The Game (18 page)

Since Katherine had done a fairly good job of repairing her dress, her voluptuous bosom was crushed flat, still, his regard unnerved her. “Yes.”

“’Twas a waste, Katie.”

Katherine shifted in her seat. What did Hugh mean?

Hugh smiled, his manner friendly. “The Katie I knew was always barefoot and running wild out of doors. I remember you as a child in long braids, climbing trees. I can not imagine you confined to a nunnery, with a needle in your hand, working embroidery.”

“I have become a fine seamstress, so a man might say the years were well spent.”

He laughed. “A talent every woman should acquire, no doubt.” His gaze was warm. “I remember how your
mother despaired of your ever learning such a womanly art. I recall your father laughing it off. Gerald was always amused by your boyish ways.”

Katherine smiled, recalling, as Hugh did, Joan FitzGerald’s fond dismay whenever she had seen her daughter rushing off, barefoot and disheveled, and more often than not in a farm lad’s hose and jerkin. Now she also remembered how her father had laughed about it. He had been secretly proud of her ability to climb trees and ride as well as any boy. Katherine beamed at Hugh.

Liam set his goblet down quite loudly, then proceeded to fill it with beer.

Hugh enfolded her hand in his. “But Katie, there is one thing I do not understand. Did I hear correctly? That the queen ordered O’Neill to escort you to me?”

Katherine nodded. “’Twas most generous of her, Hugh. I was afraid she would send me to my father’s side in St. Leger House.”

“Well,” Hugh said, “I am most pleased that you are here, and you may reside with me indefinitely, but why would she send you here instead of to your father or your uncle?”

Katherine froze.

“Katie?”

She had been aware of the fact that Liam watched them like a hawk, unwavering and even predatory. She had to glance at him now. His gaze was cold, narrowed and watchful. She turned to Hugh. “Wh-where else would she send me, Hugh? We-we are betrothed. ’Twas only right that she send me to you.”

Hugh still held her hand, but he was obviously stunned.

“Hugh?” Katherine said hesitantly.

He released her hand. “Katherine! What in God’s name has ever given you the idea that we are yet betrothed?”

Katherine gripped the table. “We were betrothed in the cradle. Co-correct me if I am wrong. That betrothal was never broken.”

Hugh stared at her with open dismay.

Katherine’s heart beat wildly.

He recovered, taking both of her hands in his. “Katherine, I do not know how to speak of this.”

Katherine told herself to breathe. She told herself it would be all right.

“The betrothal between our fathers was for my marriage to the earl of Desmond’s daughter. In fact, three times the contracts alluded to you as Desmond’s daughter. Only once was your birthname given.”

“I do not understand.”

His jaw flexed. His gaze dipped to her mouth, to her breasts. “God’s blood, you are so lovely, but…you are not Desmond’s daughter. The earl is no more. The betrothal ceased to exist the day the earl of Desmond ceased to exist. Do you understand now?”

Katherine was on her feet. “My father’s lands were forfeit to the crown, his title taken from him. But
I
still exist, Hugh.”

Hugh also stood. “Katherine, I took it to the brehern. The judges agreed, as your name was used but once, that the betrothal was a contract betwixt myself and the earl’s daughter—not betwixt myself and Katherine FitzGerald.”

She gasped.

“The judges have decided it, Katherine. ’Twas decided shortly after your father’s trial.”

She was stunned, but deep inside herself she had known something had to be amiss, for he had not sent her word or ordered her home in all the years that she had been gone. Now it made sense. The earl of Desmond’s daughter no longer existed. Hugh Barry would not marry Katherine FitzGerald—Mistress Nobody. Her chin lifted although tears formed in her eyes. “And who brought it to the brehern, Hugh?”

He hesitated. “I did. Of course, I did. Katie—no matter how beautiful you are, I cannot marry you. You have no dowry, no name, nothing. Surely you understand that?”

She managed to keep the tears from falling.

“Besides, I have been betrothed for three years now to the earl of Thomond’s daughter. This spring she will be fifteen and we shall be wed.”

Katherine could not help but make a noise. She sucked in her breath, squared her shoulders. “I do not care.”

“Katie.” He took her arm. “Let us talk privately.”

“No.”

“Please.”

Katherine really did not care what he had to say, for he had made himself clear, he would only marry a nobleman’s daughter, one whose rank was appropriate, one who was not as impoverished as she. She was aware of Liam rising to stand beside her. “Katherine is tired, Barry. Your privy discussion can wait.”

“I think not,” Hugh said flatly.

Instantly Katherine became aware of the tension that sizzled anew between the two men. It had only been repressed. They hated each other and wanted an excuse to leap at one another. She could feel the air crackling between them. “All right,” she said, moving to Hugh. Anything to avoid a fight—and to end this horrid evening.

Hugh smiled, taking her arm. He guided her across the hall and up the narrow stairs. Katherine felt Liam watching them, thought she could feel his seething hostility, but did not care. Although Hugh had frightened her because he was a stranger after all the years that had passed, he had been her childhood sweetheart once, he had been her dear friend. His rejection was brutal. The betrayal cut through flesh and bone to her very soul. As she had secretly feared, he did not want her, had forgotten her, had chosen another. All she could wonder was
—what will become of me now?

And Liam’s golden image filled her mind.

Hugh closed the door to a small chamber on the floor above, which boasted naught but rushes and a small bed. “You can sleep here this night, Katie,” he said.

She shrugged, having moved away from him to stand in the center of the room. Her back was to him.

He moved up behind her. “Katherine, I am sorry you did not know, and that you came all this way thinking to marry me.”

She said nothing. She had regained her composure and
she turned to face him. For the first time, she realized that she was just slightly taller than he.

“But I am also glad, because you are the most beautiful woman I have yet to behold, and had you not come, we might never have seen one another again.”

“It matters not,” she said tersely.

“Oh, it matters.” Hugh touched her cheek. Katherine flinched. “I am your friend, Katie. If you think on it, you will realize that you have nowhere to go. If you return to London, there is only your father’s prison, St. Leger House. Askeaton has been abandoned, and you will be a penniless burden upon your uncle and kin, for their circumstances are far graver than mine. They lost everything when your father lost Desmond. I would not be surprised that they should send you back to France—except that they can not afford your passage, nor your pension to a nunnery.”

Katherine’s skin began to prickle with unease—and fear. “They will not turn me away. Surely they can feed me, and we have other castles, other homes.”

“Castlemaine, Shanid, Newcastle, and Castleisland, to mention but a few of your father’s holdings, have all been abandoned. In fact, Castlemaine houses the queen’s troops.” Katherine gasped in horror. “Your kin still holds Dingle, as far as I know, but ’tis a small tower, and much overcrowded now,” Hugh said, watching her. “They will not have a place for you there.”

“I do not believe you!”

“I would not lie to you, Katie,” Hugh said, not unkindly.

Katherine worried the folds of her gown. Somehow she had never dreamed all would be lost—all except for Dingle and perhaps a few very small, very old keeps.

“They can not keep you,” Hugh said. “Do you wish to be married off to a sheep farmer? To a kern?”

She stared at him, shook her head no.

“You can stay here,” Hugh said.

Katherine met his bold gaze and wanted to weep. What offer was this?

“Why do you look so surprised? Do you think I would abandon you just because of my troth to another?”

“You offer me a home?” she asked, confused.

He smiled. “’Aye, I do. A home, with a strong roof over your head, food upon the table, and a good, warm bed.”

Katherine stared at him and saw the heat in his eyes. It was becoming difficult to breathe. “Are you saying that I will have my own bed—or your bed?”

He laughed at that. “You always were clever, Katie. My bed. You would share my bed. I could not keep my hands off of you if you lived here under my roof, darling. You are beautiful. I want you. You are the stuff a man dreams of. How sorry I am that your father was dispossessed.”

Katherine clenched her fists. “What a fine friend you are, Hugh.”

“Why are you angry? You are no child, not anymore. It was O’Neill was it not, who tore your dress?”

She paled.

“I knew it! And you were a virgin, weren’t you—after having been in the nunnery?” He was red with anger now.

She found her tongue. “I am still a maid, Hugh.”

His eyes widened. “Then I am very pleased—and O’Neill is a fool. So, Katie? What do you say? Will you stay with me?”

She fought for words. “I cannot believe what you speak,” she said bitterly. “I cannot believe what my own ears have heard.”

“’Tis no insult,” he said quickly, “I am hardly the first man to take a mistress, and we are friends, longtime friends, and you will not be unhappy.”

She was close to weeping. But she would not cry—not over him. “Once I loved you,” she said, “but no more.” She dashed past him and rushed down the stairs.

Perhaps she hated him now. She could not recall being this hurt, not ever. The steps were narrow and so smooth from centuries of use that she stumbled and slipped. But Liam was pacing at their foot and he caught her there.

For a moment Katherine embraced him, reflexively, re
gaining her balance. She looked into his gray eyes and saw not his anger, nor his worry, but only recalled that here was another male who wished to use her for his bedsport—for his pleasure. Furiously she pushed at him. He released her.

“What did he want?” he demanded.

Katherine spit, “What all you men want, of course!” Her eyes flashed, even filled with tears. “He wanted me to stay here at Barrymore and warm his bed,” she said bitterly. “I am not good enough to be his wife, but I would make a fine whore!” She darted past him, but only managed a single step, for Liam’s arm shot out and he caught her, whirling her violently around.

“And what did you say?” Liam asked, his face close to hers, his eyes brilliant with fire.

She twisted against him. “I should have told him to go to hell! Now I tell you, O’Neill—go to hell and leave me alone. Both of you—leave me alone!” She broke free of him and ran across the hall and outside into the raw, blustery night.

There, against the castle wall, cloakless and cold, she wept. Soon her tears were shed. But the cold remained, wrapping icy tentacles around her empty heart.

L
iam stared after Katherine. Despite the fact that he had just won a major victory—by Hugh’s default—and he was most definitely pleased with Hugh’s rejection of Katherine, he was concerned for her. But he did not chase after her. The impulse was there, but he resisted it.

Katherine held him in no higher regard than she now held Hugh, and maybe she liked him even less. Once she had loved Hugh, their history together was long and intimate, a shared history no man could undo; perhaps, despite his rejection, which was purely political, she still cherished him. He and Katherine, on the other hand, shared no past, and shared few memories—and those were only memories of her abduction and the moments she had unwillingly passed in his bed.

Liam heard Hugh coming down the stairs and he turned. He had been right. Hugh had rejected Katherine. Although he would not have done so if he had been in Hugh’s place, Hugh had acted as any nobleman would. Landed lords did not marry penniless beggars, ’twas as simple as that.

Hugh’s gaze met and held his. Liam stared back. He understood the other man exactly. Hugh would not marry Katherine, not in her current circumstances, but he was determined to take her as his mistress. They had a great deal in common.

As two mighty elk might lock horns, their gazes fused for many moments, hostile and determined. The challenge was clear and accepted by both men. Only one of them
would succeed in winning Katherine. Liam turned and walked back to the dining table. Hugh followed and refilled both their mugs with bitter beer.

“So, O’Neill, was Katie right—or wrong? Do you traffic with the queen or not?” Hugh asked.

Liam sipped the beer. How he preferred hearty red French wine. “And what concern is it to you?”

“I am not pleased to entertain an Englishman in my home.”

“Then think of me as Irish.”

Hugh stared. “I would like to think of you as Irish, but I am wary of making such a judgment.”

Liam merely smiled, waiting to see where Hugh would lead, but already he guessed his course.

Hugh asked, “Are you a heretic?”

Liam smiled, not pleasantly. “I am a Protestant.”

“Then you do follow your
Protestant
queen.”

Liam noted that Hugh did not dare label Elizabeth a heretic as other papists did. “I follow the winds of fortune.”

Hugh now smiled. “So you are loyal neither to God nor queen.”

Liam smiled again. His eyes gleamed. “And do you wish to offer me a great fortune, Lord Barry?”

Barry smiled. “’Tis not every day that the Master of the Seas comes calling at my home. Would I not take advantage, I would be the greatest fool.”

“I have not yet judged you fool or wizard,” Liam said easily. “Perhaps your offer will tip the scales.”

Barry stared. “This country is at war.”

“As all children know.”

“The Spanish saw the Irish people through the last winter. ’Twas bitterly cold. Without their supplies, many more would have died than the hundreds who did.”

Liam drummed his fingers upon the table. “Do you think to move me with pity? I have no pity—not for anyone.”

Hugh snorted. “So ’tis said. ’Tis said you prey without mercy upon the many nations who sail the high seas. That no one can escape you if you determine to set chase. ’Tis
well-known, also, that you seem to prefer Spanish booty to all other prizes.”

Liam’s gaze was hooded. He shrugged. “You mistake me. Treasure is treasure, and I care not who the holder of it is.”

Barry leaned forward. “We can use you, O’Neill.”

“We?”

Barry’s jaw clenched. “FitzMaurice and the other great lords who fight to rid our land of the English—of the queen.”

“You ask me to throw my lot in with a bunch of papist traitors?” Liam asked calmly, one brow lifted.

“You are already a traitor, O’Neill. I am amazed the queen pardoned you your bloody crimes. I cannot guess what you offered to attain her pardon. But should you wind up in the Tower again, we both know that most likely you will swing from a gibbet.”

“I quake.”

“You have naught to lose and much to gain by joining us.”

Liam’s mouth curled. “I see much to lose and little to gain, Barry.”

“Do you not have an ounce of sympathy for your native land?”

“But I am
English
, remember?”

Barry flushed. “Shane O’Neill fought the Crown until the day of his murder. No man fought the Crown harder or more bravely than he. He hated the English—he hated the queen.”

“As you said earlier this evening, he was a murderer, not a hero. And he was also a rapist, and a savage,” Liam said coldly.

Barry lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon. We had never met.”

“Then you are lucky,” Liam said flatly. “You will not move me with pleas related to my father. I do not give a damn who he fought—or why.”

“I can arrange a meeting with FitzMaurice for the day after the morrow, if you but agree to it,” Barry said, leaning forward, his face set with determination. “I have
failed to persuade you to our cause, but he is most fervent, and he has swayed others less interested than you.”

Liam rose to his feet. “He could be the devil, Barry, offering me immortality, but that would not persuade me to the cause of popery and treason.”

Barry also stood. “Christ—you are godly!”

Liam’s smile was thin. “I’ve no wish to endear myself to papists and fanatics who think naught of burning men, women, and children at the stake.” He pushed vivid memories aside, memories that were far more than visual, his ears filling with a woman’s horrible, unforgettable screams, his nostrils filling with the scent of her burning flesh.

“There have been no burnings in Ireland!”

“Not yet. But FitzMaurice has hanged boys as well as men, has allowed women and children to starve—all in the name of God.” Liam eyes blazed. “Find someone else to play your game of treason, Barry. I will not meet FitzMaurice—unless it is to give him over to the queen.”

Barry stared furiously as Liam stalked across the hall to a pallet Macgregor had laid out. “I do not believe you,” he finally called. “I do not believe you are loyal to the queen. I believe you can be bought, my friend.”

Liam turned the pallet with his booted toe so one side butted up against the wall. He smiled. “You are right in that. I can be bought. But only when the price justifies the risk—and you can not afford my price in this happenstance.”

Barry sat back down, reaching for more beer. Liam settled upon his pallet, wondering if he had heard the last of this, and doubting it.

But as he lay in the growing darkness, he thought about how the Crown feared and despised FitzMaurice, who was a far greater threat than FitzGerald had ever been, and how they despaired of ever capturing him and ending this rebellion. Queen Elizabeth would be a very grateful monarch, should FitzMaurice be forced to surrender. Should FitzMaurice be captured. In fact, Liam imagined that the man who brought FitzMaurice down would be able to
name his own reward—no matter what it should be. And FitzMaurice was the enemy of Katherine’s father.

Yet should the papist be caught soon, that hardly affected FitzGerald, who would remain an impoverished prisoner at St. Leger House—unless some other circumstance occurred, precipitating his restoration as Desmond’s earl and his return to Ireland. Liam wondered just what that circumstance might be.

And he also wondered if he dared play a dangerous and deadly game, if he dared to become the broker of power in southern Ireland? Excitement swept through him. As Liam fell asleep, his mind was spinning out incredible possibilities, and he sensed that, despite his recent avowals, he would soon become involved in the papist rebellion against the Crown—one way or the other.

Katherine lay curled into a ball on her pallet in utter blackness. Swallowing her tears, she wondered what would she do now? She had left the nunnery so that she might be wed. She had left the nunnery not knowing of her father’s circumstances, not knowing that he had neither the means nor the will to arrange a marriage for her. And, of course, her uncles and cousins and all FitzGerald vassals had lost everything when Gerald had been convicted of treason, as their lands were held from him. Hugh had been right when he said that she would be a burden upon her kinsmen should she go to them. He had been right when he said that she had nowhere to go. What he had not said was that she also had no one to turn to, no one.

Except for Liam O’Neill. But he was the cause of most of her problems; he could never be the solution.

A sudden chill entered the small, cold chamber.

Katherine slept in all of her clothes, her fur-lined cloak and the blanket she had found upon the bed, but she shivered, wondering at the draft. Then she tensed, hearing the soft rustle of clothing. Her heart banged wildly in a sudden rush of fear.

“Katie?” Hugh gripped her shoulders gently.

Katherine gasped, rolling over to face him, now on her
back. He had set a small taper upon the floor as he knelt at her side. He smiled at her.

Katherine sat up, her palm splayed upon her breast. “Hugh! What do you here? You have frightened me! I thought I was about to be murdered in my bed!”

He chuckled softly, then suddenly his hand was on her cheek. Katherine went still. His thumb rubbed her full lower lip. “I did not come to murder you, Katie. I’ve come to woo you to my cause.”

She understood. She had been a fool not to comprehend his intentions immediately. She saw the hot lust in his eyes too clearly now. “Get out.”

He laughed, his hand sliding to her shoulder and suddenly gripping her hard. “No, not yet.”

She struggled to free herself. “Get out!”

“I will not hurt you—at least, ’twill only hurt a bit at first. I’ve had other virgins, Katie, I am a man who knows what he does.” He pushed her onto her back, shoved his knee between hers, and mounted her.

Katherine screamed, bucking wildly, trying to strike him.

He cut off her shrill cry with his mouth, caught both of her wrists in one hand, then quickly dragged her skirts up to her waist and spread her thighs with his. Katherine fought harder, aware that he was fully aroused, terrified now. He fumbled with his hose, freeing his manhood, which flicked her belly. Katherine panted and grunted and tried to heave him off. He tore his mouth from hers. “Dammit, Katie, we are friends! Relax!” he snapped. “You will enjoy this!”

“We are not friends,” she gasped, panting heavily. Then she leaned forward and bit his forearm with all of her might.

He grunted and smacked her hard across the face. Pain crashed over Katherine and she lay still, stunned, stars exploding in the night, vaguely aware of his fingers groping the dry virgin flesh between her thighs. She knew that she must move, but her limbs felt weighted and lifeless. Her mind began to function, panic flooded her. She was
about to be raped. She twisted…and suddenly Hugh’s body was lifted from her.

It was a blur. Hugh flying across the room and slamming headfirst into the wall. Katherine’s vision cleared and she saw Liam yank Hugh to his feet and send his fist into his face with a mighty crack. Hugh grunted, crumbling, but Liam hoisted him up again, and this time sent his fist into the man’s abdomen. The breath whooshed out of Hugh. A moment later he lay in a battered heap upon the floor.

Liam’s dagger appeared in his hand. He rolled Hugh, who was groaning and only partly conscious, with his bare foot onto his back. He turned to Katherine. “Command it and I will kill him. Or castrate him if you prefer.”

Katherine jerked her skirts down, staring. Her heart still beat wildly and uncontrollably. She was shaking. She felt close to vomiting. “N-no.”

He straightened, the dagger disappeared. He looked at her.

Katherine sagged against the wall. Then she turned and leaned across the bed and retched.

Liam retrieved the chamber pot from the corner of the room and held it beneath her. Katherine’s heaves were dry. He put the pot aside and laid a hand upon her back. She shook wildly. “Katherine,” he said harshly.

She leaned back, covering her face with her hands, telling herself she would not cry. But it was too much. She had known Hugh since birth. How could he try to rape her?

“Katherine.” Liam’s tone was sharp. He sat beside her on the narrow bed, not touching her. “Are you hurt?”

She sucked in her sobs and her breath. She managed to shake her head once, negatively.

He took her hands and pulled them from her face, holding them. “Did he hurt you?” he asked again.

Blinking back the flood of tears, Katherine moved her head again. “N-no.”

She saw Liam’s jaw flex in the candlelight. He hesitated, their gazes locked. Then he lifted his hand and very gently he touched her face. His thumb stroked her jaw.
Katherine stared into his solemn gray gaze and could not move.

Then his eyes chilled. He turned her head to one side. “He hit you.”

Katherine nodded, holding herself in check very firmly. Because she was an instant away from rushing headlong into this man’s embrace.

His temple pulsing visibly, Liam studied the side of her face where Hugh had hit her. She was aware now of how her cheek throbbed and ached. She winced when he touched her jaw. Liam released her, standing.

“I think I will kill him after all,” he said.

“No!” Katherine grabbed his wrist. It was then that Katherine saw how bloody his hand was. She dropped his palm. Their gazes met again. “I…please. Enough. Enough has been done this night!”

Liam regarded her for a long, assessing moment. Finally he nodded. “You are a very brave woman, Katherine. Brave and unusual. Most women would be in hysterics by now.” His gaze searched hers.

“I am…in hysterics.” She could not look away from him.

He smiled slightly, and it was as if the sun had just cast aside black, threatening clouds. “You are hardly hysterical.” Then he sobered. “I do not blame Hugh for wanting you so badly,” he said, staring at her. “I only blame him for his lack of finesse.” Liam walked to the door, which was ajar. “I will have Lord Barry removed to his own bed. As there is no bolt on the door to your room, I shall move my pallet to the floor in the hall here. However, Barry is not going to wake again this night to torment you.”