The Game (12 page)

Elizabeth turned to Katherine, who, too late, realized she had interrupted their private conversation. One reddish brow lifted. “You defend this man after all he has done to you?”

Katherine flushed. “I am a virgin, Your Highness. He left me my virtue. For that I am grateful.”

“How honorable you are,” the queen murmured to Liam. “Yet your reputation does not rest on honor—or on a soft heart.” Then she said to Katherine, “You defend him. Debrays said you were fond of Liam.”

“No!” Katherine cried. “I am not fond of him—not at all!”

Elizabeth stared at her grimly, as if she did not believe a word she spoke.

“He abducted me, prevented me from returning home, made it clear…” Katherine broke off. She could not bring herself to speak the entire truth—to reveal that Liam intended to make her his mistress.

“What did this rogue make clear, mistress?” the queen demanded.

Katherine blanched at her sharp tone.

“Your tongue!” the queen cried. “Find it!”

Katherine was frozen. Her face had drained of all color. She could not speak.

Liam stepped forward and calmly said, “I have asked Mistress FitzGerald to be my mistress. As she has no protector in this world, I will gladly assume that role.”

The queen stared at Liam coldly. Her regard flickered but briefly to Katherine. Then she said, “You have not changed, Liam. But your pirate ways are becoming far too daring.”

“If I have offended you, then I am truly sorry,” Liam said.

“I doubt that!” the queen cried. “So this entire game was only that, a game?” Elizabeth said. “To ask a ransom when no ransom could be paid, to entertain a young girl’s whim to see her father—and to take her as your mistress when all was finally done?”

“Does not the entire world know how fond I am of games, Your Majesty?” He bowed his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Surely there is no one who would make an objection to such a game? Not FitzGerald, who is in disgrace. Not her brother, who is but two years old. Surely not her stepmother, who wishes no rivals in her home.”

Katherine blinked. This was the first she had heard of having a baby brother.

The queen stood. “Knave!” She was clearly furious. “We object! Your games go too far! And this game rings of something more! Insolvent knave!”

Liam jerked. So did Katherine. He said softly, “I would never commit treason against you, Bess.”

Katherine gasped, certain that Liam would be thrown into the Tower without further ado for addressing the queen so disrespectfully.

Elizabeth stared only at Liam, her eyes wide, her gaze hard, weighing his words. Liam remained motionless.

“You have gone too far, O’Neill!” she finally said, her bosom heaving. “And We doubt you do not know it. Your arrogance needs be taught a swift and sure lesson. You
cannot plunder where you will, without a care for Us. FitzGerald may be in disgrace, but the girl is Our subject, and fresh from a convent, not a prize for a man like you. You have gone too far—but I pray you have not gone as far as conspiring with FitzGerald.”

Liam’s gaze was lowered, so that Katherine could not see his eyes.

“Perhaps your ardor will cool whilst you pass time in the Tower,” the queen snapped. She signaled two sergeants, who leapt forward, each taking one of Liam’s arms. “And think on
all
your guilty ways, pirate,” she added ominously.

Katherine choked off a cry, watching as Liam was led away.

Later that afternoon, the Privy Chamber was once again cleared of all the queen’s favorites, with the exception of Sir William Cecil. “Did you send for Ormond?” she asked.

“He shall be here at any moment, Your Highness,” Cecil replied.

“And the FitzGerald girl?”

“She is asleep in the chamber where she has been confined. Thus far, she has not done anything to give credence to the conspiracy theory,” Cecil said.

Elizabeth paced. In doing so, she made a magnificent figure, and she was aware of it. Like her father, she was vain. And because she was a woman, her vanity was, perhaps, greater than his. Not only did she know that she was the most beautiful and best-dressed woman at court; she knew no other lady could dance as well—no other lady had as many admirers. “I have never heard such nonsense,” she finally said, facing Cecil. “Surely this FitzGerald girl went to Liam O’Neill, bearing a secret message from her father. And FitzGerald hates Us, he would want but one thing—to plan to escape to Ireland and commit treason.”

“Perhaps,” Cecil said.

“There is no other explanation for the dawn meeting. None!” Elizabeth said fiercely. And finally, her face fell.
“Blast that rogue, Cecil. How could he do this to me? Curse my golden pirate! I do not hear from him in over a year, and now this! How many times have I summoned him to court in all that time?” She paced, not waiting for an answer. “I wonder how many other ships he has plundered, that we do not know about. I wonder if he plunders all the lady travelers, as well! Should I even doubt it?” Her face screwed up. “Ahh, well, he is no sad, lonely little boy now. He thinks to pervert that poor virgin—and mayhap he thinks of treachery against me.” Tears suddenly filled Elizabeth’s eyes.

“Your Majesty, be careful of reaching the wrong conclusion. O’Neill is very clever, far too clever to be caught at treason in such a fashion, and I doubt all is as it seems.”

“What do you say?”

“O’Neill has been so useful to us until now, and I find it hard to believe that such a clever man would risk his future in order to dabble in Irish politics.” Cecil’s tone was bland; he did not blink.

“He has gotten too bold, too cocksure,” Elizabeth said, but less certainly. “He does not think to get caught.”

“Perhaps. But while ’tis obvious what FitzGerald would gain from such an alliance, think on what O’Neill would gain.”

“FitzGerald would gain all. He could use Liam to escape and return to Munster, so that he could war with his own cousin FitzMaurice to regain control of his kin and his land. There is naught for Liam to gain,” Elizabeth said sharply, “except the promise of some future reward, which could not possibly entice Liam into treachery. The only other thing he could gain is the girl. But she is worthless.”

“Agreed. The girl is worthless with her father in exile, stripped of land, title, and all power,” Cecil said carefully. How different this conversation would be if the girl were still the daughter of a powerful earl. Then Liam O’Neill’s purpose would be quite clear.

“So you think O’Neill was merely amusing himself—and truly asking a ransom?”

“I am not sure.” Cecil paced the room, pausing to stare
at the life-size figure of Henry VIII painted on the far wall. “We must allow the game to play out, Your Majesty. We must see where the players lead.”

“If O’Neill has allied himself with FitzGerald at this time, I like it not. There are problems enough with the papist FitzMaurice.” Elizabeth could not repress a shudder. Her head ached now, but whether in response to more Irish problems, or because of how betrayed she felt by Liam, she could not tell. “In God’s name, what is keeping Ormond?” she snapped. “He knows FitzGerald as well as anyone; they have lived their entire lives as enemies. He would know if this conspiracy is true.”

“I hear a commotion,” Cecil said. He moved to the closed doors and opened them just as the earl of Ormond was about to be announced. “Tom! We are eager to speak with you.”

The earl of Ormond, known as Black Tom because of his dark complexion and his dark moods, entered the chamber with long, strong strides. A brown, sable-lined cloak waved about broad shoulders—he tossed it back with undisguised irritation. “It is damnably wet out this night,” he said, grim. “Not an eve to be riding about Londontown.”

“But you have come to Us with all haste, have you not?” Elizabeth said coolly. He had kept her waiting for over an hour. “The cause is grave, dear Tom.”

He eyed her, pulling off one heavy glove after another and slapping his hard thighs. “Indeed. Is it true, my cousin, my queen? Have you tossed the Master of the Seas in the tower?”

“Only for a while.” Elizabeth spoke slowly, then, so that she might judge his reaction to her next words. “So that he might cool his raging lust for your little half sister, your dear mother Joan’s daughter—Katherine FitzGerald.”

Ormond started and then he swore.

T
he earl of Ormond finally smiled, grimly. “You would enjoy reminding me of the fact that my mother married that bastard FitzGerald.” He did not add what everyone knew, and had, at the time, delighted in—that Joan Butler, countess of Ormond, had married Gerald FitzGerald despite his having been twenty years her junior—and almost the same age as her own eldest son.

Elizabeth was serene. “Have you met your dear half sister, Tom?”

“Once, many years ago,” he growled. “And do you think I give a damn about FitzGerald’s brat—even if she be my half sister?”

“Oh, come, Tom, surely you do not want to see her innocence despoiled by someone like Liam O’Neill.”

Ormond’s gaze was flat.

“You really have no feeling for her? Do you know that she looks so much like Joan, although her hair is red, not blond. She is a tall beauty and she carries herself with pride despite her diminished station in life.”

“I care as much for her as I do for a country whore.”

Elizabeth sighed. “You must know that the girl claims to have been abducted by O’Neill.” Ormond did not react. “O’Neill has told us an absurd tale, one I find difficult to believe.” Elizabeth told her cousin about the dawn meeting at St. Leger House.

“God’s blood!” Ormond cried. “O’Neill and FitzGerald in conspiracy, this must be stopped!”

“I thought that might move you,” Elizabeth said, satisfied.

Butler’s jaw was tight. “Do you not know what will come about if Shane O’Neill’s son is allied with FitzGerald? Within months FitzGerald will escape and return to Ireland. By this time next year, he will undoubtedly be as strong as he ever was.”

The queen was grim. She glanced at Cecil, who was sitting in one of the room’s two chairs of state. “We have spoken of little else. But William is not convinced of such an alliance.”

Ormond inhaled. “Then he is wrong. FitzGerald is damnably clever, and he must have offered his daughter to O’Neill to sway him to his cause.”

“But the girl is worthless.”

Ormond was exasperated. “Come, coz, not to O’Neill.”

“What do you say?” Elizabeth demanded.

Ormond began to pace. “Liam is the bastard of Shane O’Neill—a man who died a traitor, his lands forfeit to the Crown. The pirate is rich, your spies know that, but as no man has ever infiltrated the pile of stone where he abides, no one knows the extent of his treasure stores. He is rich, but for what, for whom? He is without family. Without clan. The Irish distrust him. Yet he is hardly an Englishman. He
is
Irish, cousin. ’Tis Irish blood flowing in his veins, no matter that Mary Stanley birthed him. To marry the FitzGerald girl would give him a family, a clan—a country. The FitzGerald girl would give him respectability, and his sons would have blue blood in their veins.” Ormond faced Cecil and Elizabeth. “I know that this is what the pirate wants. All basely born men want to be elevated through marriage and their sons. And I am sure that FitzGerald has sweetened the offer and promised him some future reward as well, undoubtedly the promise being some parcel of Desmond land.”

Elizabeth and Cecil exchanged glances. Cecil said, “As you have more to lose than anyone except the queen if FitzGerald regains his place in Ireland, you jump more quickly to conclusions that may not be right, Tom.”

Ormond cursed. “Even should FitzGerald return to Des
mond, his land is destroyed, many of his kin dead—he will never again wield the kind of power he once had. I will
never
share the rule of Southern Ireland with him!” His expression was thunderous. “How my mother could have married such a curse upon the world—I know not,” he said harshly. He went to Elizabeth, ignoring Cecil, and gripped her hand. “No alliance must be allowed, my dearest cousin. FitzGerald will use O’Neill’s power on the seas most effectively. Not only to escape you. In winter he could starve out his cousin, FitzMaurice. That would please us all, of course, but once FitzMaurice is brought down, he could blockade your own royal ports—starve out your own royal troops. In no time at all you will be faced with Desmond’s power and defiance again.” Tom’s dark blue eyes flashed. “Or, God forbid, the two cousins could unite against us.”

Silence fell across the room. Elizabeth finally sat down. She was grim. For a long time she did not speak, unwilling to believe that Liam O’Neill moved against her. Surely it was not true. As William had said, there was no proof yet. “Mary Stanley was—is—my friend. When Catherine Parr died, I took her into my home—her and her small son. I pitied them both, mother and child—as everyone did. Most of us tried to hide it, but some did not. They both knew. They both knew they were different, that they were cases of charity.” She looked up. “I remember watching Liam playing alone in the gardens at Hatfield House, one early spring day. It was a day not unlike this one. Not yet warm, but not too gray, the sun pale and feeble. He was five or six. He was using a stick as if it were a sword—and so fierce was he, ’twas as if he fought the entire world.” She sighed. “He was so alone—so lonely. He was such a quiet boy. He never spoke unless spoken to, he never laughed. And the other children were so cruel to him, taunting him, calling him an Irish bastard to his face.”

“He is no little boy now,” Ormond said sharply. “Make no mistake of that. Do not let your old affections interfere with your good judgment, Bess. He is a dangerous man.”

The queen regarded him. “I can not dismiss the past as if it never existed. I do not know that he has committed treason yet. I believe he has some affection for me, too, some gratitude.”

“You must not think like this!” Ormond cried. “You must see him as he is! Not his handsome face, but his cold, barren heart!”

Elizabeth looked at her cousin. “Then perhaps I should not favor you, either, dear Tom, as we have a special history as well.”

“We are blood,” he reminded her. “And our cause is one. I am loyal to you—always.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Yes, our cause is one and you I trust,” she said, gesturing him to her. When he came she gripped his hand and stroked it. “I know you only seek to protect me.” Then she pressed her hands to her temples. “In truth, I do not want to believe that Liam O’Neill is the savage traitor his father was. The very notion is a blow to my heart, to my soul.”

“Their rendezvous is proof of their plot against us, against you,” Ormond snapped. “Cousin, listen to me now. Keep O’Neill in the Tower. If you do not wish to try him and hang him, then let him rot there. And send the girl to me,” Ormond said flatly. “She is my half sister, and who better to be her guardian? I will install her with one of my brothers at Kilkenny Castle and she will be watched carefully.”

Elizabeth glanced at Cecil.

Having patiently awaited his turn to speak, knowing that it would come, Cecil said, “O’Neill has not been proved guilty. We have no cause to detain him like a common criminal.”

“He is surely guilty of piracy.” Black Tom laughed mirthlessly. “I can find you a dozen witnesses to his bloody deeds.”

Elizabeth raised her hands, her face pale. “
No
. There will be no charges of piracy.”

Ormond was disgusted and he turned away, not seeing the look Elizabeth and Cecil exchanged. Cecil patted her arm. “You are right, Your Majesty, for if we imprison
O’Neill and send the girl to Ormond, we will
never
know if FitzGerald has made a new plot against you. Let him go. Let them both go. I will have my agents watch them. And we will let their actions speak the truth.”

Ormond had turned to face both sovereign and councillor. “’Twill be a costly, bloody mistake!”

But Elizabeth was nodding. “Yes, the plan is so simple but so good. Let their actions speak the truth. I see where you lead, Cecil.”

Cecil smiled.

“Yes, We shall release them,” Elizabeth said. She patted Tom Butler’s rigid shoulder. “And there will be immediate signs to show us if they conspire or not. If they go to Ireland, it adds grave suspicion of guilt.” She paused. “And if Liam marries the girl, then we know that Tom was correct—’twould be all the proof of guilt we seek.”

Katherine had just awakened and had barely finished performing her ablutions, when she was summoned again to the queen. It was a new day, but she was far more afraid than she had been the day before. Had the queen decided she had enough evidence with which to charge her formally with conspiracy, or God forbid, treason? And what of Liam O’Neill? What would happen to him now? Katherine told herself she was merely curious, and not at all concerned about the pirate’s fate.

Katherine hurried beside the sergeant escorting her, her palms perspiring, out of breath. They did not go to the Presence Chamber, but to the queen’s royal apartments. The antechamber was a large withdrawing room with linenfold paneling, molded ceilings, and fresh rushes upon the gleaming oak floors. The queen was with William Cecil yet again, but another man was present as well. Tall and dark, he stared at her with cold black eyes. Even though it had been many years since they had last met, when Katherine had been but nine or ten, she recognized him. He was her half brother—her mother’s oldest son from her first marriage. He was her father’s worst enemy, Thomas Butler, the earl of Ormond.

“Lady Katherine,” Elizabeth said, smiling.

Katherine dropped into a curtsy, her heart hammering, wondering what Ormond was doing here—and why the queen was acting so warmly. Straightening, she watched the queen approach. She could not summon up an answering smile. The queen paused in front of her. “You need not be afraid anymore, dear girl,” she said gently. “We have determined that your story is true.”

Her eyes widened. “You have?” Then, realizing that she sounded as guilty as sin, she blushed. “I mean—thank you, Your Highness.” She curtsied again.

But this time the queen lifted her to her feet. Katherine towered above her. “Please forgive Us for Our suspicions, but surely you know that your father has displeased Us so greatly with his treasonous ways that We must be vigilant always.”

Wisely Katherine did not answer. She could not tear her gaze from the fond expression in the queen’s eyes. Elizabeth smiled. “But fortunately, you take after not Gerald, but your dear, departed mother.”

Katherine felt that she was required to speak, so she said, “Y-yes.”

“Tom!” It was a command, and Ormond moved forward, still staring at Katherine. “Does she not remind you of your mother, Joan?”

His jaw was tight. “Yes.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Your mother was a great and beautiful lady. I knew her well. We were good friends. The first time your father tried Our patience and We were forced to put him in the Tower, why, she came to me directly to intercede for him, greatly distraught. We assured her then that We were only teaching the young, wayward earl a lesson, and indeed, the following year he was freed.” Elizabeth sobered.

Katherine heard herself say, “But he arrived home too late. Mother was dead.”

Elizabeth’s gaze turned sharp. “Yes, your memory serves you well. Yet you were but a child then.”

“I was twelve,” Katherine said, staring at her feet. How could she have said such a thing, even if it were true? How could she have risked raising the queen’s ire again?
“Your Highness, I am sorry—I loved my mother so. I have yet to reconcile myself to her loss.”

Elizabeth patted her hand. “We understand. We, too, mourned her passing. Everyone who knew her did. Now—why do you not exchange greetings with your half brother? He is most eager to meet you.”

Hesitantly, Katherine looked past the queen and at Thomas Butler. There was nothing eager about his expression, which seemed dark and forbidding. “My lord,” she said uneasily. “Good day.”

“Lady Katherine…Sister dear. The queen is right. You are our mother’s image exactly.” He did not seem pleased about it.

Katherine thought that one and all lied. Her mother, in her youth and even when she had married Gerald at the age of forty, had been one of the reigning beauties of her time. Katherine knew she could not be as lovely. But she accepted the false praise politely. “You honor me—thank you.”

Ormond said nothing more, and silence fell between them.

Elizabeth shot him an annoyed look, then pulled Katherine across the room and indicated for her to sit in a small caqueteuse. Katherine did so gingerly, and so as not to appear a country lass, she put her arms on the wooden slabs, feeling very foolish as she did. The queen sat on a bobbin chair beside her and patted her hand. “You need not worry any more about Liam O’Neill.”

Katherine jerked. “He—he is not dead?”

The queen laughed. “No, Katherine, no, he lives. ’Twould take more than a paltry musket ball to down the Master of the Seas.”

Katherine couldn’t help feeling relieved. She was aware of the queen watching her, closely, so she said, “O’Neill is a pirate—is he not?”

“Of course he is a pirate—how could you ask?”

Katherine hesitated, afraid to plunge into dangerous waters. “You…you seem to know him—Your Highness.”

The queen laughed. “Indeed I do. When my father married Catherine Parr, I went to live with her and my brother,
Prince Edward. Liam’s mother was Mary Stanley—the niece of Catherine’s first husband, Edward Borough. She was pregnant, in disgrace, but Catherine took pity upon her and installed her as one of her privy ladies. I saw Liam O’Neill soon after he was born, when he was but a wet, red, squalling newborn babe.”

Katherine gaped.

The queen shrugged. “Even after my father died, I stayed in Catherine’s household. She was like a mother to me. Three years later she married Tom Seymour, and still I stayed. So did Mary Stanley and her son. In fact, when Catherine died, Mary came into my household. Liam was four at the time. I recall it well, because ’twas his birthday soon after. She and Liam stayed with me until my sister Mary ascended to the throne.” Elizabeth’s tone was light. Too light as she spoke of Bloody Mary. “Then she requested leave to go to her parents’ home in Essex, and because of her firm religious beliefs, I agreed, thinking it far better.”

Katherine’s mind was spinning. Liam was hardly a savage pirate—he had been born at court and he had been raised with a prince and princess, by a Dowager Queen. And although half-Irish, he must be Protestant, as his mother had been. She could hardly credit what she had heard. Seeing her expression, Elizabeth smiled. “You appear stupefied.”