Chapter Four:
AN: After I finished my last chapter I was fairly certain that it was okay. But it seems like I’m confusing everyone… For that I apologise. The two main characters which everyone seems to be puzzling about are Drusilla and Doyle and thank you all for your comments. I appreciate them so very very much. I thought I might as well address a little bit of it here. I’ll get to the reviews tomorrow if that’s okay.
The way I write is pretty confusing to be honest. I hadn’t included the last section about Doyle for review so I’ll try to make sure that its clearer from now on. With me, details about the characters tend to leak out and that is why Drusilla is like a ghost wafting around in the background. The issues with her general craziness will eventually be gotten to within the story. I have remembered that such actions as described would be committed to a nunnery and it is my intention to stay true to that. The reason why she was allowed to act like that in England was mainly due to her uncle, the King, who through various maneuverings and such, kept her from being locked away… I can’t really justify where I’m going with this unless I reveal the plot. I’m really looking forward though to everyone’s reactions concerning Doyle… the reason he works for the Normans even though he loathes them, his twisted logic. I’ve let the cat out of the bag with this chapter in hopes to make it easier for everyone, but I haven’t revealed everything. Just trust where I am going with them and if it keeps looking like a murky puddle of mud rather than clear water, then please tell me.
As to Drusilla’s relationship with William… ah bugger it. I’ll spell it out in the next few chapters.
Thank you all for your continuing support, especially Jolynn.
Gaelic phrases: cailin: girl
His footsteps echoed into the main chamber, two soldiers looking up from their posts to nod respectfully. Even with the Earl of Kilkenny sitting down at the table just five feet from them, they still made an attempt to acknowledge him.
Doyle wondered whether Butler had noticed.
The table jutted across the room like the deck of a boat, wide and solid. Butler sat at the far end, dishes of various meals heaped before him in gross decadence. His black hair was tied neatly at the back of his nape, giving him the regal appearance that the Earl so obviously desired. As one hand, cuffed in fine white cloth, reached again for the ale, Doyle coughed politely.
“You asked for me, Master?”
Butler’s eyes crinkled, the crow’s feet imprinting deeper into his skin. “Aye, indeed I did.” Butler focused his attention on the only other person which sat, pride suffusing his cheeks. “This here is Allen Doyle, my captain and finest soldier in Kilkenny.”
“That’s a fine boast to make, Robert… But have you any proof?” William toyed with the hem of his cloak, not bothering to glance at the older man. Already he was bored, and the old sod had just begun to eat. Irish hospitality… William turned in his chair, one booted foot brazenly leaning against the table, as his sword rattled. “I mean what proof have you, that he’s loyal? He certainly looks Irish from over here.”
Butler spluttered, unable to answer as embarrassment and anger burned his cheeks. How dare he? In my castle! My home!
William watched in amusement. The whole thing was going perfectly. “Robert?” he asked. “Your face is redder than the blood of a virgin. Whatever is the matter?” William rose from his chair, one foot kicking dishes and ale to the floor. His face, so calm before now boasted a horrifying smirk of satisfaction as he regarded the Norman. Any attempt to look concerned was lost. “Bloody hell, Robert, are you alright?”
Butler stumbled to his feet, pushing back his meal in fury. “Alright? How can I be anywhere near alright when you insult me in my castle? You arrogant, selfish –“
“I’d stop right there if I was you, Robert. Treason can be such an ugly word.”
“No one would stand for this! I opened my home to you and you dare to question the valor of one of my most trusted men.”
“Only because you are too stupid to do so yourself!” retorted William. “His loyalty could never belong to you rightfully.” William strode forward until his eyes met unflinching orbs of brown, knowing he could use it to his advantage. The hatred which burned in them was too familiar for William to suspect a normal dislike of the Earl. This man had lost someone close. Probably a bleeding woman. “You isolated him from the common people so he can never return and in the same breath stole what he treasured most.”
William clapped like a king did for the resident fool. “You really know how to inspire loyalty don’t you old boy?”
William’s words were like a knife. “You mean the girl?” Butler asked. His heart began to beat faster as he remembered the shrill cries. Surely the fool can not hold that against me. “She was only a peasant!”
William’s wan smile never met his eyes. “And he was only a man.”
The idiotic expressions of the soldiers drew him in. Might as well embellish a little. Remind the poor sod of what happened.
“I suspect” said William, addressing the chamber, “that you told him she would be returned unharmed. But then we must remember that women are fragile creatures. They can’t handle pain like us.”
His hands moved as he talked, irony and sarcasm causing a collective flinch in the chamber. Such business as this was best kept between the royal and rich. A chambermaid slid into the background as William surveyed them with distaste.
“And you” his voice carried in the room like a god, as Doyle once more became the focus of his attention, “you would have believed him; perhaps even sworn an oath of fealty in return for her protection.” The shock in the smaller man’s eyes was enough to inform William that his tale was on track. “But it didn’t work out quite as planned, did it? Bird was too full of shame or some such rot. Ran off on you without a backwards glance… And he’s the one to blame for it all.”
Doyle let his eyes fall to the floor, tracing the patterns of dust even as William stepped closer. The man was as insidious as a viper, letting him feel the sword of revenge but not wield it.
“No.”
“No?” A laugh erupted from the Lord’s lips as he stepped back.
“No” repeated Doyle, quietly. “She didn’t run off into the eaves…” His voice halted, unable to continue for a moment as the chamber fell into silence. The ground remained his focus, as the burning looks of pity settled on his shoulders.
William nodded silently. Perfect.
The Earl, still trapped in a state of shock, gaped at Doyle. What had just happened? He was EARL here! Outrage flooded his veins as he pointed at William. “Lock up this man. I have no wish to see anything but his bones.”
Doyle sighed, the sudden gaze of at least twenty soldiers looking to him for guidance. He’d known from the second Cormac uttered the name of Lord Denver that it would come to this. One finger traced the hilt of his blade, imagining the metaphorical offering of the blonde Lord. His slight frame remained strong as he bowed towards William in supplication.
”My Lord,” he uttered.
Butler roared in rage, beautiful garments becoming torn as he struggled in the soldiers’ grips. Resolutely, they began to drag him away like a common peasant, no one uttering a whisper of protest.
His last backward glance froze his heart with horror. William’s smile of satisfaction was like that of the devil’s.
***
The horse’s muscles moved underneath him flawlessly, it’s very body acting like another limb. With each motion, they became one. William breathed out into the afternoon air, a laugh breaking free as he considered the day’s events.
After ousting Robert from his sodding high horse, it had been easy to command the men. All of them followed the Doyle character like children, forgetting themselves in an effort to please him. It would have annoyed William more, if not for his confidence. Doyle had been like a man doomed to execution. Waiting desperately for someone to open the trapdoor and let him fall. Up until his arrival, William imagined Doyle’s activities consisting of a soldier’s duty and lots of brooding. Now that he knew the root of the poor blighter’s hatred, there would be no problem controlling him. It wasn’t like Doyle could lead an uprising anyway. His own people would never accept him back. The Irish could kill each other over a pint, but their hatred of the British was universal.
No, he thought with finality, there would be no problems with Doyle’s loyalty. The man had nothing now except for William’s promise of retribution.
And what a promise it would be. Another whoop of delight sounded unabashedly as his heels dug further into the horse’s flanks.
The protest of the earth could be heard in each clod of dirt which flew from the beast’s hooves. William cast a glance back, delighted in the trampled path his mount had carved. The cloak had been dispensed as soon as he entered the stable. Wind now flew through his clothes, unfettered and wild.
His eyes moved to a field just out of reach and urged the stallion again. The muscles bunched beneath his saddle as the horse began to gallop up the slope, it’s harsh breaths lost in the rushing air. William leaned down into it’s neck, closing his eyes, and feeling for a moment blessedly free.
And then everything stopped.
Jerking its thundering legs to a halt, the stallion reared high into the air, William clinging to the beast’s neck. His legs tightened instantly around the stallion’s frame, anger slowly filtering in as impassioned neighs ripped through the air. When finally the stallion’s front legs met the ground, William immediately stared down at the intrusion, which had nearly gotten him thrown.
“What are you doing in my field?”
Buffy gasped, hands not caring if they tore up the ground as she crawled desperately away from the man. I knew it! I knew I was going to get caught! Her mind never even stopped to ponder exactly who the man was above her. It was not her place.
“I asked you a question.” William growled. The adrenalin continued to rush through his veins even as the girl kept her head to the ground. He readied himself in case the chit was foolish enough to flee.
Bloody, sodding women… Can’t do a bleeding thing without them getting in the way.
It never occurred to William that the girl, so obviously traumatized, could have been minding her own business. Cold, arrogant logic required that she was in the wrong. Tightening his jaw, William swung himself off the saddle and onto the ground. His hand easily took hold of the reins as he once more surveyed the field.
Flowers littered the ground, bruised stalks remaining where his mount had not managed to not completely decimate. From the green stain on the girl’s hands, she’d obviously been enjoying them.
Another lazy peasant. What a surprise.
He waited for her to answer, but obviously it was no use. Fear had rendered the chit speechless.
Searching his mind for some form of Gaelic, he tried a different approach. He might as well investigate the locals whilst he was here. Why not start with her?
Softening his voice, William took a step towards her. “Cailin” he said, success flashing in his eyes at the small nod, “Cailin come here.”
Curiosity over her appearance welled in him as he considered the repercussions for being caught here. If she was a peasant then she would have to be an incredibly stupid one.
Surely flowers were not worth such a beating?
Buffy rose to her feet, her head remaining down as she walked back towards the cold man. He was obviously a royal or rich, his clothes so well made that Buffy itched to touch the fabric. She’d never seen anything so fine or beautiful. Her foot caught in the ravaged earth and she stumbled.
Strong, rigid arms broke her fall.
“Well let’s have a look at you then.” William tilted her face till it was level with his own, a grimace surfacing at the amount of dirt. He’d never taken a serf to bed, disgusted by their appearance. Now he had personal experience with them. Being so close to this girl, the smell was overwhelming. William quickly released her, allowing the girl to stand on her own.
A sigh of relief echoed out of her mouth before she could suppress it.
“I wouldn’t be so thankful if I were you” admonished William. “Just because you stink doesn’t mean that I won’t punish you for trespassing.” He watched her shoulders slump, dirty blonde hair brushing the edges. Part of him settled to wait for the begging but she remained silent. How odd.
William stepped closer again, a responding flinch telling him all that he needed to know. This girl had heard too many threats already. It was touch that affected her. His hand caressed her cheek, dirt painting it as he looked at her more closely.
Her nose was akin to a button, too short for the rest of her face. Her lips seemed thin in the afternoon light, pressed thin from terror or anxiety. His thumb brushed across them only to receive a shiver. Beaten into submission. William curled his fingers into her hair, marveling at it’s colour.
“What is your name?”
Startled, her lips parted for an instant in confusion. “My Lord?” she asked. Why on earth does he want to know that?
“Your name?” William pressed. His hand tightened, wrenching her head back as his temper took hold. Even her innocent query was a question of his authority.
Hazel green eyes welled with tears as she stuttered out: “Buffy.”
William laughed, genuine amusement flowing through him. “Who” he gasped, “gave you that awful sodding name?”
“My mother” she replied.
The lord stiffened, mirth lost as he again tightened his hold. “Surely not, Irish pigs haven’t gone that far yet. What is your real name?”
Buffy wrenched her head back, “Elizabeth” she bit out.
Understanding dawned. “You’re of Norman line. Some half breed Irish bint made to be like the other peasants.” William shoved her to the ground. On her knees her odd beauty became apparent, the oval face, marred by dirt reminding him of a fallen angel. He stared at the gold strands still caught between his fingers. Feisty little chit.
“We're alone here you know. I could do anything I wanted to you. And not only would you enjoy it, but you would never say a word in protest." His sigh broke the threat, lessening its potency. "That would be the fitting thing no doubt. You've been hit for less.”
Plus you’ve obviously got no more sense than that bleeding horse" William muttered. "And not much hope besides... I’m guessing that if anyone were to find out that you were here…”
A shudder was enough to alert him to the consequences.
“That’s what I thought” he muttered. “But it isn’t my problem.” His fist curled as he raised his hand to swing. If he caught her in the field again then he would make good on his threat.
But not today.
He idly wondered whether her husband would take pity on her and consider the beating enough.
The dead look on Buffy’s face told him another story.
“My LORD!”
William halted as yet another Irish peasant ran into view. Does no one have respect for my authority?
“What do you want?”
Liam fell to his knees, forehead pressed against the wet dirt as he began to plead. “My Lord Denver, please forgive this insolent girl’s actions. She is stupid and doesn’t deserve any of the good King’s blessings. If you wish it, she shall be punished most severely and brought to the castle as evidence of her contrition.” Liam raised his face to peer at imperiously cold blue eyes. This has to work. “I myself shall be beaten for it is my fault she was allowed to wander.”
William tilted his head, puzzlement showing as he regarded this newest idiot. Butler had obviously been lax. Why am I not surprised?
“And how is she your business?”
Liam mumbled his answer into the dirt. “She is my betrothed.”
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