The Game (17 page)

The land had been devastated by war. The meadows and farms were burned and barren. The forests were sparse, blackened sycamore amongst the few lonely surviving pine. Piles of rubble that had once been stone cottages marked each passing farm. “Oh dear God,” Katherine said. “What has happened? Damn the English! Damn them!”

Liam sent her a grave glance. “Unfortunately, your cousin FitzMaurice did as much of the damage as Sir Henry Sidney. He was determined to drive off the settlers, even if it meant destroying the land. He managed to do both. Then, of course, the queen sent Sir Henry Sidney after him. And Sidney, chasing FitzMaurice west, left a
similar trail of destruction in his wake. If this war continues, all of southern Ireland will be, for all purposes, useless and dead.”

Katherine could not speak. Horrible images assailed her, of the thick, nearly impenetrable forests outside Askeaton Castle burned and blackened, of the meadows turned grassless and charcoal gray. She swerved her mount toward Liam so sharply that their knees knocked. “Askeaton?”

His glance softened. “I do not know if any of the fighting was near your home, Katherine. Most of it was between Cork in the east and Limerick in the west, between Tralee and Kilmallock.”

“Limerick!” she cried. There was a royal garrison at Limerick—and it was only twenty miles north of Askeaton, also on Lough Shannon. “Oh, God, I must go home.”

Liam’s glance slid over her. “That will be Barry’s decision, will it not?”

She stared at him, unable to look away. It did not seem real—that she was on her way to Barrymore and would be there shortly. She swallowed. “Yes. That will be Hugh’s decision.”

They were not far from Barrymore.

Liam’s hands trembled on his reins, making his mount nervous. His instincts were urging him to throw all caution to the winds. He could imagine abducting Katherine even now, and riding hell-bent for Cork and the
Sea Dagger
. Once at sea he could not be caught. Once at Earic Island, she would be his until he commanded otherwise. No man would dare assault his island fortress, and Katherine had no protector even if one were insane enough to dare and fail.

Liam knew that he must be far more subtle, and far more clever now than before. A second abduction was the last resort. He preferred not to try the queen’s temper another time. Inadvertently he had aroused her suspicions, which he now wished to allay.

It was a miserable game he played. And in order for Liam to win, in order for him to survive, he must stay in
the queen’s good graces. With the stroke of a pen he could be deemed a traitor, his letters of marque canceled, a bounty placed upon his head. Liam did not relish the idea of being chased across the seas by men like Drake and Hawkins. He did not relish standing completely alone, although he was not so foolish nor so romantic as to think he really had a country or a queen.

How ironic, though, his recent behavior must appear. He had plundered a politically insignificant French vessel, and Liam expected those advising Elizabeth soon to realize this fact, and to wonder at where that single act was leading him. No one could suspect the truth. Not yet. And if anyone were clever enough to suspect it, there would be no proof, merely speculation.

Liam knew he must be cautious, patient, and circumspect. That he had to be more clever than ever before, if he were to outwit all the players in this particular game, if he were to win. Because if he decided to take Katherine to wife—and he was indeed finding her father’s marriage offer more and more intriguing—he must pick up the reins of her father’s fight, and then he would be moving into the very jaws of conspiracy.

No, a second abduction was probably unnecessary in any case. Liam was certain Barry was not interested in marrying an impoverished and untitled woman.

Yet Liam could not be absolutely sure. Katherine was an extraordinary woman, and Barry might lose his head and forget all about her current circumstances. No matter what happened, he could not allow them to marry. He could not allow Hugh Barry or any other man to possess Katherine. Her fate had been decided long ago, when he had first laid eyes upon her. And he, Liam O’Neill, was her fate, one way or another.

Castle Barry rose out of the forest’s treetops, standing on a small, cleared hillside somewhat above them. Liam ground down his jaw, fighting a jealousy and possessiveness he had never felt before. He glanced at Katherine. Her cheeks were flushed with anticipation; her eyes sparkled. He could imagine her running into Barry’s arms. He could imagine Barry’s lusty kiss—and Katherine’s own
eager response. Liam reminded himself to go slowly, but surely. This was one battle he must not lose.

Katherine interrupted his thoughts. “Thank God there was no war here,” she said in an unsteady tone.

They rode up the road now toward the castle’s barbican, its outermost entrance, and rumbled over the lowered drawbridge. Iron gates were down, but no watchman appeared to inquire after them. Liam rode forward and found a bell cord and rang the watchtower’s bell.

The bell tolled loudly, breaking the silence of the Irish countryside, scattering pigeons from the walk above. Barrymore had been built in medieval times, no uncommon thing, and the square stone keep dominated the fortress, although other buildings had been added to it over the centuries. Yet there was no brick, nor glass, in evidence anywhere. The inner ward was dried mud, not cobbled stone. There was no sign of modern civilization; it was as if they had traveled back through time, into a world of mailed knights and tunic-clad damsels. The castle appeared to be deserted, adding to the illusion, and Liam almost expected to see the ghosts of these long-dead knights appearing in the courtyard.

Katherine looked at Liam. “’Tis most strange. Is there no one home?”

“It does not appear so,” Liam said, pleased that Hugh Barry was not in residence. “We shall inquire in the village,” he said. He nodded and began to wheel his rangy horse around, Katherine and Macgregor following, when one and all became aware of a contingent of riders approaching swiftly from the west across the flats. The group broke into a gallop, having spotted the trio at Barrymore’s front gates. Liam grabbed Katherine’s reins from her and urged their mounts across the drawbridge and to the road, where, should a fight erupt, they had room to maneuver and flee. Macgregor stayed on Katherine’s other side. He had his hand upon his pistol. Liam opened his cloak, so that he might access his rapier should the need arise.

“Who is it?” Katherine cried in fear. “Surely you do not think to fight a dozen armed men?”

Liam did not answer, watching as the riders thundered
up the road toward them. He heard Katherine gasp, and she clutched his arm. His heart seemed to sink, for he could guess who these Irishmen were. And clearly they were Irish, for all were clad in native gray mantles, many were mounted upon smaller, locally bred horses, and some of the men sported the outlawed glibs—the forelock of hair worn hanging low to hide their features. “’Tis your betrothed?” he asked.

She nodded, beaming.

Liam looked at the man who was her intended, despising him on sight. He was far younger than Liam himself, closer to Katherine’s age, and like her, he was red-haired and fair. In fact, Hugh Barry was an attractive man, far more so than average. His features were rugged but pleasing, his eyes Kerry blue. Liam gripped his rapier. Perhaps the beast in him would win this day after all.

Hugh drew his horse to an abrupt, rearing halt. “I am Lord Barry,” he declared, his gaze on Liam, not Katherine. “Declare yourself as friend or foe.”

Liam gripped the smooth, well-worn hilt of his blade. How his hand itched to do battle now. Barry was but a pup, a brave and battle-hardened one—Liam both sensed and saw that. Yet he was a pup and Liam could kill him in a matter of seconds. If he allowed the beast in his breast to run free.

He dropped his hand. “Liam O’Neill,” he began, smiling unpleasantly, but he was cut off.

“Hugh!” Katherine cried in a husky voice. “Oh, God, Hugh!” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Liam saw, and froze.

Hugh turned to face her, perplexed.

“I truly th-thought you d-dead,” she cried.

Comprehension—and shock—transformed his expression. “Katherine? Katherine FitzGerald?”

She nodded, unmoving, unbreathing, eyes wide.

“Good God!” he cried. “Katie! Little Katie!” And then he laughed, showing strong white teeth, and a moment later he had ridden over to her and had swept her off her mount and onto his stallion and into his arms.

K
atherine was so surprised that she clung tightly to Hugh, seated sideways on his lap, his horse moving restlessly beneath them.

“Katie FitzGerald!” he cried again, his arms tight around her. Smiling widely, he lightly kissed her mouth. Their gazes met and held. It was then that his smile died, that he stared at her, his brow creasing.

Katherine smiled up at him uncertainly, but her heart was pounding in relief because she had thought, God, she had thought, that he would be dismayed to see her—that he would send her away.

Still staring, no longer smiling, Hugh slid to the ground, Katherine still in his arms, and he slowly slipped her to her feet. His hands held her waist lightly and he frowned, his gaze moving over her features one by one. “God, Katie, I cannot recognize you. ’Tis a beauteous woman you’ve become.”

Katherine managed a choked sound, that was only partly a laugh.

“Aye, beauteous,” he said, his tone lower now and husky.

Katherine wet her lips. She was so nervous, and somewhat confused. This was Hugh, not a strange man, who held her so intimately, who would soon be her husband. Hugh. Not a stranger. But she had not seen him in six years. “And you,” she managed. “’Tis a fine man you’ve become—no scrawny boy.”

“Yes,” he murmured, his hands pulling her closer until her hips bumped his. “I am no boy now, Katherine, begging for a kiss and not knowing how to go about it properly.”

Katherine sensed his intentions and she stiffened. “’Twas very sweet,” she began.

“But not sweet enough,” he said, dipping his head.

Katherine’s body stiffened as his mouth covered hers. Her instinct was to push him away.

Yet he was her betrothed and her frantic mind commanded her to be still, to accept his kiss, to bond with him now as she must do. His lips were insistent and firm. He wanted her to open her mouth—Liam had taught her about that. Liam. Oh, God. Liam who was watching even now.

Katherine did not want to resist Hugh, yet she could not relax. Especially not with Liam watching them. But Hugh would soon be her husband—she must kiss him back.

Gripping his shoulders, Katherine began to kiss Hugh with determination and passion—for this was Hugh, the man she loved.

Finally the kiss was over. Hugh stared at her, eyes wide and dazed. Katherine backed a step away from him, her heart hammering, telling herself that Hugh’s kiss had been a wondrous thing. And she would
not
compare his kiss to Liam’s.

“Sweet Mary,” Hugh said, a gasp. “What a fine woman you’ve become.”

Katherine colored, aware of his men chortling behind him, aware of Liam, who did not move and did not make a sound. She dared to look over her shoulder, and glimpsed raw fury in his eyes. Katherine started. Had he been telling the truth when he’d told her that he was jealous of the mere idea of her with Hugh?

But when he sauntered forward, abreast of Katherine, his gaze was shuttered. “I am Katherine’s escort, Lord Barry. Might we adjourn inside? We have only arrived at Cork this day, and have ridden long and hard to arrive here before dusk. Lady FitzGerald is much fatigued, and
nigh ill with hunger, as well.” His smile flashed, cold and brittle.

Katherine was neither tired nor hungry, but she was relieved by Liam’s request. But why had he referred to her by a title that no longer belonged to her? It was as if he were reminding Hugh of the demands of propriety.

Hugh came to life. “How remiss of me. I was so stunned to find Katie here—and such a woman, at that.” His glance slid over her far too boldly. “Come, we shall take supper in the hall.”

As an old man and a young boy had appeared and now winched up the portcullis, Katherine tried not to look at Liam, watching Hugh. She told herself that she was very lucky that he was pleased to see her, that he desired her, that he wished to bed her. Her fears that he had forgotten all about her in the past six years as her own family had were clearly untrue.

Hugh moved to her and took her hand, tucking it into his arm. “You must stay beside me, Katie,” he said, his tone intimate, his grin crooked. He patted her hand and they entered Castle Barry, Hugh’s home, which would soon be her home too.

At Barrymore the great hall in the original keep was still used as a dining hall, and they entered it directly. It was hardly furnished. Old rushes were upon the floors. The walls were bare. A few old servants had appeared to light tapers. Soon wood trenchers of breads and cheeses and cold meats were brought forth with beer and ale and set upon the long trestle table. Hugh’s dozen retainers quickly took their places.

Katherine wondered if her memory served her correctly. For she recalled visiting this hall as a child, when the walls had been hung with bright tapestries, when graceful oak sideboards had stood against the walls, when the trenchers had been silver, and fine glass goblets from London had been used and the tables had been laid with silver knives and spoons. She recalled the room as being sweet-smelling, not foul. She recalled many well-dressed servants, and a banquet fit for a wealthy lord, if not a king.

Hugh saw her wandering gaze. He looked grim as he seated her at the head of the table beside him. “We have lost everything in the past few years, Katie,” he said. “I have had to sell off all the furnishings, and most of the great Barry horses. My men have all joined FitzMaurice, except for the few you see seated below you. I cannot keep many servants, for I can not feed them. But ’tis not just the clan Barry who have suffered. All the great clans have suffered here in the south, as well. I try to tell myself that I am pleased that Castle Barry remains standing, and in my own hands, but ’tis not enough.”

“I am sorry, Hugh,” Katherine whispered. “We saw signs of war everywhere. ’Tis ghastly.”

He nodded, pulling a trencher forward and spearing meat, which he placed upon her plate. Katherine was aware of Liam taking a seat on the bench just below her on her left, and she stiffened. His knee, beneath the table, touched her.

Quickly she faced Hugh. “Your vassals have joined my cousin FitzMaurice?”

Hugh nodded soberly.

Katherine gripped her eating dagger. “My stepmother says he styles himself the earl of Desmond.”

Hugh eyed her. “I have heard that said, as well. But when I met the man, he called himself the captain of Desmond, nothing else. And surely you know that your own father appointed him as such after being imprisoned by the queen? Someone had to manage the Desmond lands.”

Katherine had not known that. “Does he think to usurp Desmond from my father?”

Hugh took her hand. “Katie, dearest one, Desmond does not belong to your father anymore. When his lands were forfeit, many Englishmen settled upon them. Hundreds. Many of those planters are now dead, for FitzMaurice burned them out. Others he caught and hung. Others he chased to the English cities on the coast, where they begged refuge. Most of the Irish have quit our land. Only a few have dared to stay to fight for their holdings. Thanks to FitzMaurice.”

She stared at him. “You speak as if he is a great hero.”

“He is a great soldier, Katie, and he alone has held together the many clans in order to oppose the English. Even Ormond’s brothers joined us in our battle for a while. Sir Henry Sidney could not capture him—and neither will Sir John Perrot.” Hugh spit out Perrot’s name.

“And you, Hugh? Does FitzMaurice hold you, too?” Katherine trembled. “Do you ride with the usurper?”

“How bold you are still, just like the Katie I once knew.” Hugh refused to answer, patting her hand. “Enough of such grim news. In truth, tales of war do not suit a lady’s lovely ears. We have yet to speak of each other, and I have yet to speak with the man you are traveling with.” Hugh glanced past Katherine at Liam.

Katherine did not respond, thinking the worst—that Hugh did secretly support FitzMaurice, her father’s cousin and enemy, a man determined to usurp FitzGerald’s patrimony.

Liam lounged upon the bench indolently. “And of what would you like to speak?”

Hugh stared. “Your name. Liam O’ Neill. Surely there can not be two men sharing the same notorious name?”

“I doubt it.”

Hugh’s eyes gleamed. “Are you telling me that the Master of the Seas sits at my own table?”

Liam nodded, pouring beer into his goblet.

Hugh folded his arms. “And how, pray tell, did you come to escort Katie to me?”

Liam’s own dagger appeared in his hand. It was a fighting dagger, twice as long and three times as slim as the knives laid upon the table with which guests were to dine. He used it to spear a piece of meat, laying it upon his plate and flicking it in two. No blade could be more sharp. No blade could move more swiftly, for the silver glinted in a blur. “I captured her upon the seas.”

Hugh rose to his feet.

Liam also stood, smiling.

Katherine no longer dwelled upon the probability that Hugh Barry, whom she would wed, was allied with her father’s enemy. She jumped up as well, planting herself
between the two men. “Hugh! Please! ’Tis not what you are thinking! We have come from the queen.”

Hugh did not look at Katherine. “Oh really?”

Liam’s smile did not waver, and he brushed Katherine aside, putting her behind him. “The queen herself.”

Hugh’s nostrils flared. Liam’s eyes glittered. Katherine realized her error too late. If Hugh were secretly allied with FitzMaurice, then he was an enemy of the Crown—and the queen. As Liam had come from the queen, that would make him his enemy, too. Then, almost hysterically, Katherine realized that Hugh was also
her
enemy—because he was allied with FitzMaurice against her father. Yet they were to wed.

“You know, it does not surprise me that you have business with the queen. After all, your blood is tainted; your blood is half-English,” Hugh said vehemently. “And you were raised at court amongst English princesses and princes by heretic Protestant tutors.”

“True.” Liam made no attempt to defend himself.

Katherine stepped abreast of him. “But his father was as Irish as you or I, Hugh. He is half-Irish.”

“His father was a murderer, if my memory serves me correctly,” Hugh said.

Liam smiled coldly. “’Twould be beneficial for you to think on that fact. For ’tis often claimed I am just like him.”

Katherine grabbed Hugh’s arm, forcing him to look at her. “Hugh, the queen pardoned Liam for his crimes, and ordered him to bring me to you. That is all. He does not have any other business with her—he is a pirate—I know that firsthand!”

“You defend him?” Hugh was shocked. “You defend this half-English bastard? You defend Shane O’Neill’s son? A bloody pirate who has murdered and plundered across all the high seas? Who has loyalty to no one—not even his own clan?”

Katherine hesitated. On one hand, she recalled the charred and broken decks of the small French trader which Liam O’Neill had plundered, and she could still hear the moaning of the men who had been wounded, but he hadn’t
murdered anyone. He’d let the French crew go after he’d taken what he wanted. And he hadn’t harmed Juliet. Then she thought about how Liam had ruthlessly tied her down to his bed, cutting her clothes off of her with his knife. But…he had left her with the last thing of value to her, her virtue. Katherine knew that he could have continued his seduction that night, but he’d stopped when she’d begun to cry. Softly, she said, “He brought me to you without harm, Hugh.”

Hugh stared at her face, then at her dress. “Who tore your dress, Katie?”

Katherine did not hesitate now. “I have been in France these past years, you know,” she said quickly, never taking her eyes from his. “I ran away from the convent where my stepmother sent me after Affane. I was trying to find a berth home. A sailor on the docks there did this.”

Hugh cupped her cheek. “Poor Katie.”

Katherine closed her eyes, so he would not see her lie. For a moment her face rested upon his hand.

“Yes, poor Katherine,” Liam said, his tone ice. “How touching your concern is, Lord Barry.”

Katherine jerked away from Hugh, glanced at Liam, saw the silver light in his eyes again. He
was
angry, but he had no right to be angry with her. She had just saved his miserable neck. For Hugh would have killed him for cutting her dress off of her without asking for any other details. Then Katherine knew that that was not so. Hugh would have tried to kill him, but Liam would have undoubtedly been the victor in any contest between the two men. And Katherine knew instinctively that Liam would have enjoyed destroying Hugh. She shivered.

Hugh faced only Katherine. “You have had a time of it, I know. Being sent to France, your father imprisoned and dispossessed, now this.” He touched her arm, stroking her sleeve. “Come, eat. You need your sustenance.” He ignored Liam.

Katherine nodded, relieved that the tension had passed, and sat as he did, turning her attention to her plate. She was acutely aware of Liam finally sitting down as well.
She sighed deeply, in relief. She did not want to see either man’s blood spilled upon Hugh’s stone floors.

Katherine had no real interest in cold meat, and she finally took up a piece of cheese and some stale bread. She was aware of both men eating now on either side of her with ravenous gusto. She stole a glance at Hugh.

He really had become a handsome man. His nose was a bit broad, but it suited his square jaw and round face, his mouth was well shaped, his eyes were a brilliant blue, and his hair was redder than her own. She should be pleased. Every woman yearned for a handsome husband. She herself had, recently, yearned for a husband both handsome and lusty. Hugh was both. She should be ecstatic. She told herself that she
was
ecstatic.

She made sure not to look at Liam. God’s blood. She did not want to compare the two men. She would not. Yet Liam’s image filled her mind. Golden, harsh, striking. He was the sun, and beside him any man, even Hugh, was but a distant, winking star.

Katherine shut off her thoughts abruptly. And concentrated on eating.

Hugh had finished eating and he faced her, smiling and replete. His hand covered hers, his fingers stroking her knuckles. Katherine saw the amorous light in his eyes and felt some trepidation. “So you have been convent-reared,” he remarked, his gaze drifting to the edge of her bodice.