Lady of Conquest (25 page)

She sat inside the tent one sultry day mapping their path for the week before they would arrive at Tara. The tent felt airless and the ink kept running off the page onto her breeches.

“Hey, Ó Monaghan. I’ve brought ye something.” A man poked his head into the tent.

She cursed as the pen slipped for the thousandth time. “Sorry, Martin. I am having a bit of a time here. What is it?”

She’d become rather fond of the toothless soldier after he had discouraged the other men from assaulting her, discovering he wasn’t quite the ogre she had imagined.

“A man left this for ye and then rode away. Said it was to be delivered to you in person.” He handed her a small burlap bag tightly cinched at the top.

“What man? What did he look like?”

She struggled with the strings, finally jerking open the bag and pouring its contents into her lap. Three golden apples spilled out.

Martin shrugged. “He was riding a jackass. He was a dwarf.”

“Are you daft? Can’t you understand?” Gelina grabbed Rodney by the jacket and shook him violently.

“I understand that you’re hysterical.” He firmly removed her hands from his lapel. “For Behl’s sake, Lina, quit screeching and get control of yourself.”

Sighing in disgust, she paced back and forth in the narrow confines of the tent. “Conn knows, Rodney. He knows where I am. He’s coming after me.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Lina. We’re going after him. He’s not interested in you. If he’s after anyone, it will be Eoghan Mogh, the man who almost killed him a few months ago.” Rodney threw himself into a small carved chair and propped his feet up on the table. “He’s probably forgotten you already.”

Gelina shook her head, her voice deepening with fear. “You are the one who’s wrong. Eoghan has always been his enemy. I am the one who betrayed him. He told me he would kill me if I ever betrayed him. He is a man of his word.”

Rodney snorted. “You should be the last one to believe that.”

“If he finds me, I’m dead, Rodney. You’ve got to help me.”

Gelina stood with her palms turned upward in a plea, the baggy pants she wore emphasizing her vulnerability. Rodney rose and led her to the chair, sitting her down with firm pressure on her shoulders. He knelt at her feet.

“If you and this jester were friends, isn’t there a chance his contact could mean something good? Perhaps he wants to join us. If you’ll look outside, Princess, you'll see that we are surrounded by people night and day. Even if Conn was after you, he couldn’t possibly reach you. Right?”

“Wrong. If Conn wants me badly enough, he'll find a way to get to me. And Nimbus would never betray Conn.”

“Surely some little fool wouldn’t harbor that kind of loyalty to a king. You overestimate the dwarf,” Rodney said with contempt.

“And you underestimate Conn.” She shielded her face from him, covering her eyes with her hand. “What kind of man was our father, Rodney?” she asked, stealing a surreptitious glance through her fingers.

“Rory Ó Monaghan was a good man. He was a fine warrior, and he fought for the noble Conn in many a battle. Don’t you remember the stories he used to tell us?” Glaring at her, he stood and poured himself a mug of ale. His hands shook.

“You are certain he was a good man?”

Slamming the earthenware mug down on the table with enough force to shatter it, he turned on her. “Of course I’m certain. I suppose you’re prepared to believe something that bastard told you instead of what your own brother tells you!”

“Your hand is bleeding,” she said quietly.

She rose and took his hand. A single shard of pottery protruded from his palm. She worked it out with gentle fingers, then wrapped his hand in a makeshift bandage torn from her jerkin.

He stroked her hair with his free hand. “I won’t let him hurt you, Lina. I’ll never let him hurt you again.”

Her eyes met his unflinchingly. “I hope you mean that. Because he’s coming after me.”

“No. On Midsummer’s Eve we are going after him.”

Light billowed out from the fortress in shimmering waves. The gates had been flung open, and torches blazed from every portal and window. The Midsummer’s Eve of Tara beckoned them with its glow. Gelina sat astride Silent Thunder, her lower lip caught between her teeth. She pulled her misty eyes away from the familiar walls with effort, lifting them to the starry sky. The warm winds blew across them, clearing them to brightness and teasing the tendrils of hair at her temples with a whisper of force. She remembered another warm and windy summer night, loving hands on her shoulders, gentle thumbs tracing her collarbone, unwitting lips plundering her mouth and her heart for the first time in a kiss that might as well have been a kiss farewell. A deep sadness gripped her as she reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled forth the golden apple that had found its way there.

Rodney shifted on his horse, biting back the words he longed to say. Setting her lips in a grim line, Gelina shoved the toy deep in her pocket. Her other hand pushed back her cloak to find the sword hilt at her waist. Silent Thunder pranced nervously as she drew back the reins.

Exchanging a dark glance with Rodney, she spurred the horse forward. Three men followed them, the black cloaks they wore flapping behind them like giant birds of prey as they thundered down the hill. They left behind over two thousand men who awaited the flash of their signal torch in the darkness of the night.

Slowing the horses to a walk, they plodded through the gate. Gelina sensed Rodney’s presence at her left flank and felt the mantle of leadership settle on her shoulders. She knew the inside of the fortress, and it was she they would follow. She gestured sharply for Rodney to move forward. His eyes darted over the deserted courtyard.

They dismounted, tossing the reins over posts without tying them. Gelina hissed orders to the three men, and they disappeared around a corner. Running a shaking hand through her hair, she pulled Rodney along until they reached the wooden door hidden behind a sweeping curtain of ivy. She pushed the ivy aside; the door creaked open. They ducked into the darkness of the passageway.

A sliver of light at the end of the corridor drew them forward. They crept toward the light, Gelina in the lead, the wall at their backs. The door to the weaponry room lay before them. Gelina shook her head to find the door slightly ajar. Rodney frowned, unsure of her hesitation. With a trembling hand, she pushed the heavy door open, widening the circle of light in the dim corridor.

Her eyes widened. The torches in their iron brackets shone on black and empty walls.

She took a step backward, her mouth a circle of dread. “‘Tis a trap,” she hissed. Rodney stared at her without comprehension and found himself shoved down the hall, her desperate hands driving him forward. “Flee!”

They stumbled down the corridor to the door they had entered, only to find it latched from the outside. Gelina rubbed her hands raw against it, slivers of wood tearing her palms. It would not budge. She turned to lean breathlessly against it.

Her words tumbled over one another, the fear in her voice palpable. “There was no noise, Rodney! I should have known! There was no laughter, no music, only that cursed light! We’ve got to find the others and get them out of here.”

Rodney stood mesmerized in front of her. She shoved him. They flew through the mazelike corridors toward the center of the fortress as fast as their shaking legs would carry them. With their hands on their weapons, they stumbled into the great hall.

A thousand tallow candles lit the deserted hall. In the distance Gelina heard the sound of battle. Swords clashed in the night. Rodney froze beside her, hearing the cries of men and thundering horses at the same moment. The nightmarish din grew nearer by the second.

“Follow that corridor, Rodney. I sent the men in through the tower. Find them. I’ll meet you outside with the horses.”

Obeying her without question, he disappeared, and Gelina found herself alone in the great hall. The eerie sound of battle echoed through the hall like the memory of a conflict fought long ago. Shivering, she drew her sword and started down a narrow corridor. The tramp of heavy footsteps down the stairs at the end of the corridor froze her in her tracks. Her frantic hands found the protruding panel on the wall. Drawing in a deep breath, she ducked into the secret tunnel. A flickering torch set midway on the wall cast long, wavering shadows over her path.

Gelina ran toward the torch, the sword a cold comfort held rigidly in front of her. The dank air filled her nostrils. She rounded the corner, then backed up just as rapidly.

Conn stalked her, his eyes blue fire as he forced her against the wall, his sword an inch from hers. She drew in a ragged breath, her desperate eyes fixed on the vicious hatred she read in his face. He tapped the end of her sword with his, and she felt the shock reverberate through her fingertips to her pounding heart.

“Found at last, my lost beauty,” he breathed, his voice as smooth and deadly as a black velvet noose, tightening her throat with its mocking intimacy.

Gelina took a step away from him, her back still pressed to the wall. He tapped her sword again.

“What stops you, Gelina? You have proved you could best a soldier of the Fianna in a fair fight. Have you lost your nerve?” He slammed his sword against hers; the sound of metal against metal echoed in the deserted corridor.

She held her tongue, knowing silence was her only weapon.

A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Are you going to let me kill you without a fight? Why, I do believe you would!”

She leapt to the side as Conn’s sword whistled past her throat, and raised Vengeance to block his thrust at her chest. Her emerald eyes widened; her chest heaved with a shuddering breath.

Conn laughed, the sound hollow and empty in the tunnel. “You defend yourself but you do not raise your sword to me. You are a fool, Gelina Ó Monaghan.”

His arm fell to his side, his sword barely gripped with the tips of his fingers. “What are you waiting for? Attack, Gelina. Prove what a fine warrior you are. Avenge the noble name of Ó Monaghan.”

He stepped forward, pressing his broad chest to the quivering blade of her sword. His sapphire eyes fixed on her trembling lips.

“Drive it home, beauty, or I will,” he said, his voice a caress belied by the unyielding fury in his eyes.

The tip of her sword pressed into the leather of his tunic. A plea died on her lips as the mouth she had so often seen curved in a loving smile twisted in a malevolent sneer. The hand that held Vengeance slowly lowered until the blade touched the floor. Conn turned away from her with a short laugh, then whirled back, placing the point of his sword at her soft throat.

“Drop your weapon,” he commanded.

Gelina swallowed, feeling the sting of the cold steel against her aching throat. She lowered her arm, her fingertips uncurling from the hilt of the sword with agonizing reluctance. In the same instant that Vengeance clattered to the wooden floor, the sharp end of a sword appeared through Conn’s shoulder, its tip stained with bright red blood. Conn sank to his knees, dropping his sword. Gelina stared into Rodney’s black eyes as he coolly withdrew his blade from Conn’s back.

“Now, Conn. Your time has come.” He drew back his sword, the keen edge of the blade aimed at Conn’s neck.

Conn raised his head slowly, lifting his eyes to Gelina. A cryptic message was mirrored in the pain she saw there.

“No!” Her hands flew out to grip her brother’s wrist.

Staring at her in disbelief, Rodney said, “What are you doing? Have you taken leave of your senses?” The thunder of footsteps approached the corridor. “It won’t take long to finish him off. Out of my way,” he shouted, struggling to pull away from her viselike grip.

“I said no!” she roared, scooping up her sword and sliding past Conn, who followed her every move with his icy gaze. “They come. We must flee.” The shouts of men filled the passageway.

“This is our last chance, Lina!”

Even as he spoke, Rodney took a step backward. She started after him, then stopped, turning to face Conn. She dropped the sword and knelt beside him, frantically tearing a narrow strip of linen from her tunic, trying to staunch the steady stream of blood spilling from his wound. Swallowing hard, she avoided his eyes, which reflected a hatred as black as the night.

“What are you doing, Gelina?” Rodney called to her from the end of the corridor. He waved his arms wildly.

Turning toward him, she replied, “I’ll be right there.”

It was all Conn needed. Strong arms circled her, pulling her against his chest. For the second time that night she felt cold metal at her throat as Conn pressed a razor-sharp dagger to the smooth skin. His arm locked brutally under her breasts.

Rodney stared in horror, his eyes darting between the two of them and the passageway where voices rapidly approached. Conn’s warm blood soaked her back as he sank to the floor with her, his grip still deadly. She relaxed against him, closing her eyes. A peculiar peace claimed her as she leaned away from the cold dagger, pressing her body to his.

“Go, Rodney. Leave me. You must,” she called to him, eyes still closed.

“I cannot leave you.” The voices grew louder as Rodney took a step toward them, his face twisted in impotent rage.