Lady of Conquest (16 page)

“Curses, I do seem to be making it worse. Did you get the dress from Moira?”

Nimbus forgot her careless choice of words. He scampered to the screen and poked his head both ways before tugging out a wooden box. Gelina hid a smile, fairly certain there were no spies behind the screen. Struggling under its weight, he heaved the box to the center of the floor. Breathing hard, he threw back the carved lid. Gelina knelt beside him, a gasp escaping her as she beheld its contents.

Fold after fold of diaphanous gold floated up from the confines of the box. A faint whiff of sandalwood wafted up from the satin as Gelina grasped it with eager hands and stood, holding the dress in front of her lean figure. The dress was cut low in the bodice but gathered at the waist. Billowy sleeves narrowed at the elbow. Slender black ribbons laced up the front.

Nimbus shook his head in awe. “ ‘Tis just like Moira said—the most beautiful dress in the world.” He skipped around Gelina, clapping his hands. “Came from across the sea, she said.”

Gelina pivoted until she faced the mirror; the wide skirt fell to mid-ankle as she held it in front of her tall frame. “It really belonged to Conn’s mother?”

“Moira said it was a gift from his father, never worn for some reason.” His eyes narrowed, taking in the gap between the hem and the floor. “Moira can add a ruffle if ye like.”

She laughed. “I would like that. This court has seen the last of my bare feet.”

Moira poked her familiar dark head with its impeccable widow’s peak around the door. “Give me the dress, lass, if ye want it readied for tonight.”

Gelina reluctantly handed it to her. Moira examined it with loving eyes and spoke more to herself than to the others. “She should have worn this. That boy came, ruining it all.”

Gelina and Nimbus exchanged mystified glances. “What boy?” Gelina asked, knowing she had a better chance of getting an answer than Nimbus.

Recalled to the present, Moira shook her head briskly. “Just babbling to meself. I’ll get to work on this.” She bustled out of the room, leaving Nimbus with a puzzled frown on his brow.

Gelina shrugged. Her head pounded. “When can I take my hair down?”

He examined her scalp as she knelt in front of him. “Soon. Very soon.” She sighed in relief. “In at least three hours,” he finished.

Groaning, she swatted him as he ducked out of her way.

Visions.

They haunted him in the darkness projected in the deepest recesses of his eyelids.

Kevin Ó hArtagain’s bloody corpse taunted him, appearing so close to him that he could not escape. “You are a fool, Conn. When will you learn not to trust everyone? You were far too naive to rule Erin and now you will never rule again. You did not use your power. So you lost it.” The mocking laughter circled him as the half-rotted corpse dissipated into the air. A fever spread through his veins, its sick odor permeating his dulled senses.

Gelina danced in front of him as she had at the picnic, her eyes misty with tears behind the shadows of a golden mask. She wore a smock, long and gathered red silk with a border of green and gold. Her dusty feet pirouetted before him. He reached out a feeble hand to unmask her and kiss away her tears, knowing his lips would find hers even if he did not want them to. She whirled so fast that she blurred, leaving him with only the green satin of the border draped over his eyes, setting him on fire.

Green. The glittering green of emerald eyes. He was pinned against rock. He could not move. He saw the sword embedded in his chest, pinning him to the rock like an insect. The silver slowly turned, setting his heart on fire to match his eyes. Following the sword up to the strong hand that twisted it, he saw a woman’s face. It was Gelina’s adult face and twisted cruel mouth he saw, her mocking smile pinning him more effectively to the rock than her sword ever could.

It was cold. Chills racked his body with a violence that shook the bonds he had long ago stopped struggling against. There was snow. He lay in the snow, gagged and bound not twelve feet from the window where he and Gelina had gazed at the full moon a lifetime ago. She stood there now. Pensively staring at the snow with one arm resting on the sill, her forehead pressed against the cool wood of the open shutter.

Fighting against his ropes, he saw the glow of the fire behind her. He felt the warmth in her eyes and knew somehow that she was searching for him. A low growl came from beside him, raising the hairs at the back of his neck.

He turned. A jackal with black matted hair grinned at him, its gaping mouth revealing jagged, bloody teeth. The animal nodded knowingly. He watched in horror as the jackal turned away from him and raced for the window. It leapt, crashing through the shutters, ripping out Gelina’s throat with a single motion as Conn struggled against his ropes. The vision disappeared, and for the first time in his adult memory Conn cried, the tears choking him as they ran into his mouth.

Light. Screwing his lids tightly shut, he heard in another vision a man’s commanding voice. “Great Jupiter! Look what you’ve done! It is him! He’s alive! Get over here, you fool, and lift him out of there!”

Feeling his body carried up an incline, Conn struggled to open his eyes. The bright light of the sun hit him like a mace between the eyes, and he fainted from the pain, slumping in the arms of those who carried him.

Eoghan Mogh was a patient man. In his southern stronghold, he amused himself with plans for his new kingdom. The two ships once outfitted with the boldest warriors the Fianna had to offer were manned by his own men now. Conn’s soldiers were dead, murdered while they lay in the relentless grip of the poison Barron Ó Caflin had slipped into their ale. He regretted lying to Ó Caflin about his intentions almost as much as he regretted the waste of men who could have served him as well as they had served Conn. But he dared not allow a single man to return to Tara to spoil his plan. ‘Twas necessary that they all vanish into the sea without a trace, just as Conn’s people must believe their king had.

Despite the success of all his plans, the waiting had just begun. If he claimed the throne now, all of his stealth and cunning would have been for naught.

After a respectable interval of time had passed, Ó Caflin would play his final role in this tragic drama. Conn would be officially declared dead. His grief-stricken people would erect a magnificent cairn in memory of their noble Ard-Righ. Eoghan would journey to Tara to pay tribute to their lost king. He would bring order out of their chaos.

He would become the high king of Erin without lifting a single sword.

Time. It was his only enemy now. And his only friend.

* * *

Nimbus avoided Gelina’s eyes, something he had done often this fall eve. “I regret that I’ll be busy tonight. Big show to put on and all that rot. I’ve procured another escort for ye.”

“You mean after you’ve gone to all this trouble, you won’t be accompanying me to the festivities?” Gelina asked, her voice reflecting her dismay.

“Afraid not. I must go.” He opened the door to her bedchamber to reveal Sean Ó Finn, looking somewhat abashed. “This fellow will take good care of ye.”

He pushed past Sean and strode down the hall, struggling to hide his newborn feelings. When he was out of their earshot, he mumbled to himself, “Ye’re more of a fool than I thought. Such as her is not for the likes of ye.”

He blessedly missed the expression on Sean’s face as the soldier took a long, appreciative look at Gelina. It had taken Nimbus’s loving eyes to see the woman beneath the childish exterior she flashed so carelessly. He had allowed the dress to stand on its own as the most ornate part of her attire, leaving her own simplicity to complement it. The soft curls he had fashioned tumbled around her shoulders, a simple gold comb in the shape of a seashell sweeping them upward over her right ear. Her height and straight shoulders gave her a dignity and grace that was the antithesis of the soft plumpness of most of the women at court.

Her eyes sparkled, thin outlines of kohl below them; her cheeks glowed under the gentle touch of red juice squeezed from berries. Her color deepened as she stood before Sean’s perusal. She resisted an overwhelming urge to crawl under the bed.

Clearing her throat, she caught Sean’s eye. He had the good grace to look sheepish.

He offered her his arm and said warmly, “Shall we go, milady?”

She lay one hand on his arm, the newly dyed crescents of her fingernails a brilliant crimson against the green of his tunic. A new shyness gripped them as they strolled to the great hall.

Gelina wracked her mind, trying to think of something to say. “ ‘Tis warm outside, is it not?”

He looked at her oddly, and she flushed as she realized that the men had already begun to talk of snow as the cool wind blew out of the mountains. “I was jesting, of course,” she quickly amended. “Conn said I brought the snow with me. He said there had been no snow for years until I came to Tara.”

Sean laughed. “If you brought the snow, Gelina, you also brought the sunshine. I’ve never seen less rain and fog.” He silently congratulated himself on his chivalry.

They had reached the door of the great hall. Taking a deep breath, Gelina closed her eyes for an instant before Sean swept open the door. The din that met their ears provided a moment’s comfort. She had been fearful of sudden silence. Now it seemed that she and Sean would be able to melt into the crowd.

A trumpet’s fanfare sounded, cutting through the conversation and laughter. Looking to the platform, she saw her familiar playmate brandishing a horn.

As the people turned in his direction, he called out in his most booming voice, “Ladies and gentlemen—Lady Gelina, daughter of the Ard-Righ.”

No matter how hard Gelina prayed, the floor would not open up and swallow her. She was left with no alternative. She raised her head and met the eyes of her king’s people. With head held high, she smiled and nodded. All eyes were drawn to her in the complete silence of the hall. After a few seconds of looking embarrassed, Sean drew himself up proudly, not oblivious to the envious stares of his comrades.

“Shall we dance?” Sean said loudly enough to cue several musicians to their left, who struggled with their instruments and a few discordant notes before finding the lilting melody they sought.

Gelina took his arm. She counted the rhythm under her breath until they fell into step without a flaw. The evening passed in a blur. More dances followed, some with the men of the Fianna, another with a bold farmer who handled her like a piece of rare glass. Dexterous dancers linked hands and wove around the room. A small shiver went through her each time she clasped hands with one of the familiar braided figures, but it soon disappeared as she became comfortable with their teasing banter and graceful moves. Sean waited impatiently on the sidelines for his opportunity to whisk her away again.

Finding herself alone during a break in the music, she massaged her tired calves and searched for a familiar face among the cavorting jesters. She did not find it. The platform was empty although the velvet curtain seemed to move a fraction of an inch even as she watched. She frowned as Sean approached with a goblet of mead in each hand.

“I thought you might need this,” he said.

“I needed this an hour ago.”

He laughed. “I thought you were going to scale the wall and pitch Nimbus to the floor when he pulled out that trumpet.”

“Quiet, Sean. Not everyone knows I could have.”

She took a sip of the mead, and through her veins spread a sweet sensation of warmth that seemed to be related more to the warmth she saw in Sean’s sparkling brown eyes than to the sweetness of the mead.

“Someone seems to be less than pleased with the caterpillar’s transformation.” Sean pointed toward the corner where a pouting Sheela watched them with narrowed eyes. “I do believe I promised the good widow a dance tonight, but I just can’t seem to tear myself away.”

“You must. We must not disappoint the king’s lady.” Her smile faded, but Sean didn’t seem to notice.

“I shall pass tonight. I’ve no stomach for her teasing.” He glanced at Gelina, realizing he’d forgotten he was talking to a lady, not a comrade in arms.

She spoke rapidly, trying to cover the effect his words had on her. “These jigs are tiresome. Tell them to play the tune you played at the picnic, and we will show them how to dance.”

He nodded, a glint in his eye. “You must promise me one thing.”

“Anything, kind sir.” She batted her eyelashes, fixing her mouth in a pout that made Sheela’s look amateur.

He shook his finger at her. “No juggling.”

The first plaintive strains of the flute flew through her heart like needles. Her feet joined the dance as Conn’s face appeared in her memory. The other dancers backed off the floor, leaving it to her and Sean.

She whirled with primitive grace until even Sean was left standing still. Her vow to remain shod flew across the hall with her sandals. No one knew that the brilliant emerald of her eyes glistened with unshed tears. The twirling golden skirt blurred around her ankles. The music ended, and she sank to the floor in fold upon fold of diaphanous material, head bowed.

There was only silence until a farmer began to clap his callused hands, nudging the man next to him who stood with mouth open. He clapped, too, and soon the whole court had joined in the thunderous applause.