Lady of Conquest (40 page)

Conn awoke abruptly from his tortured sleep. He hugged himself, trying vainly to obliterate the pain that wracked his body from head to toe. Nimbus’s voice danced in his memory, teasing words nagging at him until he tossed and turned, unable to recall the answer to a question he never asked. He sat up and stared at the dying embers of the fire. His hand brushed the cold and lifeless bed beside him. The undeniable ache in his groin tormented him until he flung aside the coverlet and slipped on his breeches.

He padded through the deserted corridors in his bare feet. The wedding guests had taken rapid leave of the fortress, leaving only a bare skeleton of its occupants behind. Most of the Fianna had chosen to withdraw to the field, preferring to gather around fires in the chilly night than face the haunted eyes of their king. Conn wound through the labyrinth of the fortress, descending into its ancient depths.

A stony-faced guard stood at attention as he approached, startled to see the familiar apparition at the heavy oak door. Conn’s burning eyes silenced any questions as the guard unlocked the door and handed him a torch. The iron keys clanked in Conn’s hands as he descended the stairs alone.

He wandered past cell after damp cell until he reached the most distant door. With shaking hands, he slipped the key into the lock and turned it, pushing the door ajar. It creaked open on darkness.

He held the torch aloft, casting eerie shadows over the dirt walls. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The light of the torch flickered across a figure in the corner. Gelina huddled against the wall, the dirty tatters of the velvet dress hanging around her. She turned her face to the door, shielding her eyes from the bright light. As she recognized him, her eyes narrowed in dismal contempt. Conn flinched, unprepared for the black hatred reflected in her lifeless eyes.

Setting the torch in a sconce, he paced the confines of the dank cell, his eyes never leaving her.

“I want the truth,” he said, struggling to keep the fury out of his voice. “Why did you murder Nimbus? Who helped you do it?”

Her steady gaze mocked him; her lips curved in a barely detectable smile.

“Answer me, Gelina. Now.”

He knelt before her and took her by the shoulders. His fingers dug into her flesh. Her smile only widened, effectively hiding a grimace of pain as he shook her until her head flopped like a rag doll’s.

“I want the truth,” he bellowed.

He raised his fist only to halt its descent in midair as he stared into her unflinching eyes.

“Finish it, Conn,” she said, her voice hoarse from disuse. “There’s no one to hear me scream. There’s no one to care if I do scream. Finish it,” she taunted.

He lowered his fist and closed his eyes briefly. “The truth, Gelina,” he said, loosing his grip on her arm as he stood.

She rested her cheek on her knees. “Ah, the truth is a funny thing, is it not? The truth is never to be believed. Nimbus would have found it amusing. He could always find humor in the saddest of situations.”

“Quit talking in riddles, Ó Monaghan. Why did you kill him?”

“So now I’m Ó Monaghan again, more like Rory than Gelina. Both your affections and my name seem to blow like a fickle wind in the summer.” She chuckled only to find herself jerked to her feet.

Conn was forced to support her as her legs folded beneath her. Her pallor deepened. Her eyes sparkled in the torchlight. She laughed aloud.

“To what lengths are you willing to go for your answers, Conn? Will you beat me? Rape me? Kill me? I do believe that murder is the only thing you haven’t tried in your miserable attempts to tame me.”

He lifted her to him until her eyes glittered an inch from his. “Shall I kill you, milady? Shall I surrender my very soul for you?”

“You have no soul,” she sneered.

“For once you speak the truth. I lost my soul the first day I laid eyes on you.” He held her against his body until he knew she could feel every inch of him pressed to her. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of killing you. You would love to prove I was as terrible as you always wanted to believe,” he accused.

“You are far more terrible than I ever believed.” She drew back her foot and kicked him in the shin.

Conn shook his head, barely feeling her pitiful attack but amazed at her audacity. Loosing her shoulders, he placed both of his warm, powerful hands on her neck, turning her face to his.

“How would you like it if I snapped your comely little neck?”

He thought he saw a brief flare of fear in her shadowed eyes. Almost of their own volition, his broad thumbs caressed her throat, coming to rest against the pulse that fluttered beneath the smooth skin, their power coiled tightly in his control.

“If you despise me so deeply, why didn’t you kill me instead of Nimbus?” he asked, his grip tightening.

Her jaw jutted out. “I wish it had been you,” she hissed. “I wish you had died, swinging from the rafters, choking on your own bile like the bastard you are.”

For an instant his grip intensified and the lights wavered in front of her eyes. He hurled her to the ground, where she resumed the posture he had discovered her in, face turned to the wall.

“First you won’t talk. Now you don’t know when to stop.” He went to the door, his voice weary. “If I keep you here, I don’t know what I’ll do to you. Sean will take you away. So far away that I’ll never have to face your tainted soul again.”

He slipped out the door, turning the key in the lock. Closing his eyes, he leaned on the door. No sound came from within the cell.

Gelina bit down hard on her ragged skirt until she heard the second heavy door slam in the distance. Only the lone guard heard the broken sobs that echoed through the empty dungeon.

Sean pushed open the study door to find Conn sitting in the fireless room, his back to the door.

“Sire?” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Mer-Nod awoke me. He said you summoned me.”

Conn spoke without turning around. “You must prepare for a journey in the early morning.”

Sean strained to hear his soft words.

“I want you to take her far away from here to one of the crannogs. You are not to tell anyone where you are going. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sire.”

“I am not sure that you do.”

Conn turned slowly. Sean struggled to keep from taking a step backward as he faced the unholy fire burning in Conn’s eyes.

“I never, ever want to know where you took her.”

Sean nodded.

Conn rose to his feet with a jerky movement, and Sean saw the overturned flagon on the table in a pool of burgundy. “You must swear it. You must swear that you will never, ever tell me where she is, no matter how I press you.”

“I swear it.”

Conn took a step toward him. “Swear it by the god by whom your tribe swears.”

Sean raised a hand in protest. “But, sire . . . such an oath . . . to break it would surely mean—”

“Swear it.”

“As my king commands.” Sean dropped to one knee, his eyes never leaving Conn’s. “I swear I shall never reveal her whereabouts to you. I swear it by the god by whom my tribe swears.”

Conn nodded, weariness etched in every line of his gaunt face. “You may go.”

He turned away with a wave of dismissal. Sean pulled the door shut with a sigh, leaving Conn alone at the window to watch the ebony night fade into gray.

At dawn Gelina was led to a tiny chamber and left there. Drawn to the first window she had seen in days, she wrapped her fingers around the bars and pressed her forehead to the cold iron. Fog shrouded the courtyard. A dog howled in the distance; the lonely sound sent a shiver down her back. The courtyard was deserted except for two horses patiently tethered by the stable.

Gelina turned as the door opened. Garments were tossed at her feet.

“Change” was the guard’s surly command as he slammed the door.

Running a hand over the coarse material, she smiled sadly as she recognized the clothes. Slipping what remained of her wedding smock over her head, she hurled it into the corner without a second glance and donned the soft, clean linen. At the bottom of the pile rested her cap. She tucked her unruly curls into it and leaned against the wall with hands in pockets.

She didn’t have long to wait. The guard threw open the door and motioned her out. She drew in a deep breath of the cold air as they walked outside; the freshness of it burned her stale lungs.

Sean Ó Finn stood beside the motionless horses. He refused to meet her eyes as he interlaced his hands to help her mount the small roan. The other guard stood nearby, his lips pursed in open hostility.

“Give me your hands,” Sean commanded without emotion.

A question flickered across her face and she wondered what would be done to her if she refused. She stretched out her arms, face sullen. He bound her wrists, slipping a finger underneath to ensure that the rope wasn’t too tight. He mounted the other horse and waited as the guard handed him the rope that led to Gelina and the rope that led to her horse.

He led them out of the courtyard at a walk. Gelina’s shoulders straightened as she stared back at the shadow of Tara for the last time. A lone figure in a second-story window caught her gaze. Her eyes narrowed in contempt. She met his gaze unflinchingly for a long moment, then averted her eyes in disdain as they moved through the gate. She never saw him sink to his knees and bury his face in his hands.

Sean felt resistance on the rope as they crossed the hillside. He turned, stopping his horse, and followed Gelina’s gaze to the small mound of newly turned earth that scarred the grassy knoll. Sean thought he detected a subtle nod toward the tiny grave. He spurred his horse into a gallop, nearly unseating her. She grabbed the rope as it cut cruelly into her wrists, gripping the horse’s back with her knees as they thundered away from the fortress.

Sean’s stiff back remained presented to her as he led them galloping over the open meadows and walking through the thick underbrush. The sun made its appearance late in the morning, its dull glow doing little to warm the chill air.

They stopped when the pale sun hung high above them. Sean untied her and issued a terse command to dismount. Her gaze was drawn to his hand, which rested on his sword hilt. He stood beside the horse, still avoiding her eyes as she knelt beside the small pond. Cupping her hands, she splashed cool water on her face. Peering into the water, she caught Sean’s reflection. He was staring at her.

Whirling around, she saw him avert his eyes.

“Look at me, Sean,” she commanded.

He raised his eyes to hers, not bothering to hide the contempt in them. She turned away, unable to face what she thought she was prepared to see.

“Why did you do it, Gelina?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“You asked me that in the dungeon. ‘Tis the wrong question. Until you find the right one, I will not answer.”

“There will be no more questions where you’re going.” He crossed to where she stood and bound her hands, not bothering to check the rope for tightness.

“Why did he choose you to make this journey, Sean? Wouldn’t it have been easier to send someone who didn’t know me?”

He helped her mount the horse, then stood looking up at her. “He sent me for two reasons. I know what you’re capable of doing.”

“And?”

He didn’t look away. “He knows what I’m not capable of doing.”

He mounted his horse without another word and kicked it into a canter. Gelina breathed a prayer of thanks for the rush of wind that dulled the bitter stinging in her eyes.

As the long day faded into night, Sean halted his horse and pulled Gelina off the roan. Leaving her bound, he gathered brush for the fire. She stood beside the horse, her legs cramping from thigh to toe.

Sean whirled on her with dagger drawn before she had taken two steps.

“I was just stretching my muscles,” she said, holding her bound hands in front of her in feeble defense.

“You don’t move unless I say you can.”

He sheathed his dagger, small beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. She stood motionless as the branches and twigs crackled into flame.

“You may sit now,” he told her, unfastening the knapsacks from his horse.

Her legs folded under her. He unbound her hands, and they ate in silence.

“Why didn’t he kill me himself or have me executed?” she asked, breaking the strained silence.

“He was merciful.”

Gelina snorted.

Finishing the lean strip of meat, he rose and approached her, rope coiled around his hands.
“I
must bind your hands and feet while you sleep.”

“Why?”

“Those were my orders.” He wrapped a length of rope around her ankles.

“What were you ordered to do if I tried to escape? Chop my head off?” Her lips curved in a cold smile.

“I might as well.” She thought she saw a flicker of pity in his eyes.

An unwilling sigh escaped her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because if you try to run, I’ve been ordered to return you to Conn. He’ll deal with you himself.”