Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

D enys was sitting at his table, staring at the missive he'd just received.

It had come all the way from Dundalk, Ireland, by way of Blackpool in Lancashire, because that was where his three ships were docked. The messenger was from the House of de Cleveley, who lived near Blackpool and were allies of the House of de Winter. They also had lands in Ireland and helped maintain the de Winter ships, using them on occasion.

He still couldn't believe what he'd read.

He put his head in his hands.

"I found Brend, Father," Dillon entered with Brend on his heels. "Cort is coming. He is bringing Dera."

Denys lifted his head, looking at the pair. Dillon seemed agitated while Brend seemed wary. The man still wasn't over their meeting from earlier, perhaps wondering if Denys was about to begin Round Two of his interrogation. But Denys made no move to say anything to that regard; he simply nodded his head, lowering his gaze to once again read what was on the missive before him.

"Where is the messenger, Dillon?" he asked.

Dillon threw a thumb in the general direction of the bailey. "The soldiers have him out in the bailey," he said. "I told them to feed him and rest his horse."

"That is good," Denys said. "He has come a very long way."

"How far?"

Denys lifted his eyebrows, contemplating the question. "From Fosdyke, he told me," he said. "But much further before that. The missive originated at Mount Wrath, so it has been traveling for quite some time."

Dillon could see the distress on his father's face. He glanced at Brend, who appeared equally concerned. Gone was the man's wariness. As they exchanged apprehensive glances, Cort entered with Dera on his heels.

"My lord?" Cort said. "Dil said you wanted to see me?"

Now that everyone concerned was present, Denys sighed faintly and sat back in his chair. "Close the door, Cort," he said. "Bolt it and stand by it. No one comes in and out of this room until I tell you. Is that clear?"

Cort didn't even question him. He nodded sharply, went to the door, and bolted it. As he took up station in front of it, Dera moved over to her brother, looking at the man questioningly. The expression on his face gave her no indication of what was happening. In fact, he seemed rather stone-faced.

Denys finally spoke again.

"I have just received a message from Mount Wrath," he told everyone in the room. "It has taken a month for it to reach me, meaning the events on the missive are a month old, if not more."

"Mount Wrath?" Dera blurted, then slapped a hand over her mouth. "I am sorry, my lord. Forgive me for speaking out of turn."

Denys did nothing more than look at her in such a way as if appraising her. Perhaps there was even a hint of disgust in his expression. In any case, his gaze lingered on her a moment before returning to the men.

"It seems that Mount Wrath has fallen to the rebels," he said, hearing Dera gasp. He was looking at Brend as he spoke. "Brend, forgive me for being indelicate, but in the course of the battle, your father was killed and so was your brother, Ardmore. Declan and Finn are hostages, but it is not known what has happened to your mother."

There was a moment of shocked silence, so heavy that it nearly crushed everyone in the chamber. But that moment wore off quickly and Dera suddenly turned away, bursting into soft sobs. Next to her, Brend's features tightened but he held himself in check. Perhaps there was a moment or two that might have seen him become emotional, but he fought it. He remained stoic, but it was clear there was a great deal going on in his head. Before Dillon or Cort could offer their condolences, Brend turned to his sister.

"You listen to me," he snarled. "Those rebels who killed Father and Ardie, and sacked Mount Wrath, are those same bastards you have been part of for years. This is your fault, Dera. You did nothing to protect our family and everything to further the cause of the Irish rebellion. You did this! "

Dera's head came up, her eyes wide with astonishment at him. As she opened her mouth to respond, Brend's hand came up and he grabbed her by the arm. No one knew what he was going to do, but the mere fact that he touched her brought Cort and Dillon. As Dillon grabbed Brend to pull him away from his sister, Cort put himself in between the two and threw a punch to Brend's jaw that literally lifted him off his feet.

Brend's flying body caused Dillon to stumble back as Brend went crashing into the wall behind him. Startled, Dillon stepped in between the knights, holding out his hands to prevent them from moving on one another, but Cort didn't move at all. He remained standing in front of Dera, his sea-colored eyes blazing.

"Touch her again and I will kill you," he hissed at Brend. "I do not care if you are her brother. You will never lay hands on her again. Do you understand me?"

Denys was in their midst now, pulling Cort away. "Emotions are high, Cort," he said steadily. "Stand by the door. That is your post and you are not to leave it again."

Cort wouldn't go so easily. His gaze was shooting venom at Brend, who was half-conscious as Dillon bent over him and slapped his cheeks to force him to come around. Denys remained near Cort, seeing what a volatile situation this was but purely failing to see why Cort should strike Brend in such a vicious fashion.

Dera, meanwhile, was standing where Cort had left her. Tears were still coming from her eyes, but she was shocked at what had happened with both Brend and Cort. Her hand was at her mouth as her gaze moved between her dazed brother and Cort's furious face. She was looking at Cort in astonishment when Denys suddenly filled her line of sight.

"My lady," he said patiently. "I know you have ties to the rebels. It did not take a genius to figure that out, considering how badly your father wanted you out of Ireland. He wanted you away from the discord you were part of and, evidently, he was correct. I had not planned to interrogate you, but now I find that I must. Your friends hold my castle. They have killed your father and your brother, and there is no telling what they have done to your mother and remaining brothers. Now comes the test of truth for you; is your loyalty to those who resist English rule or is it with your family? I need your help to save them and regain my castle. Will you help me?"

It was the moment Dera never thought she would face.

In fact, a situation like this had never crossed her mind. She'd been involved in the rebellion for three years– three years of making connections, of providing information, of actively participating in ambushes and battles, but never once during that time did the rebels she was a part of indicate Mount Wrath was a target.

In fact, it was understood that her home should not be targeted.

But clearly, that had changed.

Everything had changed.

Dera's knees gave way and she sank to the floor as Denys rushed to help her. Even though he'd ordered Cort to stand by the door, Cort was suddenly there, lifting Dera into his arms and carrying her to the nearest chair. Once she was gently deposited, he resumed his position by the door. He'd never said a word the entire time. Denys looked at him, greatly curious by his behavior, before returning his focus to Dera.

"My lady?" he asked quietly. "Would you like some wine?"

Dera shook her head. Her hand was still on her mouth as if incapable of moving it, struggling to accept what she'd been told. Struggling to accept that, somehow, her family wasn't exempt from the rebel attacks.

Her father and brother were dead.

Who was she more loyal to? It seems that the rebels had made her decision for her.

She was crushed.

"Ardie," she murmured. "Ardie was part of the rebel army. Finn is part of them, too, yet you say they have captured him. Is it really true?"

Denys was watching her carefully. In her emotional state, her guard was down. "That is what the missive says."

"Who wrote the missive?"

"Brian Dunbin, my garrison commander at my outpost of Belrobin," he said. "You know the man, I am certain. The refugees from Mount Wrath went to Belrobin and he has requested reinforcements and an army to retake Mount Wrath. What I want to know is what they will be facing and only you can help me, my lady. The next dead brother may be Brend if you do not."

That was a powerful blow. Dera's shoulders slumped. She sat there, staring at her lap, tears trickling down her cheeks and dropping onto her hands.

"God," she finally breathed. "This simply isn't possible."

"Why not?"

It wasn't a question. It was a demand. Something was hanging in the air, something that was heavy with expectation. Expectation that Dera would finally speak on something they'd been speculating about for days, if not weeks and months. Waiting for her to say the words that would incriminate her. She'd already admitted that her brothers, Finn and Ardmore, were part of the rebel movement. But she hadn't spoken of herself.

Not yet.

Dera was holding back. She wasn't ready to admit anything yet but it was obvious that she was on the verge. The deaths of her father and brother had pushed her to the edge. It would take very little for her to go all the way over. People she'd trusted, that she'd fought for, had betrayed her.

Finally, she shook her head.

"The English are the targets, not other Irish families," she murmured. "I can only think that, somehow, they targeted my father because he sent me away to England. They did it to punish him for sending me away."

"Why would they punish him, my lady?" Denys asked. "Why do you matter to them?"

"Because I am part of them, too."

There it was. What they had been waiting for. The confession was coming far more easily than Denys thought it would and he took advantage of it.

"Your father knew of your activity with the rebels?"

She nodded wearily. "He knew."

"That is why he wanted you to come to Narborough."

Dera looked up at him, pale-faced, her eyes watery with tears. "He did not want me to be part of it," she said. "He did not want any of us to be part of it. But we felt strongly… strongly that Ireland should be free. I still feel that way."

She wasn't being defiant, but rather stating a fact. Dera believed that her country should belong to its people and she'd never hidden that opinion. As she sat there, staring at her lap, Brend lurched to his feet.

"Did playing the charming dimwit work for you, Dera?" he said accusingly, rubbing at his jaw where Cort had hit him. "Were you able to glean information from Cort like you said you would? Why don't you tell him why you have been so nice to him, why you have been so charming and available? Tell him it was because you hoped to bleed information from him about Henry's plans for Ireland. Tell him!"

He boomed at her and Dera jumped, turning to look at Cort and feeling utter and complete horror as she heard her own words coming from her brother's mouth. It was true that she had said that; it was true that she had planned it. But somewhere in the midst of her trying to charm the man, her plans had taken an unexpected turn.

She felt something for him.

The kiss today in the privacy of the knights' quarters had confirmed those feelings as far as she was concerned. She hadn't even been aware she'd wanted him to kiss her until he had, and then she could think of nothing else.

Even as she looked at him now, it was all she could think of. His warm mouth on her lips, his big arms around her body. But there was no warmth in his eyes as he looked at her, no humorous glimmer that told her everything was well between them.

Only cold silence.

She felt as bad as she possibly could.

"It's true," she said to Cort. "It is true I wanted you to tell me what Henry had planned for Ireland so I could send the information back to my friends. I had hoped to charm you into telling me what you knew but, unfortunately, I did nothing but make a fool of myself. Nothing I did was charming; not eating garbage nor killing your opponent nor taking you to the lake to argue with you. Absolutely nothing. Clearly, I am incapable of being charming. But you, on the other hand, are everything that a maiden dreams of, Cort. Everything. "

Cort didn't change expression. "Fortunately, I know more about espionage than you do," he said evenly. "You learned nothing from me, but I learned a great deal from you. Did you not stop to think that my attention towards you was for the very same reason? We suspected you were with the rebellion. It was up to me to discover the truth. And I did."

It was an insult at the deepest level. As Dera looked at him, it occurred to her that all of his smiles and kisses and flattery was an act, too. He's been playing her for a fool just like she'd tried to play him.

Feeling grossly embarrassed and deeply hurt, Dera turned away, looking at her lap again. As they watched, her shoulders began to heave gently as the tears came again.

But Brend was without sympathy.

"I told you not to do it," he growled. "I told you not to play your political games here, but you would not listen. Your political games have gotten our father and brother killed, so I hope you're satisfied. I hope you live with the guilt for the rest of your life, you little fool."

Denys held up a hand to quiet him. "Enough, Brend," he said. "We are not making any progress in this conversation by continuing to beat your sister into the ground. Dera, what I want to know is the strength of the opposition. I want to know about these rebels you were allied with. Where are they based and how many are there? Tell me now and I will take that into consideration when I decide your punishment."

At this point, Dera didn't even care about punishment. It would be nothing compared to the pain in her heart. She'd lost her brother, her father, and Cort. Perhaps that was the greatest sting of all, losing a man she had quickly fallen for. He'd made her see that there was more to life than the fight for freedom and the cold cheers of victory.

There was love.

Everything was her fault. She'd taken the risk and she had failed.

Nothing mattered any longer.

"They operate in small groups," she said, wishing the heavens would open up and lightning would strike her dead. "There is no great central army, at least not north of Drogheda. There are small groups in Lisnadara, Kilkerly, Lennonstown and Knockbridge. They are small on their own. But together, they are sizable. There are even more out in the country, away from the coast. Those men are fighting animals; they do what they are told by those of us close to The Pale, but they fight furiously."

That was a great deal of information and Denys listened carefully. "How many men would you say there are near Mount Wrath?"

She sighed faintly. "Altogether, two thousand or more," she said. "But there are more to the north and to the south. Mayhap there are only two thousand near Dundalk, but there are thousands more all over the country. We are simply a very small part of a larger movement."

Denys digested that, glancing up at Dillon and Brend. Dillon shook his head in disbelief and disgust while Brend wouldn't look at him at all. He was pale and drawn, with a massive red mark on the left side of his jaw.

And then there was Cort.

The way the man had struck Brend suggested there was emotion behind it. The way Dera had spoken to him, apologizing to him, suggested she felt something more for Cort than simply polite regard. It occurred to Denys that with all of the mutual attempts to charm one another going on, something unexpected had happened. While he felt a good deal of pity for Dera and Brend at the loss of their family members, there was far more going on here than met the eye.

But he couldn't deal with that now. He had more important things to focus on, not the least of which was regaining his property of Mount Wrath. He looked at Cort.

"Cort," he said quietly. "Write a missive to your father immediately and ask for as many men as he can spare. Tell him why. Send the missive today. I will send word to Norwich Castle, Thetford, and other de Winter properties for support. I will even send word to Thunderbey Castle, to the Earls of East Anglia."

Cort nodded, very businesslike. "My lord, if I may suggest sending word to Wellesbourne Castle also," he said. "They can send men to meet up with your armies in Blackpool. My brother at Shrewsbury will also send men."

Denys was nodding as he pondered all of the troops he could summon. "I only have three vessels docked in Blackpool, but my allies, the de Cleveleys, have another four ships. They have lands in Ireland, too. With seven ships, we can send at least five thousand men."

"Then I will send word to Deverill, Wellesbourne, and Shrewsbury," Cort said. "The missives will be ready within the hour."

"Good," Denys said. "Be on your way. But take Lady Dera to the vault first and lock her up until I decide what's to be done with her."

Cort didn't even flinch. He marched up to Dera, took her by the arm, and pulled her out of the chair. Without another word, he quit the solar, prisoner in-hand.

Dera wished she could die. Cort's grip on her was strong to the point of being biting, but she didn't complain. She didn't complain about anything. She'd already said enough and now he knew that everything she'd done had been deceitful.

But her heart was breaking into a million pieces.

The vault of Narborough was in the eastern tower, a massive tower near the stables that had a big stone staircase leading to the sublevel where there were three iron-barred cells. Guarded by a big, iron gate with a heavy lock, it was the only source of air and light to the sublevel. Since there weren't any prisoners in the vault at the moment, there weren't any guards, and Cort yanked open the gate and took her down the stairs, taking the keys from a hook on the wall to unlock the door to the smallest cell.

Pulling it open, he led her inside.

Still, Dera didn't say a word. She couldn't even look at him. What she got wasn't what she deserved and she knew it. Traitors often suffered a painful death. Perhaps she still would. But not before she said her farewells to Cort.

Even if he didn't want to hear it.

As the cell door clanged shut and he locked it, she spoke.

"At first, it was true that I wanted to seduce you so that I could get information on Henry's intentions in Ireland," she said quietly. "What I never expected was to forget why I was trying to charm you in the first place. What I mean to say is that just being with you, laughing with you, hearing you challenge me to eat garbage, took precedence over what I was trying to accomplish. I know you will not believe me when I say that just being with you meant something to me and I do not blame you, but I wanted you to know. My intentions may have started out dishonorable, but in the end, they were anything but. Thank you… thank you for making me feel as I have never felt in my life. I shall cherish it always. And you."

Cort didn't say a word. He went to the hook, hung the keys up, and headed up the stone steps.

Dera sat on the moldering ground and wept.

*

"The missive to my father is ready, my lord," Cort said. "I have already sent it with a messenger, along with the missives to Wellesbourne Castle and Shrewsbury Castle."

It was barely an hour since the revelations in Denys' solar. Cort had gone off to write his missives while Dillon and Brend remained with Denys, planning their return to Ireland. As Cort entered the solar, he could see the maps spread out over Denys' table.

The war council had begun.

"Excellent, Cort," Denys said. "I should expect to hear from them very shortly, at least within the month. Will you sit with us now? We could use your expertise."

"No, thank you, my lord," he said. "I have a few things to attend to."

Cort was as tightly wound as anyone had ever seen him. He was stiff and professional, not at all like the congenial charmer he usually was. In fact, he stood far away from Brend, who was sitting at the table and refused to look at him. Brend, a man he loved dearly and had lashed out at without thought.

All because he thought Dera was in peril.

That had been foremost on Cort's mind as he'd written the missives to his father, brother, and Matthew Wellesbourne, lord of Wellesbourne Castle and his father's best friend. Cort knew he had lost control with Brend, which wasn't like him. But the moment Dera was threatened, he had acted on instinct.

That was before he found out that her attention towards him had been an act.

He was hurt. Aye, he could admit it to himself. He was a man who never let personal emotions get the better of him, but Dera had. He wasn't sure why he should be hurt considering he had done the same thing to her, but he was. They'd both been so busy trying to seduce one another that they'd fallen for each other. At least, he had fallen for her, and if he was to believe what she said when he left her in the vault, the same could be said for her.

But how could he believe her?

He just didn't know.

So, he'd returned to the knights' quarters to write out the missives to his father and brother and Uncle Matthew, but all the while, he was thinking of Dera down in that cold vault with nothing for comfort. She had no blankets, no food, no bed… nothing. That's why he didn't want to sit in on the war council.

He wanted to bring Dera a few things to get her by until Denys decided what to do with her.

And that brought up another problem.

Cort didn't want her punished.

"Cort?" Denys said. "Did you hear what I said?"

Cort hadn't. He'd been daydreaming. He shook his head. "Forgive me," he said. "My mind is ten steps ahead, already in Ireland. What did you say?"

It was a smooth lie, but Denys was none the wiser. "I asked you what you had to attend to," Denys repeated patiently. "We can wait for you if it is something you will accomplish quickly."

Cort wasn't sure if he could accomplish what he needed to do quickly. He sighed heavily, looking at Denys and Dillon and finally Brend.

"I suppose I can do it quickly," he said. "But before I go, let me ask you something, if I may. How soon do you plan to depart for Ireland?"

Denys lifted an eyebrow. "Within the month, at least. What did you tell your father?"

"The same."

"It will take us at least three weeks to reach Blackpool where the ships are moored," Denys said. "After that, seven or eight days across the Irish Sea to Dundalk, providing the weather is good. If it is not, it will take longer. This will not be a swift trip by any means. Although you have sent for your father's troops, will you be leading them? You divide your time between Henry and your father, so what do you plan to do?"

Cort thought on that. "I assumed I would go," he said. "I am sure that is what Henry wishes for me to do. He will want a first-hand account of the turmoil from me."

"Isn't what my sister gave you enough?" Brend spoke up, his tone dull with emotion. "Isn't what I gave you enough, Cort? You came here to report on her. You have your information."

Since Brend was speaking to him, Cort looked him in the face. "You are a knight sworn to de Winter," he said steadily. "If de Winter asked you to discover information that could very well save thousands of lives, you would do it without question. I am not sure why you have suddenly developed this anger towards me for doing my duty, Brend. We have known each other long enough, and well enough, that you should understand and be supportive."

Brend looked at him for the first time since Cort had struck him. He leaned back in his chair, studying Cort before speaking. "I understand," he said. "It does not mean I like it."

"Nor do I. But I do what I am told, much as you do."

Brend shook his head. "It is more than that," he said. "Striking me when I grabbed Dera was not part of your duty. You did it to protect her."

Cort tried not to react defensively. "You were angry enough to do harm, Brend. While I am extremely sorry about your father and brother, and the fate of your entire family, that does not give you permission to take that anger out on your sister."

Brend stared at him a moment, his features visibly softening. "She's not my sister," he finally muttered, looking away. "I do not know who she is, but she is not my sister. She's a stranger who betrayed my father."

Cort glanced at Denys, who looked at him in return. There was concern on the old man's face.

"She is a stranger who has valuable information about the rebels in Ireland," Denys said softly. "Brend, whatever anger you are feeling towards her, you must control it. Dera is going to Ireland with us because I want her there, giving my commanders as much information as she can about the situation and possibly being a liaison between the rebels who hold Mount Wrath and my men. She is valuable."

Brend simply shook his head, disgusted, and grieved. Cort turned to Denys. "You are not going to Ireland, my lord?"

Denys shook his head. "It would be a fine prize to kill or capture the de Winter of Narborough, so I will not go," he said. "Dillon and Brend will lead my armies and you will lead the de Russe contingent. But I will go with you as far as Blackpool and wait for word there."

Cort nodded. "As you wish," he said. "Now, if you will excuse me, I will take care of my tasks quickly and return so that we may form a plan of action."

Denys nodded, waving him off, and Cort turned for the door. But something made him pause as he returned his attention to Brend.

The man was sitting there, sad and dejected. He'd just lost his father, whom he adored, and half of his family. The other family members' fates were unknown. He felt a good deal of pity for the man and sought to show him more compassion.

"Brend," he said. "I am sorry that I struck you. But in the heat of the moment, it seemed to me that you might harm your sister. Even now, you say she is not your sister. She is an object of rage to you. I cannot imagine that you would ever hurt a woman because you are not the type, but sometimes in grief, we do things we would not normally do. Will you forgive me for striking you?"

When Brend turned to him, Cort flashed that cheeky smile. He did it on purpose, to loosen Brend's stiffness, because no one could resist that impish grin. He had weaponized his cuteness against his parents and it had almost always worked. Now, with Brend, he was trying to do the same thing and he was rewarded with a weak grin.

"Cort, you are a magnificent beast still," Brend muttered. "But you are also a pain in my ass that will not go away. Like a boil, I cannot lance you. But unlike a boil, I love you. I know you were only doing what you felt best and, in truth, I hadn't even realized I'd grabbed her until you nearly knocked my head off. But I would be lying if I said this whole situation with her has not unbalanced me beyond repair. I do not know if I can recover from this."

Cort came up behind Brend, bending over to kiss him loudly on the head. "You shall," he said. "We all shall. But we are about to head into battle and I will not have hard feelings between you and me."

"There are no hard feelings. And stop kissing me."

Cort laughed softly, heading for the door. He was a kisser and had been most of his life– he kissed his mother, his father, his brothers just to annoy them, and his friends for the same purpose.

But the kisses were also meant as genuine gestures of affection, especially in a situation like this. He adored Brend and wanted to show the man he was sorry he'd hit him. What he didn't tell him was that if he had to do it over again, he would do the same thing.

He would protect Dera.

"I will return," he said, reaching the door and lifting the latch. "My lord, I plan to take Vulcan with me to Ireland. You'd better tell Damey I am taking his horse."

Denys grunted. Leave it to Cort to lighten the situation, easing the horrible tension that had been filling the chamber.

"You will crush him if you do," he said.

"That horse will crush him if I do not ."

Denys sighed heavily. "Fine," he said shortly. "But pay me for the beast and buy Damien any horse he wants upon your return."

Cort paused, flashing the man a smile before he left. It was a smile that told them all that things were well in the world again, at least between the knights, for what they had to face in Ireland was something that required more unity and strength than most.

The unity to face a rebellion.

Now, he had to make things right with someone else, too.

Part of those "other tasks" he told Denys about.