Emerald Prince (5 page)

Chapter Three

Ireland

Spring — 1210

“H
AVE YOU LOST ALL
your senses, Uilleam?”

Whenever his uncle used his full name, Liam knew Niall was unhappy with him. The two men sat side by side in the cover of Crone’s Wood, while the other eight men riding with them stayed hidden along the road.

Liam’s blood-bay gelding stirred under the saddle. Biorra acted as impatient as his master felt. “Niall, I’ve explained myself three times already. I’ll not do it again.”

His decision was made and Liam hoped his words would see an end to the argument. Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. After all, the man at his side was cut from the same stubborn cloth.

“Aye, but ’tis Quintin de Lacy you propose crossing.” Niall didn’t sound as incredulous as he had when Liam first mentioned his plans. This time he sounded worried.

Biorra snorted and Liam did, too. “De Lacy is no different than any other mark. We do whatever we must to provide for our people. Would you have me cower like a whipped cur at the mere mention of his name?”

From the corner of his eye, Liam saw Niall shake his head. “Nay,” his uncle sighed, conceding this round of battle lost.

Liam grinned, and leaned over from his saddle to slap Niall on the shoulder. “Stop harping like an old fishwife. If I wanted to hear naggin’, I’d be married, wouldn’t I?”

Niall chuckled, but his heart wasn’t in it. His brow furrowed. “I fear de Lacy’s a different animal, Liam. Best not to mess with men of his ilk.”

“Nonsense,” Liam said. “He’s a man, no different than us, other than he’s a Norman swine.” He waited for Niall to laugh and break the tension in the air. He did not.

“Aye, a man,” Niall’s voice lowered, as if he feared someone might be listening, “but I’ve ne’er heard of a more malevolent one. ’Tis said he threw his first wife down stone steps in a fit of mad rage, and killed her right enough. An’ the child she carried.”

A chill touched Liam. Or did something cold brush up against him? Maybe a damp branch, for the forest was dense. He shook off his unease. “The tale was never proved true.”

“Witnesses paid off, no doubt, by de Lacy’s deep purse,” Niall muttered. “Is it worth the risk of provoking pure evil? Surely not.”

“You heard what Fearghas said back at the inn. This widow wed de Lacy with blessings from the
Sassenach
King himself. She’s traveling with the King’s own guard. What does it tell us, Niall? Her worth and thus her dowry will be substantial. So aye, I’d say the risk’s damme well worth it.”

“Poor lady,” Niall said.

“Aye, de Lacy’s bawdy preferences are legendary. A pinch-faced old widow hasn’t a prayer of pleasing him. But faced with a hag, mayhap we should pity de Lacy instead.” Again, his attempt at humor fell on deaf ears.

“Bawdy preferences?” Niall spat in disgust. “Why, the man’s touch is a curse itself. Remember when the little O’Grady twins went to work there …”

A shrill cry pierced the air, eerie enough to freeze the blood of even the hardiest men. Their mounts shied at the sound echoing through the misty trees. Neither hawk nor owl, nor anything human. The two men looked at each other.

“
Bean-sidhe
,” Niall said, reaching down to pat his gray mare’s shivering withers in an attempt to calm her. “’Tis She on the wind.”

“Well, if the banshee be keening this night, it doesn’t bode well for the English. After all, it’s the men of Eire She loves and protects.”

At last Niall laughed. “Aye, Liam, an’ surely Her warning is meant for the
Sassenach
soldiers, not the Emerald Prince.”

A
COLD, DAMP WIND
fluttered the curtains on the carriage sheltering two women as it trundled through the Wicklow Mountains.

Alianor flicked the curtains back and peered into the gloomy woods. Each jolt of the carriage was another nail hammered into the coffin of her destiny. She saw nothing to alarm her in the falling dusk. Still, the dread inside her grew.

She felt her heartbeat pounding in her head, matching the steady, plodding gait of the horses. The fierce throbbing hurt. She rubbed her temples and tried to think.

Seated beside her mistress, the copper-haired Edie clucked her tongue in disapproval. “’Tis a fool’s errand to travel on through the night. We should have stayed at the inn where we stopped for evening meal. Whatever could the captain be thinking?”

Edie’s words gave wings to Alianor’s thoughts, and by lantern light she saw worry creasing her maidservant’s face. She knew the girl was right, but tried to shrug off her unease.

“We’re traveling with a brace of the King’s soldiers to protect us, Edie. Surely no one would be so idiotic …” Alianor trailed off. Perhaps imagining disaster invited it. She banned the thought from her mind; it was only silly superstition, born of weariness and grief.

Edie shivered, drawing her heavy wool shawl closer about her shoulders. “Like as not, milady, by morn we’ll all be murdered and left for Irish wolves.”

“Don’t be a goose,” Alianor chided the girl. She sought a diversion for them both and asked Edie’s opinion on how to style her hair for her wedding. The fine black velvet gown she planned to wear for the ceremony tomorrow was packed in her single trunk tied to the back of the carriage. Aye, she had chosen black a purpose, one small act of defiance she might risk. For even her betrothed could not deny she was being forced too soon to the altar after Walter’s death.

Alianor had donned plainer garb for travel, a simple, black woolen gown with a round neck and fitted sleeves. Edie had tamed her usual riot of curls by plaiting her hair and arranging it on either side of her head. Her head was covered with a linen cap and opaque black veil. She felt every inch the dour, matronly widow she appeared.

Alianor’s fingers smoothed a cloak folded on the seat between the women. It was a parting gift from Queen Isabella. Made from the finest crimson wool, trimmed with marten and silk-lined, it also boasted a delicate embroidered floral motif. Out of respect for Walter she would not wear colors yet, but mayhap in a year she might.

“Do you think you could add a jeweled clasp to secure my new cloak?” Alianor asked Edie, who was an excellent seamstress. Edie loved organizing her wardrobe and took pride in her lady’s appearance. So it was easy to distract her, get her mind onto less worrisome matters. The subject occupied Edie for awhile, as she mulled upon the day when her mistress might wear the red cloak and be the envy of the Irish court.

While Edie prattled about jewels and gowns, the wind gusted and the carriage curtains parted. Alianor glanced out again at their darkening surroundings. Soon the moon rose over the trees and, when the wind died down, the earth was embraced in silence. Only the creak and jolt of the carriage broke the still of the forest. She leaned out and strained to see the road ahead, yet the bumpy ribbon disappeared into a sea of ebony. A sea as bleak and empty as her future.

As she stared out into the night, Alianor thought she heard a strange, faint cry echoing in the distance. Or was it only the moaning of the wind?

By the time she settled back against the cushions, Edie had forgotten all about planning her wardrobe. She must have heard the noise, too, for she muttered, “I hear tale thieves and cutthroats roam these hills, milady.”

Likewise, Alianor heard the gossip back at the inn where they last stayed. “Those colorful yarns were bantered about for our benefit, Edie. The locals want us to be afraid, or impressed. Perhaps both. I doubt the tales are true.”

In truth, it seemed likely enough, Alianor thought. She was well-educated for a woman and Walter had spoken of the men who fought to reclaim Ireland. Their patriotism reeked of treason to the English Crown. Aye, mercenaries still roamed this wild island. She pushed aside her worries and tried to appear calm for Edie’s sake.

A harsh cry from the floor of the carriage demanded Alianor’s attention. She reached down and trailed a hand over the cloth covering Goliath’s cage. “Hush.”

Even her pet tercel remained on edge, his uneasy shifting in the cage reflecting her mood. She knew imprisonment upset him. She couldn’t fault him an unhappiness mirroring her own.

Soon Edie fell asleep, her head lolling against Alianor’s shoulder. With a final squawk, Goliath settled for the night as well. Alianor welcomed the blessed silence and even the tedious journey faded from awareness. She reflected upon the cruel fate which cast her here, sent to wed a stranger only seen from a distance.

Faith, she had a right to be upset. After all, she’d left the only home she knew for a new land, a new life, and a new husband. De Lacy she knew little about, other than disturbing whispers she overheard at court. All this was enough to make any lady tremble.

O
NE OF THE WHEELS
of the carriage struck a hole, jarring Alianor from sleep and from her seat. She tumbled onto the floor and Goliath screeched his indignation when his cage tipped over.

Edie jolted awake with a cry. “Milady, are you all right?”

Alianor nodded, shaken but unhurt. She righted the bird cage and with Edie’s help, started to rise herself. She was settled again when they stopped abruptly, sending her right back onto the floor.

Shouts rang out and Alianor froze where she lay. The women heard a man call out; the voice deep and demanding. The words were not in the King’s English, though.

Gaelic. Alianor knew a smattering of the language, enough to know they were in trouble. To her surprise, the same voice spoke again in perfect English, “Throw down your weapons.”

Even in the dim light, she saw Edie’s eyes go round with terror. “Oh milady, we’re going to die.”

Again, a call came for the soldiers to surrender. “Do as you’re told and you’ll not be hurt.”

The sounds of battle ensued as blades of steel clashed in the night. Within only minutes, the scuffling and yelling stopped.

Alianor’s indecision vanished. A peculiar calm took over as she reached up and pushed the wailing maid towards the door with a whispered order.

“Run, Edie. Run and hide in the trees.”

Edie did not move except to shake her coppery curls. This time, Alianor grabbed the mulish girl’s ankle, and shoved her towards freedom. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Nay, milady,” Edie sobbed. “I cannot leave you.”

“You must,” Alianor pushed at her harder this time. “Now, go.”

Edie jumped from the carriage and ran. Alianor saw her stumble into the woods and disappear. Alianor struggled to get up, her skirts twisted about her legs, binding them as sure as rope. The carriage lurched forward a few feet, and this time she landed on her backside, her gown in a heap twisted high upon her hips.

“Sweet Jesu,” she cried, angry at ending up on the floor again. Suddenly, the curtains covering the door jerked open. There was a long silence.

The man who blocked her retreat folded his arms and leaned against the door jamb. “Can I assume a lady is attached to these limbs?”

He spoke English, likely for her benefit, but he could not disguise a lilting brogue as thick as the woods surrounding them. His gaze traveled up the length of her exposed legs. Their gazes met and locked, the lantern’s light reflecting the interest in his eyes.

Alianor blushed like a maiden. She struggled to untwist her skirts and cover herself. The man reached down as if to help and she kicked at him, striking a deft blow to his chest before he could get a grip on her skirts or her.

She rolled away from him and scrambled out the opposite side of the carriage. Quick as a hare, she picked up her skirts and dashed for the trees. She heard a low curse behind her, and a shout from the man she’d escaped.

“Torin! Stop her.”

Her flight was blocked by a stocky blond man whose growl dared her to try and get past him.

Despite the brute’s visible muscles, Alianor plunged on. When he made a grab for her she feinted right at the last second and darted past him. His fingers grazed her arm; had she been wearing fuller sleeves, he would have caught her. As her panicked mind experienced triumph, another man stepped in front of her. Alianor ran smack into him, knocking the wind from them both.

“
Oof!
”

Sound and pain was mutual as they collided. Strong male hands caught Alianor about the waist and swung her into the air, as if she weighed no more than a
dent de lion
. She struggled and kicked against her captor, her kicks rendered harmless due to the cursed thickness of her dress. Somewhere in her crazed mind, she recognized the same dark eyes scouring her only moments before.

“Ahhh,” he exclaimed. “No lady, I take it?”

His teasing tone infuriated Alianor. She bit back a retort when she remembered the velvet pouch dangling from her girdle, and the gift from Walter residing within it.

She forced herself to still in apparent submission and his guard relaxed. When he lowered her to the ground, he glanced at the blond man rushing toward them.

“I’ve things in hand, Torin.”

As her captor spoke to the other man, Alianor’s fingers slipped into the pouch hidden in the folds of her skirts. The moment Torin turned and walked away, she whipped out the little jeweled dagger and put it to her assailant’s throat.

“I, too, have things well in hand,” she whispered. “As you can see, this lady is prepared to deal with Irish adders.”

She prayed her voice did not tremble as much as her knees. She took a step backwards, yanking free of his hold.

He lowered his hands to his sides in apparent surrender. “Easy,” he said, as if calming a fractious horse. “Apologies, milady, for ever doubting your credentials.”

Alianor did not comment and did not relax her guard.

Instead, she set her stance and faced the man; feeling reassured by the weapon she held. Their gazes locked as the sun crept over the horizon, casting a salmon-colored hue over the land. Golden light washed over her captor as well. For the first time she got a good look at him and opened her mouth to speak. No words emerged, but she drew a shaky breath.