“You are already a traitor, O’Neill. I am amazed the queen pardoned you your bloody crimes. I cannot guess what you offered to attain her pardon. But should you wind up in the Tower again, we both know that most likely you will swing from a gibbet.”
“I quake.”
“You have naught to lose and much to gain by joining us.”
Liam’s mouth curled. “I see much to lose and little to gain, Barry.”
“Do you not have an ounce of sympathy for your native land?”
“But I amEnglish, remember?”
Barry flushed. “Shane O’Neill fought the Crown until the day of his murder. No man fought the Crown harder or more bravely than he. He hated the English—he hated the queen.”
“As you said earlier this evening, he was a murderer, not a hero. And he was also a rapist, and a savage,” Liam said coldly.
Barry lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon. We had never met.”
“Then you are lucky,” Liam said flatly. “You will not move me with pleas related to my father. I do not give a damn who he fought—or why.”
“I can arrange a meeting with FitzMaurice for the day after the morrow, if you but agree to it,” Barry said, leaning forward, his face set with determination. “I havefailed to persuade you to our cause, but he is most fervent, and he has swayed others less interested than you.”
Liam rose to his feet. “He could be the devil, Barry, offering me immortality, but that would not persuade me to the cause of popery and treason.”
Barry also stood. “Christ—you are godly!”
Liam’s smile was thin. “I’ve no wish to endear myself to papists and fanatics who think naught of burning men, women, and children at the stake.” He pushed vivid memories aside, memories that were far more than visual, his ears filling with a woman’s horrible, unforgettable screams, his nostrils filling with the scent of her burning flesh.
“There have been no burnings in Ireland!”
“Not yet. But FitzMaurice has hanged boys as well as men, has allowed women and children to starve—all in the name of God.” Liam eyes blazed. “Find someone else to play your game of treason, Barry. I will not meet FitzMaurice—unless it is to give him over to the queen.”
Barry stared furiously as Liam stalked across the hall to a pallet Macgregor had laid out. “I do not believe you,” he finally called. “I do not believe you are loyal to the queen. I believe you can be bought, my friend.”
Liam turned the pallet with his booted toe so one side butted up against the wall. He smiled. “You are right in that. I can be bought. But only when the price justifies the risk—and you can not afford my price in this happenstance.”
Barry sat back down, reaching for more beer. Liam settled upon his pallet, wondering if he had heard the last of this, and doubting it.
But as he lay in the growing darkness, he thought about how the Crown feared and despised FitzMaurice, who was a far greater threat than FitzGerald had ever been, and how they despaired of ever capturing him and ending this rebellion. Queen Elizabeth would be a very grateful monarch, should FitzMaurice be forced to surrender. Should FitzMaurice be captured. In fact, Liam imagined that the man who brought FitzMaurice down would be able toname his own reward—no matter what it should be. And FitzMaurice was the enemy of Katherine’s father.
Yet should the papist be caught soon, that hardly affected FitzGerald, who would remain an impoverished prisoner at St. Leger House—unless some other circumstance occurred, precipitating his restoration as Desmond’s earl and his return to Ireland. Liam wondered just what that circumstance might be.
And he also wondered if he dared play a dangerous and deadly game, if he dared to become the broker of power in southern Ireland? Excitement swept through him. As Liam fell asleep, his mind was spinning out incredible possibilities, and he sensed that, despite his recent avowals, he would soon become involved in the papist rebellion against the Crown—one way or the other.
Katherine lay curled into a ball on her pallet in utter blackness. Swallowing her tears, she wondered what would she do now? She had left the nunnery so that she might be wed. She had left the nunnery not knowing of her father’s circumstances, not knowing that he had neither the means nor the will to arrange a marriage for her. And, of course, her uncles and cousins and all FitzGerald vassals had lost everything when Gerald had been convicted of treason, as their lands were held from him. Hugh had been right when he said that she would be a burden upon her kinsmen should she go to them. He had been right when he said that she had nowhere to go. What he had not said was that she also had no one to turn to, no one.
Except for Liam O’Neill. But he was the cause of most of her problems; he could never be the solution.
A sudden chill entered the small, cold chamber.
Katherine slept in all of her clothes, her fur-lined cloak and the blanket she had found upon the bed, but she shivered, wondering at the draft. Then she tensed, hearing the soft rustle of clothing. Her heart banged wildly in a sudden rush of fear.
“Katie?” Hugh gripped her shoulders gently.
Katherine gasped, rolling over to face him, now on herback. He had set a small taper upon the floor as he knelt at her side. He smiled at her.
Katherine sat up, her palm splayed upon her breast. “Hugh! What do you here? You have frightened me! I thought I was about to be murdered in my bed!”
He chuckled softly, then suddenly his hand was on her cheek. Katherine went still. His thumb rubbed her full lower lip. “I did not come to murder you, Katie. I’ve come to woo you to my cause.”
