Black Falcon's Lady

  Maryssa sagged against the wall for support, feeling her confidence fade. It was one thing for Tade to storm out of the night and strike swift and hard with surprise as his greatest weapon. But if Dallywoulde was already lying in wait . . .

  "Then your men," her father said, "are prepared to seize the rebel scum?"

  "More than ready."

  Maryssa saw Dallywoulde's lip curl.

  "Double the usual guard is posted over that devil priest; the men are under the command of Captain Marcus Langworth. He is a right able leader when he's not out chasing petticoats. But I vow he'll not be tempted by Salome herself, after the threats I left thundering in his ears this night."

  “It will be good when the righteous here in Donegal can drive the highroads in peace once more,” Bainbridge grunted.

  The righteous . . . Maryssa closed her eyes, seeing again the serene hidden valley and Devin preaching to his flock. Her stomach tightened as she envisioned a scene from a nightmare—soldiers spilling into the hollow, slashing the helpless with their swords.

  Then even that bloody scene was overlaid by another in her imagination, that of a faceless captain, hungry for advancement, and with a weakness for the ladies. A captain who might be her only hope of gaining entry into Devin's cell and having a moment alone with him.

  The fingers of one hand fluttered up to the haggard curves of her face. She was no Salome, no temptress who could entice a man to neglect his duty and yet . . .

  Still cradling the sleeping kitten in her arms, she stepped away from the doorway and hastened toward the curving staircase. Her meager feminine wiles were all that now stood between gentle Devin, reckless Tade and the gaping, brutal jaws of death.

  * * *

  Chill as the core of a tomb, the labyrinth of passageways twisted into the stone belly of Rookescommon; the oozing walls reeked with the stench of excrement, rotting flesh, and three hundred years of despair.

  As Maryssa wound her way through the passageway, which was thick with guards, a ripple of dizziness made the blackened stones, the guttering torch, and the lascivious smirk of Captain Langworth start to turn in slow spirals before her eyes. Her hand fluttered up to the goose flesh sprinkling the partly exposed curves of her breasts. The the scent of jessamy and the eager heat in Marcus Langworth's gaze nearly overwhelmed her.

  "Miss—Mistress Maryssa," Deirdre's anxious voice slowed the swirling of the corridor as one of the girl's icy hands closed gently around Maryssa's arm, "are you certain you don't want your cloak about you?"

  A warmth swept Maryssa at the very real concern in the girl's voice, a concern that had been present in all the endless miles of riding to the ancient walled city, and present as well in the hours they had spent searching for a gown daring enough to suit their needs. But Maryssa secreted away the budding affection she felt for Tade's headstrong sister, and forced a laugh to her lips, appearing to dismiss the girl with an arrogant sniff.

  "Maidservants!" she said, giving the captain a glance of commiserating disdain as she swept on down the corridor. "Just mind you don't be dragging the hem in the muck, girl," she snapped at Deirdre. "I can assure you I am feeling far from cold in present company.” Her gaze flicked over the captain's broad shoulders as though the braid on his uniform were woven of spun sugar.

  Langworth puffed out his chest, the torch in his hand wavering as he raked her breasts and waist with his bold gaze. “It is the light of your beauty that brightens these halls, milady," he said. "I vow it is a pity to waste it on that bastard Kilcannon."

  Maryssa heard Deirdre suck in her breath, felt a flush of embarrassment and revulsion mingling with the anger in her own breast, but she battled it down, daring to lay one hand on the captain's sleeve, in the hope of drawing his attention away from Deirdre's too-readable expression.

  “It is my hope that the papist scoundrel will look upon my—er—attributes with the same gallant favor as you do, Captain Langworth." Maryssa lowered her lashes, affecting a simper. "For I have come solely for the purpose of trying to tempt Father Kilcannon to abandon his vows."

  "Abandon his—" Langworth halted abruptly, mouth agape, his worldly face registering shock. "Miss Wylder, surely Sir Ascot has no desire for you to—"

  Maryssa forced a laugh from between taut lips and arched her neck to expose the creamy column of her throat as she drew him on down the hall. "Oh, nay, Captain! Tell me you did not think that I should stoop so low!” She pressed her palms to her heating cheeks, then ran the tips of her fingers down to the swells of her breasts in a movement calculated to be seductive. "I certainly wouldn't soil myself by allowing the like of Devin Kilcannon to lay his hands on me! If my betrothed even believed that you had hinted at such a thing he would be most displeased.” She was thankful for the sharp tang of fear that flashed into the captain's expression.

  "But then," she said with a sugary smile, "you may depend upon me for complete secrecy."

  The captain's gaze flickered away from her, and he cleared his throat.

  "After all," Maryssa trilled. "You will benefit as much as I if the little surprise I'm attempting to arrange for Sir Ascot is successful." Scooping up her ruffled petticoats, she swirled around, displaying her charms. "Come now, Captain, do you think some turf-cutting peasant will be able to resist giving me the information I seek, be he priest or no? When I leave that cell this night, I will carry back to my beloved all this cur knows of that rogue, the Black Falcon. Sir Ascot will be able to ride out and chain the brigand and all his band, and you and I, Captain Langworth, will earn my betrothed's eternal gratitude."

  The captain's gaze flashed back to Maryssa, the twinge of fear she had seen there receding slightly beneath a wave of what she knew as ambition. Langworth licked his lips, almost thumping into the wall as he turned a sharp corner. "I am certain Sir Ascot will be—er—most appreciative of your attempts in his behalf. Yet . . ." His voice trailed off as they reached the end of the winding corridor and paused before a doorway flanked by four burly guards. Langworth's voice dropped to a whisper. "Yet I cannot but think he would be furious if any ill befell you at the priest's hands. If you would allow me or one of my men to remain at your side."

  "Your concern is most touching and chivalrous, Captain," Maryssa said, dimpling, "but I scarce think one lone prisoner amid an entire garrison of soldiers would dare so much as lift a finger against me. And, in truth, you can scarce expect even a dolt of an Irishman to divulge any information that might be of use to us if he is peering at the sword hilts of you and your brave comrades."

  "Miss Wylder, I—"

  "Nay, Captain, you needn't make yourself pale with worrying. I shall have my maid beside me. And though she is somewhat dull-witted, even for an Irish wench, she is strong of limb and will see that the good Father can do me no harm.''

  Langworth fidgeted with the gold tassel bedecking his sword, his gaze darting skeptically from the key at his waist to the heavy iron-banded door.

  Maryssa held her breath, sensing that the soldier was weighing the promotions to be gained if she succeeded against the wrath that could follow failure. The prospect of sporting a major's laurels won out.

  "Very well, then," Langworth acceded, heaving a sigh. "Your maid will be with you, as you say, and if there should be any difficulty, she need only rap on the door and my men will be inside the cell before Kilcannon can draw another breath."

  "I have total faith in their strength and in your alertness," Maryssa said, battling the rolling dizziness that still tormented her. "And you may be certain that, once I am back in Sir Ascot's presence, he will hear of your part in this plan and will reward you most handsomely."

  A heavy clanking of iron against iron drew Maryssa's eyes to where Langworth struggled with the heavy ring of keys at his belt. "I just hope Sir Ascot doesn’t reward me by relieving me of my head," the soldier muttered, driving the key into the massive lock with unnecessary force.

  The key grated, the rusted lock protesting as it was snapped free. "Kilcannon!"
the captain bellowed, swinging the door wide. "You have visitors."

  Maryssa heard a shuffling from within and strained to get a glimpse of what lay beyond the heavy door, past Langworth's broad shoulders, but she could see only weak light and filthy straw until the captain stepped aside to allow her entry.

  She heard Deirdre following just behind her and wanted to reach out a hand to reassure the girl, but her fingers froze midway to Deirdre's azure-sleeved shoulder. Her fist knotted and fell to her side. It was all she could do to stop from crying out as her gaze locked upon the figure battling so valiantly to sit up in the moldy straw.

  The torchlight dripped orange across features so brutalized Maryssa wanted to retch. The curve of Devin's sensitive mouth was all but obliterated, the lips split, swollen. The high, patrician cheekbones that had hinted at ancestors born of kings, were bruised; the eyes, once so serene, now reflected the anguish of the damned as they peered out from bruised circles.

  Maryssa bit her lip to keep from weeping as she saw a tear glisten in those gentle eyes. Angling her body so that Deirdre, who stood behind her in the narrow opening, could not see the full wreck of her brother's face, Maryssa cast a mockery of a smile at the captain. "Th-thank you. It will be but a little while until we—we summon you to open the doors."

  The soldier stalked over to Devin and yanked on one arm until the shaky prisoner gained his feet. "Take care you treat the ladies politely, Kilcannon," he bit out, "else we decide to make you do further penance."

  Maryssa heard Deirdre's tiny cry, felt her pushing forward, but she reached out and caught the girl's hand in a warning grip. "The papist rogue will suffer his as he deserves soon enough,” she said, certain her fury was reflected in her voice.

  But Langworth only smiled and offered her a stiff bow. He threw her an absurd compliment or tossed a crude insult at Devin; she never knew which. She only knew rage and then relief as the captain stepped back into the corridor, the heavy door scraping shut behind him.

  The instant the portal closed, Deirdre broke free of Maryssa's grasp, hurling herself at Devin with a sob.

  "Dev. . . what—what have they done to you?" She wrapped her thin arms about him as Maryssa helped her support him on his quaking legs.

  "I should think it would be obvious," Devin managed through swollen lips. "Some Englishman took exception to my face." His mouth twitched into a pathetic smile, his obvious attempt to imitate Tade's air of jesting in the face of danger tearing Maryssa's heart all the more. Deirdre buried her face in his chest, bursting into racking sobs.

  "Don't—don't try to jest when—"

  "When I've just been given the gift of seeing your sweet face one last time?"

  Maryssa let her own hands fall away from Devin's shoulders, meaning to withdraw into the shadowy corner of the tiny cell and offer Devin and Deirdre what privacy she could, but Devin's fingers closed over hers, gently staying her as he soothed his sister.

  The other thin, bloody hand reached up to smooth the tangle of Deirdre's coppery gold hair. "You shouldn’t have come."

  "How can you say that?" Deirdre cried. "With you in this horrible place and—oh, Dev, half the king's army is standing guard about the halls!"

  "I had no idea they thought me such a dangerous prisoner," Dev attempted to tease.

  “It is not you they fear. It is Tade. They await the Black Falcon. They think he'll attempt to free you, and—and I'm going to lose both of you," Deirdre wailed, "both of my older brothers. They'll kill you!"

  Maryssa's heart wrenched at the pain in Deirdre's voice, her own terror bounding at what she had seen in the endless trek down Rookescommon's halls.

  Devin's bruised eyes rose to capture Maryssa's over Deirdre's tangled curls, and for the first time she saw fear in the savaged depths. "Tade can't come here!"

  Maryssa's throat knotted, tears starting in her own eyes as she turned away from Devin's tormented gaze. "You know he will try anything to spare you," she quavered. "He loves you.”

  "That is why he must not come." Devin released Deirdre and struggled to remain standing. "They wait out there to murder him, Maryssa. They plan to ensnare him because of his bond to me."

  "I—I know, but he will not just let you die.”

  "And what, pray God, does he think I'll gain by watching him meet his death as well? This Dallywoulde can do nothing to my flesh that would be as horrible as that."

  "Dev—"

  "Nay, Dee. Listen, both of you. You've seen how they hold me here; you've seen the guard. God knows I don't want to die, but it would take a miracle to save me now.” Devin's fingers raked back through his lank blond hair. “And I fear God has been full short of them of late in Ireland." His eyes were over-bright and full of pleading. "Yet I can meet my fate, aye, with courage, if I know that Tade, at least, is safe."

  Devin's hands caught Maryssa's in a crushing grip. "Please. You have to find a way . . . any means necessary to keep him from throwing his life away in a quest that is hopeless."

  Maryssa gave a sick laugh. "Dev, I would bind him hand and foot if I had the strength, but he—"

  "Nay, it must be something more subtle than that." Devin buried his face in his hands for several long seconds, and when at last he raised it, the expression on his gentle features filled Maryssa with dread. "There is a woman far on the west side of town by the name of Mab Hallighan. You know her, Dee. Tell her Father Devin has sent you. Tell her you need something to make a man sleep."

  "Sleep?" Maryssa gasped, her stomach pitching.

  "Aye. She brews a potion out of the sweet juices of poppy."

  "Poppy . . . You can't mean to drug Tade!”

  "I'd keep him insensible for a fortnight, if need be, to keep him from hurling his life away. Just pour the potion into his ale, and—"

  "D-Devin, I can't. He'll hate me." The words struck Maryssa's heart like a stone.

  Devin's gaze faltered. He swallowed. "He'll be alive."

  She tore her gaze from Devin's, the horror of shattering Tade's trust by drugging him overwhelming her. Her gaze flashed to Deirdre's ashen face, then back to Devin's. "I can't destroy him like that." Her hands fluttered to her abdomen as though to protect her child from Tade's hatred.

  Devin's gaze flicked down to where she cradled her flat stomach. An expression of understanding and raw anguish streaked across his features.

  "You have to save him from this insanity, Maryssa," Devin pleaded. "For yourself. For the babe you will bear him." Devin grasped her arms, bruising them beneath his fingers. "Think, Maryssa! They'll hang him until his throat is nearly crushed, cut him down while he yet lives.”

  “Nay, don't!" Maryssa choked out.

  “They’ll geld him, then take the knife and slash his stomach open."

  "Nay!" she screamed, clamping her hands over her ears, wishing desperately she could blot out the vivid images Devin's words had painted in her mind. "Don't," she whimpered, "please."

  "I have to, don't you see?" Devin's fists knotted in the curls at her temples, and she saw the tears streaming down his battered face. "Maryssa, you're the only one I can turn to, the only chance I have of saving my brother. I can't face the horrors that await me if I know Tade is condemned to endure them as well. It is impossible to save me. Give me at least this one gift—peace."

  Maryssa raised her eyes to Devin's face, the solemn, beloved planes raking deep into her heart, the sound of Deirdre's sobbing tearing at her. She shut her eyes against the pain, then descended into hell.

  Chapter 19

  Maryssa clutched the tiny homespun pouch beneath her petticoats, the vials inside it searing her fingers with guilt as she hesitated outside the inn's battered door. The Hangman's Fool, the broad sign proclaimed, its garish reds and oranges depicting a sly-faced harlequin ensnared in a noose. And from the raucous sounds of the patrons within, it seemed to Maryssa that half of those who reveled behind the scarred portal would most like one day share the painted jester's fate.

  Yet of all those who dawdled
there with their ale and their doxies, she knew of one man who stood closer to death's scythe than the others—an emerald-eyed rake with the face of a Gaelic king.

  "Maryssa..."

  She turned to find Deirdre peering up at her, her countenance so drawn from the ordeal of seeing Devin that her features seemed carved of snow. "I—I could go in to Tade and give him the potion.”

  "Nay, Dee." Maryssa touched the child's cold cheek in reassurance. "He'd take but one look at you and go bolting out to Rookescommon if the very devil barred his way. What we saw today—the guards, Devin's face— it is all painted in your eyes, and Tade would force the truth from you in a moment's time. It will be best if I go in." Maryssa let her fingertips fall away from Deirdre's face, then turned away from her.

  "But the babe," Deirdre faltered. "Devin said you were with child." She looked away, and Maryssa could hear the misery in her voice. "Maryssa, I don't—don't think Tade will ever forgive you for this."

  "I'm not certain I carry Tade's child," Maryssa lied gently. "But even if I do, the love I shared with your brother is impossible. You knew that from the beginning, Deirdre. You tried to keep him from danger. Tade and I, we knew it, too. If Tade hates me when all of this is over, it will hurt, but my life will be in England, away from him. You'll be here, able to ease his pain, help him—help him heal. He'll need you to heal him once this is all past."

  "Maryssa, I—"

  Maryssa's lips curved into a trembling smile at the catch in Deirdre's voice. "Nay, Deirdre," she said, brushing back a tangled strand of fiery hair. "Let Tade at least be certain that no one in his family betrayed him." She shifted her gaze to the doorway, guilt grinding heavy in her heart. “It will be a hard enough task for you to keep Tade's men away from his chamber long enough for me to dr—" She paused, unable to say the word. "To put him asleep," she substituted lamely. "Then we'll have to find some way to convince the rest of the Falcon’s band that Tade realizes it is hopeless to attempt to free Devin. And that—that in his despair, Tade needs to be alone."