Erin Yorke - Devlin

“Right here, Uncle,” Cashel said gruffly. “Devlin was taken early on and I had to take charge and lead the fight out of the castle to save Niall. I’m proud to say we lost only one man, Kieran.”

“And Devlin.” Niall’s voice was strident, his youthful indignation barely held in check. Initially he’d refused to even accompany Cashel, arguing about not leaving Devlin behind until the older man had tied him to his horse for the journey home. “Father, we must return at once for Devlin. I can’t abandon him. In fact, if Cashel hadn’t knocked me out when I tried to head back into Dublin, I wouldn’t be here at all—”

“Then God bless the man, you young fool. If you were taken again, there would surely be no talk of ransom,” the Irish chieftain said. “Cashel, I appreciate your putting Niall first, but was there no way to help Devlin?”

“Would you have had me risk the lives of all of these for the sake of one?” Cashel demanded. “The English were swarming like bees in a flowering meadow, their weapons ready and no mercy in their eyes. I thought it meet to escape while we could.”

“Devlin told us he would try to distract pursuit from Niall,” reminded Dugal. “Perhaps he did get away. He may still come along under his own power.”

“But he’d never leave one of his men behind. We shouldn’t have left if there was any chance that he’d show,” argued Niall, repeating the words he’d echoed since escaping Dublin.

“There wasn’t any!” snapped Eamon’s nephew. Annoyed that concern for Fitzhugh overrode his own part in the heroic rescue, Cashel revealed more than he’d intended. “I was the last one through the gate. I saw him taken.”

“And you didn’t turn back to help him?” Niall was the spokesman but the murmur from the others of the clan left Cashel no doubt that the lad spoke for all. “You betrayed not only Devlin but all the MacMahons when you deserted him—”

“The devil take such nonsense. It was our lives or his and I’d do the same again if need be.”

“And what of your quarrel over who was in charge?” challenged Sean. “You didn’t like being his second.”

“I’ll not deny I’ve questioned the MacMahon’s judgment regarding Fitzhugh’s ability, but I admit when I’m wrong and I was about this. Devlin Fitzhugh planned the raid on the Castle and executed it perfectly. He fought like ten men to get us free of there, but he’d be the first to agree that Niall’s life must come before his own. Niall, lad, he told you in the tower, ‘don’t stop for anyone or anything.’ Have you forgotten?”

“No, but—”

“And Dugal, didn’t Fitzhugh insist on leading us out of the castle, knowing full well that the odds were against us once the alarm sounded? The man knew the risks and willingly accepted them.”

“You’re glad he was taken,” accused Eamon’s son.

“Use your head. Would I choose to anger your father by abandoning a man he so values if I could avoid it? My main responsibility was seeing you out of the pale and back here before the soldiers found us. Now that you’re safe, we can tend to Devlin” Though it galled him to say it, Cashel could see he had no choice but make it appear this had been his plan all along. Of course, by the time they returned to Dublin, Fitzhugh’s rotting head on a pike might be the only part of him left. The English didn’t take kindly to Irishmen who raided their jails.

“Then we’ll ready the horses for you to leave at first light,” agreed the MacMahon. He didn’t know if he trusted Cashel’s story, but he was kin, and one didn’t forsake the clan when ordered to perform a duty. “I won’t feel Niall is truly safe until you bring Fitzhugh home—and I know you’re the one man who can do it.”

“I’ll go, too, Father,” volunteered Niall.

“No. You’re too inexperienced to be helpful,” countered Eamon. “Cashel will pick the men he wants and when he returns, we’ll feast like never before. Now, Cashel, get some rest before you head out again.”

“Aye, Eamon, and you, enjoy your son. I’m thankful I could bring him home to you.” The words grated in Cashel’s ears, his hero’s welcome evaporated for worry over Devlin. Damn the blasted gallowglass! Even absent his presence was still felt. Cashel MacMahon would never risk his life for one such as he.

Devlin finally stopped his measured pacing, steps sorely restricted by the chains that still bound him to the wall. Overcome by exhaustion, he hunkered down in his dark, dank cell. With his elbows propped on his muscular thighs, he allowed his head to fall wearily forward and rest against his hands as morbid anxiety gnawed at his soul, and the iron around his wrists and ankles bit into flesh rubbed raw.

He’d been confined here only three days and already he felt a growing sense of desperation so strong that it took all of his rapidly diminishing resources to deal with it. He was a freeborn man, who had always moved about his homeland whenever and wherever his inclinations had dictated. How many of his nights had been spent sleeping under star-studded skies, how many days had seen him roaming the rugged Irish landscape as unconfined as the winds that blew in from the sea?

Yet it made no difference what his lot had been, he thought bitterly, his fingers digging into his flesh in frustration and raking down his stubble-covered cheeks and chin. Whatever had been was past. This was his fate now—at least for the time being—until either Eamon arranged his rescue or he succumbed to madness or death. Did the English plan to torture him by keeping him confined for the rest of his natural life, or did they intend to execute him for his part in Niall’s escape? He still didn’t know.

If not for Muirne, death would be vastly preferable to facing years of imprisonment. Yet the little one was his responsibility and it was his duty to fight for survival for her sake, Devlin reminded himself, lifting his coppery head and allowing it to fall back and make contact with a damp, stone wall.

But to be reduced to this! It was almost beyond endurance to be caged like some dangerous animal. It made him feel ferocious, ready to pounce and kill whatever living being happened into his wretched new domain.

Suddenly, a flicker of light broke through the blackness and Devlin steeled himself to his full height, even as his well-muscled body tensed in wary anticipation.

The soft, whispered rustle of material should have warned him what was about to happen, but it was not until she held the candle aloft, allowing it to illuminate the soft contours of her face, that Devlin knew who this intruder upon his dark thoughts actually was. The girl, Alyssa, stood before him again, a tentative smile brightening her face almost as much as the flame she carried.

Sweet Jesu! Would she give him no peace? Devlin stood there, wishing she would disappear, that the darkness would suddenly devour her and leave no trace behind to remind him she had ever existed.

“I want you to know I’ve begged to have your chains removed,” Alyssa began uneasily, her slim white hand fluttering to indicate Devlin’s fetters. “My father has promised me he will have it done today. At least you’ll be able to move a bit more freely, even though you are still confined to a cell. I have a small cache of coins left me by an aunt, and I’ve used some of them to see to it that you’ll have two meals a day instead of one. And tonight, there will be some fresh straw to replace that vermin-infested heap in the corner,” she said, her nose wrinkling for an instant in distaste until the presence of the man whose bravery had captured her girlish heart made her begin to forget where they were.

As she concentrated on his dangerous good looks, the surrounding squalor faded away completely and Alyssa saw only Devlin Fitzhugh. His well-honed body, his stubborn stance, his arrogant bearing all exuded a masculine beauty. And his face, with its finely chiseled features, was inordinately handsome, or at least it would be, Alyssa amended, if only he would stop scowling at her so blackly. Why didn’t he say something?