Читать книгу Devlin - Erin Yorke - Страница 11

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?

“Besides that, I’ll continue coming to visit you every day just as I have for the past two, to see how you are faring,” Alyssa finally stated, as much to break the silence as to inform the rugged Irishman of her intentions.

“Go away, girl. I’ve told you repeatedly I have no desire for your company,” Devlin growled.

“I’m certain you don’t mean that,” Alyssa protested, unwilling to believe the warrior who had begun to haunt her dreams would treat her so unceremoniously. She was growing tired of his telling her to leave him alone. Wasn’t it about now he should be exhibiting some degree of gratitude?

“I do,” Devlin warned harshly.

“’Tis naught but your manly pride talking,” Alyssa stated insistently, her violet eyes flashing. It appeared that seeing to the welfare of her Irish gallowglass was going to be difficult. But Alyssa had not earned her reputation for willfulness undeservedly. Devlin’s lack of cooperation only made her more determined to help him survive his imprisonment, an incarceration for which she still felt blame.

“’Tis my righteous fury speaking and nothing less,” Devlin all but snarled. “If you value your safety, you’ll leave now and never return.”

“Fie, sir! I am weary of your threats!” Alyssa exclaimed with an unconsciously insolent sway of her hips. “I have told you from the beginning, you don’t frighten me one jot! You saved my life.”

“That was naught but folly, a softhearted, dullwitted impulse that I’ve lived to regret, and never more than at this moment. Certainly it is an error I would never repeat.”

“Say what you will, but I know that in spite of your fierce glowering there is a kind heart within your warrior’s body. And so, Devlin Fitzhugh, you will be seeing me often. Now you can continue to rail or you can save your strength and accept the fact. It makes no difference to me.”

With that, Alyssa withdrew something from her pocket and shoved it through the bars. It was a hunk of bread wrapped in a scrap of cloth. Devlin glared at it, and then at the girl.

“I’ll see you on the morrow,” Alyssa whispered softly, and then both she and the weak light of the candle were gone.

Devlin remained where he was, allowing his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness. This time, unlike yesterday, he’d be damned if he ate the girl’s largesse, he swore to himself. Hungry as he might be, it would stay where it was until the wench returned the next day. She could add whatever she brought to the pile, which would continue to grow until she finally realized that he would have none of her ill-conceived generosity. That was the only way to deal with such a headstrong lass.

But a high-pitched squeak and a pair of small, red eyes glowing in the darkness caused Devlin to quickly reconsider his decision. Food strewn on the floor of his cell would only cause it to become more rat infested than it already was. And with not even a few crumbs left behind, the English girl would never believe his assertions that he had ignored her food, that the rats had eaten it. Most likely, the little witch would only laugh in the face of his anger and smile that knowing feminine smile of hers. Lord, but she’d lead some unlucky man a merry chase when she grew older. And in the meantime, she would practice her infuriating behavior on him, Devlin thought in despair, seeing once again the impudent swing of the lass’s hips as she argued with him.

Bending down, he swatted at the advancing rat and scooped up the bread, muttering darkly.

Savagely, Devlin bit off a piece, almost choking on it in spite of the honey slathered across its center. But once the last morsel was gone, no sweetness lingered in his mouth.

Dear mother of God but he had dreaded his imprisonment before the girl had made a habit of appearing. How would he ever endure jail and the wench, too? Devlin rested his head against the iron bars and gave a low moan Surely there was no mercy in heaven.

Then, despite himself, an exasperated smile crossed Devlin’s face. A man impressed by bravery, Devlin found he couldn’t but admire Alyssa Howett. She was nothing if not a spirited, defiant little soul. Why, not even his blackest look could quell her. And with all that blond hair of hers, and those unusual violet eyes…Perhaps at another time, in another place, she could have tempted him.

But what was he thinking! She was English, one of the oppressors, and he an Irish rebel. She was little more than a girl and he was fast approaching thirty winters. She had an entire lifetime before her, and he, in all likelihood, was a condemned man.

What strange thoughts she wrought within him! They were especially odd when Devlin considered that whether free or imprisoned, he was a warrior, and had little time for women, let alone young girls. And this young girl was intelligent, smart enough to see through his bluster, to know that he bristled not at the small kindnesses she insisted upon showing him, but at being beholden to a female. Yes, she was clever all right, and if he had had his liberty, he would have fled from her immediately.

Within a week, Alyssa discovered, her days in Dublin Castle took on a pattern of their own. As long as she appeared promptly for the midday meal she was expected to share with her father and the governor, her mornings were hers. Then, afterward she was free to embroider or sketch until dinner.

Not once had Cecil Howett questioned her amusements or disturbed her wanderings, apparently pleased that she was keeping out of trouble. Most important, his attitude gave her entry to any manner of place all over the castle grounds.

Flipping through her drawings, Alyssa smiled at her chosen subjects: children playing in the lane outside the jail, alert wardens walking the wall, maids scurrying across the courtyard with laundry, Devlin pacing in his cell, unaware he was being observed. Those of the gallowglass were her favorites, though Devlin Fitzhugh would not be one to indulge an artist’s endeavors and pose willingly. In fact, he was not a man accustomed to enforced idleness of any kind.

Naturally, she made certain to include a daily visit to the Irishman’s cell, if only to help rectify his foul humor. She hoped her father didn’t find out, but even if he did, Alyssa knew that she wouldn’t abandon Devlin Fitzhugh. After all, when he’d been in danger for his life, he hadn’t hesitated to protect her. He was a hero, despite the absurd interpretation the English put on the event. Traitor, indeed!

Alyssa contemplated her charcoal drawing of the man who had risked everything to save her from those descending swords, and she trembled. She had been such a fool—yet what an acceptable outcome the near tragedy would have, if her father were right. Transported to England, Devlin would spend time in her father’s jail where they could be together. It would have been better to live with him in Ireland, but that was out of the question.

Still, Alyssa would be with the man she loved. And love him she did. Studying a sketch of an imaginary scene, Devlin outdoors, she traced the strong line she’d made of his shoulder, the proud angle of his head, and the planes of his chest as he aimed a bow and arrow. His eyes were focused and intense, his lips parted slightly in concentration, his attitude superbly confident as if guaranteed his arrow would find its target. But wasn’t that part of why she loved him—his arrogance and total assurance of his position? She doubted another man like Devlin Fitzhugh existed anywhere.

Her beloved aunt had died and Devlin had come into her life within days. Surely, he was the faerie folk’s answer to her prayers for an escape from Cecil Howett. Now all she had to do was convince Devlin that fate had brought them together, not her foolishness.

He seemed to have stopped growling as much when she visited him last. In fact, occasionally she thought he was even pleased to see her, not that he admitted it. Like most men, he needed to think he was in control of his destiny, and she’d not deny him that pnvilege—false though it might be. Closing her eyes, Alyssa imagined his face lowering slowly to hers and tasted his lips on hers, firm, demanding and welcome. If only her dreams could become reality.

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.”

“Still, I’m worried,” Alyssa insisted, glancing over her shoulder to make certain that no one else was nearby.

“There’s no need to fret on old Hawkins’s account,” the man stated, pretending to misunderstand Alyssa’s concern as he sidled closer. “I’ll be safe enough. Once I get the Irishman clear, I’ll come back, drop a tattered Irish cloak and Celtic dagger along the escape route, lock myself in Fitzhugh’s cell and throw the keys out into the corridor. Then, when I’m found, I’ll pretend to just be coming to after having been laid low by one of them bloody Irish bastards. Begging your pardon for my bluntness, milady, but that’s all them buggers are.”

“Your plan could work,” Alyssa conceded.

“Aye, with your gold and my brains, Fitzhugh will be clear of Dublin Castle by this time tomorrow,” Hawkins said, eyeing the small pouch of coins Alyssa held in her hands.

“So be it,” Alyssa pronounced, counting out half of her remaining inheritance into Hawkins’s dirty palm. What choice did she have other than to place her trust in this man? God help her, he was all she had! “The rest is yours when Fitzhugh has gone.”

“And now, milady, to seal the bargain,” the guard said, his eyes raking Alyssa’s bosom as he bent low to take her hand. Bringing it to his lips, he placed a clumsy, wet kiss along her knuckles.

“I would think half of my gold would have done that,” Alyssa protested, trying to tug her fingers from his grasp.

“Ah, but what’s a little intimacy between partners?” asked Hawkins with a lascivious grin as he held on to Alyssa’s hand. “And I’ve a feeling that we’re about to become mightily close indeed. You rest easy and just go to sleep tonight dreaming of all Hawkins can do.”

Alyssa snatched her fingertips from the guard and turned away. She couldn’t chide the man for his impudence until Devlin had seen the last of Dublin Castle. But once that had happened, she’d make certain Hawkins never touched her again.

Walking down the corridor, she considered a visit to Devlin, as was her wont, but decided against it. He would be able to sense her uneasiness, and she couldn’t tell him of his impending execution and her plan for his escape when anyone might come along and overhear. Besides, not one to follow, he would only find some flaw in the scheme she had set in motion and want to take command of things himself. No, it was better to wait until the hour for his release was at hand. Then she would visit his cell one last time.

Of course, Hawkins didn’t expect her presence tonight, Alyssa thought as she emerged from the tower. But then, what could he do once she was there? Naive she might be, but she was not such an innocent as to place Devlin’s life entirely in Hawkins’s grimy hands. Despite Hawkins’s inevitable protests, it would be she who led Devlin Fitzhugh to freedom’s door, handed him a dagger and wished him godspeed.

Tracing the route she would be taking with Devlin that night, Alyssa entered the kitchens, explaining to the cook that Governor Newcomb had given her permission to browse through the stores for anything she might want to make her upcoming journey to England more bearable. With the cook’s blessing, Alyssa descended into the storage room, pragmatically counting each step that might have to be taken in darkness that night. Seeing the chests of grain, she paced off their location from the doorway, and managed to reach behind them, her fingers searching for and finding the small, hidden doorway Hawkins had described. Satisfied, she went back to the kitchens, and asked that some dried fruit be placed upon her father’s ship when it docked. Thanking the cook, she accepted a small tart with a smile meant to hide her lack of appetite.

Grateful that her plan to free Devlin was viable, Alyssa slowly made her way back to her chambers. She knew her heart should be singing. If all went well, he would disappear into the night’s last mistshrouded vestiges of darkness. He would live, and her debt to him would be paid. But her elation at saving his neck from the ax was tempered by a sadness that prevented complete joy.

Becoming more dejected with each step she took, Alyssa knew it wasn’t the idea of spending her inheritance that upset her, though becoming penniless meant giving up all hope of escaping her father, and forsaking forever the possibility of independence that her aunt’s secret gift was meant to promise. No, the money and all it stood for was a trifling price to pay for Devlin Fitzhugh’s life. Yet, as each moment that passed brought it closer, there was a forfeiture Alyssa was loath to make, one that burdened her heart. After tonight Devlin would have his liberty, but the price exacted would be a steep one. Never in her life was she likely to see him again.

Surely if her father intruded upon her solitude by coming to her chambers in the intervening hours before Devlin’s flight, she would not have to hide her schemes behind false tears. The ones she shed would be real enough.

* * *

Devlin stood with folded arms leaning against the wooden door of his prison. To all appearances, his stance was nonchalant No one looking at him would think his studied indifference to his surroundings masked an alert watchfulness. Nor would any know his position was carefully chosen to give him the best view of the corridor running outside his cell. The only comment that might have been made would have been one of surprise that he was not stationed at his small prison window, trying to catch any breeze the unusually warm summer evening might surrender.

Yet lost deep in thought as he was, the summer temperatures were of no concern to Devlin Fitzhugh. The heat that began to build in his body was of a different sort altogether. It was bad enough that after three weeks another day had passed and the Mac-Mahon’s men had made no attempt to rescue him, he thought irritably, but where the hell was Alyssa Howett? She should have been here already, as she usually was, and then his suffering for the day could have been complete.

Hearing shuffling at the far end of the corridor, Devlin waited, both hoping and fearing that it would be Alyssa come to him once more. The dread of torment and the anticipation of pleasure mingled incoherently. When had it begun to happen? When had never wanting to see her again started to shift to being unwilling to survive in this hellhole without her? Had it been after she had stood her ground in the face of his temper? Before that, when she had first brought him food and comfort? Or was it the moment he had set eyes on her?

Devlin shook his head wearily. He tried to tell himself that faced with the prospect of never having a woman again, any female would appeal to him, but his excuse held little sway with his traitorous heart.

Perhaps it was no more than prison madness descending upon him. How could it be otherwise? She was English. She was at least partially the reason for his imprisonment. And still, God help him, he longed to see her, though her nearness, in the face of his inability to touch her, brought him as much pain as it did joy. Surely such emotions bespoke insanity. Each day became worse. Mayhap if he spoke to the girl’s father, begged him to keep her away…but no, he couldn’t do that. His pride would never allow him to admit to anyone how much the English wench moved him. Nor did he really want her to abandon him. Imprisonment without her daily company was unthinkable.

“Newcomb and Howett have been closeted most of the day. Something’s afoot,” one guard told another as the two passed by Devlin’s cell, dispelling his hope that Alyssa was nearby. “Have you any idea as to what it can be?”

“No, but whatever it is, I wager ‘twill only result in these cursed Irish being coddled more.”

“Aye, there are some here that seem to have their own maidservants seeing to their needs,” the first guard replied, jerking his head in Devlin’s direction. “Damn me, but I’ve never seen the like.”

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.