The Game (43 page)

She did not know how long she sat there on the floor, too weak even to move a muscle, but the next thing she knew her father was there with her, crouching beside her. “Katie? Dear God, Katie! What’s happened to you?” He touched her dirty, scratched cheek.

Katherine began to cry, moving into his open arms. He held her and stroked her hair. Hysterically, almost incoherently, she told him what had happened. “What am I to do, Father? I have lost my child! Liam will soon hang! And now it appears my fate is the same, for I tried to kill the queen!”

Gerald helped her to her feet and held her upright. “We must think on this, darling, carefully. But all is not as horrific as it appears. I do not think your cause is lost.”

And hope sparked in Katherine’s breast. She should have known to come to her father. He had always been a hero, a man capable of moving mountains, and even his exile could not change that. She gripped the lapels of his faded, much-mended doublet. “What do you say, Father? What do you mean?”

Gerald smiled at her. “Clearly you have not heard the latest news.”

“What news?” she whispered dryly.

“Your lover is no longer in the Tower, Katie. Two days ago, Liam O’Neill escaped. And the
Sea Dagger
was spotted off the Essex coast, sailing north, toward Ireland.” Gerald smiled at her. “The Master of the Seas is free, Katie. Liam O’Neill is free.”

And finally, Katherine swooned.

Whitehall

M
any hours had passed since the FitzGerald girl had tried to murder her, but Elizabeth was still terribly shaken, and terribly enraged. There had been numerous plots against her since she had ascended the throne in 1558. But never had she been faced with an assassin’s blade. And never had she dreamed an assassin would be a woman she knew, a woman she had befriended.

“Please, Bess, pacing like a caged tiger will get you nowhere.”

Elizabeth jerked as Leicester entered her bedchamber as if he shared it with her. She ran to him, heedless of her women, who huddled together by her bed, having given up trying to calm her when she had slapped Anne Hastings for her efforts. Elizabeth rushed into Leicester’s arms, clinging to him. “Have they caught her? Have they caught that treacherous slattern?”

“Ssh, dear, sssh. I think some brandywine is in order.” Leicester smiled at her, stroking her back. His regard grew sharp and imperious as he looked over her shoulder at her ladies. Understanding his silent command, they all ran from the room. With one velvet-tipped toe, Leicester slid the door closed.

“Did they catch her?” Elizabeth cried. “Did they catch Katherine FitzGerald?”

“No.”

Elizabeth gasped. “How stupid can everyone be. To allow a mere girl—and one maddened at that—to escape after such an attempt at murder.”

Leicester had moved to a sideboard to pour his queen the brandy she so needed, and now he handed it to her. “Drink,” he ordered.

Her gaze riveted upon him, Elizabeth obeyed.

Leicester waited until she had taken a healthy dose of the liquor. “As you have said, she is mad. Who knows where she would go?”

“Undoubtedly she has gone to her rascal father.”

“Hawke was at St. Leger House. She is not there.”

Elizabeth jerked on his doublet. “And you, Robin? Did you get a good look at her? Caked with mud and slime, her hair like a bird’s nest? Did you see her eyes? The mad, wild light therein?”

“Elizabeth,” Leicester began softly.

“Answer me!” she cried.

“Yes.”

“And do you still wish to bed her?”

His stare was unwavering. “Do you truly expect me to be a monk when it is you who denies me what I really want?”

Elizabeth flung her glass to the floor, unmindful of the splinters which sprayed about them. “She has probably run to him! To O’Neill! Now I will never capture her! Even now, they are probably in one another’s arm! When I told the rogue that he could not ever have her!”

Leicester said sharply, “Who is it you really love, Bess? Him, or me?”

Elizabeth’s jaw clamped down hard. She said not a word.

He sighed. “O’Neill was spotted at sea. Katherine is undoubtedly still near London. They cannot possibly be together.”

“I want her caught and hanged,” Elizabeth cried.

“Dear, you are not thinking clearly. The girl was in great distress. She was mad with grief—she knew not what she did. She—”

“Stop. Do not dare take up her defense, Robin—I warn you.”

Leicester became still.

Elizabeth faced her window, looked out at the gray, sluggish Thames, dotted with rowboats and barges. “She will be tried for treason, Robin. I want her hanged and it will be so.”

“She tried to kill the queen. She cannot stay here!”

“She is my daughter, her husband is gone, and I don’t think Hawke will be back soon. She is staying here, Eleanor, at least until I think of a safe place to send her.”

Katherine listened with little interest to her father and Eleanor as they argued. She could not move, for she was more exhausted than she had ever been in her entire life, so much so that she could not lift her head from her arms, which rested on the dining hall table. Liam had escaped. How glad she was. Liam would live. She laughed softly, then tears filled her eyes. Now she would have to fulfill her part of the bargain she had made with the earl of Leicester.

“She is mad—look at her!” Eleanor spit.

Gerald glanced at his daughter, who was laughing strangely even as she wept. “She has just given birth to a babe, and you know how terrible that ordeal is. Leave her be.”

Katherine clawed the wood table, having heard them. Was she mad? She herself could not understand why she had tried to kill the queen. Her rage had been so great and so uncontrollable. Then she remembered—she had a son. A tiny, needy infant son who had been stolen from her. She heaved with the dry sobs which now racked her body.

For, as much as she missed the baby, she was afraid now, so afraid, that the child would suffer for the crimes of both of its parents. Liam had escaped, but he was a traitor. And she herself had almost murdered the queen. What would Elizabeth do with her child?

Perhaps Leicester would help her yet again.

“Katie,” Gerald said softly, bending over her, “you must go to bed. Before you become truly ill.”

Katherine smiled at her father through her tears. “Will I ever see my child again, Father? Will he be nourished, taken care of, and loved? Oh dear Lord, how shall I live?”

He stroked her tangled, dirty hair. “We will speak of this tomorrow, darling, when you are rested.”

Katherine allowed him to pull her to her feet. “And Liam? Will I ever see him again?” she choked out.

Gerald smiled at her as if the pirate had hardly betrayed him. “I have little doubt,” he said.

“I know that she is here.”

Gerald stood facing the earl of Leicester in his dark dining hall, holding one candle aloft, unblinking. “The queen’s troops were here, several times. They searched every nook and cranny of this house and all the grounds, and turned up nothing. Katherine is not here, my lord.”

Leicester smiled. The candlelight danced across his dark, striking features. “Gerald, you forget that I am your friend,” he said softly. “And I am also Katherine’s friend.” His dark eyes burned. “I seek to protect her. I do not wish to see her hang.”

Gerald hesitated. He understood what Leicester’s interest in his daughter was, it was obvious. But Katherine had confided in him before she had lapsed into the deep sleep of utter exhaustion, and he was aware now that she had married Liam O’Neill last October on the pirate’s island. He considered the alternatives. Was it better if Katherine left with Leicester and became the earl’s mistress? Without question, Dudley was the most powerful man in England. Or should she eventually return to O’Neill and carry on as his wife—keeping O’Neill allied with Desmond?

A moment later Gerald’s mind was made up. Leicester, although influential, had failed to thwart the queen when she had decided to try and convict him for treason four years ago—and now he was dispossessed and powerless, in exile at St. Leger House. No, Liam O’Neill could do more for his cause than the earl of Leicester, Gerald was certain of it.

“I know that she is here,” Leicester repeated with growing impatience.

“She is exhausted, asleep, and ill.”

Leicester’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction and he nodded. “I shall return for her in another week or two, when
all has quieted down. I have a very small, isolated estate in Northumberland, the perfect place for her to go. Meanwhile, keep her well hidden, and I shall warn you if the queen sends her troops to you again.”

Gerald nodded, smiled, and shook the earl’s hand. Leicester turned and crossed the hall, his dark cloak flying about his broad shoulders, and he disappeared into the black night shadows outside.

Katherine was so exhausted that, the moment her aching body touched the soft down mattress of the bed, she was asleep. She slept deeply, dreamlessly, without moving even once, for an entire day.

Eventually she began to awaken. But there was such a fierce, burning pain inside of her breast, an unspeakable anguish, that she sought sleep again, desperately. On the edges of her mind, she knew that untold horror awaited her should she awaken.

“Katherine?” he whispered.

Katherine smiled. She dreamed of Liam now, and that was far better than to be threatened with understanding the bursting pain in her heart. How quickly the pain turned to joy.

“Katherine.” His voice was low and hoarse. He touched her face, butterfly soft.

It was so real. Katherine sighed.

“Wake up, Kate.”

Katherine did not want to wake up, not now, not when she dreamed of being with Liam again. But her eyes seemed to flutter open. Her vision searched the darkness and found him immediately. He sat there beside her hip, on the side of the bed, unsmiling, his expression filled with tension. For a moment Katherine was confused, because she was dreaming—yet it was so real.

“Katherine!” he cried, bending over her, cupping her face in his strong, warm hands. His hands were shaking. “I heard the news in Bristol, that you attacked the queen. Are you all right?”

She stared at him. She was very, very tired, but it occurred to her that she was not dreaming, that she was not
hallucinating, that Liam was there in her bedchamber, sitting beside her upon her bed. “Liam?”

A moment later they were in one another’s arms. He crushed her to his chest. Katherine clung to him. He was her haven, her refuge, her rock against all things insane, unjust, and evil. She was safe now, and loved.

His shaking hands roamed over her back. “I wasn’t there for you,” he choked. And he gripped her face, tilting it up toward him. “Darling, forgive me.”

“Liam,” she whispered, still dazed.

His jaw flexed. Their gazes locked. His eyes were suspiciously moist.

Suddenly his mouth claimed hers. His kiss was restrained, yet the hunger in it was unmistakable. Katherine gave him her tongue. Liam entwined with her, then thrust deep. A moment later he tore his lips from hers, gasping.

“Liam,” she protested, reaching for his face.

But he pushed her hands aside. “Kate.” He was hoarse. “You have just had a babe.” He managed a smile, but it was rueful.

She blinked at him. She had just had a babe? Comprehension began to dawn, but she did not want to remember, so she buried her face against his chest. She rained kisses there, on the broad slabs of his flexed muscles, on his hardening nipples. Her breathing had become shallow.

“Don’t,” he whispered, moving onto his side and taking her with him. He tucked her head beneath his chin, her cheek to his chest, and began to stroke her back lightly. “Katherine,” he murmured. “How I have missed you.”

Katherine slowly relaxed, soothed by his body’s warmth and strength and by his soft, gentle caresses. Her lids became heavy, and it was almost impossible to open them. But she did, glancing at his handsome, flushed countenance. “Liam. I love you.” Her fingernails slid across his ribs, underneath his shirt. Her lids seemed to close of their own volition.

“Katherine, do not sleep. I must talk to you.”

She could not seem to force her eyes to open. “Later,” she murmured, sighing.

“Katherine.” He cupped her chin.

Somehow she opened her eyes. Almost immediately the lids sagged.

“I want to take you with me, but I cannot,” he said quickly. “I have much work to do. I must entrap and capture FitzMaurice. Do you understand me?”

FitzMaurice. Katherine did not want to discuss politics now. She closed her eyes.

“When I have captured him, when your father is restored, I will come for you. And then we will be together, always. Do you understand me?”

She blinked at him. It was hard to focus. What, exactly, was he saying? His voice sounded far away.

“And when I do come for you, I will bring you our child,” he said loudly, disturbing her sleep. “Katherine?”

Sighing, on the threshold of a dark void, she murmured, “I trust you, Liam.”

“Katherine, you must listen. In the interim, it is not safe for you here. I am sending you to Stanley House in Essex.”

She tried to nod.

His hand stroked her brow, her hair. Tenderly. “Have you heard a single word I said?” he whispered.

She could not find the strength to respond. But she thought he added, “I love you, Katherine,” just before sleep finally claimed her.

Morning sunlight was streaming harshly into Katherine’s chamber when Eleanor awoke her. A part of Katherine felt as if she could sleep forever, but that was hardly wise. As she obeyed her stepmother, her body protested mightily. Her muscles were stiff and aching, her body felt battered and sore. It took Katherine a full moment before she comprehended exactly why she was in such a wretched condition.

Oh, God
. She had birthed a child, but the queen had taken it away from her. And then she had attacked the queen in a maddened fury.

Gingerly, she tested her muscles. She still felt fatigued, but she had some strength now, strength she needed in order to survive. And survive she must. Somehow, some
way, she must regain her child, and she also needed to hide from the queen’s troops.

It seemed a monumental task.

Eleanor helped her bathe and dress. Finally gowned, Katherine faced herself in the room’s single, chipped mirror. She was far too pale and far too thin. She no longer looked healthy, strong, and robust. Perhaps, finally, men would cease to regard her as a possible plaything. And Katherine wondered if Liam thought about her at all. Undoubtedly if he saw her now, he would hardly look at her. The notion was too painful to bear.

Her glance darted to the bed. Had she not had a dream of Liam last night?

“That’s right, you’re not so comely now,” Eleanor said, breaking into her thoughts.

Katherine glanced at her, but saw no malice in her stepmother’s expression.

“You had better stop grieving,” Eleanor said firmly, “and think about living. Aye. There’s women who have suffered far more than you. You can grow old now—or you can choose to live.” Eleanor stared. “Your mother was a fighter.”

“And I must be strong like her,” Katherine murmured.

“Aye. Think of what you want, what you need. Then put the past behind you and go forward toward your goals.” Eleanor’s mouth firmed. “The queen wants you hanged, Katherine. You can not stay here with your father and me at St. Leger House.”

Katherine realized that Eleanor was correct in all that she had said. Not only must she recover her wits and resolve and continue to fight to regain her child, she must leave London. But where would she go?