Erin Yorke - Devlin

Their conversation faded as the men rounded a corner, but it bothered Devlin not a whit. Whatever had them talking would become plain soon enough if it concerned him. What could bother him more than the torture to which Alyssa Howett gently subjected him?

Once more, Devlin peered into the descending darkness, watching and listening for Cecil Howett’s daughter. It was growing unusually late. His heart started to race, and sweat beaded upon his forehead as he strained to see if she was coming. He hoped to God she wouldn’t. He prayed to God she would.

“I don’t know why you’re here. I thought we’d agreed I would see to everything.”

The words crept into Devlin’s consciousness, causing him to quickly leave sleep behind and become alert. In his experience, he’d never seen anything other than a lone guard occasionally shuffle down this corridor so late at night. Yet the approaching footsteps were hurried, and the sound of Hawkins’s voice told Devlin that the Englishman was not alone. Quickly, the agile gallowglass gained his feet. If someone were to come for him, be it friend or foe, he’d not be found curled up upon the straw like some docile farm animal.

“You decided the matter would be left in your hands,” came the reply, in hushed yet determined feminine tones. “But I’m not such a fool as to trust you blindly. That’s why I’ve come to oversee things.”

The voice was so soft, the whisper so subtle that Devlin almost thought he imagined it. He had done that often enough of late. But he could sense Alyssa Howett’s nearness and knew that what he had just heard was real.

Sweet Jesu! Couldn’t the wench be content that she disturbed his dreams without actually seeking him out in the middle of the night?

Based upon his experiences with Alyssa, Devlin would not argue the premise that the world was totally devoid of justice. After hours of awaiting her arrival, he had finally concluded she wasn’t coming. Slowly, the tension associated with her had left him, and he had almost been grateful to have a day without the torture her presence seemed to bring.

Now here she was, when she was least expected, and he was the vulnerable recipient of her surprise attack. He was not at all ready to deal with her at the moment. But then, he was never totally prepared for Alyssa Howett. He had tried ignoring her, bellowing at her, threatening her, stopping just short of throwing himself upon his knees and pleading with her to leave him in peace. Yet when he envisioned himself resorting to such a tactic, his hoarse pleas transformed themselves into urgings of quite a different nature. Shuddering, Devlin tried to push aside the images flooding his mind and steel himself for Alyssa’s latest assault.

“Devlin. Wake up, man! It’s me, Alyssa.”

As if he would have any doubts as to who it could be.

“What is it now?” he asked, his voice as quiet as hers, yet drenched with surliness.

Suddenly the key was in the lock and the door began to swing inward. She had never entered his cell before! Why was Alyssa stealing into his wretched surroundings at this time of night? Sweet Mother of God, was she going to offer herself to him? More important, what was he going to do if she did?

“Begone, lass,” he hissed, wanting her out of his path when impulse led him to make a desperate bid for freedom. When else would he find himself with unlocked door while most of the castle slept?

“Aye, I will be in a moment,” she answered, “and you’ll be right behind me.”

“What! Don’t mock me, Alyssa,” Devlin growled, though a glimmer of doubtful hope lit his blue eyes all the same.

“There’s little time to talk, Devlin.” Alyssa’s lovely face was drawn with anxiety. “You’re to be executed this morning. We’ve got to get you out of here now. The guards on duty have been taken care of, but their replacements will be arriving in an hour. If you’ve any thought of keeping your head attached, you’ll have to be well gone by then.”

“And him? What’s he doing here?” Devlin asked, nodding in Hawkins’s direction as the man followed Alyssa into the cell. The Englishman’s presence made the gallowglass wonder if the girl could be leading him into a trap, unwittingly or otherwise.

“Me! I’m the one she paid to see to your escape,” the guard grumbled. “The better question is what is she doing here? I’m not about to risk my neck by leading two of you out of the tower and around the castle grounds.”

“I’ll save you the effort,” Alyssa stated matterof-factly. “You’ll be locked in the cell now and the keys dropped on the stairway. ‘Twill avert suspicion from you.”

“You’re giving me orders? This is what comes of having business dealings with a female,” Hawkins muttered, “when what I really prefers is the idea of dealing with you in my bed. And after tonight, don’t think I won’t have you warming my blanket—”

Hawkins didn’t see Devlin Fitzhugh’s fist coming, nor did he feel the pain before slumping to the floor unconscious.

Devlin turned to Alyssa. Towering over her, he peered into her guileless visage, pearlescent in the moonlight, and he seemed to come to a decision.

“All right, lass. Let’s go. I’ll place my trust in you,” he said softly.

“And I in you,” Alyssa replied, reaching into her cloak and handing him a dagger. “I thought you’d have need of this for the journey home.”

A surprised Devlin looked at the weapon and then at Alyssa. Her violet eyes were darker than he had ever seen them. In their depths glistened concern, sincerity and something else, some nebulous element that Devlin wanted neither to identify nor analyze.

“We really must be off, Fitzhugh,” Alyssa insisted worriedly, her fear for this man’s safety forcing her to wrench her gaze from his.

Scooping up the keys and the threadbare Irish cloak to be dropped along Devlin’s escape route, Alyssa disappeared into the dark corridor. Once Devlin joined her, she secured Hawkins with lock and key. Then motioning to Devlin, she led the way, her tread so quiet and light that she appeared to float just above the surface of the cold, stone floor.

Following in her wake, Devlin vowed he had never seen so graceful a creature. Then, realizing the insanity of his absorption in Alyssa Howett’s gait, he inured himself against her charms, his warrior’s demeanor descending upon him once more.

He didn’t know where she was taking him, or if her plan had a prayer of succeeding! Yet what did it matter? he asked himself. She was the only hope he had, and if they were accosted, he was armed.

At worst, he would die the death of a fighting man, a fate more palatable than the one the English had planned for him. Grimacing, Devlin clutched the hilt of the dagger. But, when they descended the staircase, there was no need for it, just as she had promised. There were no proud guards ready to do their duty for queen and country, but only sleeping Englishmen, empty mugs lying beside them.

Suddenly, Alyssa and Devlin were at the door in the base of the tower, the one that led into the bailey. Instinctively, Devlin reached out to thrust Alyssa behind him, but before he could lay hold of her slender frame, she took his hand, and began to tug him along after her.

In truth, her efforts had no more effect upon him than a sparrow attempting to pull a boulder. Still, now that the moment of truth was at hand, Devlin found that he followed the girl willingly enough.

Bending his head to pass through the doorway, Devlin drew fresh air, laden with the promise of freedom, into his lungs. But there was no time to savor the heady feeling it gave him. Alyssa was insistently yanking him forward once more, her small hand all but lost within the confines of his large one.