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 boldnow, 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 yetjoyous. 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.
26
Richmond
The queen’s barge moved through the waters of the Thames, its gilt prow casting up a spray. Twenty-one oarsmen propelled it. It was a pleasant autumn afternoon and Elizabeth, clothed in gold, reclined upon her cushion, out of doors. The decks of the barge were strewn with flower petals, as was customary. Beside her were two of her ladies and several noblemen. One of the ladies was playing the lute.
Richmond Palace lay ahead. Its many towers, domes, and finials etched the skyline above a huge fruit orchard, past which the royal barge moved swiftly. Beyond the orchard the land was still lush and green, consisting of rolling meadows and timbered countryside.
Richmond Stairs lay ahead. Swans floated out of the barge’s way as the boat was rowed to the dock. Elizabeth rose to her feet with the help of the gentlemen, thanking them most graciously as she alighted from the barge. Then, her pleasant expression changing, she hurried past the gardens and through the palace gate. Her ladies had to run now in order to keep up with her.
Elizabeth had not enjoyed herself this afternoon and she was grim of countenance. How could she? Earlier that day she had learned that Sir John Perrot was on his way to visit her. That bit of information had given her an instant aching of the head. The last thing she wished to discusswas barbarian Ireland. She had so many other problems now. Another plot to free her cousin Mary had been discovered, one which called for Elizabeth’s assassination and a Catholic rebellion supported by an invasion of the duke of Alva from the Netherlands. Ultimately these plotters intended to thrust Mary upon England’s throne. The duke of Norfolk was one of the ringleaders in the conspiracy, but he was joined by the Pope and Philip of Spain. Just last week Elizabeth had ordered the Spanish ambassador out of the country. Norfolk was in the Tower. The Pope she ignored.
And the plot against her was only the most recent, of all her problems politic. Now she prayed that Perrot would announce that he was about to deliver FitzMaurice’s head to her upon a silver plate, for the papist also intended to overthrow her.
