Chapter Seven #2
It was quiet again but for the popping of the fire.
Emllyn looked at the smelly old woman through new eyes.
The woman had clearly protected her from the enraged Irish warrior and Emllyn was shocked, appreciative, and touched.
She was trying to figure out what to say to the old woman, conveying words of gratitude that she might hopefully understand, when the door jolted again with a series of heavy blows.
“Open the door!”
It was Devlin. Emllyn jumped up and raced to the door, throwing the bolt and pulling open the heavy panel. Before he could say a word, Emllyn pointed at Eefha.
“Your aunt stabbed a man who appeared at the door and demanded entry,” she said, breathless. “He came to the door and demanded I open it but I did not, so he said he was going to break into the room and punish me. Your aunt went to the door and stabbed him!”
She was pale-faced and excited. Devlin’s gaze lingered on her a moment before passing an amused glance at his aunt.
“Why do you think she has been coming to this chamber to sit with you?” he asked, pushing into the room and closing the door behind him. “She is a better protector than any seasoned warrior.”
Emllyn looked at the old woman with her mouth agape. “She is here to protect me?”
“Of course,” he replied as if an old lady with a knife was the most natural thing in the world. Then he began looking around the room and noted the table and new furnishings. “I see the accommodations are better today. Have you eaten yet?”
Emllyn shook her head. “I have not.”
Devlin ran his hand over the old table, warped and leaning. “We shall remedy that,” he replied. “Do you recognize this table?”
“Should I?”
“It came from one of your English ships.”
Emllyn looked at the table, the chair, pondering his statement, but she just as quickly pushed it aside. She wasn’t yet finished with the discussion of Eefha’s shocking offensive.
“Wait,” she demanded, throwing out her hands as to stop all chatter and action. “I care not where you got the table and chair at the moment. I want to know how you can so easily brush off what your aunt did. She stabbed a man!”
“I know. I saw him downstairs in the hall.”
Emllyn stared at him, aghast. “Is he dead?”
“Nay, but she sufficiently wounded him.”
“But you said she was not dangerous!”
“She is not dangerous to you,” he said, amused with her bewilderment.
“Lady, Eefha is here to protect you. She did what she is supposed to do. Freddy will think twice before coming back up here and trying to molest you. In fact, I would wager to say he will not try it again, at least not with Eefha around.”
Emllyn let it all sink in. So she was being protected by an old mad woman who was fearless with a dagger.
It was unconventional to say the least but in the same thought, it was quite pleasing.
She felt strangely comfortable with the old woman’s protection.
Still, one more thought crossed her mind as she gazed at Devlin.
It was a serious thought and her expression reflected it as such.
“Will she protect me from you?” she asked.
Devlin’s humor faded. “She will not need to protect you from me,” he said. “I will not harm you.”
She lowered her gaze. Technically, that was true.
He’d never harmed her. But he had given her the most glorious experience of her life, wicked as it had been.
Be compliant, her mind screamed because, so far, being compliant had worked wonders.
The mighty beast of de Bermingham had softened to her.
But the last shards of stubbornness flared in her at his softly uttered statement.
She found she could not keep silent on the subject.
But, God’s Bones, the man’s mere presence was making her heart race.
“That is a matter of opinion,” she said. “It is true you’ve not drawn blood or physically caused me great pain, but you have… that is to say, you have touched me.”
Devlin didn’t disregard her remark as he would normally have done. He didn’t posture angrily and point out that she belonged to him again because she already knew that. So he met her head–on.
“And you have hated every minute of it, have you?” he asked in a mocking tone. “I know for a fact that you have not. You have derived as much pleasure out of it as I have. Your consent was in your actions, lass. I heard you loud and clear.”
The conversation was turning serious and uneasy, mostly because he wasn’t wrong and she knew it.
Emllyn kept her gaze averted, her cheeks flushing a dull red as she moved towards the lancet window.
She was trying to put distance between their conversation and Eefha.
Although she wasn’t entirely sure the old woman could understand what they were saying, still, it was a private and embarrassing subject, one she did not wish to discuss in front of a third party.
“I wish you would stop,” she finally whispered. “I do not want you to do that to me anymore. Please, for mercy’s sake, I beg you.”
Devlin’s eyebrows lifted. “I have every right,” he said. “By the laws of my people, you are my property now. I have marked you and no other man will touch you.”
“What do you mean you have every right?”
“You are my concubine.”
Emllyn’s mouth popped open in outrage. “Your concubine?” she repeated, appalled. All thoughts of being compliant fled and she was no longer willing to bow down to the man, not now. Not with that foolishly uttered statement. Damn her pride! “I am no such thing!”
Devlin nodded patiently. “The first time I touched you as a man touches a woman, you became my concubine,” he said.
“Men in the Bible had concubines. I will have one also. In fact, there is a story I once heard about a man named Jacob who had a wife and a concubine. There is no shame in such a status.”
Emllyn gazed at him in utter horror. He was absolutely serious and after a moment, she plopped down onto the chair behind her. Then she burst into tears.
Devlin frowned, watching her weep. He went to her. “Why do you weep?” he asked, his tone considerably softer than it had been moments before. “You do not like the term ‘whore’. I thought ‘concubine’ would be better.”
Emllyn howled angrily. “I do not want to be a concubine,” she sobbed.
“It is as bad as being a whore and you cannot make either term sound remotely acceptable. I am the sister of an earl, descended from Welsh royalty, and I fostered in one of the finest houses in all of England. A proper and advantageous marriage was always planned for me. Now I find myself the whore of an Irish rebel and you tell me there is no shame in that?”
She was so angry that she was off the chair, wagging a finger at him. Devlin had never seen her truly furious and he had to admit that she was rather intimidating. He realized that he wanted to appease her. Seeing her so upset made him uncertain and frustrated.
“Then what do you want?” he asked. “Do you want me to marry you? Would it be better to be the wife of a rebel than the whore of one?”
Emllyn froze in the midst of her tears, her eyes wide with astonishment at his suggestion.
After a pause of epic proportions, she squealed with fury and was off on another crying jag, this one louder than before.
She was so angry that she stamped her feet as she turned her back to him, evidently having a full-fledged tantrum right before his eyes.
Devlin wasn’t sure what more to say. Anything he said seemed to make it worse.
Uneasily, he sat down on the bed, far away from Emllyn and her fit, and pondered his next move.
She didn’t want to be a whore, a concubine, or a wife.
But what she wanted was of little matter; he would do what he had to do.
He would not apologize for anything he had said or done, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold his tongue.
He didn’t like upsetting her, although it truthfully shouldn’t matter to him if she was upset or not.
But it did. In confused silence, he left the chamber.
With the object of her frustration gone, Emllyn eventually calmed her weeping and stamping.
Exhausted both emotionally and physically, she sat morosely, cursing the day she decided that stowing away on a ship bound for battle had been a wise decision.
She had placed herself in this predicament and now there was no escape.
She would have to face her mistakes and live with the consequences.
Perhaps the reality was that being a concubine now was the best she could hope for. It was a sickening realization.
Depressed over a future filled with nothing she had imagined for herself, Emllyn eyed the old woman sitting by the fire, puffing on his shite pipe that now seemed to be running out of fuel.
Was this to be the rest of her life now, being protected by a crazy old woman and bearing children for a man who viewed her as his whore?
A day ago, the situation did not seem real, but as of this evening, circumstances were beginning to settle. Reality was upon her.
Aye, now this was her future. Even if she discovered that Trevor was still alive in Black Sword’s dungeons, he certainly would not want her now. She was destined to stay with de Bermingham forever because the man had indeed marked her. She belonged to him and no other. Sadly, she sighed.
“I do not want to be here, Eefha,” she muttered. “Can you not understand? I want to know if Trevor is alive and then I want to go home. I do not want to be a concubine of an Irish rebel.”
The old woman continued to puff and Emllyn knew her words were falling on deaf ears.
Pulling the robe she wore more tightly around her to ward off the cold evening temperature, she gazed out of the lancet window and up to the stars on a surprisingly clear night.
It was beautiful outside, crisp now that the storms had blown away.
As she sat and gazed into the blanket of stars, the door to the chamber lurched open.