His large hands suddenly gripped her arm from behind, halting her. Juliet tensed, half turning. His blue eyes were like twin fires.
“Thank you, Lady Stratheclyde, for your prayers,” he said.
She flushed with pleasure, her heart pounding so hard and so fast it felt as if it might burst.
“And if you wait but a moment, I will escort you back to Thurlstone.”
She would have his company a little bit longer. Her pleasure knew no bounds. And then she thought about his impending departure, about why and where he would go, and all pleasure disappeared. Dear God, she was so afraid, afraid that Hawke would be killed when he finally cornered Liam O’Neill.
And she realized then that her heart would be broken should he die. Somehow, she coveted more than his kisses. Somehow, she had fallen in love with her best friend’s husband—on the threshold of her own marriage to Lord Hunt.
27
Dingle Bay, Ireland
TheSea Daggerbobbed at anchor while supplies far more precious than powder were unloaded rapidly into small rowboats and rowed to shore, where FitzMaurice’s men awaited. Liam stood on the beach, having disembarked with the initial boatload of victuals, which would see the Irish rebels through the first months of the winter. And winter would soon descend upon Ireland. It was a cold, bluff day. Liam’s breath formed puffs of vapor in the air, and he wore a heavy woolen cloak.
Hugh Barry stood beside him, both men watching momentarily as theSea Daggerwas unloaded under the supervision of Liam’s first mate. “This will sustain us through the first half of the winter,” Barry said.
“I am aware of that,” Liam replied. “In January we will rendezvous again, but not here.” He had already used Dingle Bay twice, and would not risk using it yet again. “There is a small estuary just south of Galway. Do you know it?”
Barry nodded.
Liam studied him a moment. The young man had aged considerably in the last year. There were lines in his face where before there had been none. And he had lost weight. He had not been a big man in any case, but now he was reed-thin. Liam had long since stopped hating Hugh Barry.The rebel cause was almost hopeless, and Liam felt sorry for him.
“How is Katie?” Barry asked, surprising him.
Liam was careful not to smile, and not to allow the light to shine in his eyes, a light her mere name evoked. “She is well.”
“Does she stay with you of her own will, O’Neill? Or is she still your prisoner?”
Liam contained a smile. “She stays of her own free will, Barry.” He said no more, purposefully withholding the news of their marriage. If he were ever caught, it would be better for Katherine if the whole world did not know that she was more than willing—that she was also his wife. He understood the scandal—and repercussions—such a disclosure would cause. “You said FitzMaurice wished to meet with me. Where in hell is he?”
“I do not know,” Barry answered, glancing up at the wooded hills behind them. “I was wondering that myself.”
Liam was already somewhat uneasy, as he had been since he’d arrived at Dingle Bay earlier that day. Although his mission was not without danger, he had been on adventures far more dangerous, without feeling such a prickling sense of anxiety. Liam did not like the fact that FitzMaurice was late for a meeting arranged several months before. Liam tensed, wondering what had befallen FitzMaurice. “FitzMaurice will not come,” he stated suddenly. Knowing as he spoke that it was true. And his hand closed upon the hilt of his rapier.
“What? How can you know that?”
Liam did not answer. Trouble was in the making, he was now certain of it. His gaze scanned the wooded and rocky hills. Seeing nothing, he turned nevertheless, barking orders to his men. He wanted the ship unloaded in record time, and even as they unloaded, he ordered her prepared to put to sea. “I will meet with FitzMaurice another time,” he told Barry, silently thinking,if FitzMaurice is still alive and free to attend such a meeting. He was acutely aware of danger now. Already he was striding toward the roiling surf, intent on reboarding theSea Dagger.
Barry strode beside him. “In two months,” he said.
Liam nodded as someone screamed.
That scream was accompanied by a musket shot.
Liam whirled, rapier drawn, as British troops burst from the woods, running and tripping down the hillside, armed with both muskets and rapiers. “To the ship,” Liam shouted to his men.
More firing sounded, some of the rebels fell. Others drew their swords and spears and charged the British soldiers. Liam winced as he saw cavalry, poorly mounted but on horseback nonetheless, charging down the slope on the heels of the infantry. The Irish rebels were clad in furs, not armor, and armed with knives and daggers, heavy swords and nearly useless spears. They would be slaughtered by the mounted troops. As he ran toward one of the rowboats, Liam wondered who had betrayed them.
Barry had drawn his own sword and was running to join his men and meet the attacking soldiers. Liam heard him cry out. He whirled to see Barry falling, blood blossoming high up in his chest, hit with a musket ball.
A savage fight was ensuing. The Irish valiantly tried to defend themselves against the soldiers, but their weapons were no match for those of the British, who chopped them down with razor-sharp, lightweight rapiers, or shot them in the back with their muskets. It was a massacre and within minutes it would be over. Liam ran back toward the melee.
Hugh was trying to get up, but could not rise above his knees. Liam jerked him to his feet, then saw the rider galloping toward them. He dropped Barry, whirled, his rapier ready, legs braced. The soldier had holstered his musket and now raised his rapier. Liam parried his blow but once, yet so powerfully that the rider was toppled from his horse. Liam darted forward, kicked him back to the ground as he tried to rise. An instant later he had skewered him in the heart.
Liam turned and found Barry staggering, just barely standing, trying to draw his own sword. Liam knocked the weapon from his hand and threw the smaller man over his shoulder. He ran into the surf. His men had already leapt into the rowboats and were shouting to him in encouragement. Liam plunged through the waves, the water lappinghis knees, swirling about his thighs. He reached the closest boat and tossed Barry inside it, leaping in himself. Two men helped haul him over the side. Swiftly two others began to row the small boat away. A musket ball whistled past Liam’s head. Everyone ducked.
