The Virgin's Spy (Tudor Legacy #2)(78)
Martin left without another word.
It was fully dark once more before the door opened again and Oliver Dane sauntered in. Stephen wasn’t fooled by the apparent casual ease—he had studied Dane last year. He knew all too well how quickly the man could shift from repose to violence.
Dane had bathed and changed, although Stephen doubted he owned anything too luxurious. The man was not interested in luxury itself—a trait that Stephen had admired in the field. He liked soldiers who knew their job and did it well for its own sake, and not for the rewards it might bring. How could he feel otherwise, with the father he had?
Stephen shoved away thoughts of his father, knowing that would not help now. For all Dane’s claim that Liadan would be released when he arrived, he didn’t trust the man. They were embarked on a delicate dance of negotiation, with lives in the balance. This was nothing like shadowing Mary Stuart. Flirting with the Scots queen had been a lark compared to Ireland.
He should have confined himself to the battlefield.
Dane took the stool for himself, stretching out his legs and tipping back against the wall. “Sit,” he commanded.
Stephen sat on the floor, braced arms resting on his knees. He could propel himself up quickly if necessary. Then he waited.
“It takes a lot to surprise me,” Dane said musingly. “Especially in Ireland. I pride myself on expecting the unexpected. But nothing prepared me for seeing you at Cahir Castle. Last year, I took you for nothing more than a spoiled rich boy who came to Ireland for adventure and would gladly go home when it became uncomfortable.”
Since there didn’t seem to be any response required, Stephen kept quiet. That made Dane narrow his eyes and shake his head.
“Then came your protests at Carrigafoyle. You know who can afford to take the moral high ground? Men who have no vested interest in the outcome. You don’t belong here, Courtenay, and you proved that the moment you defied me over the prisoners.”
Stephen bit the inside of his mouth to provide a distraction from the mocking.
Dane’s face lit with a knowing smile. “But Ireland sees to its own. You learned that lesson, didn’t you? Outside Kilkenny? But not well enough. Because there you were last night, slipping into my cell at Cahir, giving me orders. Who would have guessed you had that in you?”
“Where’s Liadan?” Stephen said abruptly.
“Safe. Along with her rather persistent nursemaid.”
“She’s not a nursemaid.”
Dane waved away the issue of Maisie. “The Scots girl took a swipe at me with a dagger. I would have left her behind like the priest, but decided it would make things easier to bring her. I’m not meant to look after children.”
“I couldn’t agree more. So let Liadan and Maisie go and simplify your life.”
“Don’t you want to see them?”
“I’ll be happy to watch them as they ride out of here.”
Dane stretched, a disconcerting grin on his face. “So self-sacrificing! Don’t you even want to know my plans for you?”
“Not really.” He would not engage. He would not let his temper break. He would not think of Roisin and Harrington and all the prisoners falling at this man’s orders…
With a thud, Dane let the stool thump back to the ground. He stood. “It’s late. I’ve put the girls in a chamber well away from my men. No one can get to them except me and Martin. We’ll let them sleep, shall we? Feed them well in the morning, then finish the affair.”
Was it really going to be that easy? Stephen slowly levered himself up from the floor, watching Dane warily. “Can I see them in the morning before they go?” One last chance to send a message back to Ailis. If he could think of anything worth saying.
“Oh, I’ve a better idea than that. I’m sending you back to Cahir yourself.”
Whistling, Dane let himself out, leaving Stephen dumbfounded behind him.
As the first streaks of morning crept through the narrow slit, a man brought him porridge and ale. Stephen ate gratefully, for yesterday had been a long ride and, if Dane could be believed, today would be the same.
The same guard who’d brought breakfast returned perhaps an hour later and motioned Stephen to follow him. He did, a bit stiffly, for the combination of stone floor and taut nerves had not contributed to rest. He took careful note of all he saw on the way—partly instinct, and partly a means of calming his nerves. There was little enough of use, for they were hardly going to parade him through the heart of the castle. Still, he counted the men that he saw passing in corridors or through windows once he was aboveground. He also noted that though the castle had not been much updated, it was well maintained. Medieval it might be, but nothing close to a ruin.
His nerves eased a bit when he reached the courtyard and caught sight of Liadan and Maisie. The child had grown since Stephen’s arrival in Ireland, and now topped the older girl by an inch. But this morning Liadan looked younger, vulnerable in a way he’d never seen her at Cahir.
When no one tried to stop him, he went straight to her. “Are you all right?” he asked, leaning down.
“Of course.” Liadan’s voice wobbled. Frowning, she tried again. “I’m sorry to put you to all the trouble of riding after us.”
“No trouble at all,” he assured her. “Your mother is most anxious and would spare nothing to get you home at once.”