Erin Yorke - Devlin

Cecil Howett sat at a desk in the outer room of the quarters assigned him. He held his breath as he took the missive from London being proffered him by Newcomb’s secretary. Waiting until the man had left the room, Cecil turned the document over in his hands. The seal had been broken and the contents most likely read by Newcomb already. With nervous fingers, Howett unfolded the paper, his eyes quickly scanning the message contained therein. Then his shoulders slumped in disappointment. It was what he had most feared. Devlin Fitzhugh was to be executed at dawn the next day.

Damnation! The report of the rebel jailbreak had emphasized that Fitzhugh had averted Alyssa’s murder! Didn’t that mean the man should be spared? Apparently not according to Her Majesty. How was he going to inform Alyssa of the decision? And how was he going to explain that his promises had meant nothing? He knew how important the man had become to her, unwise though that was. Hadn’t he but recently learned she had been sneaking into the prison every day to see him?

It might be best to delay giving his daughter the news until after Fitzhugh’s death sentence had been carried out. Of course, having no advance warning would add to the girl’s sorrow, but it would also give her one more day of peace, and her young life had seen upset aplenty as of late.

Resolved, Cecil rose from his desk and walked to his cupboard to fetch some wine when Alyssa burst into the room, her bright presence making the gloom within his heart that much darker.

“Is it true a courier from London has arrived?” she asked breathlessly, only to abruptly cease her question as her eyes fell upon the royal decree open upon the desk, and she saw Devlin’s name written in large, bold letters.

“Alyssa, don’t!” her father warned, hastening to her side. But it was already too late.

“Dear God in heaven!” The softness of her voice made plain her shock. Slowly, Alyssa sank into her father’s chair. “You must do something to stop this,” she proclaimed in anguish, catching desperately at Cecil’s sleeve.

“Would that I could, sweetling, but I fear your Irishman is beyond hope.”

“You gave me your word that Elizabeth would not order his execution,” she accused. “You must do something or his death will stand forever between us. Surely, you have simply to—”

“I tell you I can do nothing,” Cecil interjected, his guilt shortening his temper. Yet, he spoke the truth. Having discovered his error in extending false hopes to his daughter, Cecil was not of a mind to make the same mistake again. Now that Alyssa knew her Irishman’s fate, it was best she quickly realize the futility of the situation.

“’Tis a hard lesson to learn, to accept the things about which we can do nothing, but impress it upon your heart, girl, and it will serve you well in life. That is all the solace I have to offer.”

“’Tis little enough, but mayhap it is better than your lies,” Alyssa retorted with bitter resentment. Then her demeanor changed, as horror completely penetrated her anger and denial. “Tell me, does he know?” she whispered weakly.

“Nay. Newcomb and I have only learned of it ourselves.”

“Oh, Father, I beg you—” She’d act the dutiful daughter for the rest of her life, only Devlin had to be saved!

“I’ve already told you, there’s nothing to be done. Your Irishman is doomed, Alyssa.”

At his words, the girl’s sobs rent the air. Yet her father remained steadfast. After tomorrow, Fitzhugh would be executed, and Alyssa could begin to put the ordeal behind her. Thinking it best for his daughter to give way to her emotions, he withdrew quietly from the room, walking the corridors of Dublin Castle until he could no longer hear the girl’s distress.

With every step he took, Cecil wondered how he might make this situation easier for Alyssa. The only thing that came to mind was moving the execution forward. If the deed was done, it would be over before she knew it had happened. He’d talk to Newcomb about it right away. Surely the man owed him that much.

Though Alyssa had given herself over to grief with abandon, her tears began to slow and her shoulders began to stop heaving shortly after her father’s departure. She knew she had to pull rein on her emotions. Soon, Devlin would be gone, she told herself, sniffling, and she would be the one who would see to it. With her help, he would make good an escape tonight. He had to! Damn her father and his empty words! Cecil Howett was even more charlatan than she had thought.

Rapidly, ideas began to formulate in Alyssa’s mind. The overnight guard on duty this week had a reputation for loving gold, and he had been helpful in the past. She still had a good deal of the coinage her aunt had left her. If she had learned anything at Dublin Castle, it was that with money, one could buy almost anything. She only prayed her little fortune was worth the price of a man’s life.

Having hope to cling to once again, Alyssa stood, smoothed her gown and banished the anguish from her face. There was much to prepare before darkness fell. After tonight, she might never see Devlin Fitzhugh again, but how much more comforting it would be to know he was alive somewhere in his precious Irish countryside rather than moldering in a pauper’s grave on the outskirts of Dublin.

The small pouch of gold coins suspended between Alyssa’s breasts weighed heavily around her neck despite the slight bulk of her meager inheritance. Trying to be inconspicuous, she took a roundabout route across the bailey that eventually led her to a door at the base of the prison tower

When she stepped inside, Alyssa’s heart began to beat rapidly at the thought of what lay ahead. It was not the notion that she could soon be an enemy of the crown that caused her skin to turn paler and her breaths to become more shallow. No, it was fear of failure that brought about these physical symptoms. If she did not accomplish the purpose at hand, Devlin Fitzhugh was a doomed man, forever beyond the reach of any help she might wish to render.

Praying that her small cache of coins would be enough to tempt Hawkins, the greediest of the guards, into betraying his duties, Alyssa decided a smile sent in his direction would not be amiss.

Squaring her shoulders and donning a sweetly vapid smile, Alyssa left the patch of sunlight painting the floor of the tower just beyond the open door. She ascended through the gloom to the guards’ station, where she hoped to find Hawkins alone. The possibility that he might not be there leaped across her mind along with a thousand other things that could befoul Devlin Fitzhugh’s escape. Rather than cause maidenly trepidations and abandonment of her plan, however, the reasons for possible failure were swiftly examined and then put aside. She continued with a dainty yet determined tread, her violet eyes taking on a steely cast.

“Now you’re not to worry that pretty head of yours, milady. Just you leave everything in my hands. You’ll find them quite capable, I assure you,” Hawkins said with a twist of his mouth that was more leer than grin.

“Are you certain?” Alyssa questioned anxiously.

“Didn’t I tell you that I’ll take care of the guards at the base of the tower? Alls I have to do is unlock the rebel’s cell, and lead him along the portion of the outer wall that’s always steeped in darkness, no matter how bright the moon, to the kitchens. From there, I takes him down to a little-used storeroom, where chests of grain stacked one upon the other hide a small portal that opens onto the trench. Once he climbs out of there, he’ll find a horse tethered behind a clump of trees. The rest is up to him.”

“But how will you avoid the other guards?” Alyssa persisted.

“I’ll set things in motion just before the guards change at dawn. The ones on duty usually doze for a bit and only waken just before their relief appears. ’Twill be a simple matter to get past them, especially when I shares a jug of wine with them at the beginning of the watch.”