The Game (13 page)

“I am. Is O’Neill English or Irish—noble or knave?”

“He is both,” the queen said flatly, unsmiling now. “Never forget that his father was Shane O’Neill, a savage murderer, the man who raped his mother violently. And Shane claimed him when he was a young boy of ten, wrenching him from his mother’s arms—raising him in savagery.”

Katherine stared.

“You are very interested in Liam O’Neill,” the queen said casually. “He is handsome, is he not?”

Katherine told herself she would not blush, but she recalled his every expression, his slight, amused smile, his seductive tone and his hard, powerful body, aroused, pressing against hers. She flamed.

“You are free now, you know,” the queen said when she did not answer.

Katherine cried out and impulsively gripped the Queen’s hands. “Your Majesty—thank you!” Abruptly she dropped the pale, cold hands, but the queen took her palms up again, enfolding them in hers.

“We are friends now, Katherine. Remember that. What would you do now?”

Katherine thought of the green rolling meadows near Askeaton, of the forests and hills, of Hugh, and she leaned forward eagerly. “I would go home!”

“To your father in Southwark?”

Too late, Katherine realized her blunder—she no longer had a home in southern Ireland—it had been forfeited to the Crown. “Your Majesty—please forgive me. These past years I was so secluded I did not know of all that had happened to my father. I…still think of Munster as home.”

Elizabeth murmured a soothing reply, but her glance met Cecil’s, then Ormond’s.

Katherine saw it, but did not decipher it. She cleared her throat. “I would return to Ireland,” she said boldly.

“And what would you do there? Where would you go?”

“To my betrothed.”

The Queen stared. “You are betrothed?”

“To Hugh Barry, Lord Barry’s heir. I was betrothed to him from the cradle, but after Affane I was sent away. I have waited many years to wed, Your Majesty. I am no girl now, but a woman of eighteen. I wish to wed him, Your Majesty. Immediately.”

The queen stared, brows raised. Her gaze darted to Cecil, to Ormond. To Tom she said, “What know you of this?”

He shrugged. “I recall the betrothal. I do not recall the ending of it. I suppose you must send her to Barry—to Ireland.” His dark gaze was hooded.

Elizabeth stared at Katherine, making her think that she had done something wrong. Then the queen smiled.
“Well, then, you must be on your way to Ireland, my dear, to your wedding—to Hugh Barry.”

Katherine trembled with relief. But once again, she saw the queen exchange knowing glances with her men.

It was late. Soon the church bells would toll the midnight hour. Liam listened as he heard the door to the small chamber he had been confined in being unlocked. It could have been worse. The fact that he was in a veritable chamber with pallet and nightstool indicated that he could extricate himself from royal suspicion. He was not surprised to be summoned now.

A cloaked man opened the door, offering no explanation. Liam did not ask for one. He tossed his bloody cloak about his shoulders, wincing slightly as he did so, and followed the man without a word. They descended the three stories and exited onto the wharf which butted into the river. A small barge awaited them. Liam climbed in, as did the queen’s agent. Two oarsmen began to row them upriver to Whitehall.

Although he had been confined in a small, airless space for an entire day, he avoided breathing in the river and night air too deeply. With the advent of warm weather, there was little pleasant about the Thames, even on a cool night. And mentally, he prepared himself for what was to come.

Sometime later he was ushered up the Whitehall Stairs, through the River Gate, and upstairs into the queen’s private apartments. When he finally entered her withdrawing room, he saw that she sat, fully dressed in crimson, at her small writing table, penning some note or another. She saw him and attempted a scowl, which soon fell apart, and she smiled.

“Sometimes you are very naughty, Liam.”

So the queen had changed her tune. More sure of himself now, Liam sauntered forward, took her hand, and kissed it. His lips caressed her skin. She withdrew, blushing like a virgin—which she reputedly was. “That will not get you anywhere, rogue,” she chided.

She was in a playful mood tonight and he was pleased.
Far better that she be playful than suspicious, but now he was suspicious, too. Did Bess play a game, or was her changed mood merely the result of her mercurial nature? He smiled, his eyes twinkling for her. “How pleasingly soft your hands are, Bess,” he murmured. He captured one elegant hand again. Everyone knew how vain she was, especially of her beautiful hands. “How soft, how lovely.”

She was pleased and could not hide it, and she smacked his wrist lightly and gestured for him to sit. “I must apologize,” she said baldly.

Liam remained silent, waiting for her to speak, knowing he must be very careful not to make a false move. He was just barely innocent of the charges of conspiracy, it was only a matter of degree. For he was forming plans. Yet even were he entirely innocent, innocence did not always serve the victims of injustice well. He needed to know if she thought him innocent, or if she played a game of chance with him instead.

“I have witnesses to your plunder of the French ship and your abduction of Katherine FitzGerald,” the queen said.

He doubted the veracity of what she said, for it would take some time to locate witnesses, but he did not say so. If this was the basis for her sudden empathy, then she still believed he was teetering on the brink of treason. Elizabeth had
always
been clever.

“I am relieved. But my heart is still sore, Bess. That you would think me a traitor to
you
.”

“
My
heart was sore,” she retorted, leaning toward him, her eyes searching his face.

He knew then that despite her doubt, she wanted him to be innocent. He took her small hand in his and gripped it too warmly. His fingers kneaded her soft flesh. “I am your friend,” he said, low and intimate. “Always.”

She allowed him to hold her hand and she pressed against him, her arm to his arm, as if ardent. “I hope so, dearly do I hope so, Liam.” Their gazes held, and he was fully aware of the power he exercised over her. Her lips were parted slightly and they trembled; she sighed again. The air coursed with sudden heat. “Liam,” she murmured.

His jaw flexed. He gazed into her eyes and saw the yearning there. The queen was gone, and in her place was a woman, a woman he had known his entire life. He sipped an arm around her. “Bess,” he repeated, “I am your friend.”

And it was true. He would never forget all that she had done for his mother, when he was but a small boy. He would never forget that, even before she became queen, she had been kind to his mother, unlike most of the other ladies at court. But he had never felt desire for his queen. Even though, for a man like him, for any man, it could be advantageous.

She pressed against him, her body quivering noticeably. “Liam, I have missed you. Why have you stayed away so long?”

He smiled gently at her. “My life is hard, Bess. I have no grand palace to lure me to this island; I earn my bread at sea.”

She whispered, unsteadily, “That could change.”

Liam froze.

Elizabeth began to blush, but she did not drop her gaze.

His pulse pounded now. “Even should you give me a grand palace, that would not make me an Englishman.”

“You are half-English.”

“Yes.” He touched her lower lip with his finger. “And my father was—and will always be—Shane O’Neill.”

“But you are not like him.” Her stare was bold. “Or are you?”

“No.” He held her gaze, knowing that if she gave him one more sign, he would have to kiss her.

She laid one of her palms on his chest, atop his pounding heart. Their gazes locked. “I am sorry for thinking you a conspirator with FitzGerald, but surely you can understand, for the meeting appeared so strange. Now, of course, knowing the truth from my witnesses of Katherine’s abduction, I comprehend you were but seeking a ransom. Obviously the girl, beauty that she is, was pleasant company on your trek, and no hindrance.” She smiled too warmly, but her gaze dropped from his eyes and moved
over every feature of his face—finally lingering on his mouth.

Ah, Bess
, he thought,
the tale sounds absurd even from your lips. You do not believe me innocent, although you wish to. And do your ardent glances, filled with longing, mean that you wish to take me as your lover—after all this time?

Liam had no desire to bed his queen. As far as he knew, despite the rumors about her and Robin Dudley, whom she had made the earl of Leicester, and those about her and her cousin Tom, she was a virgin and intended to remain that way. Still, he was a man, one with experience, and he knew she found him very attractive. This was not their first privy meeting, ’twas not the first time that she had flirted with him, touched him, and cast sidelong glances at him. Yet the signals this night were stronger than ever.

With both Leicester and Ormond, the two men whom she had loved for many years, she was far more openly affectionate—which was why the gossip ran so rampant about them. Leicester often enjoyed the queen’s company unattended in daylight hours—much the way Liam did now, at midnight. And sometimes Elizabeth would refer to Tom as her “black husband,” causing much speculation that he shared far more than just her company. No one could ever know for certain what passed behind Her Majesty’s closed doors. If any man were her lover, most likely it was Leicester, for it had become clear that she favored him over Ormond.

Liam was well aware that becoming the queen’s lover would help him politically, now. In the future, it could damage him. Somewhat foolishly he hoped that tonight she would
not
decide to take him to her bed—if she were in such a habit of taking lovers. For no man, he knew, could refuse a queen. He would not be able to refuse her either.

But he did not wish to use her. That was not the way in which he would repay her for all that he owed her.

Elizabeth sat very still, looking at her hands. Then she glanced up at him. Naked desire gleamed in her eyes.

Liam was frozen but a moment, then he acted on instinct. He pulled her close, hoping she would come to her senses. “Bess? Is this truly what you want?”

Her gaze darkened. Her mouth parted. He expected her to mouth the word “yes.” Then she cried out incoherently and lunged to her feet, very much like a frightened virgin. Or a Virgin Queen. She paced. Liam took a deep breath, relieved.

“Still,” she said, her back to him, her shoulders shaking, “the truth hardly absolves you of your other crimes, Liam.” She faced him, as a mother might face a wayward child. “You can not abduct noblewomen and get away scot-free. Even if they are the daughters of defiant, treacherous, disgraced earls. And this one is a virgin, one convent-raised.”

“I confess to the error of my ways,” he said easily, unrepentant. They both knew it.

“What punishment shall you be forced to pay?”

He rose lazily to his own feet. “Have I not suffered enough? A ball in my shoulder—a night in the Tower?” His tone was soft.

“You have hardly paid for terrorizing poor Katherine.”

Liam smiled wickedly. “She has hardly been terrorized.”

Elizabeth regarded him, her expression stiffening. “No, I imagine she did not object to your kisses and caresses.”

He met her unwavering gaze, no longer smiling. He felt hemmed in by the queen on one side, and Katherine on the other. Was the queen jealous of his interest in Katherine? “If she did not object, it does not condemn her, only me.”

“Yes—it condemns you for a lusty rake, one too experienced for his own good,” the queen said peevishly.

She was jealous. ’Twas not a good sign for Katherine. ’Twas not a good sign for him. “Would you have me be something less than a man?”

Elizabeth’s glance skidded down his body, skimming his groin. “You know I would not.” She jerked away. “You cannot have the girl.”

Liam was careful not to reveal any dismay. He had not counted on the queen’s being jealous of Katherine. “Your
Highness, the French merchant was the fifth I have taken this year.”

She faced him, jaw flexed. “Do not think to bargain with me!” she cried. “I know damn well how many French vessels you have seized, you pirate! The French ambassador has repeatedly asked me for your head! Catherine de Medici has placed a bounty on it, as well—has even written me directly!”

Liam had to chuckle. “And what, pray tell, did you reply?”

She eyed him. “I replied that, if I could capture the Master of the Seas, he would come to trial, but that so far he has eluded my navy, just as he has eluded everyone else on the high seas.”

Liam grinned.

“Do not become too cocksure! You know well that if another nation captures you, there is naught I can do to free you, jackanapes!”

“Indeed, I am well aware of what fate awaits me should I wind up in a French prison or on the Spanish rack.” His gaze was hard. “I am ever loyal and you know it, Bess. I have done more for you this year than your whole damned navy. Five French ships, two of which were bound for Scotland, supporting the rebels there, and three Spanish vessels, one a galleon laden with silver plate destined for the Netherlands. Come, I deserve a reward.”

“And you think I will reward you with the girl?”

“She is of no value to anyone now. She has no station, no dowry. I will treat her well. I will not abuse her.” And the intriguing thought flashed through his mind—that perhaps he might dare to marry her in time. If he could play the game he had just begun—and win it well.

“She is betrothed.”

“That betrothal is ancient, made years ago. I doubt Hugh Barry is expecting to wed her.”

“Nevertheless, it stands, and I have agreed that she shall return to Ireland to marry him.”

Liam’s face paled. An instant later he was furious, and he could not contain it. “And my reward?”

Elizabeth grabbed the papers on her desk and thrust
them upon him. “Here! The letters of marque you have been begging for. Against
all
Spanish vessels, not just those aiding the papists in Scotland and Ireland and Flanders. What? Are you not satisfied? You are legal now, Liam. At least, in regard to the Spaniards you so love to plunder.”