“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, whenall 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?”
