Lady of Conquest (19 page)

“Spectacular,” Nimbus hissed in his ear before clambering off the dais and vanishing in the crowd. Conn felt very alone as he watched the scene below him.

Gelina spun around the room with Sean, all of her attention focused on forcing her long, narrow feet into the petite steps of the dance. Her overt concentration and studied smile was wasted on Sean, who glowed with excitement and talked incessantly.

“Who would have thought it was Barron? He and I grew up together. We’ve played together since we were wee babes. I suppose that’s why he ensured I would be left behind when those ships sailed from Erin.” He shook his head in amazement. “How can you know the depths to which a person can sink? He dropped hints about Eoghan Mogh, said he admired his strategy, but I never guessed his intentions were so deadly.”

Gelina heard enough of his speech to interject, “If one of you had listened to Nimbus—” before Sean interrupted her.

“Conn himself had no inkling. And he is a shrewd judge of character. At least he came home in time to avert a catastrophe.”

At the mention of Conn’s name Gelina glanced at the dais to find the throne empty. From the corner of her eye she saw a door at the side of the hall slowly close. Pushing away from Sean, she mumbled an apology and ducked through the dancers. She opened the door and peered into the room. Conn sat at the window, staring into the misty midnight.

She stepped into the room and closed the door, dulling the music to a delicate echo. Conn held something in his hands, turning it over and over. Reaching out her hand, she gently took it from him and found herself holding the precisely carved figure of the white queen from the chess set that still rested in the corner as they had left it the last time they played.

“I dreamed about you once,” he said softly without looking at her. “I dreamed you were in this room waiting for me.”

She sat down on the wide windowsill, her back against the wooden siding. Laughing softly, she said, “I probably was. I came here often.”

“I am sorry if I hurt you out there.” He looked at her, his eyes unguarded. “I forget you are a big girl now and I mustn’t banter with you like I used to.”

“If you didn’t tease me, I’d be devastated. I guess I’ve become too used to the ways of the ladies of the court. ‘Tis essential that you bounce off at least once a night with an offended pout,” she told him sheepishly.

“And do you try to do everything the ladies at court do?” He looked momentarily alarmed.

She quickly reassured him, “Oh, no! Not everything.” Conn breathed a sigh of relief as she continued, “I refuse to drop my gloves just so some bumbling idiot can scoop them up. And I still ride bareback.”

Laughing loudly, Conn asked, “How is Bluebell?”

She quickly recovered from the baffled look that flashed across her face. “The mare you left me to ride? Gentle as a kitten. I ride her often.”

“I cannot wait for a jaunt on Silent Thunder. I hope the stable boy exercised him well.”

Clearing her throat, she replied, “Every time I’ve seen Silent Thunder, the horse has looked in prime condition.”

“I brought your present.”

Her eyes widened in delight. “Under the circumstances, I assumed you had forgotten.”

“As much as you annoyed me about that damned red, gold, and green dress? I didn’t dare return without it. Why do you think I went to Rome? It was all a ploy to attain the infernal garment. I had a maidservant leave it in your chamber.”

Gelina’s smile faded as she remembered the note that had been left in her chamber earlier. The confusion she had felt then seemed years away instead of only hours. Conn studied her face, mystified by the abrupt change in her demeanor.

“Gelina, does something trouble you?”

Quickly recalling her smile, she answered, “Nothing at all. I was thinking how badly the evening was going until your return.” She made a rapid decision not to tell Conn about the message, determined that nothing would spoil his homecoming.

The plaintive strains of a flute floated in from the great hall, and Conn cocked his head to listen. He met Gelina’s grin with one of his own, and they both recalled a warm spring day, cheese melting in the sun and the sweet taste of mead on their tongues.

She stood and curtsied, offering her arm to him. He faced her for a moment, an unfamiliar sensation of longing dancing through his body. Then he took her arm and led her to the door. Opening the door with one hand, he put his other arm around her and they danced into the crowd as if they had never left.

It was impossible for them to be as inconspicuous as they thought they were. Gelina was almost tall enough to look him in the eye and moved with the athletic grace of a young lioness. They spun faster and faster. She threw back her head, laughing out loud.

Standing by the tables, Sheela watched with open mouth, allowing the goblet of mead she held to dribble down the front of her silk dress. In the entrance-way to the kitchen Cook nudged a young serving girl and pointed to the king and his partner, smiling broadly. Sean paused in the dance to watch. A nagging sensation pricked the back of his neck, and he remembered a young girl in men’s clothing slammed against a wall in the weaponry room, the breath knocked from her lungs. Frowning, he continued in the dance, dismissing the memory and its implications from his mind.

“The gods be cursed! ‘Tis just like that bastard to come crawling out of the grave to destroy our plans.” Eoghan Mogh sat in the saddle on his nervously prancing horse, staring into the fog, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

The rider who had brought him the news sat stoically on his mount, wondering if he was going to be run through for his trouble.

“I am beginning to think he is immortal myself. Perhaps he is one of those gods you are cursing.” The cloaked figure perched on the third horse shook his head in disgust.

“He may be a god but he will not be Ard-Righ of Erin when this year is out. Do you know what must be done?” Eoghan studied the dark-haired figure, hands clenching the reins.

A roguish grin spread across the sharp features of the cloaked man. “I know. And I am ready. I’ve been ready.”

Remembering the silent messenger who watched them, Eoghan shook a handful of gold pieces out of a linen bag and tossed them to him. Without another word the rider disappeared into the fog toward Tara.

Eoghan Mogh bit his lip, deep in thought. “We must have her.”

“Oh, we will have her. You need her. I need her. We’ll have her. I promise you that much.”

The look in his companion’s dark eyes troubled Eoghan. It was as if a dark abyss lurked just below the surface of those eyes.

He forgot the sensation as quickly as it had come when the man laughed out loud and said, “I can just picture the look on that sniveling Ó Caflin’s face when Conn walked into the hall.”

Eoghan shook his head. “He certainly didn’t turn out to be of much use to us, did he?”

“We’ll do better next time.”

“I hope you’re right.” Eoghan shivered. “We’d better flee this dampness if there’s going to be a next time.”

He spurred his horse into motion, heading south. His companion stared in the direction of Tara with eyes narrowed. A slow grin traveled across his face, and he laughed out loud as he kicked his mount and followed Eoghan Mogh into the mist, galloping hard.

Nimbus sat on the hearth in the kitchen with legs crossed and lips clamped together.

“Laugh if you must, Nimbus. I want your honest opinion.” Gelina stood in front of him with hands on hips, modeling the dress Conn had brought from across the sea.

His face became instantly serious. “ ‘Tis just different, Gelina. ’Tis lovely on ye.”

“I have to admit I feel silly. ‘Tis like running about in my shift.”

“Does it have a name?” Nimbus asked.

“Conn says it is called a tiga.”

She stared down at her body, trying to gauge the effect of the straight, flowing silk gathered over one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder bare. The gauzy fabric circled her waist unevenly, dropping to the floor in a line marred only by a single slit which revealed a glimpse of shapely calf when she walked. True to his word, Conn had ordered the dress fashioned from green silk with a red and gold satin border.

Nodding, Gelina said, “I think I like it.”

“Try liking it elsewhere. Cook and I have a meal to prepare.” Moira interrupted Gelina’s self-perusal as she bustled past with a large vat filled with steaming stew.

Nimbus scampered off the hearth. “Come, Gelina. Let us go where we are wanted.”

“Good luck finding such a place for yerself, runt,” Cook called after him.

As he passed by the table, he stealthily knocked a dozen plum tarts into his pocket. Gelina followed, waiting until they were outside the kitchen to scoop a hot tart from his pocket and shove it into her mouth.

“Where is Conn this morning?” she asked.

“He’s been shut up all morning in the study with Mer-Nod. I think they speak of politics,” he answered, struggling to speak through a mouthful of juice and berries.

She sighed. “How dull. I wanted to show him the dress.”

Gesturing to the figure that strolled toward them, Nimbus said, “There walks yer chance for a second opinion.”

Gelina snorted as she recognized the bouncing spiral curls.

Sheela said, “What sort of garment are you wearing, Gelina? ‘Tis ghastly.”

Smiling wanly, Gelina grabbed Nimbus’s balled fist to stop him from punching Sheela in the nearest area he could reach, which would have been quite awkward. “ ‘Tis called a tiga. It came from Rome.”

Sheela’s face paled as Gelina had anticipated. “I suppose ‘twas a gift from Conn. He is a generous man, even to orphans with whom he is burdened.” Her tongue traveled over her ruby lips in a consciously catlike gesture.

“He is a generous man. His kindness to elderly widows is unsurpassed. What did he bring you?”

With eyes narrowed, Sheela replied, “He brought me himself. What better gift could there be?” With a final withering examination of Gelina’s attire, she gathered her skirts and flounced down the hall.

Gelina remained staring after her. “What does he see in her, Nimbus? She and three of her cronies put together wouldn’t make one human being.”

Nimbus shrugged. “Perhaps beneath the sheets a man does not seek a human being.”

“Then let him get a sheep,” she said crossly. “I’ve made one decision anyway. I don’t like the dress.”

“No?”

“I love it.” She scooped another tart from his pocket and flipped it into her mouth, head held high.

The day came and went with Conn still closeted with Mer-Nod and other chosen soldiers. Only one decision leaked from beneath that barred door. Barron Ó Caflin’s execution had been postponed another day. No head would roll in the courtyard that evening.

Gelina left the great hall late that night and ambled to her bedchamber with restless feet. The mirror captured her reflection as she entered the room, and she made a terrible face, laughing at her own foolishness. She ran one hand down the slender column of her throat, wondering pensively what another’s hand would feel like in its place, then ran to the window.

The full moon hung bloated in the sky. The wind had whipped away the mist of yesterday, and now it tossed the high grasses of the moor, battering them with its fury. A cloud darted across the face of the moon, masking its brilliance for an instant before being blown onward to blight the stars that braved the windy sky. The night looked as restless as she felt. With a heavy sigh she picked up a vial of sandalwood perched on her chest and dabbed the scent on her wrists and throat.

A wicked grin lit her face. Striding to the screen, she reached into the farthest recesses and pulled out her breeches and shirt. She dressed quickly, pulled a jaunty cap over pinned curls, and stuck out a defiant jaw to rub the last of the rouge from her lightly freckled cheeks.

She slipped out the second-story window on a rope kept handy for nights such as these, leaping the last five feet to the ground. The winds were warm, boding spring. Excitement built within her; her heart raced in time with the wind.

She ran to the stable, shivering with anticipation. The dim-witted stable boy was nowhere to be found. Silent Thunder whinnied a greeting as she stepped into his stall. She blew gently into his nose to quieten him.

“Sorry, boy. No apple for you tonight. I did not dare sneak into the kitchen,” she murmured, leading him out of the stable by a single rope draped around his sleek neck. The huge stallion followed her docilely.

She mounted him bareback by retreating several feet and running until she gained enough momentum to vault upon his back. It took two tries but the horse did not twitch a muscle. Holding tightly to the rope, she kicked him into a gallop.

The landscape was lit as if by daylight with the brightness of the moon. The wind whistled past them until the horse seemed to capture it and surpass it. Timeless silence surrounded them. She bent low, clinging to the sinewy body of Silent Thunder until she herself felt part of the powerful rhythm that propelled the horse into the night. They flew over the moors, the horse’s hooves barely touching the tall grass. Gelina opened her mouth in a soundless yell of sheer joy as they galloped into the rolling hills. She guided the horse in a wide circle and they thundered back toward Tara.