“I have passed two miserable nights.”
Her pulse thundered. She could imagine why he had not slept well. She could imagine him tossing and turning, burning with forbidden heat until dawn—just as she had done. “I…I do not care,” she finally said.
His only answer was another lazy smile, one both superior and knowing.
He guessed. He guessed that she had slept as badly as he—and for exactly the same reasons. Her cheeks hot, Katherine gazed at the shore. “I am surprised that I do not see any landmarks which I recognize.” In fact, she did not recollect such sheer cliffs at all near the mouth of the Shannon estuary.
“You are familiar with Cork?” He crossed his arms and leaned on the railing beside her.
“Cork!” she cried, spinning toward him. “We approach Cork? We do not go to Askeaton?”
“We shall put in at Cork and ride for Barrymore. ’Tis the seat of the Barrys, is it not?”
She gaped at him. “B-but, I thought we would go home first!”
“Why?” he studied her face. “You love Hugh, do you not? Surely your first thought is to rush into his arms. Askeaton is fifty miles from here.”
Dismay crushed her. “But by sea we could be there by nightfall, could we not?”
“I was instructed to escort you to Hugh Barry,” he said firmly, his jaw flexing. “By the queen herself.”
Katherine choked and faced the coastline again. Now she saw that they sped toward the bay. There was an English garrison at Cork. It was an English town. “You will be fired upon the moment they sight you,” she said, somewhat fearfully.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, glancing upward.
She turned and saw that he was flying the queen’s flag. “Will they not think it a trap?”
“Mayhap.” He shrugged. “I have sealed letters from Her Majesty for Lord President Perrot. Instructing him of my mission.” His cool gray eyes found and held hers.
Katherine forced her disappointment aside. It did not matter. Surely she would be able to visit Askeaton soon.It was better that they go directly to Hugh. And as Barrymore was not far from Cork, soon she would be with Hugh—who was the answer to all of her dreams.
Sir John Perrot arrived shortly after they had docked and he boarded the ship with a large escort of armed men. He was a very fat man, with flaming red hair and a long beard of an equally brilliant color. He wore his scarlet doublet open, as he could not close it over his huge girth. Yet he was no comical figure. He had been appointed lord president of Munster last December by the queen. His orders were to crush the rebels, who sought to drive the English settlers out, and who were thus far succeeding. His orders were to catch the leader of the traitors, James FitzMaurice. He was a determined man, a renowned soldier, but well past his prime. ’Twas widely held that he was the bastard son of King Henry VIII.
Liam awaited him and his troops at the head of the gangplank, standing casually, but wearing his rapier. The two men came face-to-face and a few words were exchanged. Liam handed the lord president a letter bearing the royal seal. Perrot tore it open abruptly, then proceeded to read it for many long minutes. Finally he looked up at Liam and frowned. They spoke again. Liam turned and beckoned Katherine forward.
Katherine had been standing beside one of the masts with Macgregor, watching the interchange. Her heart had been thundering. Now she was relieved. She had been unable to prevent herself from thinking that Liam would be arrested almost on sight, not just for being a pirate, but for being an Irish pirate, a far graver offense.
Perrot glanced at Katherine somewhat rudely. He noticed the seam running down the front of her gown. He did not bow or kiss her hand. He said, “So you’re FitzGerald’s girl. I hear he pines away for Desmond, eh?”
Katherine tensed. “My father misseshisland, yes.”
Perrot smiled. “Desmond land belongs to FitzGerald no more, girl, and we both know it. So you are to marry Barry’s heir? I have heard it said that he is secretly supporting that papist lunatic, FitzMaurice.”
Katherine said stiffly, “I would not know.” Then she felt Liam take her elbow, quite firmly—warningly.
“You can give him a message from me. I will capture FitzMaurice and present his head to the queen. The day he stood outside the walls of Cork and pronounced Her Majesty a bastard and a heretic was the day his fate was sealed. To think he seeks to overthrow the Crown! He is mad—and he will rue his ways. You tell Barry that his head will join the papist’s on a pike if he dares to ride against me. I will crush these rebels. Every last one. Mark my words.”
Katherine ignored the pressure of Liam’s hand, which was so tight now that pain shot up her arm. “No Englishman can crush all of Ireland,” she said fiercely. “’Twould be an impossible feat.”
Perrot’s face turned red.
Liam jerked her against his side. “Do not heed her, Lord Perrot. She is overwrought with bridal nerves, and other womanly ailments,” he said smoothly. “She knows not of what she speaks.”
Katherine felt like kicking him in the shin. She glared at him, but he ignored her.
“When might we get our traveling papers?” he asked.
Perrot faced Katherine. “If you think to entice your betrothed farther into treason, think again. I have no qualms about placing your head alongside those of all other traitors, Mistress FitzGerald.”
