Liam inclined his head. “Probably.”
Gerald stared.
“As you can not dissuade me from my goal, my lord, we shall be on our way,” Liam said softly.
Katherine began to weep silently. Some small remnantof her pride kept her from throwing herself at her father’s feet, from clinging to his knees like a small child afraid of being abandoned or taken away. His betrayal was like a dagger in her breast.
“I will have your head, O’Neill,” FitzGerald finally said. But his tone was mild. And his eyes still gleamed.
“Indeed? I wish you luck in making the effort.” Liam turned toward Katherine. “Come. We leave this instant.”
Katherine lifted her head and saw through her tears that he was completely unmoved—as determined as ever. But he had expected this. For him, it had been a game, nothing more. She was the fool. For she had expected Gerald to make a sincere effort to outwit her captor—but he had not. He had offered her to him in marriage instead.
Liam’s gray gaze met and held hers. His hand closed around hers. She was too numb even to try to shake him off. “Come, Katherine,” he said, almost gently, “your cause is lost.”
Katherine sucked down a sob.
Gerald stared at them both, his expression impossible to read.
Liam strode to the door, one arm around Katherine, propelling her with his strength. She was determined not to think. It hurt too much.
When they were in the dark hall downstairs Eleanor called out to them from behind, making Liam pause, his arm still around Katherine. She hurried down the stairs and to them. “O’Neill. There is something you should know.”
Liam paused. “Be quick, then.”
Katherine did not want to hear any other thing that Eleanor might have to say, but despite herself, she lifted her gaze to her stepmother’s.
Eleanor smiled. “Although I do not think he will interfere, I cannot be sure. Perhaps he will be enraged—that you have stolen what belongs to him.”
Liam was annoyed. “You speak in riddles and I have no time for games. Speak plainly, Lady FitzGerald.”
“Aye, then, I shall. I am speaking about Hugh Barry.”
At the name of her dead betrothed, Katherine froze.“What game is this!” she cried. “Hugh is dead, Eleanor. He died at Affane. He died six long years ago.”
“No, Katherine,” Eleanor said. “Did you not know he survived his wounds? When ’twas time to bury him with the others, it was realized that he still lived. Yet he was close to death, and many weeks went by before the physicians knew he would survive his many wounds. ’Twas a miracle, a gift of God, they said. He lives, Katherine. Hugh Barry lives.”
Katherine reeled. Liam caught her. Katherine knew this must be a lie, a horrible, evil, hurtful lie. For if Hugh were alive, he would have sent for her long ago. Yet—Eleanor could not possibly tell such a lie. The floor seemed to be tilting precariously beneath her feet, and her world had become dizzy; she sagged in Liam’s arms.
And when the pirate spoke, his voice sounded strange and far away. “Who in hell is Hugh Barry?” he demanded.
Eleanor chuckled. “Katherine’s childhood sweetheart—the man she was to wed on her fifteenth birthday.” She directed a long look at Liam. “Perhaps you will decide to marry Katherine after all, O’Neill.”
5
He had stopped caring about most things long ago, when he had been a small Irish boy at court, an outcast and a bastard, cruelly taunted and teased by the other children. Liam watched Katherine wiping her eyes with the corner of her cloak. He told himself he did not care. He refused to care.
Caring in itself was dangerous, but for him, it might open up old wounds he had long since healed—or long since closed and set aside.
His face impassive, Liam led her toward his blood bay stallion, one arm still around her, supporting her. In her hysterical state, she would not be able to ride by herself.
Suddenly what he was about to do must have registered through Katherine’s shock, because she balked. To his surprise, she whirled to face him, speaking through her teeth. “I won’t ride with you, O’Neill!”
“You are not fit to ride alone,” he countered.
Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “I will not ride with you,” she cried again, and she rushed to her own mount, which Macgregor held, and mounted in a flurry of skirts and leg.
“Then you must concentrate on riding,” Liam said flatly. Despite himself, his tone softened. “Can you do that, Katherine?”
