The Irish Devil

  The Irish Devil

  by

  Donna Fletcher

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  THE IRISH DEVIL

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright, 2000 by Donna Fletcher

  Printing History

  Jove edition/February 2000

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  www.donnafletcher.com/

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  To my own Irish Devil

  With love

  Until we meet again

  Prologue

  Talk of the Devil and he’ll appear. —Erasmus

  Cork, Ireland, 1171

  “The Irish devil rides in with the storm, his army following directly behind. He takes the lead, fearless he is, knowing his evil lord will protect him. He carries but one weapon, a sword specially forged for him. No one but the devil possesses the strength to wield it, the blade heavy with the souls and cries of those lives felled by it.

  “In his wake he leaves destruction. Whole villages burned, men slaughtered and women ravished. The devil tastes his fill taking a dozen women or more—”

  “Enough nonsense, Nora, I will hear no more,” Lady Terra scolded harshly, entering the small sewing room to the surprise of the three young women who sat huddled around the table.

  The two silent women focused wide, frightened eyes on Nora, their hands trembling and their capped heads bobbing as she persisted in continuing her tale.

  “But ‘tis true, m’lady. The Irish devil is known for his cruelty. He plunders and massacres for pleasure and profit. He cares naught for human lives, only his evil pleasures.”

  “Mind your ignorant tongue, Nora,” Lady Terra snapped. “The Irish devil is but a mere man, exceptional at what he does, but nonetheless a man, not a myth or a legend. A man, need I remind you, who will be here within a month’s time to choose one of my daughters for a wife. I will not tolerate such willful lies and I will not have my daughters upset by idle servant gossip.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” Nora said obediently, her head bowed respectfully and her fingers returning to her stitching.

  The other two women immediately lowered their heads and focused on their own work.

  “If one stitch is out of line, you will all go without the evening meal,” Lady Terra said and slowly circled the table, her tall, slim body rigid, her thin hands resting on crossed arms and her dark eyes scrutinizing their work.

  With breaths suspended and bodies tense, the young women waited. Lady Terra was not known for her understanding and charm. She was known for her shrewish tongue and sharp hand. Not one of the house staff had escaped her anger; some even bore permanent proof of her cruelty.

  The sharp slap resonated through the confined quarters, startling all of them. The other two women jumped, their stitching needles accidentally pricking their fingers, yet they remained silent for fear Lady Terra would deliver the same to them.

  “Bridget,” Lady Terra shouted at the young woman whose cheek instantly welted with her hand print. “That line is crooked. You will rip out the entire seam and begin again.”

  She completed another full circle around the table, her eyes intent on their work, before walking to the door. She stopped and turned. A cruel smile spread across her thin face, emphasizing the many deep lines and wrinkles that marked her for a woman much older than her four and seven years. “You both may thank Bridget for missing supper this eve.” She cast a look of disgust at Nora. “But then you, Nora, could lose a few pounds. Your abundant girth must certainly interfere with your duties. I will inform cook that you are rationed to one meal daily until I am satisfied with your weight loss. And make certain those dresses are finished on time for my daughters to have new gowns to properly welcome the Irish —” she stopped herself and sent a scathing look to Nora—” to welcome Lord Eric of Shanekill.”

  “Lord of hell is more like it,” Nora murmured after Lady Terra disappeared out the door.

  Tears trickled from Bridget’s soft green eyes. “I am so sorry.”

  Ellie offered a consoling pat to the girl’s thin shoulder. “Do not worry yourself. You are the best seamstress in all of Cork. You could not sew a crooked seam if you tried.”

  “The Irish devil will put the likes of that one in her place,” Nora said, nodding toward the door.

  Bridget lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “Are the tales true?”

  Nora cast a cautious glance to the open door and leaned over the table, the two women moving closer to hear. “I heard the guards in the keep talking. Their voices trembled when they spoke of him almost as though they feared he would appear out of thin air and silence them with his mighty sword. They crossed themselves when they mentioned that he rode for any king who would fatten his purse the most, each king attempting to outbid the other and win the devil’s favor and services. I heard them say he holds no allegiance to Ireland, being he is a barbarian.”

  “Barbarian?” Bridget repeated.

  Nora gave another hasty glance around the room and at the door before she answered. “His Irish blood mixes with the blood of the barbaric Vikings and that is where they say his evil dwells. He cannot help but plunder and kill, it is part of him. He even considered betraying Ireland’s kings.”

  “How?” Ellie asked, engrossed with the tale.

  “He intended to supply, for a price, information to King Henry II regarding the Irish kings and their intentions. The kings offered to fatten his coffer substantially if he held his tongue. They offered him a lucrative marriage contract and vast land holdings, and bestowed on him a fancy title, lord, when he is nothing more than a barbarian. Lord William of Donnegan was ordered by the king of Cork, Dermot MacCathy, to offer one of his daughters to the devil while the king of Limerick, Donal Mor O’Brien, pledged a small castle and land in Limerick, him being no fool. The devil will protect what is his and Donal Mor O’Brien and his holdings along with it.”

  Bridget’s skillful fingers finished off the last of the shoulder seam stitches of the soft moss-green wool gown she worked on. “I hope he chooses Lady Margaret to wed. She is as shrewish and mean as her mother and she resembles her as well, tall and thin with no shape to her, just that pointed nose and those thin lips that always frown, and she is the oldest at two score. The devil and she deserve each other.”

  Ellie smiled, her brown eyes dancing with mischief. “I think he deserves Lady Teresa.”

  Nora and Bridget giggled.

  “I do not think the devil will choose a woman who smells like a horse for a wife,” Nora said.

  Bridget defended the woman, though she continued to giggle. “She may smell like the animals she enjoys tending but at least she is pleasant to the servants. And she does have good, wide birthing hips.”

  The two bobbed their heads in agreement.

  “How about Lady Claire?” Bridget asked.

  “Perhaps,” Nora said. “She cares naught for anyone but herself, forever worried over her appearance, and she is the most attractive sister though she is only six and ten.”

  “Old enough to be taking a husband,” Ellie said. “I wed John at five and ten.”

  “And will birth your first babe within the month,” Bridget said with delight. “Are you fearful over the birth?”

  Ellie spoke with confidence, “Not with Lady Faith to help birth me.”

  Complete silence filled the small room and a sudden draft drifted in from the open door, sending the shivers through the three women.


  “You do not think Lord William will offer Lady Faith to the devil, do you?” Nora asked, her voice trembling.

  “The devil would not want her,” Ellie answered with conviction. “She is too sweet.”

  “The devil preys on the innocent,” Bridget reminded.

  “Lord have mercy on her,” Ellie whispered, holding back her tears. “She is no longer innocent, and she is left with the scar to prove her sins.”

  Bridget snapped angrily at her friend. “No finer young woman lives. And it is the evil wagging tongues that claimed her innocence. She fought her attacker and won but no one will believe the truth.”

  “Truth or not, I would rather die than live with disgrace,” Nora whispered.

  “Aye, so would I,” Ellie agreed.

  “Courage and strength saw her through her ordeal,” Bridget argued. “And you, Ellie, would not be here had Lady Faith not fought for her life that night.”

  Ellie wiped the tears from her cheeks. “True enough, Bridget. She has turned into a fine healer and her skill saved me from dying of the fever. But who will have her now? No man of her station will accept her in marriage and she is already twenty and five. She keeps herself locked away with her plants, potions and drawings. She wants no one to see her and the scar she carries as a reminder. What life is that for her?”

  “She spends time in the forest collecting her plants and in her garden,” Bridget defended.

  Ellie frowned. “By herself, always by herself.”

  “Rook goes with her,” Bridget argued.

  “That monster dog of hers lets no one near her,” Nora said. “Her father saw to that after the incident. He wanted her guarded and not by a man.”

  Ellie shook her head. “Speak the truth, Nora, her father blames her for the attack. He was ashamed of her the night it happened, as he is ashamed of her now.”

  “Good,” Nora said defiantly. “Then he will not offer her to the devil since he thinks her spoiled goods.”

  “And with that awful scar to always remind her, bless her soul,” Bridget said, crossing herself and murmuring a prayer.

  Ellie and Nora joined in with prayers of their own.

  “Does anyone know who attacked her?” Ellie asked, not having been in Lord William’s service when the incident had occurred eight years previously.

  “Her stepmother ordered her silence,” Bridget said, and shivered. “I helped to tend her after the attack. She lay bleeding badly, the bedcovers soaked through with her blood. Lady Terra warned her to keep her lies to herself and not speak the name of the man she tempted or she would forever burn in hell. Lady Terra ordered a priest to her bedside for confession.”

  Nora interrupted. “I was the one she ordered to summon the priest.” She shivered, rubbing her ample arms. “Calm and in control she was, not her usual self, she frightened me she did when she instructed me to hurry and bring the priest insisting that poor Lady Faith had met an evil end.”

  Bridget shook her head. “Lady Terra cares naught for Lady Faith. She wanted no shame of a mortal sin on her dying stepdaughter’s soul. No one knows if she confessed the name, but I heard her plead as they rushed me from the room, ‘God, save me from the devil.’ Some believe she spoke about the devil in herself, but I, I think she fought the devil that night and God saved her life.”

  Silence reigned for several minutes and cheeks were patted dry.

  A rumble of thunder sounded outside in the distance and three sets of eyes rounded in fear.

  “The Irish devil rides in with the storm,” Ellie whispered and the three young women crossed themselves.

  Chapter One

  Heavy rain pelted the castle grounds and a chill autumn wind blew across the land, swirling debris against the wooden edifice. Thunder rumbled the earth, sending shivers through the castle occupants. The thunder was not of nature but of man — horses hooves, a hundred or more bearing down on the castle — in the front, leading the way, rode the Irish devil, himself.

  Lord William and Lady Terra waited in the great hall, their daughters lingering in their rooms until summoned and the servants standing in readiness though their limbs trembled as the horses drew closer, quaking the castle walls.

  Shouts and snorting horses announced the arrival of the unwanted guests. Lord William and Lady Terra hurried reluctantly to the front door to extend a proper welcome. Lord William ordered the metal bolts drawn back and the six-foot-high wooden doors thrown open. The force of the mighty wind blew wide the doors, sending the servants running for safety as the heavy doors broke free of their grasps and crashed wildly against the thick wooden walls, bidding the Irish devil entrance.

  He strode in with the force of the hellish wind, his black wool cape swirling around him; his long, dark hair glistening with rain water; and his deep, blue eyes intent and clear as he surveyed the room in one sweeping glance. His hand rested on the hilt of his silver sword that hung from a leather strap at his waist. Twelve men followed him in, six each coming to a halt on either side behind him. All were of great height but none equaled the devil’s own. He stood a good head over them, his stance one of power and potency. His shoulder width was broad, his chest full, his arms thick with muscles, his waist narrow, his thighs solid in strength and his voice deep and direct. “My men require food and shelter.”

  He looked to Lady Terra and she gasped, his sinfully handsome features stealing her breath away. She could not speak or take her eyes from him. His face mesmerized, with blue lusty eyes, lips that promised endless pleasure and with an arrogant expression that commanded attention from all.

  Lord William stepped in front of his wife. “We are honored to have you here, Lord Eric. The comfort of your men will be seen to immediately.” He waved at the servants, who reluctantly obeyed. They took a wide berth around the devil and beckoned his men out the door.

  The men did not follow.

  Lord William roughly cleared his voice. “Your men may take their leave.”

  “My personal guard will stay with me. They will be housed close to my quarters.” He made no request; it was an order that was meant to be obeyed without delay.

  Lord William complied like a dutiful servant. “As you wish, Lord Eric.”

  “I require a hot bath and food, then we will talk.” The devil glanced over the short, stout man, his appraisal brief and dismissive.

  Lord William found his blatant scrutiny offensive but with his band of giants surrounding him, he had little alternative but to suffer the insult. He issued angry orders in Gaelic to the remaining three servants, instructing them to show the devil to his quarters and arrange for his barbaric men to be bedded down nearby.

  Lord Eric took a step forward, his massive shadow rushing over Lord William like a demon rising from the fires of hell.

  The stout little lord recoiled in fear as the devil spoke in clear, defined Gaelic, then switched to Latin, followed it with precise French, changed to the distinct tongue of the Scandinavian and finished with a warning in Gaelic. “The devil knows and sees all, and his wrath is endless.”

  Lord Eric turned and followed the waiting servant up the steps, further insulting Lord William by not even extending a word of courtesy for welcoming him into his home.

  Lady Terra moved to her husband’s side and whispered in his ear, “Loathsome barbarian.”

  His glance followed her own to the floor and he stared with distaste at the thick muddy path that trailed the men up the wooden stairs. “We need to talk,” he whispered in return and hurried her out of the room to his private quarters.

  A fire in the hearth warmed the small room and a thick tapestry covered the lone, small window keeping the chilled, stormy night at bay. A wooden table, four chairs and a chest were the only furnishings within. Numerous large candles added sufficient light and a servant poured the lord and lady wine before hurrying out and closing the door.

  Lord William spoke with anger. “How dare he enter my home and make demands. Why, he did not even offer me a proper introduction. He wa
lked in and acted as if this keep was his, issuing orders to me. Me!” He thumped his chest. “Lord of this castle and holdings.”

  “What are we to do?” Lady Terra asked in harsh outrage.

  Lord William shook his head, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth deepening in worry. “The devil bastard carries great favor with the kings. I must comply with their wishes or suffer their reprisals.”

  Lady Terra frowned. “He has no manners and the land Donal Mor O’Brien, king of Limerick, granted him is too far removed from any place of political or social prominence. The woman he takes to wife will be little more than a slave to him and his brutish needs. I want more for our daughters and ourselves.”

  Lord William rubbed his chin. “As do I. More appropriate and profitable marriage contracts can be made for our daughters. The devil has not so much as offered me his protection in exchange for this union. I gain not one miserable thing from this forced arrangement.”

  “We must think on this, William. There must be a way for us to appease the kings and this barbarian and still gain from the union.”

  “Well think, woman, you know I admire your intellect and cunning in such matters and trust your intentions. You want exactly what I do, more wealth and power, but how do we manage to achieve it and still remain in the good graces of the kings?”

  “A good question, William, and one I intend to find an answer to.”

  o0o

  “Eric, you require a healer, your leg wound worsens,” Colin said with concern as he watched his long-time friend rise from the wooden tub set in front of the flaming hearth.

  Eric reached for the large towel the servant girl had hastily discarded on the small stool before she fled the room. He had snapped at her in anger, her trembling hands doing more harm than good to his tense muscles as she washed him. He ordered her to cease her senseless fumbling and rid herself of her annoying presence. He had quickly finished the job himself, the tub too inadequate in size to hold him comfortably. And besides, his leg hurt like hell.