“When he would not answer, I went on my knees,” said my dear, bravely, looking at me, “and reminding him of what I had done for him when he lay wounded, and of what Grace O’Malley had done both for him and de Vilela, besought him to have some pity on me, a woman.”
“Go on, go on!” said I hoarsely.
“He was so far moved,” said Eva, “as to tell me that my mistress was well, and that no hurt would be done me. Not that I thought about myself. I saw him again once or twice, and besought him to find some means by which I might communicate with Grace O’Malley, but he said that was impossible. Then I implored him to set me free, but that, too, he said was not in his power.”
Eva stopped speaking; then she began again, her voice strangely soft and tender.
“I saw you, Ruari, carried up the stairs two days ago—bound, bleeding, almost dead as it seemed, and Fitzgerald was along with the men who bore you in their arms. Later that evening I saw him, and anxiously asked what had occurred. I now perceived that he was unhappy, like one burdened with remorse.
“Then he said that you had come to the castle unexpectedly, and that, while it was deemed necessary to make you a prisoner, no violence had been intended towards you. He declared that he would give all the world if only it would put our affairs right again; indeed, he was like one gone clean mad with trouble, exclaiming that he was the cause of all our woes!”
“The cause of all our woes!” cried I.
“You remember Mistress Sabina Lynch, Ruari,” said Eva. “She it was, said he, who had told the President of Munster to demand Grace O’Malley as a pledge from Desmond of his loyalty to the Queen, and it was through him—for he loves this woman—that she knew our mistress was at Askeaton, though he had never meant to betray her.”
Verily, as I said before, if I failed in my duty when I suffered Sabina Lynch to live, I was grievously punished for it.