“God’s blood,” he finally cursed. “You are far too bright for your own good.” And his hands curled about her wrists.
“What?” Katherine cried, too late.
For he was pulling her into his arms. With one powerful arm behind her back he held her pressed against his chest, with his other hand he tilted her face up to his. “Too bright, and too damned beautiful. I still want to make you my wife, Katherine.”
Katherine’s eyes widened and she began to protest. Liam cut it off effectively with his mouth, which was hard and hungry. Katherine stilled. Although she had come to court to find a husband, this might very well be their farewell. She really did not want to fight him. Not now. His lips sucked on hers and opened hers. A moment later her hands curled about his shoulders as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He thrust deeper still, bending her backward over his arm. Katherine gave in. As she had wanted to do for so long now. She kissed him back.
Wildly. Her mouth pulled at his, sucked his, and her teeth caught his. In a frenzy their tongues sparred. Her fingernails dug into his arms.
Katherine realized that she was being lowered to the floor. Liam dropped to his knees. Although she reclined against him, supported by his arm, he continued to kiss her wet and open-mouthed and she kissed him back as feverishly. Katherine’s fingers slid inside the loosely laced front of his shirt. Touching him was like touching silk-sheathed stone that lived and breathed. She panted into his hot mouth. Her hand slid down his belly. Frantic and feeling, exploring. Liam gasped.
And neither one of them saw the man standing in the doorway, watching them. William Cecil’s first reaction was to cough and clear his throat, to alert the lovers to his presence—to break them up. But he had thought long and hard these past few days on the coil that the triangle of FitzMaurice, FitzGerald, and O’Neill represented. Long and hard had he thought on how strange it was that O’Neill had seized such an insignificant French vessel—one politically valueless—unless one counted Katherine FitzGerald’s possible—future—worth. Staring, witnessing Liam’s lust now firsthand, he suspected that Ormond was right. And finally his thoughts congealed. He closed thechamber door quietly, turned, and walked back through the antechamber. He stopped a passing servant. “Leave the work in the queen’s apartments for later,” he instructed her.
And her eyes flickered to the closed door. Comprehension showed in her gaze. She curtsied, and turned away.
And as Cecil moved down the hall, he thought,Is Liam O’Neill yet friend, or foe? How far will he go in his alliance with FitzGerald?For Cecil was certain that the alliance existed. And finally he wondered if there was some way to use the girl to control him. Or did Katherine FitzGerald already control him in a way as old as time?
The queen smiled at Leicester, who stood beside her where she sat upon her throne. “I am pleased you are here, Robin,” she said archly.
He smiled at her, patting her hand with great familiarity. “Your concerns are my concerns, Your Majesty. Always—you know that.”
Elizabeth was pleased, and she faced her cousin, Ormond, who scowled at them both, and Cecil, who was impassive. “I have just received a missive from Sir John Perrot,” she stated. “He claims that the FitzGerald girl is as Irish as any rebel, akin with her father, and not to be trusted. He had O’Neill and the girl followed. They went to Castle Barry, nothing more. They but stayed the single night. There was nothing overtly suspicious to report, except for the fact that O’Neill departed Cork in great haste, without awaiting his papers, and, of course, the fact that Katherine is not to wed Barry. But as we know, O’Neill brought the girl directly to Us—and that is not an act of conspiracy.”
It was brilliant, Cecil thought, just as Liam O’Neill was brilliant, but he did not say so.
Ormond growled. “’Twas a ruse from the start. She never went to Munster to wed with Barry, but to relay information from her father. Your Majesty, FitzGerald is up to his old tricks again—only this time he has enlisted the Master of the Seas to his rebel cause!”
Leicester was annoyed. He gave Ormond a quellingglance. “There is no proof, Butler, that O’Neill conspires with FitzGerald. Your hysteria leads you astray.”
“Oh, it does? And what do you suggest?” Ormond demanded of Dudley, dark with anger. “To release a traitor into our midst?”
Leicester stared coldly at his chief rival for the queen’s affection. Since FitzGerald had been removed from southern Ireland, no lord there was as powerful as Ormond. “FitzGerald is hardly the traitor that his cousin is, Tom. We would all be better off should he regain his lands and oust the damnable papist.”
“Enough!” Elizabeth snapped before Ormond could retort. “I thought we’d finished this business three years ago when ’twas decided to try FitzGerald for treason. I have no wish to go backward now. I want to go forward.” Elizabeth looked at Cecil. “What say you, Sir William? Does my golden pirate conspire against me?”
Her secretary said, “While evidence is growing, there are other possible explanations for O’Neill’s conduct. I can not conclude that there is a conspiracy against you, Your Majesty. Not yet.” His face was impassive, giving no clue to his innermost thoughts—and the conclusions he’d recently reached. It was not his method to bother the queen with matters she did not need to know.
“He is obviously involved in conspiracy,” Tom Butler almost shouted. “Dear God, has not one of you your wits about you? Why else would O’Neill bring the girl to her father? And if FitzGerald is gathering allies, the south will be at war for many more years! Do you wish to have both FitzMauriceandFitzGerald running wild in southern Ireland?” he demanded of the queen.
“You know I do not,” she cried.
Leicester’s glance found Cecil’s and rested there. Although they were hardly friends, both jealous of the other’s influence with the queen, from time to time they allied themselves in a cause. This was one of those times. After but a moment, Cecil looked away.
Leicester took Elizabeth’s hand. “Surely O’Neill is smitten with the girl’s beauty. He may be a foul pirate, but he is a man. And he is renowned for his conquests—remember the Dowager Countess Marian?” Leicester was pleased to see Elizabeth flinch. “As always the pirate seeks but two things, gold and the satisfaction of his lust.”
“You still support FitzGerald,” Ormond accused.
“Must you both be at daggers always?” Elizabeth cried. She wrung her hands, flushed with distress. “One thing is clear, though. Perrot claims the girl is not to be trusted, that she is fiercely loyal to FitzGerald and her kin. I would trust Sir John’s judgment. But whether she is a conduit or not…” Elizabeth trailed off. “I think not. No, Liam would not do this to me.”
Instantly Ormond snapped, “Bess! She is a conduit! Do not be fooled! Give her over to me as a ward and all this conspiracy will be ended!”
Leicester’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have sudden brotherly feelings for your long-lost sister, Tom? Or do you have other, more manly, ones?” he sneered.
Ormond ignored him and stepped closer to the queen. “Dearest cousin, let me take care of her. I am her half brother and there would be nothing strange if you were to give her over to my protection. I will send her to my brothers in Kilkenny where she shall be watched closely. She will not be able to make contact with her father, I can assure you of that.”
“She asked me to marry her off,” Elizabeth said. “Her plea was most eloquent. She made a most convincing case that her only desire is to be gently wed. If she speaks truthfully, there could not possibly be a conspiracy between her father and Liam O’Neill.”
“’Twas theatrics,” Ormond inserted.
