Lords of Darkness and Shadow (67 page)

Connaught shook his head firmly. “Nay, my lord.”

“What do you intend to do about it?”

“Marry your daughter, my lord.”

De Noble’s gaze moved over him a moment, feeling disgust and frustration coming out of every pore of his body. After a moment, he took a deep breath, struggling to calm himself. He realized that he had just said everything he’d always wanted to say to the gossipy little group and strangely felt better now that he had. Perhaps a bit of honesty was good for the soul.

“You’d better,” he finally growled, his eyes fixed on the keep. “But for now, you are going to go up to see how my daughter and Lady Emllyn are faring after I unleashed my barrage of insults. I care not about the physic, but at least see how the women are. Then, after they are sufficiently calm, you are to bring the Lady Emllyn to my solar. Is that clear?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“And do not tell her where you are taking her; otherwise, she will not come. Tell her that she has been summoned by another.”

“Aye, my lord.”

With that, de Noble headed off to the keep, leaving Connaught to wonder what next step the man was going to take in the pursuit of the Lady Emllyn. 

He couldn’t imagine that he was going to remain passive any longer.

∾

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Kiltimon Castle

Newcastle Village, 40 miles north of Black Castle

Frederick had never been to the O’Byrne stronghold before and even though he was on a mission of allegiance, it was difficult not to feel apprehension clawing at him. As he rode into Newcastle Village three days after leaving Black Castle, everything around him was dark and dull and warped. The village itself was warped, twisted little structures without much light or life. It was a depressing sight.

The Clann O’Byrne was a very large clan that had once held much of the land to the north and east of Wicklow. They had never been particularly fond of the House of de Bermingham because they were not native Irish even though they had owned a vast amount of land for hundreds of years and held an earldom. De Bermingham was more Irish than Norman, but it still didn’t matter. The O’Byrnes had been their enemy for more years than anyone could remember. They hated de Bermingham in general and they had a special hatred reserved for Black Sword.

Kiltimon Castle sat atop a rise outside of Newcastle Village, a great stone keep built from field stone and a great hall with a thatched roof, all set within a massive circular wall. Just like the village, the castle seemed to be dark and foreboding too, and Frederick had spent several days in the village, living in alleyways or out in the surrounding forest, trying to gain access to the castle. 

Evidently, the O’Byrne didn’t trust strangers and, unlike Black Castle, Kiltimon was sealed up tight and did not permit farmers or other tradesmen to conduct business at the castle. All business was conducted in town. So, after six days of languishing, Frederick decided to announced his identity. He hoped that would at least get the interest of the castle commander.

Unfortunately, the names Black Sword and Black Castle did more than gain the man’s attention; it gained his ire as well. Within seconds of Frederick standing at the front gate and announcing his name and his relations, the iron grate man-door set within the massive gates opened and several men rushed forth. 

In little time, Frederick found himself tied hand and foot, and in this state he was carried into the castle grounds and the door sealed up behind him. They took him into the great hall where they proceeded to toss him onto the floor and kick him.

This went on for hours. It wasn’t enough abuse to truly damage him but it was certainly enough to make him hurt. Frederick screamed and yelled angrily as he was kicked and beaten, but he eventually fell silent, even when they kicked him in the groin and caused him horrible pain. But eventually, they did stop, and when they did, Frederick proceeded to vomit all over the dirt floor of the hall. And then he simply lay there in utter pain and silence, wondering if his intention to side with O’Byrne had indeed been a good idea. He was coming not to think so.

He lay in front of the smoldering hearth until morning, his cheek and part of his head sticky from where he had lain in his own vomit. At some point he had slept, but sleep had been fleeting and uneasy. He awoke in the morning when servants began milling around him, lighting the hearth and preparing for the coming day. He had briefly opened his eyes to see them moving about, wary of his presence. Therefore, he kept his eyes closed until someone rolled him over onto his back.

“You,” came a deep, steady voice. “Open your eyes.”

Frederick did. He found himself gazing up into two serious and unkind faces. Both men had dark hair and were rather short and wiry, though one was clean shaven and one had a mat of a beard on his face. The man with the beard spoke.

“The mention of Black Castle is not taken well around here,” he said. “Tell me your name and no lies, or I will feed you to the dogs.”

Frederick gazed back with dulled eyes. “Sir Frederick ṓg Branach,” he said. “My cousin is Devlin de Bermingham.”

The man with the beard gazed down at him a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. “My soldiers told me that,” he said. “But I cannot believe you would be foolish enough to come here and announce it. Do you have a death wish, man?”

Frederick tried to shake his head but it was difficult to move. “I am no longer loyal to Black Sword,” he said. “I have come to make a deal with you.”

“What kind of deal?”

“Untie me, feed me, and I shall tell you.”

The two men standing over Frederick looked at each other as if silently debating the request. There was wariness there but there was also curiosity. After a moment, the man with the beard motioned to a few other men Frederick couldn’t see, men standing out of his line of sight, who then reached down and lifted him roughly off the ground.

The world rocked unsteadily as they plopped Frederick onto a bench. Someone cut the bindings off his arms while someone else bent down to cut the bindings off his ankles. Just as the leather ties around his ankle fell away, Frederick lashed out a big boot and kicked the man who had cut his legs free in the face, knocking the dirk out of his hand. Quick as a flash, he grabbed the dirk, and the man he had kicked, and held the blade to the man’s throat.

“So you see fit to treat me like an animal when I come to you with information about your greatest enemy?” he hissed. “I was always told you were a bunch of brainless barbarians and I would say from my treatment, those rumors were true. Do you not even try to seek out a man’s business before you beat him nearly to death?”

The two dark haired men who seemed to be the leaders stood by patiently. No one made a move. The man with the beard finally spoke.

“My name is Daniel O’Byrne,” he said, then indicated the other dark-haired man standing next to him. “This is my son, Brandon. I would know what you’ve come here for before I put a blade in your belly.”

“Put a blade in my belly and you’ll never know the secret of Black Sword.”

“And what do you want in exchange for this secret?”

“Command of Black Castle when you take her.”

Daniel lifted his eyebrows, half in disbelief, half in curiosity. “What makes you think we’ll take her?” he asked. “We laid siege to the place for almost a week and were unable to breach her walls.”

“Tell me we have a bargain or I will not speak. I will leave here and you will never see me again.”

Daniel glanced at his son, who cast him a look of caution, before continuing. “We will come to an agreement but I am not sure Black Castle will be a part of it,” he said. “I have many fine men who I would chose to command Black Castle over a man who claims to be a kin to Black Sword.”

Frederick hardened. “You will agree to put me in command of Black Castle when you breach her because I guarantee you will breach her with information I provide.”

Daniel O’Byrne had been a warrior for almost thirty years. He had seen his share of hardship and of battle. He had also seen his share of traitors, of which this man evidently was. Traitors made him ill; he may have been a barbaric warrior, a knight of the lowest and most brutal form, but he could not tolerate treachery from men who had given their oath to others, even if that man was his worst enemy.

Already, he didn’t like this man but he wanted whatever information he had, providing it wasn’t a lie. It was quite possible that Black Sword had sent this man to trick him. He would have to proceed carefully.

“You cannot have everything your own way,” Daniel finally said. “If you want to make a bargain, then you will have to accept terms from me as well.”

Frederick didn’t like that answer and his grip on the dirk, and his captive, tightened. “I want a guarantee that I will command Black Castle after you confiscate it.”

Daniel could see he wasn’t going to get anywhere unless he promised the man what he wanted. Well, at least told him he could have it. He wasn’t about to promise a traitor, and an enemy, anything and still keep his word.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “If that is all you want, then that is what you shall receive. Now tell me what this information is? Are the heavens about to open up and reveal a revelation?”

Frederick didn’t let go of the dirk or the man; he continued to hold them both but not as tightly as before.

“Swear it,” he said.

“I don’t swear,” said Daniel.

“Swear it upon your mother!”

“I most certainly don’t swear on my mother,” Daniel said, his patience fading. “Tell me your business or I’ll order my men to kill you.”

Frederick tensed again, eyeing the men in the room, a group that was numbering around twenty. He knew he wouldn’t make it out alive if O’Bryne ordered his men to swarm on him. So he backed up, ending up against the wall that was adjacent to the hearth. His dark eyes were nervous and edgy.

“If you want to take Black Castle, now is the time,” he said. “De Bermingham is occupied with the de Cleveley settlement to the south. +He fears they are planning to attack him, as Kildare did, so his focus is there. In fact, when last I spoke with him, he was planning on going to the settlement. He was leaving Black Castle.”

Daniel was very interested. He knew that with Black Sword in the heart of any battle, his victory was assured. But if he had removed himself from Black Castle, then the fortress, and the men, would be without their beloved leader. And they would be vulnerable.

“I see,” he said, contemplating. “Was he at the fortress when we attacked it those days ago?”

Frederick nodded. “He was,” he said. “But it was his plan to leave Black Castle immediately after you retreated.”

“He was going to the English settlement?”

“Aye.”

“How many men was he taking with him?”

“None.”

Daniel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “None?” he repeated. “Then how does he plan to lay siege?”

Frederick shook his head. “You misunderstand,” he said. “Black Sword has a spy in the settlement. He was returning to gather information. While he is gone, the fortress is not only compromised since the beating it took from your attack, but it is further vulnerable because de Bermingham is not there. Don’t you see? If you really want to destroy Black Sword and take his castle, now is the time.”

Daniel looked at his son, who seemed to be taking the information quite literally. When Brandon spoke, it was to his father.

“If what he says is true, then we would be foolish not to take advantage,” he said, but then he looked at Frederick. “If you are close to Black Sword as you say you are, then why are you so willing to betray him?”

Frederick lost some of his confidence. He seemed to deflate, consumed with depression. “Because…,” he began, then recovered and stood tall. “Because he chooses others over me. I have always been true and faithful to him, but he would reward others before me. He will not listen to my advice. It is clear he has no use for me. I am an excellent commander and deserve all recognition.”

“So this is about rewards?”

“This is about getting what I deserve.”

Brandon eyed his father a moment before continuing; they were starting to get into the heart of the traitor’s visit. “So you feel that you deserve more than Black Sword is willing to give,” he reiterated. “Does de Bermingham know this? Have you ever spoken to him about it?”

“He will not listen to me.”

“So you come here to betray him and to punish him.”

“Aye.”

Brandon believed him. “At least you are being honest,” he said. “Unlike my father, I have no reservations about placing you in command of Black Castle if we breach it. But you are going to help us accomplish this.”

“How?”

Brandon crossed his arms; he was a bright young man with a cunning mind. He was about to prove it.

“You will return to Black Castle,” he said. “In three days, on the rise of the full moon, you will open the gates and we will charge in. We will be hiding in the woods to the north of Black Castle and once the gate is unlocked, you will send us a signal. When we see the signal, we will come, and Black Castle shall be ours. Will you do this?”

Frederick didn’t want to refuse him; he’d fled Black Castle after killing Shain and attempting to poison his cousin. He’s seen Devlin from a distance as he’d fled Black Castle, so he knew his attempt to murder him had failed. Naturally, he was reluctant to return, but if he wanted to prove his worth to O’Byrne, and if he wanted to have command of Black Castle when Devlin was deposed, then he had no choice. After a moment, he nodded faintly.

“Very well,” he said. “I will return and open the gates for you. What sign would you have from me?”

Brandon considered that for a moment. “Exit the open gates with two torches,” he said. “We will be able to see them from a distance. Wave them into the night and we will know the gates are open and come.”

“I will have to do this without raising suspicion.”

“That will be your problem. If we do not see the torches, we will not come because we will assume you have failed.”

“I will not fail.”

It was an acceptable plan. Frederick dropped the man he was holding and marched over to the table. As he reached it, he drew the sharp end of the dirk across his forearm, immediately drawing blood. It dripped onto the table top, rich and red. He pointed at the blood.