Elizabeth gripped her palms, which were damp now that they were alone. Her gaze fused with Liam’s. “Would you hurt me, rogue?”
He smiled softly. “No.”
Her heart, already wavering, melted. This was the Liam she knew—and was so very fond of. Oh, damn his rascal, mercenary, treacherous hide! She began to pace. “You mastered the seas many years ago, and we have always had an understanding, unspoken, but one you abided by,” she said. “You never attacked except where it did not hurt my own causes at the time, or somehow furthered them—even if those causes were highly secret.” She paused, facing him now. “Why? Why, Liam, why did you turn traitor to me?”
Liam’s expression became grave. “I ask you to listen to me closely, Bess, very closely.”
She did not like his use of her familiar name. She stiffened. “I am listening. I am waiting. I have been waiting for this explanation a very long time.”
“My intention was not to hurt you.”
Elizabeth was frozen. No longer a queen, merely a woman who had never dared to live her dreams.
“I am no papist and you know it. Indeed, you are aware I saw too many burnings during your sister’s reign ever to support a fanatic like FitzMaurice.”
“I know this. Which is why I fail to understand you now, Liam,” Elizabeth cried. “You betrayedme, Liam. Your friend and your queen!”
“No.” Liam approached her. “I have not betrayed you. You have been pursuing the rebels in Ireland for many years now, without success. Lord Perrot cannot capture FitzMaurice, and this everyone knows. But I,” he paused dramatically, his gaze glittering, “I can capture the papist, Bess, and if you but free me, I will.”
Elizabeth gasped. “What further treachery is this?” she cried. “What crockery is this? You ask me to free you? You are atraitor. Traitorsmusthang.”
No fear showed in Liam’s eyes. Patiently, he said, “You are not listening, Bess.”
Elizabeth was shaking. “What could you possibly say to make me think to free you?”
He smiled slightly. “I have never been a traitor to you. Instead, at great risk to me and mine, I have allied myself with FitzMaurice—so that I can deliver your worst Irish enemy to you.”
Elizabeth stared, frozen.
“Do you not have other spies, Bess?” he said very softly. “Is it so surprising that I have played the spy for you, now? Who is better prepared, or better positioned, than I—to ensnare and entrap FitzMaurice?”
Elizabeth said nothing, her mind racing frantically, suspended between logic, which dictated disbelief, and her love for him, which blossomed with excitement and hope.
“I have raised him up only so I can bring him down,” Liam O’Neill said calmly. And he smiled, the smile of a victor, the smile of a master of the game. “And when I do, I expect a great reward from you.” And his gaze held hers.
Elizabeth turned away, imagining what he might ask of her—a reward no other man would dare request, one fartoo personal, one far too intimate. Already she could taste his kisses, feel his caress. She wet her lips, tried to clear her mind of such female nonsense. She was a queen. She had no business allowing him to seduce her now.
But the question raised itself. Did she dare? Did she dare trust her golden pirate now, after all that he had done?
Katherine wore the hood of her fur-lined velvet cloak in order to hide her face as she passed through Richmond’s northern gate. Macgregor walked beside her, as did Guy. Wedged as she was between the huge Scot and the small boy, Katherine hardly felt unremarkable.
Someone was going to recognize her soon. Katherine had been too distraught over Liam’s impending fate to think about her own reception at court until the past hour, on the barge that had taken them from London to Richmond. She could imagine the shock, excitement, and torrid speculation her appearance would cause, and she hoped to delay the inevitable.
Her first priority was learning all that she could about Liam—and gaining an audience with the queen.
She would deal with the rest afterward.
As they traversed the small gatehouse and climbed a broad flight of stairs that entered the hall directly, Katherine was well aware of the utter irony of her defending the man who had so thoroughly betrayed both her and her father. She would defend his support of FitzMaurice. How laughable it was. How sad.
Katherine and her companions entered the hall. Her heart began to race with fear. She must gain a royal audience, but that would surely be the most simple of her tasks. How would she convince the queen to spare Liam his life? Katherine had brooded upon little else in the past days since learning of Liam’s capture, and had not found any worthy argument to make in his defense.
She had debated very carefully, too, as to how to represent herself. Unless Liam had told someone of their marriage, the whole world thought her John Hawke’s wife. Katherine would tell no one of her second marriage. It would not help her cause. For she had no intention of everliving with him again if he should survive this circumstance. For Katherine had faced her deepest, darkest feelings. A part of her still loved Liam, foolishly, stupidly, and it always would. But she would never be able to trust him again.
His treachery was a scar upon her heart, to be worn forever.
Katherine paused on the threshold of the hall. The large chamber was crowded. Cautiously Katherine looked about for a familiar face, holding the neck of her hood with one hand. Her eyes widened when she saw several ladies she knew, including Anne Hastings, with whom she had been the most friendly. “Wait here,” Katherine murmured to Macgregor and Guy. She pushed her way forward, coming up behind the baroness.
“Anne,” she whispered nervously.
