Chapter Five #3
“Those are passages from the Romance of Etain,” he said. “Mayhap she has something to make you shine, although you do not need any help where that is concerned.”
Emllyn looked at him, shocked. His expression was impassive so she thought he might be mocking her. “I cannot shine in borrowed clothing that is too big for me,” she said, somewhat defensively. “I left my proper clothing behind in England.”
His deep blue eyes twinkled at her, amused by what she evidently thought was an insult. “You said you did not mind my mother’s clothing.”
She pursed her lips irritably. “I lied,” she said. “Although they are comfortable and warm, it would be well and good to have a garment that actually fit me. I have tripped several times in these clothes because they are too long; it is only a matter of time before I topple and break my neck.”
Devlin was fixed on her and hardly noticed when Eefha disappeared into her hut. “I will speak with Enda and see if she can find something that is more appropriate for you,” he said, “but I can assure you that we have no fine silks here.”
Emllyn was coming to see that he hadn’t been mocking her and, with shock, realized that he may have very well been delivering a compliment. Was it actually possible?
“I… I do not need silk,” she said, lowering her gaze because he was looking at her with an expression that implied warmth. “Wool or linen would do just as well as long as it fits.”
Devlin studied her delicate profile as she gazed off into the ward.
“I am sure we can find something suitable,” he said quietly.
He paused a moment before continuing. “I am sure that where you come from is quite grand and you have possessions that reflect that. We have no such grand things to provide you.”
Emllyn shrugged, her attention turning to the gulls that were riding the breeze overhead.
“Grand things do not matter overly,” she said.
“I was born at the not entirely grand Llansteffan Castle in Wales. That is where we are from, you know. You keep calling me English but the truth is that we are more Welsh than English, although my brother would beat me if he heard me say that.”
He knew that about her family but he pretended to be interested simply to keep the conversation going. “Is that so?”
“It ’tis,” she said as she nodded her head.
“My ancestor and his brother came to England with William the Conqueror and were charged with settling Wales. My ancestor was Maurice Fitzgerald, Lord of Llansteffan, and his brother was William, Lord of Emllyn. That is where I got my name – the Lady Emllyn Nesta Isabella Fitzgerald. I am named after many people in my family, Welsh and Norman.”
For the second time in as many days, they were having a civilized conversation.
Devlin wasn’t hard pressed to admit that he could have listened to her sweet and soft voice forever.
He liked it very much when the mood was calm between them, now on the subject matter of her background.
He was very interested in what she was saying, and in her, as if he couldn’t focus on anything else.
“I see,” he said. “And do you speak Welsh?”
She nodded. “I do, but make no mistake,” she said as she looked up at him. “I am not Welsh. I am Norman. There is a distinction and my brother will make it very clear that even though our family has been in Wales for over two hundred years, and our ancestor is a Welsh princess, we are not Welsh.”
He gave her a half-grin because she said it with mock-seriousness, as if she thought the whole idea of living in Wales for two hundred years but not being Welsh ridiculous. “Then I will make sure not to call you Welsh,” he said.
Emllyn fought off a grin and lowered her gaze again, feeling a distinct charm from the man and having no idea how to handle it. He was making her a bit giddy. “Have you never been out of Ireland?”
Devlin shook his head, folding his massive arms over his chest as he thought on his reply.
“Never,” he said. “There was never any reason to go anywhere else. I fostered here on Kildare lands and I was trained by Norman knights to serve Kildare. I am a knight sworn to your brother, you know. Or, at least I was. Now I am sworn to myself and to my father.”
She dared look up at him, the giddy feeling in chest growing worse as she gazed upon him. “Who is your father?”
Devlin’s warm expression faded somewhat.
“John de Bermingham, Earl of Louth,” he said.
“I am his eldest son. Even though I am a bastard, he has acknowledged me. Black Castle is his holding, at least it is now that we have taken it from Kildare, and I lead his rebellion. Ireland will belong to the Irish once again and it is my honor to fight for my kinsmen.”
Emllyn was gazing up at him quite steadily.
The giddy feeling in her chest was very strong but she found she did not want to turn away from him.
Something about the man, in spite of everything he’d put her through, kept her interest. The confusion she had felt that morning, the bewilderment and guilt, was turning into something else.
She wasn’t sure what it was yet; all she knew was that, at the moment, she had no desire to fight it.
“When we first met, you introduced yourself as the Lord of Black Castle,” she asked softly. “But I’d only heard of Black Sword. Why do they call you that?”
He could hear the nearly-gentle quality in her voice and it captured his full attention.
He’d never heard that tone come from her before and he rather thought he liked it.
It made him strongly inclined to answer whatever question she had for him, speaking in such a tone. He grinned modestly as he answered.
“Because when I was newly knighted, I fought a very nasty battle against the Normans,” he said quietly.
“It was against the Earl of Ormond’s armies, in fact, and it was for your father at a time when I still served Kildare.
I had killed many men that day, so many that I was covered in blood and so was my broadsword.
When I returned to camp after the battle, the blood had dried to a sticky black.
It covered my blade and the older knights began calling me Black Sword.
It was a sign of respect. It implies fierceness in battle. ”
Emllyn nodded thoughtfully, imagining the man in the heat of battle.
As big as he was, and he was enormous, she could only imagine that his formidable skills matched his reputation.
She’d been hearing the name Black Sword for many years.
Now, not only was she coming to understand the legend, she was coming to understand the man behind it.
Before they could continue their conversation, Eefha emerged from her hut with her arms full of items. Puffing furiously on her shite pipe, she approached Emllyn and began extending things to her; scarves of glorious colors, a belt or two, a pair of beautiful shoes, a fine white garment that might have been a shift, and at least two surcoats or other manner of dress.
It was difficult to tell. Emllyn ended up with a big pile in her arms, looking rather stunned at all of the items.
“What is all of this?” she asked Devlin. “Where did she get this?”
Devlin picked up the garment on the top of the pile, a yellow linen that was embroidered with fine silver thread. “As I said, she is a scavenger,” he said. “There is no telling where she found this.”
Emllyn could tell that it was very fine; she’d seen enough finery to know. “This is something a great noblewoman would wear,” she told him. “She did not… did she steal it somehow?”
Devlin began taking the pile from her. “I doubt it,” he said. “She barters for things, as well.”
“With the way she speaks?” Emllyn said, dubious. “How would anyone know what she wanted?”
Devlin took the remaining items from her and shifted them to one big arm. “She will find a way,” he said, reaching out to grasp Emllyn by the arm. “Let us return to the keep now. You can try on your finery and see what fits.”
He had her by the elbow as he turned around but the moment he did, something in his line of sight had his full attention and he handed the garments back over to Emllyn, piling them on so she could barely see over the top.
He had to clear his arms quickly because he didn’t want to be caught in a compromising position.
He needed to be free to move and to protect both himself and Emllyn if necessary.
Approaching rather swiftly from the northeast corner of the bailey were Frederick and several of his men.