His Rebel Bride (Brothers in Arms Book 3) (32 page)

Guilford’s blue eyes pinned him in place with a healthy skepticism. “Come now. Impetuous you might be at times, but you are not a rash man. And Aric tells me Maeve has good sense. Politics can only divide the fools who allow thus. If you love her, I cannot imagine why you would keep yourself from her. And if she is already breeding, ’tis clear Maeve does not avoid you or think you a vulgar barbarian, for I know you would not force your seed upon her, as your father did to your mother.”

’Twas more complicated than that. Was it not? Certainly, he had done more than merely assume at the first hint of conflict that he and Maeve were destined to share his parents’ fate. Had he not?

Thoughts buzzed in his head, louder than a thousand bees swarming a hive. “What say you, old man?”

“Compromise, son. Good talk. Consider that Drake and Averyl have not allowed the fact they came from warring clans to affect their happiness.”

“They are perfect for each other.”

Guilford smiled as he clapped Kieran on the shoulder. “Perhaps Maeve is perfect for you, eh?”

* * * *

June brought relief from Maeve’s morning-sick stomach. But she could spare no time to celebrate such relief once the rider from Dublin came.

Ulick McConnell, one of the remaining rebels spying now in Lord Butler’s keep, rode for Langmore as if hell pounded at his back. Maeve rushed out to greet him, along with Jana.

The young man dismounted, gasping for air. Brown locks fell across his forehead as he regarded her with apprehension.

“What is it, Ulick? What news do you bring?” Maeve demanded.

“’Tis—’tis Lord Butler. I know not where from,” he gasped, “but Lord Butler hears rumors.”

Concern assailed Maeve. “Rumors?”

Ulick nodded. “He knows your lord husband has gone.”

The spy, only a few years older than she, shot her a look of speculation. Maeve did not shy away. “Aye, he has. What of it?”

“Now that Kildare is not here to say him nay, Lord Butler has decided he will demand a look in Langmore’s dungeons.”

Maeve gasped. “He knows Flynn is prisoner there?”

“He suspects.” Ulick drew in more air. “Some of the other rebels, trying to save their own necks, told Lord Butler of Flynn’s capture.”

“We must do something, now,” Jana said quickly. “Somehow we must break him free.”

Jana had said this before, that they should not leave their only brother and the chief of their
Fein
a prisoner in his own home. Until now, Maeve had disagreed. First, Kieran had, before leaving, placed Patrick and two of his most loyal guards in charge of keeping Flynn inside the dungeon. The rest of his army still held the castle. She’d not known how to break her brother free without harming the soldiers. And she refused to see them injured. Her other reason for hesitation was Flynn’s violence. These past few months, he had seemed to crave bloodshed. That she would not abide.

But with one of the powerful Palesmen coming, she had little choice but to see her brother free or watch his blood spill.

The decision relieved her. But it had naught to do with Kieran. She did not see Flynn free to protect her foolish husband from his fellow English brutes if they discovered he had kept Flynn’s capture secret, for she scarce thought of Kieran at all.

Only every few moments…

“We must hurry, good lady. We have but a few hours before Lord Butler comes with his guards.”

Jana grabbed Ulick’s hand. “Come with me. I know of a way we can distract the guards.”

Apparently, Jana had discerned the same challenge. Still, Maeve warned her, “I want no one hurt.”

Her older sister smiled, something she did often since little Geralt’s birth. “No one will be hurt, unless Ulick here cannot run.”

He puffed out his chest, looking much affronted. “I can run better than any English knave.”

Jana nodded and smiled slyly. “Then let us go. Maeve, once you hear the scream, watch for Patrick and the others to abandon their posts. You’ll have but a few minutes, so be quick.”

The scream?
Maeve wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. “What of the keys? The door inside the dungeon—”

Grimacing, Jana paused, clearly in thought. “Old Patrick has ever been fond of you since you were a wee babe. Would he not be letting you visit your brother this fine day?”

Maeve nodded. Why had she not thought of that?

Because Kieran plagued her mind, day and night, with no respite. Why could she not forget the man?

“Wait a few moments before you…scream, Jana.”

She nodded and began to lead Ulick away. “We shall go discuss the plan.”

Had Jana interest in Ulick? Her smile seemed to indicate thus. And she found Ulick’s gaze fixed on Jana as well. Apparently the man was not immune to her sister’s charm.

“Ulick?”
The question slipped from her mouth.

The young rebel flushed. “Tell Flynn my horse will wait him just off the road after crossing the River Barrow.”

Then Jana tugged on his hand and they disappeared into the dawn.

Knowing she had little choice, Maeve strode to the dungeon with purpose. She hated to deceive the old man, one she had known a great part of her life, but her brother’s life—and possibly Kieran’s—depended on this.

Nay, she must put Kieran from her thoughts now. He had abandoned her after learning of the babe that would free him from responsibility. He had left, making it clear that while he might have some feelings for her, he did not care enough to stay. So she had demanded he leave. Maeve had not really expected him to listen, which made her wonder if he had somehow maneuvered her into those rash words.

Shaking the confusion from her thoughts, she smiled at old Patrick and pushed thoughts of her infuriating, tempting husband away.

“Good morn, Patrick.”

“Milady, good morn to ye.”

Now came the difficult part. “Might I see my brother for a moment? I shall be quick.”

Maeve prayed the old man would not refuse her. His reluctant expression made her insides clench.

“I have questions for him about Langmore’s books. With my husband gone, I have no guidance.”

Playing so helpless a female irritated her, but Patrick nodded.

“’Tis not easy, I’ll be guessing, for a woman to understand sums and such.” He paused. “Aye, ye can spend a few minutes with yer brother.”

She gave him the most radiant smile she could muster, given her clammy hands and beating heart. The old man responded to it and let her in.

After a short walk down a dark, musty hallway, they arrived at Flynn’s door. As usual, the overpowering odors of human waste, sweat, fear, and vomit nauseated her. Maeve reined in her reaction with what she hoped appeared a friendly expression. Patrick nodded at her as he let her in Flynn’s cell and walked away, locking the door behind him.

Maeve turned to her brother, who sat on the straw-covered floor with fury burning in his eyes. Taken aback by his fierce expression, she approached with care.

“Flynn?”

In an instant, he stood and crossed the room, bearing down upon her with a scowl. “That English maggot you call a husband is long gone, and yet you scarce come to see me? Get me gone from here! Time is of the essence.”

Confused by his words, she frowned. Flynn grabbed her arm, grip impatient, before she could ask him his meaning.

“Well, what do you wait for? An invitation from Christ?”

Flynn’s voice grew alarmingly loud. Maeve shushed him with a quick hiss.

“We have a plan,” she whispered. “In a minute, Jana will scream to divert the guards. I will call for Patrick and tell him I must go join the search for her. When he comes to free you, grab him and lock him in your cell. Ulick McConnell left his mount on the side of the road, just after you cross the river. Ride far away.”

“Aye, I will do that, now that you’ve finally decided to do as you should and release me.”

Flynn had never had a nasty temper, and Maeve tried not to take his tone to heart. Instead, she grabbed his hand in sisterly affection. “I will free you, but I must have your promise that you will seek a rebellion free of blood. Flynn, I cannot have innocent lives on my hands, nor should you want them on yours. We must try negotiations, find peaceful ways to seek resolution.”

Her brother’s expression turned narrow-eyed with anger. He looked ready to explode, to refuse her request in the most ruthless of terms. Maeve opened her mouth to implore him, reason with him.

Jana screamed.

Loud, filled with panic and terror, the sound rang from just outside the curtain walls all the way down the dungeon. At little Geralt’s birth, she had known Jana capable of great noise, but not on command.

As they hoped, most of the castle guards went running for the sound, including the old Irish guard.

“Patrick!” she cried, doing her best to sound panicked. “I would have you release me now!”

The old man turned to her, face rife with impatience. “Milady, ye cannot help. Stay here where ye are safe and let us search for the lass.”

Maeve shook her head adamantly. “That is one of my sisters, I know. I must help. Do not say me nay!”

The old man hesitated, then muttered a curse as he thrust the key into the lock of Flynn’s cell and swung it open. Maeve raced out.

Before the guard could shut the door, Flynn grabbed the older man by the throat, thrust a savage kick into his genitals, then tossed him to the ground. As Patrick lay writhing on the ground, Flynn bent to mumble something low and menacing, thieved his dagger from his belt, and darted out, locking the guard inside.

Maeve greeted him with openmouthed horror in the corridor. “I asked you to cease the violence.”

“He did not bleed,” Flynn sneered as he gripped her arm and propelled her down the darkened hall. “He is an Irishman now loyal to England. What use have we for such a man? For any man loyal to England? None. Any good Irishman would take delight in watching English blood run to death.”

“All English blood?” she choked as he led her out of the garrison, to the curtain wall.

“Every drop of it,” he growled. “Especially that of your lice-ridden husband.”

As Flynn tried to lift her over the curtain wall, Maeve resisted. Did he mean to take her with him?

“Go on,” he prompted with impatience. “We have not much time!”

She shook her head, hoping Flynn did not see how her hands shook as well. “Nay, I must stay here. Lord Butler will be here within hours and expect me to greet him.”

Flynn smiled then. “He was coming for me, to take me to Dublin?”

Maeve hesitated, then nodded.

“Perfect! Now you must come.” He tried to push her over the wall again.

Still, Maeve clung to the stones and tried to push herself to the ground. “He will know you are gone, that I am gone, and that something is afoot! Surely you want to surprise them.”

At that, Flynn laughed. “No need. By then, ’twill be much too late.”

Before Maeve could inquire after his meaning, he pushed her over the curtain wall. To prevent falling head first and to protect the babe, Maeve clung to the wall and swung her legs over. Her knees scraped the stone and she bit back a cry. A moment later, Flynn followed over the stone wall, then dropped to the firm ground with a hop.

Her brother grabbed her arm and ran through the encroaching forest until they came to the bridge over the River Barrow. With a curse, he pushed her onto the dirt road.

“Hurry. If we’re seen, they will give chase.”

At the top of the bridge, she stopped. “Flynn, you need me not. Leave me here and go on.”

He sighed with exasperation and urged her across the bridge. “I do need you. Ireland needs you.”

“Me? Flynn, I’ve done all for the rebellion I can.”

Taking hold of her wrist, Flynn searched about for Ulick’s hidden horse. When he finally spotted the animal tethered to a tree, he dragged her to it.

Maeve stood her ground again. “Where do you think to take me? What is your plan?”

Flynn glared at her, brown eyes blazing. “Ireland’s finest hour is upon us, lass, and here you stand flapping your lips.” He shook his head, then lifted her onto the mount. “Aye, I have a plan.”

“Tell me,” she urged, fearing the worst.

Why would her brother insist she come along? What could she contribute to the cause that Flynn would feel necessary?

“You will come with me, and I will make certain your husband knows the rebellion has taken you. He will turn Langmore over to us so that we can move forward with our plan to oust this Tudor prick from our land.”

’Twas as if he spoke the language of the Norse or some other she did not understand. “How would telling Kieran that you had taken me coax him to relinquish Langmore?”

Flynn cast her an impatient glance, then mounted Ulick’s horse behind her. “’Tis simple, Sister. We tell him he must withdraw his soldiers and surrender Langmore or see you dead.”

A chill invaded her. She was too shocked to even gasp. “Dead? But—but you would not actually see me dead.”

He patted her shoulder. “Maeve, ’tis a small price to pay for Ireland’s freedom. And I’ll be doing my best to make it painless, I promise.”

Icy fear invaded Maeve. Her own brother would see her dead for his cause. Had he gone mad?

Run!

’Twas her only thought as she made to slide off Ulick’s horse.

Before she could, Flynn grabbed her arm, kicked the mount’s sides, and they flew like a shot down the dirt road.

* * * *

“If still you miss her,” Drake said, sliding onto the bench Kieran occupied in Hartwich’s great hall, “do something besides stare into your ale.”

Kieran turned tired, bleary eyes to his friend. Drake’s dark eyes were too earnest, too honest. He turned away.

“Guilford sent you,” he accused.

“Nay. I grow weary of watching you brood. ’Tis unlike you.”

“Love does that to a man.”

Drake raised a brow. “Only if he allows such.”

“Before you took Averyl into your heart, you did little except brood day and night,” Kieran pointed out.

“I never said I had not my thick-skulled moments.” Drake sighed. “You love the woman. Sit here not and drink. Fight for her. Coax her. Tell her what is in your heart.”