Lady of Conquest (42 page)

Gelina bounced off the wall, staying just out of Conn’s grasp and keeping a steady stream of objects in the air, all sailing toward his head with enviable accuracy. She scooped up an iron spoon and was jerked to a halt by a powerful hand wrapped in her hair. Brutal fingers twisted until tears sprang to her eyes, and she was forced to her knees at Conn’s feet. She stared up through misty eyes at a face that could have been set in granite, so cold was its intent and so merciless its expression. She closed her eyes, knowing she could trace every line of laughter on that face and had done so a thousand times in the last three months.

“Was this in your plan all along?” she whispered. “To come here when the whim strikes you and hurt me?” She opened her eyes to find his face very close to hers.

His voice shook. “If that had been my plan, I would have kept you chained to my bed at Tara and had you until I tired of you. My plan was to never lay eyes on your sweet, freckled face again.”

His lips brushed the bridge of her nose. He jerked away, stabbed by the tenderness of his own touch. Without loosening his grip on her hair, he forced her to kneel over the side of the feather mattress and pressed the hardness of his body against her rounded softness with a heat that seared through the thin cotton shift. The stiffness left her back in a tortured sigh as she felt his other shaking hand fumble behind her and knew he drew apart the drawstring of his breeches.

“I know what you believe,” she said in a very small voice. “But I don’t deserve to be taken like this . . . like an animal.”

He loosed her hair. It fell across her face in a cascade of rippling auburn. “How do you deserve to be taken?” He jerked her around to face him. “Like a woman who is loved? Like the cherished wife of a king?”

Tears spilled from Gelina’s eyes. “You’ve got me on my knees, Conn. In all the time I’ve known you, I have never asked for your mercy as high king of Erin. I am asking now.”

Conn visibly recoiled. “ ‘Tis a cruel jest for you to call on the king when you have brought him nothing but dishonor and death. The king has killed for less. It is the man who holds your fate in his hands this night.”

Gelina bowed her head. “Then there is no hope for me, is there?”

Conn loosened his bruising grasp to brush away her tears. She slipped through his hands and sprinted out the door into the misty night. He jumped to his feet with a curse. A splash sounded, followed by a deafening silence.

“Gelina,” he cried hoarsely.

Conn’s dive split the glassy surface of the lake. He swam to and fro under the water, frantically searching the murky depths for a glimpse of pale skin or a hint of auburn. He rose for a panicked breath, then dove again, frustration giving way to despair. His hands clawed at the rocks, tangling in what could have been hair but was only weeds. The elusive softness of the strands he had tugged so mercilessly only minutes ago taunted him with their memory. The water went black around him, and he knew consciousness was a second away from deserting him.

He heaved himself onto the muddy shore and lay gasping into his folded arms, his mind a desperate blank. He opened his eyes to find a pair of bare, muddy feet splayed in front of him. His gaze traced those feet to a pair of shapely calves and up to find himself staring at the gleaming point of his own sword held in the hands of a woman with a very cold grin.

“The splash?” he asked.

“Your knapsack.” The emerald eyes sparkled like the eyes of a vengeful leprechaun.

“And if I had drowned while searching for you?”

Gelina shrugged, and Conn came as close to hating her as he ever would. He rested his head on his arms with a sigh.

“Do come in,” she said flatly. “I fear you’ll catch a chill lying in the mud.”

“How could I resist such a charming invitation from a lady with a sword?” He sat up with a mocking grin, and she took two steps backward.

“Slowly now. I haven’t handled a sword for a long time. I should hate to inadvertently lop your head off.”

Conn had to laugh as he moved toward the hut. Gelina followed with the sword pressed to the small of his back.

He ducked through the door. “Little girls should take care when they play with warrior’s toys. They just might—”

The flat blade of the sword caught him between the ear and the temple. He sank to the stone floor, knowing before the blackness took him that his mother hadn’t lied when she told him he never knew when to stop talking.

Conn opened his eyes to a clangorous ringing in his head and a numbness in his arms that warned him he was bound. He blinked. Sunlight filtered through the shuttered window to caress the charming scene at the hearth with a glow that made him wonder if he was still dreaming. Gelina dipped a rag into a chipped basin of steaming water and ran it over her shoulders and arms with the lazy insolence of someone accustomed to being alone. Her skin gleamed. The water flowed in tiny rivulets down the smooth column of her throat and into the shy valleys hidden beneath the shift.

Conn struggled to a sitting position. Gelina dropped a shapeless dress over her lithe form, and he stifled a groan.

Her startled gaze flew to his hungry eyes, then jerked away. She threw open the shutters, and the sun burst into the hut, kindling her hair to a halo of fire and throwing her face into shadow.

“Why is it that whenever I underestimate you, I awake with a tremendous headache?” he said.

Gelina shrugged and sat on the edge of the hearth, her chin cupped in her hand. After a moment’s silence in which they regarded each other warily, she said, “I’ve never taken a king hostage before.”

“You cannot prove it by these knots. I feel like a prize pig trussed up for Large Bob the butcher. Surely you could untie me like a good girl before my arms and legs fall off.”

She chewed pensively on her lower lip. “ ‘Tis a pity there is no one to deliver a note to Tara to tell them of your sad predicament.”

He flashed his white teeth in a winning smile. “If you’ll untie me, I will be more than happy to deliver the missive myself.”

She sighed. “If only I could swim.”

“Do try. ‘Tis never too late to learn.”

“I suppose ransom is out of the question if there is no one to deliver a message.” She shook her head with a bereft sigh.

Conn’s smile was frosty. “ ‘Tis just the sort of task Nimbus would have delighted in.”

Gelina’s head flew up. She turned to the hearth and slapped a cold boiled turnip into a bowl with shaking hands. She slammed the pestle into it, grinding and pounding as if it were Conn’s heart at the bottom of the bowl instead of a hapless turnip.

“There is no meat,” she said between blows. “I ate the last of it a week ago. Sean hasn’t brought any more.”

“But, my dear, your meat is at the bottom of the lake in my knapsack. Surely you didn’t think I came here just to ravish you?”

The pestle came down on the bowl with enough force to shatter it. Gelina sent the broken shards flying off the hearth with a sweep of her hand. She jerked another bowl and turnip toward her.

“Unless you’d fancy eating this turnip whole, I’d suggest you leash that vitriolic tongue of yours until I finish,” she said without looking up from her task.

“Do hurry. I’ve always had a penchant for cold, whole turnips.”

She glared at him, and Conn knew he was one word away from having the turnip and possibly the bowl crammed down his throat. He wisely clamped his lips together.

She knelt beside him, wielding a wooden spoon heaped with turnip.

He clamped his lips together and leaned away from her. “How do I know ‘tis not laced with hemlock?”

She sank back on her heels with an exasperated sigh. “If I had wanted to kill you, I could have done it last night while you slept.”

“There is a hair’s difference between sleeping and being rendered unconscious with the flat side of a sword.”

“Do stop quibbling. Open wide.”

He opened his mouth with a mutinous glare, and Gelina poked the spoon in his mouth. He choked down the cold lump of turnip with a theatrical swallow. Gelina stared into the bowl to hide her smile.

“I cannot eat any more,” he announced. “I have to step outside.” Gelina’s eyes widened at his request. “I have . . . how did you put it so prettily that night at the cavern? Ah, yes . . . needs to attend to.”

She stood and paced the length of the hut. “I cannot untie you. You are not to be trusted.”

Conn nodded. “True. You could untie my feet, but not my hands. I would be more than happy to let you do the honors.”

She blushed furiously, and he laughed out loud. She leaned down and peered into his face. “Why did I ever think you were such a nice man?”

He leaned forward until his nose touched hers. “I was a nice man until I met you.”

She took a step backward, and he fell on his face with a beleaguered sigh. He felt a knife slicing his bonds. The sharp tip pressed to his ribs was unmistakably the point of his sword.

“If you make one suspicious move, I shall run you through,” she said flatly as he climbed to his feet.

“I would rather run you through,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

She twisted her wrist; the tip of the sword pierced his tunic and came to rest against his bare skin. He choked back a laugh.

He stretched as they left the hut for the warm sunshine, hiding a grimace of pain as his muscles throbbed to life. Gelina stood as far from him as her outstretched arm and the blade would allow and studied the distant peaks.

“Your maidenly modesty is touching, love,” he said, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“I forget. You have no respect for modesty or maidens. A trait you inherited from your father, no doubt.”

Conn whirled, jerking the drawstrings of his breeches tight. His breathing was audible, and Gelina knew the only thing standing between herself and being throttled was the four feet of steel pressed to his taut belly.

“Back in the hut,” she growled to hide her sudden trembling.

He did not move for an eternity. Then the suave veneer slid over the icy blue rage in his eyes, and he sauntered to the hut.

He sank to the floor and held out his wrists, raising a mocking eyebrow. Gelina exchanged the sword for a knife and struggled to hold it and bind his hands at the same time.

“Shall I hold the knife for you?” he offered.

“Not unless you care to hold the blade between your ribs, sire,” she snapped, jerking the knot tight.

She sat lost in thought, staring at the callused palms and the crisp, dark hairs on the back of his hands, remembering the tender strength in the hands that had hurt her and cherished her with seemingly equal delight. She stood and paced to the hearth, not knowing that Conn sat staring at the single hot teardrop that had fallen on his hand.

He sneered to hide his sudden bewilderment. “Tell me, dear, if you don’t intend to hold me for ransom, what do you intend to hold me for? Your maidenly pleasure? I know the nights on the crannog are cold and lonely unless you’ve found a prowling merman to satisfy your needs.”

When Gelina whirled on him, her eyes were dry. “I’ve found a whole colony of mermen—scores of them. They come every night, and they’re all better than you ever thought about being.”

He surveyed her through eyes veiled with dark lashes. “Then your memory is very short, my dear.”

Without another word Gelina slammed out of the hut.

Conn measured the passing hours by the lengthening shadows that crept across the floor. Hunger pangs tightened his belly, and he regretted baiting her. He ran his tongue over his parched lips and thought about calling out to see if she could hear him. Pride smothered the words before they could form in his mouth. The hut was dark and the fire had died to glowing embers when Gelina kicked open the door. She set down a bucket with a slosh and laid an armful of wood on the hearth.

Hunger, thirst, and various other unmet needs collided in Conn. He didn’t bother to mask the animosity in his clipped words. “I’ve tried to be gallant about playing your little game, Gelina, but I find it tiring. I command you to untie me.”

She turned with a laugh. “Ever the king, Conn. You never could rule the Ó Monaghans. When will you learn that?”

Her eyes sparkled. Conn clenched his jaw tight to keep his mouth from falling open as she reached for the hem of the shapeless dress and drew it over her tousled curls. She tossed it aside and turned to feed the fire with lazy grace. Conn’s eyes remained locked on the graceful curves of her slim back and thighs as she leaned over the hearth in the thin shift. The flames leapt higher, throwing into silhouette any curve of her body his imagination and memory could not supply.

He twitched as a trickle of sweat inched down his brow.

Gelina smiled sweetly and held out a plate. “Would you care for some bread?”

“I’m not hungry,” he lied.

She shrugged and tucked a piece of bread between her lips, licking each finger as if it were dripping hot butter instead of dried crumbs. The muscles of Conn’s arms knotted as he pulled at the bonds behind his back with all of his strength.

“Perhaps you would care for some water, sire?” Gelina asked.