Chapter Three #4
Devlin didn’t like that answer at all and immediately shook his head.
“If you return to me with no valuable information, then you will not see the English captives and you will never know if your lover is among them. You will remain my prize and the English captives will be my slaves. There is no other recourse.”
Emllyn was going to argue with him but thought better of it. She could agree to the terms and perhaps in time, change his mind. Be compliant! Perhaps someday she would see the English captives; perhaps one day they would all be freed. She would not give up hope.
“As you say,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.
Devlin could hear defeat in her voice and he struggled not to react to it, one way or the other. She was very proud, he could tell. She was also stubborn. Then again, so was he. He realized he saw many of his own qualities in his captive. They were qualities to respect.
He moved to within a foot or so of her, lingering close and watching her instinctively flinch.
He didn’t like it when she flinched from him but he knew why – he’d only shown her aggression and dominance since they had first met.
Although the man had never known a strong sense of regret, he thought he might be coming to feel something close to it.
Crouching his bulk down, he met her on her own level.
“Then we have a bargain?” he asked.
Emllyn looked at him, the man’s smooth skin and intelligent features.
It suddenly occurred to her that he was a handsome man, although the thought just as quickly shocked her.
The man was her captor, a barbarian and worse – he was an Irish rebel, the beating heart of the resistance that had kept her brother frustrated.
But he was also ruggedly and beautifully handsome, like a wild horse that refused to be tamed.
The way he was looking at her made her heartbeat quicken, just a little.
“We do,” she whispered. “But how will I get to de Cleveley’s encampment? I do not know where to go.”
Devlin was watching the way the firelight illuminated her face.
“I will take you there myself,” he said.
“I will watch over you to make sure you make it safely to their fortress. In fact, I may send one of my men with you as an escort. He will also help you return to Black Castle when the time is right.”
Emllyn’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer before she averted it and looked to her hands.
There was an odd pull she was beginning to feel, something unexpected and unsettling.
His eyes were a vortex with which to suck her in and she averted her gaze purely out of surprise more than anything.
Her heart was beating faster now and her palms were sweating, and it had nothing to do with fear or intimidation.
It had everything to do with him, as a man.
Oh, God, she was going crazy!
“When do I go?” she asked softly.
Devlin felt the pull between them, too. He also felt a jolt when she tore her gaze away, a jolt that left him with a rapidly beating heart. He almost couldn’t catch his breath. He stood up and moved away from her in order to reclaim his composure.
“I am not certain,” he said. “In a day or two. I must make plans and then we shall move forward with them.”
Emllyn simply nodded her head, unwilling to look up at him again because she was fearful that the strange pull would start again and she might not be able to break away from it. She’d never known anything like it, not even with Trevor. Trevor! Her thoughts drifted to him once again.
“Until such time as you move forward with your plans, where am I to be kept?” she asked.
Devlin looked around the room. “This is the most comfortable chamber in the keep, and probably the entire castle,” he said. “The floor is not dirt but stone and planking. It would be better for you here.”
Emllyn lifted her head, daring to look at him. “But where are the other English prisoners kept?”
His expression seemed to harden. “Deep in the ground.”
“What do you mean?”
That strange pull was starting again and he struggled to ignore it, but the longer he gazed into that lovely face, the stronger the pull became.
“Trust me when I say it is not a pleasant place,” he said.
“You mean the vault?”
“Aye.”
“Since I am a prisoner, you should put me there.”
“You are better off here.”
Emllyn was feeling the pull so strongly that she almost couldn’t reply.
She had to think hard on forming a sentence.
Tearing her eyes away from him, she looked around the chamber, seeing it as it was now, with furs and a fire.
But there were things around the chamber even before those things had been brought that suggested it had not been an empty one.
She’d been told it had been his mother’s chamber, but there was more to it.
Something told her that it had been Devlin’s also and that’s why she’d been brought there.
To him.
“Does this chamber not belong to someone already?” she asked.
He nodded. “It is mine.”
So much for being compliant. When he admitted it was his chamber, that drew a reaction from her. “For mercy’s sake,” she said. “Shouldn’t you move me to another chamber so I will not be caged here… with you?”
He lifted a well-defined eyebrow. “How many times must I tell you that you belong to me?” he said.
“That means you will be caged here in my chamber, with me, because that act alone will preserve your personal safety. Do you realize how many men want to kill you simply for being English? You have a great many enemies in this castle, my lady. Rather than look upon me as your jailor, I would suggest you look upon me as your protector.”
She was growing angry. “A protector who has intimidated me and brutalized me,” she said, lowering her gaze. She spoke before she could stop herself. “A protector would keep me safe from harm, but I do not feel safe with you.”
Devlin could feel himself stiffen to her accusations. Deep down, he knew she was right to a certain extent, but he didn’t see it that way. He wasn’t used to anyone questioning his behavior or actions, and it didn’t sit well with him.
“I did not harm you,” he countered. “There are no bruises upon you. You are not bleeding, nor did I break any bones. I would be careful what you accuse me of.”
Her head shot up. “What I accuse you of?” she repeated, incredulous. “Then what you would call it?”
His eyes glittered but he held himself in check, like a coiled snake before it strikes. “I would call it victory,” he said simply. “The sooner you come to terms with that, the better for us both.”
Emllyn met his gaze a moment longer before looking away, disgusted.
“You are not my protector,” she said. “Call me what I am – a prisoner, and you are my jailor. A protector is someone who is gallant and chivalrous, which you have not been. You did not like it when I called you an animal. Mayhap you should not act like one if you wish for me to reform my opinion.”
He was rebuked. Fighting off the urge to bellow at her, Devlin stared at her a good, long moment before sighing sharply.
He was resisting the strong impulse to throw her down on the bed and show her just what kind of a brute he could really be, but in that same thought, he realized it wasn’t punishment as much as it was simply a very strong desire to bed her.
There was so much emotion and confusion rolling around in his chest that his hands began to quiver.
Why didn’t he just take her and be done with it? She belonged to him, didn’t she?
… didn’t she?
Jesus… what was happening to him?
“For a woman who sailed to Ireland on an invasion fleet, you have little right to accuse me of being an animal,” he muttered.
“Your brother has slaughtered thousands of Irish and taken thousands more as slaves, and he justifies his actions because he believes Lord Justice of Ireland gives him that right. The English in general slaughter Scots and Welsh by the thousands because they covet their lands. How are the English any less animals than I am?”
Emllyn stared at the fire. “My brother does not brutalize a woman he claims to be protecting.”
“So this is all about me, is it? I am the worst rebel there is and your brother is a saint?”
She shook her head. “I did not say he was a saint,” he said. “But he has as much right to these lands as you do. They belonged to my grandfather and his father before him.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Devlin broke from his stance near the bed and swooped in on her, grasping her by the arms and yanking her up from the stool. He had her trapped up against his massive chest, his eyes blazing at her.
“Your grandfather’s father stole lands from my family,” he snarled.
“They do not belong to any Englishman. They belong to Ireland and if God is merciful, I will soon restore them to my people. Never again lecture me about brutality and conquest because, my lady, your people have done far worse than I could ever hope to achieve.”
Gazing up into Devlin’s angry blue eyes, Emllyn began to feel some fear.
Not the pure, abject terror she had felt earlier, but a deeper-seated fear.
She was afraid of him, but not for obvious reasons.
She wasn’t afraid that he was going to kill her – she knew enough about the man that she knew he would not.
She was afraid of what he was going to do to her and of how she might not be willing to stop him.
It began to occur to her that perhaps she was afraid of herself because she liked having him close.
She liked his big, hard body against hers and his lips on her earlobe.
There was something about him that made her entire body quiver with desire.
“So you will punish them by ravaging me?” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “You have been threatening to do it since we met. You were quite clear when you told me of your plans for me. What kind of man takes out his frustrations on the weak and helpless?”