No, he was not afraid, not of death—and not of her.
Elizabeth was at once excited and dismayed. As a woman she would never be immune to him—but as a queen, she demanded his fear and his respect.
The fact of his betrayal stabbed her yet again. How could he have turned traitor upon her? Had he no care for her at all? She thanked God—and her own iron will—that she had not invited him into her bed that one night last year—when she had been so tempted. To hide her agitation, she smiled as coldly as she could, yet her mouth quavered. “Come here, pirate.”
Liam walked forward, held her eye, and had the audacity to say, “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” and only then did he drop to his knees at her feet.
“Oh? You are a foul rogue. You do not seem in the least bit repentant.”
“I am very repentant.” He looked up. “I beg your pardon not just for my perceived crimes, but for coming into your presence in such a malodorous state.”
She stared at him as he knelt before her, wondering what he was up to now, not missing his use of the word “perceived.”
His gaze was too bold, too male, and filled with too much promise.
Elizabeth trembled. She felt far less a queen and far more a young and anguished virgin girl. She studied him and saw that the manacles caused him pain. But she wouldnot order them removed—he deserved to suffer for what he had done to her. “You may rise.”
Liam rose to his feet quite gracefully, a feat few men could accomplish while their wrists were bound behind their backs. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth was disturbed by their small audience, not liking the fact that their every word was overheard, their every gesture watched. Yet she told herself she must not dismiss her advisors. To be alone with Liam O’Neill was far too dangerous. “Next time you are brought to me you must bathe first, for I am offended by the horrid sight you make, and the horrid smell,” she said frankly.
“I hope there is a next time.” He inclined his head. “I cannot tolerate being in my own body,” he said affably, meeting her gaze, “and I am sure I look like a Bridewell wretch.”
“I might send you to Bridewell,” Elizabeth said, wringing her hands. Did he think to seduce her with his too-direct gray gaze?
He lifted a brow quite arrogantly. “But only vagabonds and whores serve in that place.”
“Ahh, then perhaps I should send your strumpet there.” Elizabeth smiled grimly at the thought.
His arrogance was gone. Something not quite cool flickered in his eyes. “A mistress is hardly a whore.”
“Oh? I did not realize there was a difference,” Elizabeth said. “You care for her still?” Elizabeth fought to hide her flaming jealousy.
“She was good bedsport.”
“Where is John Hawke’s wife?”
“Upon my island.”
And Elizabeth wished them to be alone. She had to learn the truth. “Everyone, leave us,” she commanded.
Ormond had been glowering throughout, and with a final murderous glare at O’Neill, as if he had some care for his half sister, he tromped out with William Cecil. Leicester did not rush to obey. Concern plain upon his face, he came close to them. “Your Majesty,” he began in protest.
Elizabeth turned a glacial gaze upon him. God’s blood,she had no time for Robin now! She had no time for anyone but the pirate. “You, too, my lord. I wish to speak with the renegade alone.”
“’Tis not wise,” Dudley said, flushing with anger.
“But I am queen, and if I wish to be a fool, so be it,” Elizabeth snapped.
Dudley turned on his heel, furious, and marched out.
Then Elizabeth realized that Hawke still stood by the doorway, unmoving and grim. “You too, Sir John.”
Hawke bowed, as red-faced as Leicester, but Elizabeth thought some of his coloring was due to shame. “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but the pirate is a dangerous man. I do not think you should remain alone with him.” He hesitated. “And I would learn more of my wife, if I could.”
“The pirate might be a traitor, but he will not hurt me. You may learn of your wife later. Out,” she ordered Hawke.
His heels snapped together. Mouth pursed tightly, he turned and obeyed.
