The Virgin's Spy (Tudor Legacy #2)(89)
“You make me reckless,” he whispered. When he kissed her, he could taste a desire equal to his and felt a ridiculously male pride that he’d succeeded in teaching her pleasure.
As she pulled him down, her body finally warm beneath his hands, Ailis whispered back, “I will break your heart, Englishman.”
Stephen didn’t care.
Dominic Courtenay had to be forcibly persuaded not to go to Ireland after his son. Kit had the distinct impression the queen threatened him to prevent it, though he couldn’t imagine with what. Whatever their conversation, Dominic had refrained from sailing, though he’d ridden to Bristol with Kit and twenty-four of his own handpicked soldiers.
“You brought Stephen back once,” Dominic told him grimly. “Do it again, son.”
Shouldn’t it be the other way round? Kit wondered. He’d always thought of himself as the irresponsible one, the one more likely to need rescuing by the impatient, ever-dutiful oldest son. But these past two years had begun to teach him that people were more complicated than could fit in a few chosen words of description.
He had Julien with him this time, and was glad of it. His brother-in-law had ten years’ experience on him, and a physical presence that shouted competence and authority. Kit didn’t mind at all taking direction from Julien—probably because they hadn’t grown up together. Why were brothers so damned difficult? He almost asked that question aloud as they stood on deck watching the Irish coastline appear…before he remembered that Julien had killed his own brother.
Things could be worse.
But not much worse. Waterford was tense and hostile, refugees from Desmond’s vengeful attacks huddled against the city walls. The small English party left as soon as they landed, into a landscape much worse than any Kit had seen before. His previous time in Ireland had all been spent between Dublin and Kilkenny, the strongest holds of the English Pale, and he was shocked speechless by the emptiness. As though the English were determined to destroy every living thing in Ireland. The only thing in abundance were hares, run wild in a place without people.
The Earl of Ormond had sent a dozen of his own men and a guide to bring the English party to Templemore. When they saw the Rock of Cashel in the distance, their party skirting it to the northeast, Kit wished he could simply swoop in and pluck his brother away. He knew Cahir Castle was not far…but it might as well have been a hundred miles. With fewer than forty men, they could not threaten even the smallest of Irish holds. They would have to go to Templemore.
The Earl of Ormond himself was at Blackcastle. He met the party as they rode through the gates, and quickly pulled Kit and Julien away with him. When they were behind closed doors, Ormond turned on them a face like thunder. “Oliver Dane is the most hardheaded man in Ireland—and that’s saying something. He admits killing the Irish girl, but will not even consider negotiating.”
“What Irish girl?” Kit asked.
Ormond grunted. “I don’t suppose that was part of his report to England. He escaped the Kavanaughs with a child in tow—his child, he admits freely. And then he killed her. Elizabeth has no love for the Irish, but even she would hesitate at one of her captains stabbing a child to death in cold blood.”
“Tell me from the beginning,” Kit ground out.
It was a sordid, disturbing story. Kit and Julien eyed each other when Ormond was finished, then the Frenchman said what they were both thinking. “A man like that isn’t going to want us to negotiate Stephen out of Irish hands.”
“No,” Ormond agreed. “He seems to have taken a distinct dislike to Stephen. Dane wants his blood.”
“Too bad. The queen wants Stephen alive,” Kit retorted. “She’s furious with him, and will no doubt punish him—but she sent me here to bring my brother back to England in one piece.”
Ormond sighed. “I don’t think negotiation is even a remote possibility. The Kavanaughs are preparing to move against Dane. It will be a disaster of the first order. I have no wish to raze their clan to the ground—we should be turning what English forces we have against Desmond, not wasting them in lesser squabbles. But if you want your brother, I suspect you’ll have to pluck him from the battlefield. Before Dane can get to him.”
“How many men do you have?”
“Not enough. Dane clearly wants the advantage to lay with his own men so he can do what he wants. I’ve got thirty here. With the thirty-five you marched in with…it will not be easy.”
“Since when are siblings easy?” Kit asked. But despite his light words, he felt hollow. Was it really going to come to this—he and Stephen on opposing sides of a battle? But if he didn’t fight, then nothing would keep Dane from killing Stephen.
Damn it, brother, Kit thought furiously. If this is about a woman, she had better have been well worth it. And if you really have gone over wholeheartedly to the Irish, then I hope Elizabeth claps you in prison until you come to your senses.
—
Once Stephen and Ailis emerged together from his cell, there was no repeat of their few, passionate hours. That was probably the only thing that saved Stephen’s life—Diarmid would gladly have killed him if he’d had to endure an obvious love affair. As it was, Diarmid barely tolerated him, and that was purely for vengeance’s sake. Ailis kept them apart—Diarmid was busy drilling his men while Stephen worked with Maisie’s mercenary company.