The ground was littered with five fallen English and only one of the men under his command. The girl he had saved stood enfolded within the arms of a middle-aged Englishman, who gave rein to freely flowing tears. She regarded the man with a baffled look before she slowly rested her head upon his chest, allowing the fellow to clasp her more tightly.
Devlin wanted to bellow his rage. Now that he had been taken as punishment for his good deed, who would be there to comfort his daughter as the English wench was being comforted? The answer was stark and grim: no one!
He had consigned Muirne to existence as an orphan. There were none to protect her as her father would have done, nor would any love her as intensely. Devlin agonized at the inequity of it. But whom did he have to blame for his predicament? No one other than himself. And that galled him all the more.
Groaning, he reviled his soft heart and even softer head, having traded his daughter’s future for that of a witless Englishwoman too stupid to get out of harm’s way. Cursing himself for being the greatest fool God had ever fashioned, Devlin saw the girl turn in his direction. When her shy glance traveled across the crowd to meet his, he spit in disgust. Resentment rose like bile in his throat, so that coldly, without a hint of compunction, Devlin Fitzhugh damned her and then damned himself as well.
The morning was young, and remnants of last night’s struggle were still visible in the bailey below Alyssa’s window. Though the inhabitants of the castle sought to return things to normal, a sense of upset hung heavily in the air. Nowhere was it more pervasive than in Alyssa’s bedchamber, where the distraught girl fought to blink back tears.
Though she had troubles aplenty of her own the fate of the Irishman who had saved her life touched her heart. And now, because of her, the brave, comely gallowglass was confined in the tower. Devlin Fitzhugh was his name…or so the charges read.
Remorse plagued the girl’s heart. Who knew what awaited him? ‘Twas not meet that so fine a man should have to endure suffering as a result of her defiance against her father, a defiance that now appeared childish and shallow when she considered the consequences it had wrought.
The point had been brought home when she had seen her Irish savior dragged away. His thick, coppery hair and his proud, sullen face had captured the early light of dawn so that he was aglow with fierceness, despite the wounds he had sustained. The sight of him had caused Alyssa’s breath to catch in her throat. He appeared a magnificent rebel, a man who should be free roaming the green hills of his homeland, not destined for an English jail or worse.
Alyssa shuddered. By comparison, her own future suddenly seemed not so bleak. The look of horror on her father’s face when she had been in danger, the tears of joy he had shed when he had clasped her to him after she had reached safety, surely indicated that he felt at least some fondness for her, that he was not the complete ogre she had imagined him to be. Still, how could such a sentiment be reconciled with the unalterable fact that he had abandoned her following her mother’s death in childbirth? That he had sent her off to Ireland with his sister and never once come to see her?
The relationship with her father, life in England, the fate of the man in the tower—there were so many emotions swirling around in Alyssa’s troubled heart. Mindlessly brushing back a blond tendril that had escaped to nestle in the hollow of her cheek, she began to pace her quarters, but dozens of repetitions did nothing to soothe her. Instead, her upset and bafflement only increased with each step.
Finally, a frustrated Alyssa threw herself down onto a straight-backed wooden chair beside a small table. Wearily, she propped her elbows on its worn surface, closed her eyes and leaned her head against her folded hands. Life had been so simple a few months ago. Nay, even last night, before she had visited the cells, her situation had not been as complex. How could it have worsened so much within so little time? Things had been bad enough without more trouble finding her. Once again, the image of shackles on the strong arms that had defended her wrenched Alyssa’s heart. Oh, trouble hadn’t found her, she thought with self-disgust, she had gone looking for it. If only she could do something to gain the Irishman’s liberty, or at the very least ease his plight. Perhaps if she spoke to her father…
Alyssa’s thoughts were interrupted by the squeak of a hinge and the sound of her door slowly swinging inward. A masculine footfall stopped beside her, and then warm, compassionate fingers swept a strand of hair back from her forehead before coming to rest atop the crown of her head.
“Your mother had hair as beautiful yet unruly as yours,” her father said quietly. Heartened that the girl had not batted his hand away as she would have a few days ago, Cecil patted her shoulder awkwardly before settling himself in the chair on the opposite side of the table. He was finding it exceedingly difficult to shoulder the day-to-day responsibilities of fatherhood so late in life.
When she raised her head and regarded him somberly, Cecil was concerned that Alyssa’s arresting violet eyes were made more vivid by the pale lavender smudges staining the delicate skin beneath them. Like her mother, she had the look of a fragile female, he mused, and the girl had endured much of late. Then he reminded himself that there was a fire beneath Alyssa’s surface with which he had become all too well acquainted these past few days. It was a blaze that tempered her spirit and gave her a strength her mother, God have mercy on her, had never possessed. Even now, there was the look of protest etched upon the lass’s pretty features, and Cecil chided himself for thinking that the comfort she had accepted from him immediately after her near tragedy had forever changed things between them.
“Do not compare me to my mother, sirrah. You’ve sworn to me how very precious she was to you. Speaking of the two of us in the same breath only emphasizes my own inconsequential standing in your eyes.”
“Daughter, what must I do to make you believe that you are just as dear to me?” Howett asked, reaching out to capture one of Alyssa’s restless hands in his own.
“If that were true, Father, then you reward those who preserve my life quite oddly.”
“The Irishman…” Cecil muttered with a sigh. “Try to understand, Alyssa.”
“What is there for me to comprehend other than that you have helped punish the man who saved me from falling victim to a sword?”
“I have spoken to Governor Newcomb and done all I can for Fitzhugh. Isn’t it enough that he’s alive at the moment?” Cecil demanded. “In truth, the rebel should have been immediately beheaded, if not garroted, for his crimes against the queen.”
“The queen! Your duty to Elizabeth always provides you with an adequate excuse whenever your actions are questionable,” Alyssa shot back heatedly, withdrawing her hand from her father’s grasp.
“Her Majesty is not a sovereign to be thwarted, Alyssa. ‘Tis a lesson you should commit to heart before you set foot in England. To fail to do so is to court disaster,” Cecil replied, his voice stern.
“Is that why you always put your loyalty to the queen above all else? Above my mother? Above me?”
“I’ve told you I had no choice! When our sovereign commanded me to accompany her envoy to the Lowlands as his secretary, what could I do but go? Had I refused, I could have been thrown in the Tower, and both you and your mother left to live in poverty. As it is, your dam did not live to see my return home. But you were waiting for me,” Cecil said. His words were drenched in wistful nostalgia, as though he truly did wish that things might have been different.
“A scant two months later, I was informed that my service had pleased Her Majesty, and I was to be sent abroad again. I knew that such an order precipitated a career to be spent in foreign lands. Was I to take you, an infant, with me? Expose your tender, young life to the hazards of constant travel? I had just lost my wife, I would not lose you as well. Nor