Chapter Two #4
Devlin agreed and went to pour himself a second cup of alcohol; it was a brew that was produced locally of barley and rye, very strong and heavy in flavor. It was easy to get drunk off of it as he had many a time. He sipped the drink as he fed the falcon another piece of old mutton.
“Indeed,” he said, eyeing the men who were like brothers to him.
They had all seen much life and death together, bonded by the plague of war that enveloped their land.
“But I will make this clear – Kildare’s sister is my prisoner and my prize.
She will be untouched and unmolested by anyone.
If I hear that someone has moved against her, my retribution shall be swift and deadly. Do you comprehend?”
Two out of the three men nodded seriously, but no one else seemed to be willing to agree.
They seemed perplexed. But Devlin had stated his rules and didn’t wish to discuss them, mostly because the little English witch had him puzzled as to what, exactly, he felt about her and her presence.
He didn’t want to have to explain that confusion to anyone else.
Therefore, he hoped to move past the subject quickly.
“That is all I have to say about it,” he said quietly. “Now, tell me of my own wounded. How many and what is the current state of my army?”
He’d hoped to shift the subject easily but Frederick wasn’t so keen to let it go.
He waved off Iver when the man started to speak on the status of the Irish rebels.
“She is not just your personal prize, something to be hoarded and kept,” he insisted.
“Although I respect your plans to use her to breed fine sons, now that we know who she is, surely the terms of her captivity have changed. She belongs to us all, Dev. She is a symbol of Kildare, the man responsible for all we hate and all we have lost.”
Devlin cocked a dark red eyebrow at him. “I told you that she will not be touched by anyone but me,” he repeated, feeling the tension rise. “I meant it.”
Frederick didn’t like the response. He slammed his cup down and ale splashed from it, spotting the old wooden table.
“Did you know I lost my brother last night?” he said angrily, bracing his arms on the table as he nearly yelled at his liege.
When Devlin looked rather startled, Frederick simply nodded his head.
“Henry was killed by the English. I found him floating in the surf early this morning. That… that wench you have been taking to sport is responsible for it! Is there nothing else you plan to do to make her pay?”
Devlin could see he was going to have trouble with Frederick. He remained cool as his commander postured furiously. “I am sorry to hear about Henry,” he said softly. “He was a good warrior.”
“Sorrow does not bring him back!”
“Nay, it does not, but I am sorry nonetheless.”
Frederick wasn’t satisfied. He pointed to the ceiling above, to the floor that contained the English prisoner. “Tell me what more you intend to do to make her pay.”
“Pay for what? I asked you before what you wanted me to do and you gave me your answer.”
“That was before I knew she was Kildare!”
“It changes nothing.”
Frederick roared with anger, sweeping his arm at the cluttered table and sending food, ale, and cups flying. Iver moved out of the way so he would not be struck while Shain moved closer to Devlin in case Frederick physically attacked the man. That had been known to happen.
“My brother is dead!” Frederick bellowed. “Are you telling me that no one will pay for that?”
Devlin stood up. If Frederick charged, he didn’t want to be caught sitting down. Moreover, the man was known to veer out of control and now was the time to start showing some strength or the situation could turn bad.
He fixed Frederick in the eye.
“Over a thousand English already paid last night with their lives,” he said in a firm, growling tone.
“There are thirty-three English prisoners in our custody. If you want to go and kill each of those prisoners, I will not stop you. Let them pay the final price. But you will not touch the lady. She belongs to me. If you touch her, I will view it as stealing my property and I will punish you accordingly. Is that clear?”
Frederick’s mouth worked furiously. He was prepared to come back with a sharp retort but he had better sense than to speak without thinking.
Devlin de Bermingham commanded nearly five thousand men.
He had the money and power of the House of de Bermingham behind him but more than that, he was a true patriot for Ireland and men followed him for that very reason.
He had fought and bled for Ireland, and his charisma and power had garnered him more followers out of respect than out of fear.
Frederick both admired and feared Devlin.
He’d seen what de Bermingham was capable of and had no desire to provoke him.
Therefore, he struggled to calm himself.
There was more anger than grief in him at the moment, but he wasn’t a fool.
He wouldn’t test Devlin. He took a deep breath and pushed down the rise of his rage.
“De réir do ordú, sinsear feasta,” he said with forced calm. By your command, sire.
Devlin eyed the man, wondering if he meant it. With Frederick, one could never tell. “Téigh i síocháin,” he said quietly. “Beidh mé páirt a ghlacadh leat níos déanaí.”
Go in peace and I will join you later. Frederick nodded faintly and quit the room, fatigue in his movements. Devlin, Shain and Iver watched the man go before turning to one another.
“He hated his brother,” Iver said in a low voice. “He is only seeking revenge for revenge’s sake. It is not as if he is wallowing in sorrow. He is simply hungry for English blood and will seek any excuse to bleed it.”
Devlin nodded, sighing wearily as he reclaimed his seat. “He is an excellent warrior and a trusted advisor, but sometimes he worries me,” he muttered, moving to collect a piece of stale bread. “You two will watch him when I am not about. If he acts strangely or is not himself, you will tell me.”
The two men nodded. Iver sat back down at the table but Shain remained on his feet. He scratched his dirty head.
“When do you plan to make the rounds, mo tiarna?” he asked. “We have the men breaking down the English cogs and going about their usual duties, but they will expect to see you.”