She jumped out of his embrace and looked around, wondering where they were. Far from London, of course, which was many miles from the mouth of the river. She realized the audacity of the pirate. If he were caught in England, he would be tried for his many crimes and sentenced to death. If he were lucky, his fate would be a simple beheading. If not, he would be hanged, drawn, and quartered. How daring it was for him to venture onto English soil—how daring and how foolish.
Yet she knew that he was not a foolish man. Katherine stole a glance at him. Liam spoke to his men in low, crisp tones. His face appeared carved in stone. His profile was glorious and uncompromising. His men scurried to obey him instantly. He was a pirate, a man she abhorred, but unquestionably, he was a commander of men. Katherine decided that arrogance would explain his daring in coming to shore, that and supreme self-confidence.
Liam nodded to Macgregor and Katherine was led up the beach by the Scottish sailor, following the pirate. The other two seamen remained behind. The crenellated roof of a castle suddenly winked out at them from the swirling fog, not far distant. As they approached, the mist parted and closed repeatedly, revealing the castle’s stone outer walls. The sky was lightening. Dawn was stealing upon them.
Keeping her voice very low, unsure if detection were to her advantage or not, Katherine whispered, “Where are we, O’Neill?”
“’Tis Tilbury Castle you see,” Liam said in equally low tones. “You wait with Mac.”
“But where do you go?”
He ignored her, disappearing into the shadows.
Many minutes passed. Katherine knew he could not enter the castle, for the gates would be closed until the sunrise. But there must be a village nearby. Undoubtedly he sought transportation for them. Again she thought of how bold he was—to steal horses and vehicles out from under the nose of castle and castellan. Katherine was amazed. Bold and arrogant he might be, but grudgingly, she had to admit the extent of his courage.
But he returned without any conveyance. Astride a large dark horse, his cloak swirling, he appeared a midnight highwayman. Two other horses on lead lines foamed at their bits. Katherine was heaved upon the smaller gelding before she could blink. In another moment they were cantering down the road toward London.
“Can you ride?” he asked, his knee brushing hers.
“’Tis late to ask, is it not?” Katherine retorted, finding her seat and grateful to be riding astride and not sidesaddle.
He smiled at her. “An Irish lass like you must know how to ride, Katherine. I would be sorely disappointed otherwise.”
She met his gaze for a brief moment, thinking him mad to be enjoying the affair. Then she decided to concentrate on the task at hand. As a child, she had been a good rider, but that had been many years ago. And it was still so dark, making it very difficult to see. Katherine decided to let her mount have its head.
But how suspicious this predawn journey would appear to any passersby. Katherine threw a glance over her shoulder at the disappearing castle. A chill crept up her spine. What would happen if they should be captured by the queen’s men? Would she not be released? The thought was intriguing.
Yet her father was the queen’s prisoner. What would Elizabeth do with her, the daughter of a man deemed a traitorous earl? Would she be confined in Gerald’s prison in Southwark? Would her capture also mean the loss of her own freedom, the ruin of her future?
Katherine decided to make no efforts to draw attention to herself and her party. For now.
They rode hard and fast for several hours. The fog lessened. The sun crept into the graying sky, a burning ball of orange. London soon loomed ahead of them. Towers, spires, and a multitude of rooftops and chimneys pierced the cloudless sky, the huge, soaring Cathedral of St. Paul in the midst of it all. Katherine glimpsed Liam’s face. He still rode beside her, Macgregor behind. She looked for a trace of fear on his features, and saw nothing but resolve.
They rode through one gate and clattered down one deserted street after another. The city would soon awaken, but they saw no one. Sometimes groups of drunken men could be heard on another thoroughfare, singing bawdy tunes and laughing uproariously. Liam seemed to know these streets like the back of his hand. It made no sense.
They skirted the walls of the Tower. Katherine was in disbelief. She decided he was mad after all. No man who defied the queen’s authority for his livelihood would dare to come so close to the dreaded place that might well one day become his destiny. No man, no matter how bold, no matter how arrogant.
They galloped over London Bridge and turned east. They had entered a rowdy neighborhood of breweries and brothels. Several well-dressed gentlemen were leaving one such house, and Katherine pretended not to see several half-naked women standing on the street corner. One plump doxy waved at the pirate, even calling out to him, her words both shrill and suggestive. Katherine’s face and ears burned. Liam appeared not to have heard the graphic proposition.
Suddenly they came upon a square building, a depot of some kind, that blocked the street. Liam rode to the left, Katherine automatically following. On the other side was a large two-storied house with a steep, pitched roof oftimber, surrounded by stone walls. Liam abruptly pulled up his mount and slid to the ground. “Wait here,” he ordered Katherine and Macgregor.
He strode not to the front gate but around the side of the wall, disappearing from view. Fifteen minutes later the front gate was opened. Liam stood in the shadows cast by it, his mantle pushed back over his broad shoulders, revealing the fact that he now wore a jerkin over his shirt as well as his breeches and thigh-high black boots. He gestured impatiently. Katherine spurred her mount forward, her heart dancing with sudden, wild elation. And at long last she was to see her father—at long last!
Katherine slid from the horse and hurried to the front door, well ahead of Liam now. She banged upon it. When there was no response, she banged again.
Suddenly a woman demanded from within, “Who goes there at this ungodly hour?”
“Eleanor!” Katherine cried. “’Tis I—Katherine FitzGerald!”
The door was unbolted and pushed open. Eleanor stared at Katherine in disbelief, then glanced at the pirate. “God’s teeth! What do you here?!”
She was a small, slender woman of extraordinary beauty. Light brown hair framed an oval face unblemished by pox or scars. When she spoke, white teeth were revealed, with no gaps between them. She was a Butler, the daughter of Baron Duboyne, and she was exactly three years older than Katherine.
“I have come home,” Katherine whispered, smiling tremulously.
But Eleanor did not smile in return. “This is hardly a home,” she said bitterly. Then she stepped aside. “’Tis a surprise you’ve made for your poor father—and him not well. Come inside.” Her body stiff with reluctance, she gestured for Katherine, Liam, and Macgregor to enter.
But Liam turned and spoke sharply, “Stay outside, Mac. A whistle shall suffice if any visitors appear.”
