have sand everywhere and I would like to clean it off.”
His gaze moved over her; in fact, it seemed that all he could do was stare at her as if remembering the night before and the delectable taste of her upon his tongue.
Something about the woman was addicting, infiltrating his senses like a fog.
Since the moment he’d touched her last night he’d not been able to shake her.
This morning, the sensation had only grown worse and it threatened his control where she was concerned.
He could have simply taken her and he still didn’t understand why he hadn’t.
It unnerved and distracted him, translating into a brusque manner.
“We have no bath here,” he told her, watching her face fall. He realized he didn’t like that expression on her face, not one bit. “But… I will see what I can do. Mayhap there is something you can use for bathing.”
“Thank you,” Emllyn said. She meant it. He turned to leave but she stopped him once more with a rushed and breathless question. “What… what do you intend to do with me?”
Devlin paused at the door, his gaze penetrating. “Are you certain you want an answer to that question?”
That was a terrifying response and her fear returned. “What I mean to ask is if you intend to send me home or if you intend to keep me here… with you.”
He came back into the room and shut the door. “I am not sending you home,” he said with finality. “You stowed away on a fleet you had no business sailing upon. You knew that. You knew there were risks. Now you belong to me. You, lady, are the spoils of war.”
She had to make a conscious effort not to gasp. “But I am of no real use to you,” she said. “I am not a knight with money or a rich lord. I have nothing of value.”
“I beg to differ.”
She knew what he meant. Everything in his expression suggested it and he’d intimated the same thing last night as he’d laid on top of her and threatened her with his body. She could see, in that instance, what he intended for her.
He’d intended it all along.
God, it was horrifying.
“So you intend to damage me beyond repair,” she said, her voice trembling. “I fail to see who, exactly, you are punishing by humiliating and degrading me. I have already told you that my brother does not care what you do.”
Devlin had to admit that he rather liked it when she stood up to him.
She had spirit for an Englishwoman, which was surprising to him.
He’d always thought the English female to be a weak and foolish thing.
But her spirit gave him an unintended response – it fed his lust, a flaming thing that apparently ignited at the slightest provocation where she was concerned, and he was upon her in three big strides, his big hands digging into the tender flesh of her upper arms. She gasped as he pulled her against his broad chest.
“It is not humiliation and degradation,” he breathed. “It is the way of things, woman. You evidently do not understand the concept of being a captive.”
Emllyn tried to push away from him, but it was difficult.
She’d never been held like this in her life, or even touched like this by a man in her entire life, so the feel of his taut, warm body against hers wasn’t a sensation of disgust. Not exactly.
With horror, she realized that she rather liked it.
“I understand,” she said, struggling. “I know you can do as you wish and you probably will.”
He didn’t let her go. “Mayhap I will,” he said. “I’ve not yet decided. Shall I tell you what I should do to you?”
That frightened her and she yanked one arm away. “Tell me not,” she hissed. “I do not wish to hear your vile scheme.”
“It is no scheme, I assure you,” he said.
“What I would do to you is domination, pure and simple. It would be my punishment to your brother and to every damnable English who has ever set foot upon the green fields of Eire. I would dominate you day and night, and any other time that strikes my fancy, and I would pump you full of my seed until I beget you with child. Even then, I would continue to join my body with yours until the child is born and when I gaze upon my Irish son of an English mother, I would bed you again until you deliver unto me another son and still another. I would breed an army of sons from your body, sons that will sail upon England and wreak havoc. You, my lady, would be the mother of an army of Irish rebels that will kill your countrymen just as they have killed mine. You would be my brood mare.”
Horrified, Emllyn wrenched herself from his grip and slapped him across the face, as hard as she could.
But for a man that size, it hardly moved him.
She would have done better striking a mountain.
Realizing that her rage had no effect, she tried to bolt away, to run, but he caught her from behind and threw his arms around her so that she was facing away from him.
Her sweet, soft body was pressed back against his and Devlin could feel himself growing hard for the want of her.
It was purely a physical reaction from his body to hers, as a man to a woman.
And what a woman she was.
“You do not like to hear that, do you?” he whispered, his lips by her ear.
“Then I will tell you more. I would kiss you so forcefully that you could barely breathe. I would strip away your clothing until your tender, white body was nude for my pleasure. I would suckle your breasts, where you would nourish our children, and your want for me would match my own. Heat would bloom between your legs as your body prepared for mine. Then, I would push your legs apart and I would join with you, my manhood finding save haven within the folds of your womanhood. And you would love me.”