The Game (26 page)

Katherine froze.

“’Tis not true, is it?”

“I know not,” Katherine managed to lie.

“Hmm. Surely had he appeared, one and all would have remarked him. A man like that could not possibly be missed, even in disguise.” Anne picked up a chicken leg and began to nibble upon it.

Katherine felt more relief. If that was the extent of the current rumor about Liam O’Neill, then her reputation was
safe. But in that moment she realized that she had come dangerously close to ruining her life. So dangerously close. It must never happen again. Katherine was astute enough to know that if it did, she would be a hairbreadth away from marriage to the pirate, and she was not ready yet to give up all of her dreams, despite what her father asked of her.

Surely there was some way to help Gerald, some way which did not involve her becoming Leicester’s leman, or becoming O’Neill’s wife.

Katherine thought about the earl of Ormond. It seemed that her half brother was her champion after all, urging the queen to find a suitable marriage for her. Another irony struck Katherine. Of all the men here at court, somehow her father’s greatest enemy was proving to be her best ally. Perhaps Ormond would succeed—taking the matter of her future out of her own hands entirely.

“She has confessed. She was with Liam O’Neill last night.”

Ormond flushed. “The next time I see him, I shall kill him.”

The queen was not looking at him, but at Leicester, who stared at her, frozen by her words. Elizabeth smiled at him, far too sweetly. “Is something amiss, dear Robin?”

Dudley came to life, his expression relaxing, a smile forming upon his dark, handsome countenance. “The pirate has great gall, to come uninvited to your court, and to sneak into a lady’s room.”

“Perhaps she invited him,” the queen remarked, staring at Leicester. “He is a glorious man. Why, all my ladies are moved to swoon when he comes into the room.”

Leicester’s smile disappeared. It was a well-known fact that he prided himself on both his appearance and the fact that many women coveted him. “I doubt Mistress FitzGerald would invite any man into her room for such a purpose.”

“Ahh—you know her well, then?”

Leicester’s jaw flexed. “You know I do not know her! We but shared a dance!”

“And mayhap, afterwards, a kiss?”

Leicester’s eyes blazed. In that moment Elizabeth was afraid, despite the fact that she was queen and he but her subject, for she sensed she had pushed him too far. She did not move when Leicester strode to her, towering over her. Her pulse quickened now in a purely feminine reaction to his proximity and his power. “I am a man, Bess, as you damn well know,” he ground out, so low that only she could hear, “and if I steal a kiss from her, why do you care?” His eyes were twin black fires. “You know I would not hunt elsewhere should you give me what I want.”

Elizabeth trembled. In that moment she wished they were alone. She knew that if this were a private discussion, Dudley would sweep her into his arms, whether she wanted it or no. ’Twas what she liked best about him—and what she liked least. For the woman in her was joyous, the monarch enraged.

Elizabeth stared at him. As always, she could not decide what his smooth words really meant. Did he speak of her body, which she had thus far successfully denied him—or her throne? “I shall deny you as I will, Robin,” she finally said, “and you, of course, can kiss where you will.”

Leicester continued to gaze at her, refusing to back down. Elizabeth grew afraid. Perhaps she
was
pushing Dudley too far. She smiled then, widely, and touched his hand below his ruffled cuff. “Forgive me, dearheart, for being overbearing, as we women are wont to be.”

He relaxed. “Let me come to you tonight, Bess.”

Her gaze flickered away from him. “I shall consider it.”

He gripped her hand, preventing her from turning away. “I am coming, Bess,” he warned.

Elizabeth’s heart beat too hard. She had not entertained Dudley in private for many weeks now. Finally she nodded, and as she turned away, she saw satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. She could not help but anticipate the evening ahead.

Elizabeth faced Ormond. “You have won this day. I agree with you, Tom. We must find her a husband, and quickly.”

Ormond’s face brightened in surprise, while Leicester, beside her, stiffened. Yet Dudley dared not speak now and Elizabeth knew it. It was at this moment that Cecil stepped forward. “You have changed your mind, Your Majesty? From what was previously agreed?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said firmly. She had most definitely changed her mind. It was not unusual, for those who knew her comprehended that she could blow first east, then west, without so much as a backward glance. Now Elizabeth decided to tell her most trusted advisors some of the truth—but not all of it. “I am not convinced that she is a conspirator. I know her somewhat now, and I believe she is far too naive to be involved in any treasonous plot with either her father or O’Neill. However, it would not surprise me if both of those too-clever men were thinking to use her in their games. I wish to remove her as a pawn from their play—before any play is begun.”

William Cecil said naught. Yet he was aware that serious play had already begun. He had gleaned startling information from his own spies several days ago. The
Sea Dagger
had been spotted at anchor in Dingle Bay, which was close to Askeaton. The bay was also used by the papist FitzMaurice. As FitzGerald resided at Southwark, Cecil thought that the
Sea Dagger
’s use of Dingle Bay signified the beginning of a far more dangerous game, one O’Neill was clearly waging in deadly earnest. And Cecil was intrigued. How clever the pirate was. If he dared as Cecil thought he did.

And Cecil said naught, for the pirate must be allowed full rein.

Elizabeth raised her hands, gaining everyone’s attention. “I want the girl married to one loyal to me,” she stated. “If she is married, her value to Liam becomes naught—and to her father, even less.”

Ormond smiled in grim satisfaction. “Do you have some loyal vassal in mind?”

Elizabeth nodded, not adding what was the most compelling factor of all in her decision to marry off Katherine FitzGerald. It had nothing to do with conspiracy and treason. It had everything to do with passion.

The girl was far too beautiful, and far too seductive, to remain at court, a constant provocation to Elizabeth’s favorite men. The queen could not allow the girl to ensnare Leicester, nor did she care for the fact that Liam O’Neill appeared besotted with her. In fact, even dear, beloved Tom seemed to be bending toward her. Elizabeth had sensed a change in him for some time now. No, having Katherine at court was a grave mistake. How foolish Elizabeth had been to be so kind as to allow her to remain in the first place.

Elizabeth imagined Katherine ensconced in Cornwall on a country estate, heavily pregnant, with children at her skirts, and she could not help but smile. Neither Leicester, O’Neill nor Black Tom would find her very attractive then.

“In fact, I have already spoken with the bridegroom.” Her smile widened. “Although John Hawke was seeking to do far better than to marry a penniless Catholic Irishwoman, I shall provide her with a small but rich estate in Kent as a dowry.” Elizabeth’s smile was serene. “Sir John has agreed. The wedding date shall be April 15, but four weeks hence. Now all I must do is to inform the girl that her future has been decided.” Elizabeth added, “Undoubtedly she shall be most pleased at achieving her heart’s desire.”

And Cecil wondered what the pirate’s next move would be.

“K
atherine!”

Katherine turned, having left the dining hall. John Hawke strode toward her. “Might we speak?”

She looked up at his handsome face, noting the sparkle in his eyes. She could not help but smile back at him. “You appear well pleased, sirrah,” she said playfully, touching his strong arm. “What good tidings do you bear?”

His blue eyes held hers. “Let us walk in the gallery,” he said. A moment later her hand was securely entwined with his arm.

Katherine glanced at him and found him watching her intently as they strolled through the hall. “You are truly in a fine humor, sir. It does me good to see a soul so gladdened—but by what?”

“You are an impatient wench,” he said, lowering his tone intimately. “Are you impatient in all things, dear Katherine?”

Katherine’s smile faded. Something was afoot. John Hawke was far more amorous than usual, and she guessed his words to bear a sexual meaning. That last she did not like. Until now, John had been nothing but proper and gallant, unlike Leicester—unlike Liam. She did not wish to see him turn into a cocky rogue. She pulled her hand from his arm as they entered the long gallery, which was empty, for most of the court still dined in the Banquet Hall.

“Have I upset you?” he asked, instantly concerned.

She paused and faced him. “I am not sure.”

He touched the side of her face very briefly. “Katherine, I did not intend to distress you.” He paused. “I have great news.”

“Which is?”

He no longer smiled. His gaze bored into hers. “The queen wishes us to marry, and I have agreed—if you will but have me.”

Katherine gasped. She was stunned. An image of Liam flashed through her mind. Liam, golden-haired and gray-eyed, his beautiful face strained with passion, as he rose up over her, his hard, powerful body throbbing against hers. She forced the image aside. It was no easy task. She blinked, and saw the dark-haired man standing before her, his face so grave, his blue eyes sober.

“You have turned white. I thought you held me in some esteem.”

Katherine fought to clear her head. “I do! ’Tis that I am surprised!”

“Will you marry me, Katherine?” Hawke asked.

Katherine stared at him. At Sir John Hawke, the captain of the Guard, a fine and noble man. Her dreams could come true. Her dreams of having a handsome, noble husband, a home of her own, and many sweet children. If she would but say yes.

Again she thought of Liam. Anger filled her; she forced his image aside. She thought of her father, imprisoned and in disgrace, stripped of all that he had once had, who was depending upon her to lead the pirate to their cause. But she did not wish to marry Liam, she did not!

“You do not wish to wed?” John asked tightly.

Ignoring any and all consequences, Katherine seized his arm. “No! I do wish to wed!” She wet her lips. “I will marry you, Sir John.”

His eyes brightened and he grinned. Then he gripped her shoulders. Katherine tensed, knowing full well that he intended to kiss her. His long-lashed eyes had turned a stormy shade of blue. His strong jaw flexed. Katherine did not move.

“You are a beautiful woman, Katherine, and I am very
pleased that you shall be my wife,” he said huskily. He hesitated. “Surely you have been kissed before?”

Katherine flushed. “Yes,” she whispered unsteadily. It was suddenly dawning upon her. All that she had done. She had been kissed last night, and held and caressed, and far, far more. Oh God. By another man. But today, today she was affianced. And she felt sullied and unworthy of Sir John because of what she had done.

Thank God Sir John did not know—would never know
.

“I do not mind,” John Hawke said harshly. “I am hardly a fool. I am sure you have had many ardent admirers.” Still he did not kiss her.

Katherine wet her lips again. She would not make a confession, she must not—yet neither would she lie. Dear God, she would have this man as her husband soon, and she must not begin their marriage with lies—or with whorish infidelities. “I have had a few admirers,” she whispered, managing a small smile. “But now I shall know to chase them away if they dare to pursue me another time.”

He did not smile, but his eyes gleamed. “No one will dare to pursue you now, Katherine. Do you not know my reputation? There are few finer swordsmen in all of England. We are trothed. We are to be wed in four weeks. No one—not even that pirate, O’Neill, will dare to touch what is mine.”

Katherine tried to imagine John Hawke and Liam O’Neill clashing—fighting. It was a horrifying thought. One man would surely die from the encounter—if they did not kill each other. Then her thoughts were diverted, for Hawke was pulling her to him, lowering his mouth to hers.

She held his broad shoulders uncertainly as his mouth moved softly on hers. His kiss was gentle, without demand. Without the fervor she had expected. Katherine was relieved. She was in no mood for kissing now. But her relief vanished in the next instant. His mouth swiftly firmed. His lips became insistent, urging hers to part. Like the other men who had pursued her, this man was an expert at seduction. Yet Katherine could not obey his summons. She whimpered a little, not in desire, but in dismay.
He mistook her and pressed her against the wall. Katherine allowed him to suck on her lips, and then on her throat, telling herself that she must not push him away, acutely aware of his large, heated loins pressing hers. She reminded herself that he was handsome, noble, and kind. Yet her body remained indifferent.

Oh why could she not feel the passion for him that she had felt just last night for Liam O’Neill?

He finally tore his mouth from her throat. Katherine forced herself to meet his gaze, reassuring herself that, in time, she would adjust to him, that she would seek his embrace as she had sought Liam’s the night before. But guilt consumed her. She thought she saw confusion in his eyes, confusion and disappointment.

But then he smiled and put his arm around her, and she knew she had misread him.

They would be married in London at St. Paul’s Cathedral. The queen and her entire court would attend the nupitals, but afterward the bride and groom would ride to Barby Hall, the estate dowered Katherine by Elizabeth, where they would spend their wedding night. Preparations for the wedding began immediately. In the interim, Katherine was given leave to adjourn to Sir John’s ancestral home in Cornwall, so that she might meet his father and acquaint herself with her future duties as mistress of his estate.

Katherine was happy. Soon she would be a married woman, and not just any married woman, but the wife of a knight who would undoubtedly rise through the ranks in Elizabeth’s administration as he grew older. One day he might become a knight of the Garter, or even a privy councilor. Elizabeth often rewarded those loyal to her by ennobling them and enriching them as she had done with Leicester. Why, just last month Sir William Cecil had been made a peer, and as Lord Burghley was now lord treasurer of the realm—one of England’s most powerful men.

Katherine was happy. This was what every woman dreamed of—marriage and security, a fine, noble man and an ancient home. Not pirates who stole into dark chambers
in the middle of the night with wicked, amoral intent—not pirates who swooped down on innocent traders, plundering and committing mayhem, seizing innocent women. Not in the interest of assuaging their lustful natures, giving scarcely a thought to their hapless victims.

Katherine knew that she was very lucky—the luckiest lady alive, no doubt.

She had not seen her father, either, not since the betrothal had been made and announced. She had ignored Gerald’s summons, which had come almost immediately after she had accepted John’s proposal. She also had ignored her own conscience, refusing to think of how she disobeyed her father. But when it became too strong, too insistent, and too intrusive, she decided that being an English gentleman’s wife might very well aid her and Gerald. For in time she would discuss her father’s predicament with her new husband, and in time, he would begin to address the issue with the queen. Katherine knew that Elizabeth was very fond of John Hawke—he was one of her favorites after Leicester and Ormond. Surely the queen would listen to Sir John when the day came that he pleaded for her father’s return to Ireland.

They left for Cornwall immediately. Katherine advocated their hasty departure, feeling some urgency, eager to escape London. Both to thwart Gerald and Eleanor, either one of whom might dare to chase her down at court, and to thwart Liam—who was so bold that he might very well attempt another midnight rendezvous—this time with catastrophic consequences.

Meanwhile, night after night, she lay awake, impossibly restless, thinking not of her betrothed, but of the damned pirate.

John’s father, Sir Henry Hawke, was a somewhat portly, handsome man, who greeted them before they had even dismounted. Katherine knew from his grim expression that he was not pleased with the alliance. She could guess all the reasons he was against her. She was Irish. Her father was the queen’s prisoner, and in disgrace. And although she kept her faith secretly, as all true believers were required to do, everyone guessed that she was Catholic.

She and John had discussed the matter of the religious upbringing of their children, to no avail. He was staunchly Protestant, could not abide popery. Katherine could not imagine worshiping without the vestments, or by reading in English from the Book of Common Prayer. They dropped the topic before they began to argue, agreeing to discuss it another time.

Although Sir Henry Hawke was not pleased with her, having undoubtedly hoped that his handsome son would snare a titled heiress, he was not rude or unkind, and eventually he began to thaw. On their second day at Hawkehurst, Katherine made a startling discovery. She and Hawke were astride two Cornish ponies, out upon the moors, enjoying a mild and sunny March day. He began to tell her about the guests who would attend a fête given by his father in their honor, one where she would meet the local lords and ladies. Katherine was stunned to learn that Hawke’s closest neighbor was Lord Hixley of Thurlstone Manor. Juliet, as it turned out, was her neighbor!

“John, my dear friend from the convent where I spent the last few years is Juliet Stratheclyde, Thurlstone’s heiress and Lord Hixley’s ward.”

Hawke regarded her. “Stratheclyde died some years back, and I seem to recall there being a daughter, although I did not know she had been sent to a convent.”

Katherine spurred her pony to his. “John! Let us go visit Thurlstone. Oh, please!”

John smiled at her. “You are very beautiful, Katherine, when your eyes shine like that. Come, let us go calling.”

They waited in the great hall, admiring the rich tapestries, the silver plate, and the cushioned chairs. Juliet was out riding, Lord Hixley inspecting his mines. But the steward was eager to send a stableboy after her. John and Katherine chatted while they waited.

And then Katherine heard soft, running footsteps. She turned, smiling, as Juliet burst into the hall. She had never looked more lovely, her dark, waist-length hair unbound, her cheeks flushed from the outdoors, her eyes glowing.
She wore a damask emerald gown that accentuated her striking coloring. “Katherine! Oh, Katherine!”

The two girls hugged and rocked each other in their arms. Finally, laughing, they pulled apart. “You were a raving beauty before, but this wild clime suits you, Juliet, you are even more lovely!”

“Katherine, you are too sweet! And you are no hag, let me assure you of that. What are you doing here?” Juliet’s gaze moved past Katherine and settled upon Hawke. Her smile faded. She stared at him, her cheeks slowly turning pink.

Katherine smiled to herself when she realized that Juliet could not take her eyes off of her handsome fiancé. She turned to introduce John. As she spoke her smile wavered. Hawke stared at Juliet with the same startled intensity with which Juliet stared at him. Katherine had finished speaking, and a sudden silence filled the room—one filled with unmistakable tension.

Hawke came to life. His expression stiffly formal, he finally bowed. “Lady Stratheclyde,” he murmured. “How pleased I am to make your acquaintance.” His glance, which had been locked with Juliet’s, now slipped from her eyes down to her toes, briefly but discernibly—in an unmistakably male manner.

Katherine no longer smiled.

Juliet did not seem to know what to say. Nervously, she glanced once at Katherine, then her eyes returned to John. “Sir John, let me…let me congratulate you…you and Katherine…on your wonderful good fortune.”

Hawke’s jaw had become incredibly tight. He nodded, and then turned to gaze out of one of the room’s beautiful, multipaned windows. Katherine was dismayed. Surely she was mistaken. Surely the air did not crack and sizzle between them—surely not!

As if to make up for her recent lapse, Juliet forced a smile and began to chatter away, her tone too bright. “Katherine, I am so happy for you,” she said breathlessly. “How happy you must be! When and where will the nuptials take place? How long will you remain at
Hawkehurst?” Her smile flashed. “When will you return?”

Katherine kept one eye on John, who had turned his back on them now and was studying a tapestry of William the Conqueror at Hastings. She sensed that he was listening to their every word. “We shall wed on the fifteenth of April in London. And we remain at Hawkehurst but another two nights.”

Juliet’s face fell. “Then I will not see you again, will I?” she said, sounding like her old self.

“Are you not coming to the fête being given in my and John’s honor?” Katherine asked.

“I don’t think so,” Juliet said.

“Weren’t you invited?” Katherine asked.

Juliet hesitated. “I was, of course, but…my uncle prefers that I do not attend.”

“But why?”

Juliet did not answer. “Katherine, I was truly hoping that we might pass some time together before you left. I wish you were staying longer.”

Katherine took her hand. “Perhaps we can walk in the garden?” She turned to her fiancé. “John, would you mind if Juliet and I spent a few moments together?”