The Game (33 page)

His eyes blazed. “No.
No
. I will not breed whores and pirates on you.”

Katherine cried out—as he slammed from the room.

T
he letter came a month later, in August. Liam brought it with him when he returned from his second voyage, one that had lasted a mere week. Katherine recognized the seal instantly; it belonged to the earl of Desmond. Her heart seemed to still. Clearly the sealed missive was from her father, who still recklessly used the insignia to which he no longer had any right.

Liam regarded her searchingly as she stared transfixed at the letter. “I will rid myself of salt and grime in a bath upstairs,” he told her. His smile appeared, soft and seductive. “Perhaps you will come up and help me in my bath after you have read the letter.”

“Thank you, Liam,” Katherine said softly. She watched him climb the stone stairs. She had missed him, but their reunion would have to wait. She understood that he was deliberately leaving in order to give her a moment of privacy in which to read the missive from her father. Katherine was grateful. In the several months since her abduction, in the few weeks since their marriage, she had become more adept at avoiding all thoughts pertaining to the world outside their island. Her father was a part of that world—and she was not sure she wanted to hear the tidings he now brought her.

Katherine moved to stand in front of the fire and she tore open the seal reluctantly, fearfully.

The first of July, in the year fifteen hundred and seventy-one. Dearest Katie, why have you not sent me word? What
passes? The court was in an uproar over your abduction, the queen enraged, as was John Hawke. But she denied him his request to set chase after both you and O’Neill
.

Have you heeded my wishes as I last made them clear? Is O’Neill an eager suitor? Will he support my cause? My situation has not changed. My worries have never been greater. I die slowly in this exile. In Desmond, FitzMaurice is as strong as ever. At court the queen pulls out her hair, despairing of ever catching the blackguard fanatic. Philip supports him more actively than ever, and from time to time, so does Catherine de Medici. The situation cannot continue, dearest Katie. Soon FitzMaurice will be so ensconced in Desmond, that only an act of God will remove him from Desmond lands. Katie, although you are wed now to Hawke, you must entice O’Neill to our cause if you have not already done so. We need O’Neill as our greatest ally. Send him to me
.

Your loving father,
Gerald FitzGerald
.

Katherine’s hands shook as she quickly folded the letter and tossed the parchment into the fire.
She was still married to John Hawke
.

She was panting, her temples pounding. The letter had been dated July 1—perhaps by now Hawke had divorced her.
Oh, God
. Something was amiss. Liam had abducted her on the fifteenth of April—would Hawke not have divorced her immediately?

Katherine sank into a chair. She could hardly think.
Did she have two husbands?

Oh, God
. Katherine looked toward the stairs. Up above, in their room, Liam now bathed. How fond of him she had become.

No. Not fond. And not just enslaved. Far more than fond, and far more than enslaved. Katherine knew that she was in love with him.

Katherine fought for calm, and failed. But despite her near hysteria, she realized that she could no longer hide on Liam’s island, pretending that the real world did not exist. She could no longer ignore her duty to her father,
who was relying upon her to help him shift the scales of justice in his favor. The time had come for her to persuade Liam to ally himself with Gerald and his cause, no matter that she did not want to use Liam, no matter that she did not want any politics to become a part of their marriage.

No, she could no longer avoid her duty to her father, and she could no longer avoid the question of her own future—for the future had come to find her. Katherine ran to the stairs.

Liam was still in the tub, which had grown tepid now, when he heard her racing footsteps. His slight smile was instantaneous. He saw Katherine appear in the doorway, closing the chamber door behind her. His response to her was always the same—he marveled at her beauty, at her spirit, at her intelligence—yet with every passing day, his feelings became more intense.

He saw that she was distraught. What had her rascal father written to her? Liam had guessed that the tidings would not be good. He had not wanted to give her the letter. But he could no more deny her communication from her father than he could deny her any other thing. Liam sighed and rose to his full height, the water streaming down his hard body. “What is wrong, Katherine?” he asked softly.

She was very pale, and she swiftly came to his side, holding out a towel. Liam took her wrist before she could hand it to him. “What news has saddened you, sweetheart?”

Her gaze met his, her breasts heaved. She spoke in a rush. “Father is despondent. He worries about me. His cousin is usurping all that once belonged to him. If FitzMaurice is not caught by Perrot soon, it looks like he will be too powerful ever to be removed from Desmond.” She wet her lips. “I have never asked much of you. I ask something of you now.”

Liam was unmoving. His gray eyes were calm, watchful.

“I need you to help my father, Liam.” Katherine’s voice broke. “He is the victim of a grave injustice, surely you know that. Please, Liam. I beg you to help him.”

Liam took her hands in his. Very softly, he said, “For you, I would gladly commit such treason, Katherine.”

“You will do as I ask?” she cried.

“I am already helping your father,” he said very gravely. But he felt a stabbing of guilt—and fear. He had met with FitzMaurice but once, many months ago, but that had been enough. Since that winter meeting, he had supplied the rebel and his band of soldiers well. Well enough that their resistance to the British thrived. They had never been better fed, better armed, or better supplied.

Liam was well aware of how dangerous his plan was. To plot to raise a man up, in order to bring him down, was a fragile scheme indeed. It was fraught with weak points, could so easily fail. And if it failed, FitzMaurice would reign supreme in Desmond, and he, Liam, would have been instrumental in achieving that. Katherine would never understand. She would be shocked by his apparent betrayal.

“H-how?” Katherine stammered, clearly stunned. “When?”

Liam touched her cheek, the lobe of her ear. His smile was gentle. “Katherine, my very existence is political. I sleep, eat, live, and breathe politics. I do not want there to be any politics between us.” He tilted up her chin, looking into her eyes, and then he kissed her, half-soft, half-hungry. “I want naught but this between us, Katherine.”

She returned his kiss, then remained within his embrace. “Liam, I am so grateful. But what are you doing? Do you thwart FitzMaurice at sea?”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Ssh. I know you are very clever, Kate, but you should not dwell on politics. From afar, you have no hope of affecting them.”

She surprised him, for her hand moved to his face, cupping his cheek. Although Katherine was wildly demonstrative in bed, out of it she kept physically aloof from him.

“I think you have just flattered me,” Katherine said, her voice shaky. “Did you imply that if I were at court or in Ireland, I might be able to affect the actions of men like my father and FitzMaurice?”

He pressed her hand to his cheek, then studied her rav
ishing face. He did not tell that she already affected the fates of such men, because she had moved him to act in a conspiracy which, if successful, would shift all existing balances of power, and which would ultimately affect them all. Carefully but truthfully he said, “Kate, a woman like you could move mountains if she so chose.”

Katherine gazed at him, flushed. “My mother was such a woman,” she finally said.

“Undoubtedly you have inherited her tenacity, her intelligence, and her beauty.”

“I am not a
great
beauty, Liam.”

“The convent taught you modesty, but women who move men know their own worth. Modesty does not serve them well.”

Katherine’s brow furrowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because unlike your mother, you are naive and too innocent. One day, you may need every weapon at your disposal. Modesty will not help you then, sweetheart.” He was not sure why he had spoken so frankly, perhaps because he courted the gallows with his venture into treason. If he were ever caught and hung, Katherine would be left to fend for herself. He did not like that thought at all. “You are so seductive that men think of but one thing when they look at you. You can enslave any man that you choose. And once enslaved, that man will do your bidding, even against his own better judgment and his own self-interest.” He thought of his commitment to FitzMaurice. He thought of the Tower and the block.

She still stared, now appearing uneasy as well as upset. “I do not like the sound of this. And Liam, I have not enslaved you.”

He laughed. “No?” He pulled her hand down and wrapped it around his quivering manhood. “My cock has been swelling ever since you walked into the room and with every passing moment, continues to ripen.”

She pulled her hand away, appearing very close to tears.

Liam cursed himself and his lust and put his arms around her. “I am sorry, Kate. Forgive me for being bold
now, when you are so distressed. Tell me what has upset you so. There is more, is there not?”

“Yes! John Hawke did not divorce me,” she cried against his wet shoulder. “My father’s letter was dated the first of July. Why did he not already divorce me if that is what he planned? I am afraid we are still wed, Hawke and I.”

Liam stiffened, but chose not to lie. “I know.”

“What?” She pulled out of his arms, staring at him, aghast.

He let her go. Watching her. “He did not divorce you, but do not dwell on it. We are wed in your own faith, Katherine. Is that not enough?”

She regarded him for a long moment. “Hawke must still consider me his wife—as does the entire English world.”

Liam grew angry, but fought his rising temper. “It is no easy thing, to be scorned by the world, Kate—I know that well.” He saw her gaze soften. “Do not pity me, I hardly need it. Nor do you need pity, either—not even from yourself.”

She stared.

“We are wed now, legally, in the eyes of God and the Pope—no small thing. You belong to me, Katherine. Or do you still wish to return to England—to John Hawke?” His gaze darkened, and for a moment, he lost the ability to breathe.

But she whispered, “No.”

Liam stared into her eyes, his anger gone, wild exultation filling him. “You choose to stay with me, now, of your own free will?”

“Yes.” Katherine gazed up at him, the expression in her eyes so warm and tender, so loving, that he was speechless. And then she said, in the manner in which one might speak a vow, “I am not leaving you, Liam. Not ever.”

His eyes widened. His grip tightened. A vein pulsed in his neck.

“I promise,” she said hoarsely. “No matter what happens.”

Liam made a sound, one rich and deep, one harsh yet
joyous. He pulled her fully forward, captured her mouth, and then Katherine was against the wall, pinned there by him. She met his questing lips eagerly, opening for him instantly. Her tongue swept his. Liam tasted her tears, and understood that they were tears of joy. A moment later he lifted her off her feet and laid her on the bed, tossing her skirts up, and she wept, “Yes, darling, yes.” His penetration was both swift and savage, a huge and sudden invasion. Their gazes met, locking.

He did not speak, overwhelmed now by both the feeling of her sheath and her recent confession, but as he thrust into her, again and again, he held her gaze, hoping she might comprehend the love he felt for her—a love he had harbored for so very long. Katherine clung to his shoulders, beginning to weep, and he knew her climax neared. He was almost undone. He gasped. Stiffening, he fought for control, fought for the strength to withdraw, so that he would not spill his seed inside of her warm, fertile body.

“Liam,” Katherine gasped, clutching his face. “Please, don’t leave me.”

He froze, throbbing strongly, thickly, inside of her. Never had he felt such urgency before. How he wanted to explode, wet and hot, there inside of her tight canal. “No, Katherine,” he gasped, “I cannot.”

She tightened her muscles around him, and he saw from her expression that she was prepared to fight him to gain her way. Still holding his face, she cried, “I love you. I want your children. Liam, please!”

His body was rigid and unmoving as he held himself over her, except for the incessant pulsing of his penis. Liam was caught in the throes of agony. What man, flirting with the gallows as he did, would get his child upon such a noble woman? Sweat trickled down his cheeks.

“Liam, give me your children,” Katherine cried. Tears streaming down her face. “Darling—I love you!”

Liam gasped then, covering her mouth with his—and instead of withdrawing from her, he plunged deep, not once, not twice, but many times, lost in pure ecstasy, and when his hot, potent seed finally spewed, shooting deep inside her womb, Katherine clung to him and wept in joy.