Devil's Angel (41 page)

Padraig surged to his feet to empty the contents of his stomach. Others joined him. Ardan, a pale shade of green, remained by her.

She could barely speak above the tears and grief that threatened to consume her. “Help me bind him, Ardan. My fingers are numb.”

With Fionn’s help, Ardan managed the binding, frowning to keep from weeping. Conor’s face was ashen, as if death already claimed him. What would Dunlough be, without its Devil?

Ardan looked to Erika. She cradled her wounded arm in her lap, rocking to and fro as more tears rolled down her bruised cheeks. She had to be at the last of her strength after her ordeal, yet her only thought was for Conor. Ardan knew that if anyone could defeat death, and had time and again, it was the Angel. But what would defeat the look of utter rout in her eyes?

He helped her to her feet as warriors came to lay their lord on a collection of shields. “Have a care,” she cautioned them, her good hand stretched out to them. “You must make careful haste, to get him into Aine’s care. There is no Dunlough without the Devil.”

She still trembled, a leaf caught on a blustery wind. She looked as pale as fog at the start of day, and just as likely to blow away. Her eyes were washed out with pain and tears. “This is my fault, Ardan,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “He should not have come. Why did he come?”

He signaled to Padraig and Fionn as Dunlough’s warriors laid Conor in the back of the just-arrived cart. “My lady, he was on his way even before he received your braid. He loves you, and it near killed him to realize what Magda had done.”

“You’re wrong, Ardan.” She shook her head. If she noticed Padraig and Fionn flanking her, she gave no sign. “The mac Ferghal does not love me.”

“You’re wrong, I’d stake me life on that. God willing, the mac Ferghal will tell you true so there’s no mistaking. But we need to make sure the both of you will survive that long.”

“I’ll return to Dunlough long enough to ensure that your lord lives,” she whispered, swaying with the effort to remain upright. “But I cannot stay. You can see that I cannot stay, not now?”

Ardan’s throat tightened. “I can see that you need Aine’s touch as much as the
tigerna
does. You’ll be staying at Dunlough. I’ll not have a word otherwise. There is no Devil without the Angel.”

At his nod, Fionn and Padraig immobilized her so that Ardan could break the arrow and pull it free of her arm. She gasped with pain before her eyes rolled back in her head. Padraig caught her before she fell.

Ardan ripped her sleeve to expose the ugly wound then used the soaked strip to slow the blood flow. “Will you put the blade to it?” Fionn asked.

“God, no.” Ardan shuddered at the thought. “I’ll not be risking the Devil’s own wrath by marking the Angel’s skin.”

“Did you see how she commanded the sky to stop raining?” Fionn breathed. “And how the fire still burned despite the weather?”

“Aye, ’tis a right miracle,” Ardan said. “Let us pray that the miracles are not done, and the lord and his lady will survive the day.”

He spread his cloak over her, tucking it about her still form. He stepped back, clearing his throat. “Put her in the cart beside the
tigerna
,” he ordered in hoarse tones. “Old Aine should be upon us soon enough. Once she makes sure they’ll survive, we’ll lock them in their chamber.”

Both men looked at him as if he’d just danced a jig. “Sure, you’re not serious?” Fionn asked.

“I am. I’ve never seen two people more in need of being locked up in me life. They love each other and need each other, and if it takes locking them in their chamber before they’ll admit it, so be it.”

He could hope they’d be too occupied with reconciling to wonder who’d given the order to imprison them.

“Bring Ronan’s carcass as well. The Angel and the Devil promised his head to the village. That promise shall be kept.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Conor came awake with a start. Darkness greeted him, then pain. It was all he could do not to groan aloud. He was in his bedstead at the dun, and the place beside him was empty.

Physical pain paled compared to the hurt in his heart. Erika was gone. She had heard his confession, heard his pledge of love and rejected it.

He could send after her. He could have a brace of soldiers find her and escort her back. He could use force, put her back in chains to make her stay.

He would not do it. Bad enough that she didn’t love him. He couldn’t bear it if she came to hate him as well.

Perhaps it was too late for that. Denouncing her in front of all, not believing her in his heart despite what reason told him. Throwing her in the pit, allowing her to be captured, using her to get to Ronan… He had done everything to make her hate him but order her outright.

His heart seized as he recalled the scene at the cliffs. Hearing her declare with such calm that he would not come for her. The assurance in her voice had frozen his soul. If she didn’t believe he would come after her, how could she believe that he loved her?

Yet she had loved him once. He clung to the knowledge. Sure he’d heard the words from her lips. Sure a kernel of tender regard remained despite his foolish attempts to thwart it. She had been by his side as he fell, had saved him from death. She had worked with Aine to save his life. Had he not felt her tears scald his fevered flesh? Had he not heard her, deep in his unconsciousness, tell him that she would not let him die? Was that not enough to resurrect her love?

He put his hands to his head, the movement aggravating his wound and causing him to groan.

“You’re awake.”

Erika
. She was still here. Widening his eyes, he could just make out her form, sitting on a chair by the hearth. “You are well?”

She looked at him across the expanse of floor, her cropped hair burnished copper in the firelight beneath the drab mantle that covered it. “My arm will heal.”

It was as if she were on the other side of Slieve Torc, so distant she seemed. Was she angry still? She had every right to be, Conor knew. Would she be able to forgive him?

“H-how long has it been?”

“I think it has been three nights and four days since the battle on the cliffs.”

“You are not sure?”

“I was not awake when we arrived ho-here,” she answered. He couldn’t see her eyes in the dim light, but she was so still, so careful in her words. “I tried the door when sunlight filled the room some hours ago. It is locked from the other side. It would seem that we are prisoners of Dunlough.”

“Prisoners?” His chest throbbed and the room spun in maddened frenzy. It took several breaths before his head cleared. “Why would our people imprison us?”

She shifted in the chair then turned her gaze to the fire. “Not you, but me. Ardan’s doing, I think. And Padraig and Fionn with him. They seem to believe you will change your mind, and made sure I would stay until you awakened.”

She rose to her feet, lighting the oil lamps, brightening the room. He saw that she wore a traditional dress, not the trews, and that her right arm was in a sling held to her chest. The cuts and bruises were beginning to fade; the hurt in her eyes looked to be permanent.

“I need to give you answers, and then I will take my leave.” Her voice just reached him across the room. Her back was pressed to the door as if she strove to go through it.

He said the first thing that came to mind. “So you—you believe this imprisonment of ours a futile one?”

“You know that it is, Conor.” Her voice was slow, a weak thing. Her entire demeanor was one of defeat, and that scared him more than anything ever had. “I wanted to give you laughter. I wanted to find a place to belong. I have done neither.”

You have
. The words formed in his throat but became clogged on the crest of fear that rose within him. He could not blame her for still wanting to leave, but how could he let her go?

“I carry your child, Conor. I first showed signs at Glentane, after Gwynna’s delivery. True, it seems a miracle, so soon after…” Her voice tangled to a halt.

“But the day after I saved Bebhinn from drowning, that is the day we made our child. I never betrayed you. I would not do that. I will never do that.”

He believed her. Even in the great hall, while Magda’s evil worked on his emotions, his mind had believed. His inability to trust had been greater than his ability to reason, and now he stood to lose everything.

“I will go to Glentane for the rest of my time. After I am delivered, you will have your heir, and I will be gone from your life.”

Words. They were just words, yet they cut sharper than any blade ever could. Somehow, he found the strength to speak. “You would leave your child—our child?”

Erika closed her eyes, her mouth open in a wordless groan. Her hands—a warrior’s hands, a lover’s hands—curved over her womb in a motherly gesture that broke his heart.

“It will be the most difficult thing I have ever had to do,” she managed to say, tears breaking free of her will.

“Then do not do it.”

The words were finally free. He had spoken them, had finally begged her to stay. An agony to say them, a torment to await her reply.

Tears spiked her lashes as she shook her head. “I cannot stay, Conor.” Her voice was a mere fragment of a whisper. “Not now. We are not meant to be. Not in this life.”

His heart sank. “Why?”

Her smile was sad. “We were enemies. Better for you had we remained such.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because you never believed in me!” she cried. “You never believed that I chose to marry you, that I wanted to be a true wife to you.” She shook her head. “I wanted to love you, Conor. I wanted to make your heart light, to make a true home and a true marriage. You would not let me.”

“I
couldn’t
let you!”

He struggled to rise, just managing to right himself and plant his feet on the floor, ignoring the shaft of pain that pierced his shoulder. Pain be damned—he would rather bleed to death than lose her this way.

“After Aislingh, I could never believe that happiness was supposed to be mine, that love was supposed to be mine. I knew naught but guilt and betrayal and darkness. I didn’t believe, couldn’t believe you could love me. I didn’t think I deserved it. I know I don’t deserve you.”

“Conor…”

He plunged ahead. He had nothing left to lose. “Do you know where I would be without you? Do you?”

“Yes!” Her voice cracked. “You wouldn’t have a hole just above your heart. You’d have your life, your health. You’d be happy!”

“I’d be alive. But what is health without a heart? What is life without someone to share it with?”

“You will have someone. You will have your son. He is what you desire most.”

“And what do you desire most?”

“It matters not.” She turned her face to the door, resting her forehead against the dark wood. The mantle slipped down her back, revealing her hair. The spiky ends had been evened out but did not even brush her shoulders. He would always blame himself for that.

“What do you desire most, Erika?” he asked again, his voice hoarse with persistence. “A place to call home? Done. To have the adoration and respect of our people? Done and done.”

He rose to his feet, his back flat against the wall to maintain his balance. His good hand stretched towards her, willing every ounce of emotion and love he possessed into his gaze. “My body, heart and soul forever linked to yours? Done and done and done.”

She looked at him, her beautiful violet eyes blurred with tears. For the first time, Conor saw a flicker of hope, and it gave him strength to say, finally, what needed to be said.

“I have loved you long, lady wife. From the beginning I loved your bravery, your devotion and your strength. When you rescued me from myself, I became yours. I knew in my mind that you were blameless when Brochadh put the accusation to you. Yet in my heart, where I love you most mad, in my heart, I am a jealous fool.”

“Conor.” His name broke from her on a huge sob.

“I’ll not let you go, Erika.” The conviction of his words circled the chamber. “If you leave I will follow, to the ends of the earth if needs be, and I’ll bring you home. Once I captured your body, but you have captured my heart.”

“Conor, please—”

“Oh, but I wish to,” he breathed, not bothering to dash away evidence of his own weeping. “I have much to atone for. When I heard you declare to Ronan that I would not come for you, I near died inside. Magda did her work well, but if I had but dared to believe what I felt, what I knew—if I had let go of the past long before now, her words would not have had the power they did.

“Forgive me, wife. Allow me to spend the rest of my life finding ways to make you love me again, to make you laugh again. I’ll start by telling you that I will love you beyond my last breath. Do you believe me?”

“Conor.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Conor.”

When naught but tears answered him, he said, “You have besmirched my honor. I demand satisfaction.”

Surprise dragged her tears to a halt. “Are you challenging me to a duel?”

“I am.”

She gestured the length of him. “Are you mad? You are in no condition to fight a duel!”