The Prize Read Free Page B

of Adare." He tossed the brandy, snifter and all, onto the
ground, obviously annoyed.
    "Shall we close
the gates, sir?"
    "Unfortunately
the man is well acquainted with Lord Castlereagh, and he has held a seat on the
Irish Privy Council. He was at a dinner of state, I heard, with Comwallis. If I
close the gates, there will be bloody hell to pay." Hughes scowled now,
and red blotches had appeared on his neck above the black-and-gold collar of
his red military jacket.
    Devlin tried to
contain his excitement. Edward de Warenne, the Earl of Adare, was their
landlord. And although Gerald had leased his own ancestral lands from Adare,
the two men were, in fact, far more than lord and tenant. At times, they had
attended the same country suppers and balls, the same fox hunts and
steeplechases. Adare had dined a dozen times at the manor at Askeaton. Unlike
other landlords, he had been fair in his dealings with the O'Neill family,
never rack-renting them, never demanding more than his share.
    Devlin realized that
he and Sean were holding hands. He watched breathlessly as the earl and his men
cantered toward the captain's tent. They never slowed and soldiers ran to get
out of their way. Finally, abruptly, the riders halted before Hughes and his
men. Instantly a dozen redcoats armed with muskets formed a circle around the
newcomers.
    The earl spurred his
black mount forward. He was tall and dark, his appearance distinct and
formidable, his presence emanating power and authority. But his face was a mask
of
    rage. "Where is
Mary O'Neill?" he demanded tersely. A navy-blue cloak swirled about his
shoulders.
    Hughes smiled
tightly. "I take it you've heard of O'Neill's untimely demise?"
    "Untimely
demise?" The Earl of Adare launched himself to the ground and strode
forward. "Murder is more like it. You've murdered one of my tenants,
Hughes."
    "So now you are
a papist? He was fated for the gallows, Adare, and you know it."
    Adare stared,
trembling with fury, and finally he breathed low. "You bastard. There was
always the chance of exile and a royal pardon. I would have moved heaven and
earth to make it so. You arrogant son of a bitch." His hand moved to the
hilt of his sword.
    Hughes shrugged
indifferently. "As I said, a papist and a Jacobin. These are dangerous
times, my friend. Even Lord Castlereagh would not want to be associated with a
Jacobin."
    For a moment, Adare
did not speak, clearly fighting for self-control. "I want the woman. Where
is she?"
    Hughes hesitated, his
jaw flexing, more red color blotching his features.
    "Do not make me
do something I dearly wish to do— which is choke the very life out of
you," Adare said coldly.
    "Fine. An Irish
bitch hardly enthralls me. They're a dozen a penny."
    Devlin was so stunned
by the gross insult that he reeled. He would have rushed forward to kill
Hughes, but he didn't have to. Adare strode the brief distance separating him
from Hughes and shoved his face up against the captain's. "Do not
underestimate the power of Adare. I suggest you cease with any further slanders
before you find yourself in command of redskins in Upper Canada. I dine with
Cornwallis on the fifteenth, and there is nothing I would prefer to do than
whisper some very unpleasant facts in his ears. Do you understand me,
Captain?"
    Hughes couldn't
speak. His face had turned crimson.
    Adare released him.
He strode into the tent, his dark cloak billowing about him.
    Devlin exchanged
glances with Sean—and then he ran past the red-faced Hughes with his brother in
hand and into the tent behind the earl. Instantly he saw his mother sitting in
a small chair and he knew at once that she had been weeping.
    "Mary!" the
earl cried, halting in his tracks. "Are you all right?"
    Mary stood, her blue
eyes wide, her blond curls in disarray. Their gazes locked. "I thought
you would come," she said unevenly.
    Adare hurried
forward, gripping her shoulders, his dark blue eyes wide. "Are you hurt?"
he asked more softly.
    It was a moment
before she