Lady of Conquest (29 page)

“Nobody knows where the rumors began. I told you that the woman on the black steed was becoming a legend.”

With his mouth drawn in a tight line, Conn asked, “Do they know I have her?”

“No. I told them exactly what you told me to tell them. That you were in the south with the third battalion, helping them round up the last of the Castilians.” Sean met his eyes with candor. “Now, I have a question for you.”

“Proceed.”

“Do you also think Eoghan Mogh’s fate should be hers?”

Nimbus’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of the cavern. Gelina sat with her back to the wall, hugging her knees. Her jaw jutted out in an expression he knew too well.

“Gelina . . .” Her name was a whisper on his lips.

She turned her face away from him.

“Please,” he said, not even sure what he was asking for.

“Didn’t you know, Nimbus?” Her voice erupted in venomous outcry. “When you hunted me down for him, didn’t you know he planned to kill me?”

“Ye’re alive, are ye not? I knew he could not harm ye.”

Her accusing gaze caught his, and he turned away with the gut-wrenching knowledge that she had known harm at his king’s hands.

He drew in a shaky breath. “Ye don’t know what it did to him when ye ran away. He was devastated. He searched for ye day and night. He would ride out for days at a time. He did not eat. He barely slept. He drank too much. He even sent Sheela away.”

“Poor man,” she said scathingly.

“When he found out ye were riding with Eoghan Mogh, he changed. I believe he hated ye. I knew he wanted to kill ye. But I also knew he couldn’t.”

“You took one hell of a chance.”

“Ye belonged with us, Gelina. I had to get ye back for him.”

She snorted. “So you hunted me down for my own good.”

He stood in front of her, forcing her to raise her eyes and meet his gaze. “I thought of not telling him I’d found ye. For the first time in me life I thought of lying to Conn. ‘Tis why I traveled with ye. I wanted to see if ye were happy without us.” He sighed, reluctant to continue. “One night ye sat in front of the fire. Yer eyes were haunted. ’Twas as if the light within them had been extinguished. Then I saw him. Yer brother. He followed yer every move with the look of a hungry animal just waiting to strike. He was biding his time. So I quit biding mine and rode home to tell Conn of yer plans.”

Gelina’s trembling hand fluttered upward to wipe the sweat from her brow.

Nimbus leaned forward, daring to take her chin in his small hand. “From what we just witnessed, I would say ye’re a lot closer to what ye wanted than ye were when ye ran away.”

He loosed her and strode away.

“Wait.”

He stopped in his tracks as her voice cut through the musty air. “I believe these are yours.”

Tossing the golden apples upward, she drew an elaborate pattern with the whirling gold. They went hurtling through the air, stopped only by the quick reflexes in the jester’s stinging palms.

“Thank ye.” He stared down at them, hoping she would say more.

She scraped at the dirt with her bare toe. “Did you bring any food?”

“Do I live and breathe?”

He waited for her smile but none came, so he bowed and stepped outside. He returned with a worn burlap bag and pulled forth three loaves of bread, two rounds of cheese, and six fine strips of dried meat. She nodded in approval. The raised voices of Conn and Sean grew subdued as they carried their feast outside.

Sean quickly volunteered to hunt for some live game. He returned as the sun was setting with two small rabbits.

“Twill make a meal for me but what will the rest of ye eat?” Nimbus asked.

“I would do battle with all of you for a taste of fresh meat,” Conn called from his seat.

Gelina did not reply or meet his eyes but handed him a bowl filled with lukewarm fish soup. He groaned and smiled at her, but she just turned away and disappeared into the cavern.

Bewildered, he stared into the growing darkness that encroached on their cozy circle of light. Gelina reappeared in a suit of Sean’s garments and moved gracefully around the camp, helping Nimbus spear the rabbits and turn the spit. The aroma of roasting meat floated into the night.

Conn could not take his eyes off her. Her short curls caught the firelight in a tantalizing auburn web. She never once glanced in his direction. He began to wonder if his memory of the warm, clinging creature he had held in his arms so briefly had been a product of his fever. To his chagrin he was discovering feeling in parts of his body he had been too weak to think of until now.

He was hardly aware that he was scowling violently until he caught Sean’s puzzled glance. Smiling sheepishly, he thanked him for the plate he held out.

They ate in companionable silence until Nimbus broke it with a satisfied belch. Sean groaned.

“Sorry,” Nimbus said with the smallest amount of cheerful penitence he could manage.

“A good meal among friends is no reason for apology,” Conn said.

He sought Gelina’s eyes, but she turned away and stared into the darkness. Nimbus raised his canteen in a silent toast, brown eyes shining.

“I hate to disturb our borrowed serenity, but I feel the need to call a meeting of state,” Conn said with a sigh. “Sean and Nimbus sought us for a reason, Gelina.” He saw the hardened veil of self-defense lower over her eyes and despised himself for causing it. “A prisoner awaits my sentencing in the dungeon. Eoghan Mogh.”

“Is he well?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“I would say the traitor fared better than our king,” Sean said, anger surging in his voice. “The Fianna do not take to stabbing men in the back.”

Gelina closed her eyes briefly, unable to face the unfamiliar ire in the soldier’s eyes. Conn raised his hand for silence.

“Sean has brought another matter to my attention,” he said, his voice recapturing its command, daring anyone to interrupt. “It seems that there are those at Tara, Gelina, who know you aided the rebels. They want you to stand trial with Eoghan.”

“The game is up then. I cannot hide behind your robes forever, Conn. ‘Tis time for the old head to be lopped off.” Even Nimbus flinched as she stood and paced the length of the clearing, draining her canteen in a single swig.

“Things can be mended, Gelina,” Conn said.

“Ha! When are you ever going to learn, Conn? You cannot mend everything. Once some things are broken, they can never, ever be mended.” She spat the words at him, their eyes locked in silent battle. He had to look away.

“All we have to do is convince them that you were coerced,” Sean said calmly. “We don’t ask them to believe you did not aid Mogh. We just ask them to believe you were kidnapped and held hostage, forced to do the things you did.”

She plopped down on the ground and stared into the fire.

“What would you prefer? Would you prefer to confess to being a traitor? Would you rather ride out of here tonight and run forever?” As he spoke, Conn struggled unsteadily to his feet, ignoring Nimbus’s outstretched hand. “We will take you back, Gelina. We will help you. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I am guilty of what they accuse and more. I deserve to be punished as much as Eoghan does.” She faced their questioning circle of faces. “I don’t know what I want. I just want a new life. And I’m not sure I want any of you in it.” She stood and fled down the narrow pathway into the night.

The moon was waning when Gelina returned to find Conn sitting alone before the dying embers of the fire. He glanced up as she walked into the flickering light, then returned his gaze to the object he held in his hands. She saw no sign of Nimbus or Sean.

“They’re gone,” he said in answer to her silent question.

“How did you know I would be back?”

He chuckled grimly. “I’ve never known you to run away without your sword.” He stared into the waning flames for a long moment before saying, “Did you understand what I was offering you earlier, Gelina?”

“I don’t know.”

“I was offering you my protection.”

“At what price, Conn?” she asked coldly. “The price was loyalty last time, and I failed at that. What is the price for your protection this time? Or have I already paid?”

“We shall never know, shall we? The offer has been withdrawn.” His eyes rose to meet hers; a chill shot down her spine. “Do you need to be punished, Gelina? If that’s what you want, I will punish you.”

“What are you talking about?” she queried softly, afraid of his answer.

“Kneel beside me,” he commanded. She followed his order without thought. Running a hand through her soft hair, he began, “I revoke your citizenship. I revoke your freedom, Gelina Ó Monaghan. From this moment on you are one of the
fuidir.
You are my serf. You belong to me. You will serve me without questioning. You will do my bidding without protest.”

He spoke with such tenderness that it took a long moment for his words to register. When they did, she pulled away in rage, only to find her hair caught in his iron grasp. Tears of pain sprang to her eyes.

“You will bake my bread. You will wash my clothing. You will be my slave.”

“But the
fuidir
are . . .” She stopped, horrified comprehension dawning.

“That’s right, dear. War captives. Fugitives. They give up their freedom to right a wrong, pay a debt. There is not a man at that court who will dare to argue with me on the justice of it.”

“You cannot take away my freedom!” She stopped struggling as his fingers tugged cruelly at her hair.

“The hell I can’t! I should have never given it to you in the first place. You can run me through while I sleep if you choose, but you should remember that the death of your master will not release you. Sean has been sent ahead with news of your capture and punishment. If anything happens to me out here, you will be hunted down to the four corners of the earth.”

He pulled her face close to his, his strong hand cupping her neck. He held up the object he had been toying with and pushed it into her line of vision. The familiar carved object danced before her eyes.

“Face it, Gelina. I have captured the white queen.”

Gelina smoothed the linen of her skirt with icy fingers, oblivious to the bustle of the serving girls and cupbearers behind her. She didn’t even raise her eyes when Cook’s large bulk backed into her with a frown. The unfamiliar darkness of her garments held her rapt.

She was clad in black from head to toe. A dress that was too small pressed against her bosom and fell to mid-calf. The frayed ribbons of the black sandals laced up her legs over opaque black stockings. Conn could not have proclaimed her to be a slave any more effectively if he had carved the word
fuidir
into her forehead. She pushed her hair away from a face that was pale and drawn against the blackness of the linen. Laughter floated into the kitchen from the great hall. In a moment she would face them all. She wished she were as invisible as she had felt in the past few days.

Conn hadn’t spoken two words to her since he had revoked her freedom, although she often looked up from some task to find his eyes on her with an infuriating mixture of amusement and triumph. In the days they had remained at the cavern he had demanded only that she prepare his meals and help him to his feet as his strength returned.

More than once she had been tempted to shove him over the cliff as he paced the confines of their camp. He would turn a knowing grin on her as if reading her thoughts from her thunderous brow, infuriating her further. The truce between them was fragile. She refused to hold on to him as Silent Thunder carried them back to Tara, and he took great delight in choosing the rockiest terrain, reaching around at the fortuitous moment to grab her and keep her from sailing off the horse in a fit of stubbornness.

The fear that had grown in her heart as they approached the shadow of Tara flourished now as she stood inside the kitchen door, not even feeling the heat of the kiln. Conn had whisked her through the tower into Moira’s waiting arms. There had been no Nimbus or Sean to greet her. Moira had averted her eyes and handed her the infernal dress with a terse command to bathe and come straight to the kitchen. Her bathwater was not hot and sweetly scented in a long wooden tub. It was lukewarm in a chipped earthenware basin in a tiny cell in the servants’ quarters.

Cook bumped into her again. And again. This time Gelina had to raise her eyes and take the golden tray loaded with thick slices of honeyed bread that Cook held out to her.

“Yer to serve the king’s table,” she commanded, and Gelina wondered if anyone would ever look her in the eyes again.

Suddenly bold, she put her hand on Cook’s arm, marveling at the muscles rippling beneath the layers of fat. “What have the people been told?”

Cook pulled away. “They’ve been told enough.”

Gelina felt rather than saw all activity stop behind them, and knew eyes that were not unkind, but curious, bored holes in her back. She drew in a deep breath, trembling hands tight on the tray, and ducked out the swinging door into the great hall.

For an instant she could pretend that nothing would change. That the ballad singer would not choke on her last throaty word. That the flutist would not hit a shrill, false note before lowering his instrument and his head. That the great hall would not fall into a stunned, embarrassed silence as the tall girl in black wound her way among the trestle tables. But it was only pretense that let her hope. The silence was a choking, cloying monster wrapping itself around her legs, nearly making her stumble.