Devlin

“Her Majesty is not a sovereign to be thwarted, Alyssa. ‘Tis a lesson you should commit to heart before you set foot in England. To fail to do so is to court disaster,” Cecil replied, his voice stern.

“Is that why you always put your loyalty to the queen above all else? Above my mother? Above me?”

“I’ve told you I had no choice! When our sovereign commanded me to accompany her envoy to the Lowlands as his secretary, what could I do but go? Had I refused, I could have been thrown in the Tower, and both you and your mother left to live in poverty. As it is, your dam did not live to see my return home. But you were waiting for me,” Cecil said. His words were drenched in wistful nostalgia, as though he truly did wish that things might have been different.

“A scant two months later, I was informed that my service had pleased Her Majesty, and I was to be sent abroad again. I knew that such an order precipitated a career to be spent in foreign lands. Was I to take you, an infant, with me? Expose your tender, young life to the hazards of constant travel? I had just lost my wife, I would not lose you as well. Nor did I want to see you grow to womanhood among the intrigues of various royal courts. No, as much as I wanted you beside me, I could not be that selfish. Instead, I consigned you to the care of my sister, a loving woman whose own two children had died. Even though she was slated to settle in Ireland, it seemed to be in your best interests at the time. You must believe me, Alyssa. It was because I loved you that I gave you away. If I was in error, I apologize.”

“But why didn’t you visit me? Why didn’t you write?” Alyssa asked

“What excuse can I possibly offer, my dear? Elizabeth kept me too busy to travel on my own behalf. And by the time you were old enough to read, I had hardened my heart to the pain of our separation Perhaps I was simply too cowardly to open myself to the anguish again. But now, my years of service have been rewarded. I have been given a post in England, and after I see these Irish rebels safely in English jails, I can once more establish a home. I wish to have you there with me.”

Alyssa wanted to believe him In fact, she yearned to do so. But the sense of rejection she had known as a child would not permit it until her father had proved himself to her

“If you care for me as you say you do, Father, then how can you stand by and watch the Irishman who saved me be condemned to imprisonment?” Alyssa asked stubbornly.

“Don’t you think I wanted to thank your impulsive rescuer, to send him on his way laden with gold and jewels? I did. But I have neither the authority nor riches to do so, regardless of what is in my heart. The rogue led an assault on Dublin Castle, Alyssa! Soldiers of the crown were slain. Political prisoners were released, some of whom I was charged with transporting to England. And because the chaos your Irishman caused began at the cell of Eamon MacMahon’s son, we have to assume he’s in league with the MacMahon himself.”

“The MacMahon?”

“Aye, a right troublesome rebel, a traitorous Irish nobleman who has been stripped of his lands and wealth by the queen. The MacMahon and his band live as outlaws. To have kept his son in captivity would have been to curtail his lawless behavior and acts of aggression against the crown. But your gallowglass saw to that, didn’t he? Why, his association with Eamon MacMahon is, in itself, reason for execution. I had it within my power to keep him from immediate death but little else. It was beyond me to gain his liberty. As it was, it took more than an hour of heated words with Governor Newcomb to convince him to march Fitzhugh to the tower rather than the block.”

“What did you say?” Alyssa asked, curiosity overcoming her reluctance to prolong any conversation with the man who was her sire. Though Fitzhugh’s execution had been a dim possibility, it had not been one she had considered seriously. Who would take the life of so heroic a man?

“I asserted that Fitzhugh was due some clemency for saving the daughter of Her Majesty’s representative.”

“And Newcomb agreed?”

“No…not entirely. I’m afraid we arrived at a stalemate. But I managed to convince him it was unwise to act hastily. Since I am not scheduled to leave Ireland until the end of the month, when the prisoners from the outlying districts have been brought to Dublin and placed in my care, we have decided to lay the matter before the queen. A missive has been sent detailing events. The Irishman will be safe from Newcomb’s wrath at least until we receive Her Majesty’s reply.”

“But what if…if…” Alyssa faltered in her question, her eyes growing round with horror.

“There, there, daughter, you’re not to worry. The queen will show mercy. The rebel will most likely be imprisoned in England for a time, but at least he will be alive,” Cecil assured her, silently praying his words contained some truth.

“How can you be so certain?”

“Do you have to ask? My dealings with Elizabeth over the years have given me some insight into her character. I promise, the Irishman’s life will be spared,” Cecil contended. Receiving the queen’s decision in the matter was a few weeks away, but the moment to soothe his daughter was now, to make her see he was not the monster she had painted him and that life with him would not be so unhappy as she anticipated.

“And if your recommendation holds no sway with the queen, what will we do?” Alyssa whispered, her fair face paler than usual.

“I beg that you trust me, daughter,” Cecil Howett implored with an intensity that oddly enough tugged at Alyssa’s heart. “Your Irishman will be spared. I give you my word.”

“Then I thank you, Father,” Alyssa said stiffly, still uncertain as to whether or not she could believe his promises.

“Your gratitude may be misplaced, sweetling,” Cecil Howett said with a weary shake of his gray head, glad the discussion seemed to be drawing to an end. “With conditions being what they are in English jails, it could well have been more merciful to have permitted your Irishman’s execution.”

“Nay, Father! You did the right thing, and I pray you will continue to do all within your power to keep him safe,” Alyssa replied fervently. She thought about placing a tentative kiss on Cecil’s cheek to seal their bargain, but hastily decided against it. She was not yet willing to chance allowing this stranger into her heart. It was a further complication she didn’t need when she had more pressing things to tend to. While her father saw to it that Fitzhugh remained alive, it would be up to her to bring Devlin solace as best she could. Surely she owed him that much, and never had debt seemed such a light burden.

Though Devlin had been confined for nearly eighteen hours, his violent rage at his predicament had yet to leave him, and he savagely yanked at his confining chains. Strong as he was, his efforts were to no avail. But he could not stop himself from trying to pull the links free of the large iron ring embedded in the wall through which his shackles had been laced. He knew he would not cease his attempts until he fell victim to exhaustion. Then, perhaps, sleep would overcome him and in sweet oblivion he would find peace of sorts, transitory though it would be.

Once more he tugged at his chains, gritting his teeth and silently cursing the impulsiveness that had landed him where he was. A score of thoughts raced through his head. He wondered whether Niall had escaped safely, and pondered his own fate, but mostly he thought of Muirne and what would become of her in his absence. Oh, he knew the MacMahon would see the child fed and sheltered as best he could. But food was not always plentiful in the rebel camp and starvation was certainly no stranger to Ireland since a handful of English had stolen lands that had once fed thousands. Besides, a girl could not grow up roughand-tumble in a camp as he had done, without proper guardians to see to her welfare. If she managed to survive at all, she would likely end up as her mother had, bearing someone’s bastard and succumbing to an early death.

The idea of it ate at Devlin’s very soul, though he barely knew his daughter, and he almost groaned his grief aloud when he considered the life the child would be forced to live.

He had been nothing more than a softhearted fool not to have turned Maeve away when she had crept beneath his blanket one dark, moonlit night. He had never decided whether it had been the frost on the ground or the ice surrounding his own heart that had seen him shivering with cold that evening. The only thing of which he was certain was that it had seemed natural to accept the warmth Maeve had offered. But he should have resisted temptation. Then there would have been no child to suffer because he had been captured.

More enraged with himself than before, Devlin had never looked so fierce. He was about to begin his futile pulling at the iron ring once again when he heard a scurrying in the darkness, much too loud to be that of one of the rats with whom he shared the tower. Quickly, he got to his feet. He’d not appear cowed before his English captors.

Taking a proud stance, Devlin wondered what fresh torture was about to befall him. So far, he had not answered any of the questions he had been asked about the MacMahon or the location of his camp. Would the English employ the lash or the hot iron to bend him to their will? The method mattered not. He would fight submission until he lost consciousness, or at least, he prayed he would.

Suddenly, out of the darkness, stepped a willowy female form. Devlin muttered a curse. The sight of the girl he had saved was more painful to him than any physical punishment. He could not bear to look at her without silently railing against his unfathomable behavior in the courtyard of Dublin Castle, the behavior that had cost him his freedom and decreed Muirne would not have the life he wished for her.

“Hello.” The voice was soft and delicate as the English lass dropped her hand away from the candle she had been shielding.

Looking at her, Devlin could see now that she was not the child he had at first supposed her to be. Her soft curves proclaimed that she was more woman than girl, but the youthful beauty of her face hinted that childhood was not all that far behind her. Why, she was probably no more than sixteen, Devlin thought, until he realized what he was doing and began to silently berate himself. What difference did it make? What was the wench to him, anyway?

Devlin shot her a fierce look meant to send her scampering on her way in terror. But she stood her ground, overlooking the fury on his face just as she ignored her malodorous surroundings. Instead, she saw only a magnificent warrior, one with a heart so big that he had risked his life for hers though the world had declared her his enemy.

Alyssa gave a tiny sigh as she studied Devlin Fitzhugh. Her aunt and uncle might have pampered her, but no one had ever been willing to hazard his life for her before this rugged gallowglass had done so. She was as much impressed by his gallantry as she was by his physique. Surely the world had never known such a hero.

“My name is Alyssa Howett,” she began. “I am the…woman you saved last night.”

“As if I could forget you!” Devlin growled. “But it matters not to me what you are called, girl. Get you hence before I do you harm.”

“Oh, I know you’re angry, and I can find no fault with that, but I also know that you would never hurt me,” Alyssa continued. “Such evil could never be in your nature.”

“Step a few inches closer so that I can wrap my chains about your slender young neck, and I’ll show you how very wicked a desperate man can be.”

“I had to speak with you, to tell you how badly I feel that I played a part in your capture.”

A part? This whole thing is your fault, Devlin wanted to bellow. But he held his tongue because he knew such an outburst would be a lie. From his viewpoint, no one but he was responsible for his dilemma, and that grated on him more than if someone else had actually been to blame. Still, the sight of the girl was almost more than he could bear, reminding him as it did of his foolish gallantry during Niall’s rescue.

“Please, you must believe me,” Alyssa persisted in the face of Devlin’s stony silence. “I truly am sorry.”

“No sorrier than I am,” Devlin ground out bitterly. If the girl felt guilty, it was an emotion that might be used to his advantage. “What were you doing flitting about the cells in the middle of the night? Can’t your father control you, or is it a habit of yours to visit imprisoned men under cover of darkness?”

“No!” she exclaimed, her face blazing crimson. “No to both questions. I don’t know my father very well. We’ve just been reunited after many years apart, and when we first became reacquainted, I hated him and refused to obey him in even the smallest matters. He had abandoned me, you see.”

The simple, innocent confession tore at Devlin’s being. How long would it be before he saw Muirne again—if ever he did? And, how would she feel about him if he came back into her life? Would she, too, feel her father had deserted her?

“I want you to know that I begged my father to arrange your release, but it was futile.”

“A man of great honor, your sire,” Devlin commented in derision, “and I suppose you are much like him.”

“Don’t you think I would help you if I could?”

“Prove it,” he demanded. “Get me the key that will unlock my chains.”

“I can’t,” the girl admitted shamefully. “The guard carries them.”