The Game (20 page)

His jaw flexed. “You have no other choices now, Katherine. My offer is the best that you shall receive. I ask you to be my wife. Other men
—noble
men like Hugh—will only ask you to be their whore.”

He was right. Katherine turned away, filled with her own pain.

“Perhaps a good night’s sleep and some reflection will make you change your mind.” She heard him turn and walk to the door.

“I am not changing my mind. Oh, God!” She sagged against the wall, perilously close to weeping.

He said, “My offer stands. Think of all that I can give you, Katherine. Perhaps it will overcome your contempt for my origins, and for what I am.” He walked out.

Katherine sank to the floor. Did she ask for more than any other woman asked for? How had the world conspired to rob her of her due? She was a noblewoman. The daughter of an earl. But her life was reduced to receiving shameful propositions from noblemen like Hugh and marriage proposals from pirates. Katherine hugged her knees to her chest. Knowing that Liam O’Neill was right. That Katherine FitzGerald had no real choices left, and that she was not going to receive a better offer of marriage—not from anyone.

But she could never marry Shane O’Neill’s son. Not ever. Not even if she really wanted to.

K
atherine quickly realized that she had one other choice.

Dusk was falling. She hurried from the cabin, not surprised to find the door unbolted this time. On the deck above she wrapped her cloak around her more snugly, glancing about for Liam. He was once again at the ship’s helm. Her pulse began to pound. She hurried forward, and with some difficulty, began to climb the ladder to the forecastle where he stood.

He noticed her at once. “Wait, Katherine.” He left the helm with another seaman and hurried to her, bent, and with seemingly limitless strength, hoisted her up. Katherine steadied herself by gripping him, then quickly dropped her hands. The feeling of his hard muscles lingered. “I would have a word with you, Liam.”

His eyes flashed. “You have reconsidered my proposal?”

She had not mistaken the eagerness in his husky tone. “No. I have not reconsidered—I cannot—will not—marry you.”

He flinched.

“I do have one other choice,” she continued, determined to ignore his disappointment, which he failed to hide. He was watching her very closely. “I wish to go to the queen,” she said.

One tawny brow lifted. “And you will throw yourself upon her mercy?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Better to be at her mercy than that of men like Hugh and you and oh-so fickle Fate!”

“And if she decides to send you to your father? Or back to the convent?”

Katherine lifted her chin. “Then so be it.” But she had no intention of being sent into a lonely exile in Southwark, or an equally lonely existence in a nunnery. She was prepared to beg for her future if need be.

His mouth twisted. “So I am the greatest of all evils.”

She stiffened. She had not said that. “Do you deny who and what you are?”

His expression was mocking. “How could I even try?”

His words disturbed her. He disturbed her. “You are a pirate, O’Neill, and we both know it,” she said angrily. She was not going to feel any sympathy for this man. She must not. “Will you take me to London? Or am I your prisoner now, regardless of my refusal?”

“Katherine, if you were but my prisoner, and if I were naught but a pirate, I would have taken your lovely body against your will—with or without rape.”

Katherine said nothing, knowing better than to refute him.

“But there are degrees of bestiality, it seems,” he said. His smile sardonic, he shrugged. “However, this beast, who has not hurt you, nay, who has even rescued you from abuse at the hands of your dear and noble friend Hugh, will accede to your wishes.”

She did not move.

“You wish to go to the queen and beg for her help? Mayhap you are right. Mayhap she will decide to intervene, even arrange a marriage for you.” His eyes glittered. “Mayhap, in all of England, there is some gentleman who will not care that you are destitute, that you are Irish, that you are Catholic, and that you have lost your name.”

“I am hoping so,” she managed huskily.

His gaze held hers, cold and angry. “You will never give up, will you?”

“No.”

“That makes you exactly like your father.” Liam turned his back on her and shouted out an order. Men began to
scramble up masts, and slowly, the boat began to come around. Katherine watched him return to the helm. Telling herself that she was only being just to herself—and that it did not matter if she were unfair to him. He was a pirate, he was Shane O’Neill’s son. He had chosen the life he now lived—while she had not chosen hers at all.

And although she was doing what was right, when the ship finally sailed south, she could not help but feel trepidation. There were no guarantees. Queen Elizabeth had been kind to her once, but at their first meeting she had accused her of conspiracy and treason. Whether she would be kind to her this third time they met was a matter of great speculation indeed. Katherine knew she might very well be sent to Southwark, to reside there as a prisoner with her father for the rest of her life.

And the thought teased her—perhaps the pirate’s offer would then be a better thing.

Two days later they sailed up the Thames toward Whitehall. Katherine could not help but be astonished that Liam would bring his pirate ship right to the queen’s palace. True, he had been pardoned, and charged with escorting her to Ireland, but it seemed incredibly bold given who and what he was. Needless to say, by the time they reached the palace, word of their arrival had preceded them, and they were met by one of the queen’s men, who informed them that Her Majesty would see them posthaste.

As it was not yet dinnertime, the queen had not yet descended to the Presence Chamber. But they were required to wait for almost an hour outside the doors of her private apartments, where she still dressed. Katherine rehearsed her plea. With every passing moment she grew more anxious and more afraid. Liam appeared bored.

The queen’s door opened and a tall, dark, handsome man appeared. Katherine had to look twice. Other than Liam, he was by far the most splendid male she had ever laid eyes upon. He saw her and also looked again, then smiled and bowed. His smile faded when he discovered Liam, and a moment later he was gone.

Katherine stared after him. “Who was that?”

Liam eyed her. “Robert Dudley, the earl of Leicester.”

Katherine had heard all of the stories about him. Rumors that the queen was going to marry Dudley had abounded in the first few years of her reign—until she had offered him to her cousin and rival, Mary Queen of Scots. Mary had refused the man reputed to be her cousin’s lover and swain, and Dudley himself had been furious—but then Elizabeth had entitled him with Leicester, raising him up to a rank suitable to marriage with royalty—and some said that his being offered to Mary had been a ruse to begin with, in order that Elizabeth might elevate and ennoble him so she could marry him herself. But still, years later, the marriage had not come about.

It was clear, though, that from the first, Elizabeth had favored Dudley, that she was enamored of him, and she spent many moments alone with him—or so the gossips said. When they had first met, Dudley had been married to Amy Robsart, forestalling the possibility of marriage, but a few years later she had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck. The courts had deemed her death an accident, but many said that Dudley was behind it, hoping to free himself so that he could marry the queen—and still others said that the queen herself had planned the murder with him. In any case, Amy’s untimely death had made it impossible for them to wed, for to do so would raise the accusation of murder.

Katherine had never paid attention to the gossip, which had reached her in the nunnery in France, as the doings of royalty interested everyone, everywhere, and most especially ladies isolated in a convent. Now, staring after Dudley, she could well imagine that the queen was in love with him. But murder? Having met Elizabeth but twice, nevertheless she felt strongly that it could not be possible.

“You are still staring, Katherine, although he is but long gone,” Liam said coldly.

Katherine jerked and flushed.

Liam turned away, his anger obvious. Katherine knew it was small of her to be pleased with his obvious jealousy. After all, she did not want him, not in any way—not his jealousy, nor his lust, nor his love, should a man like that
be capable of such a romantic emotion, which this man in all likelihood was not.

A moment later a lady appeared and ushered them both inside the antechamber. Elizabeth was not present yet, so they stood waiting silently. Finally she appeared from within her bedchamber. Through the open doorway, Katherine could see into the room, which was very dark, having but one window. Yet through the glass Katherine could see the Thames, where many colorful barges passed amidst a flock of floating swans and one small naval vessel. Even now, in tribute to the queen, the galleon was firing a round of cannon.

Katherine could not help but stare into the queen’s most private chamber a moment more. The ceiling was entirely gilt. But Katherine gazed at the large bed. How striking it was, composed of woods of many different colors, with quilts of silk and velvet, embroidered in both silver and gold. Indian silks hung down from the bed’s far side.

The queen had been alone in her bedchamber. Katherine wondered if she had met Leicester in there unchaperoned.

If so, knowing men now as she did, she was quite certain that more than mere words had been exchanged.

“Katherine?” The queen smiled, coming forward, her hands outstretched. “Sweet Katherine!” She embraced her, still not looking at Liam. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glowed. “Although I am greatly surprised to see you, how pleased I am, too.”

Katherine almost fainted with relief, and found herself beaming at the queen. “’Tis wonderous to be back at court, Your Majesty,” she said, meaning it. In fact, the moment she had seen London’s many towers and rooftops from the river, her pulse had quickened in excitement.

“And have you brought your betrothed with you? Lord Barry? Or are you Lady Barry now, dear?”

Katherine’s face fell.

The queen regarded her, then finally glanced at Liam. “Is aught amiss?”

Liam bowed. “Your Majesty.”

The queen flushed slightly. “Liam, pray tell, what has passed?”

“Lord Barry is otherwise betrothed, Your Majesty.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened slightly and she regarded Katherine. “So the betrothal was broken after all? But your family did not know of it?”

Katherine explained how Hugh had taken the contract to the Irish judges, the brehern, to decide the validity of their troth once Gerald had been convicted of treason and dispossessed.

“You poor dear,” the queen said, patting her hand. “So you have been to Ireland on a wild-goose chase, and now you return to court.”

Liam eyed Elizabeth.

The queen faced him. “And how benevolent of you, Liam, to bring the child back to London. I presume she means to go to her father? Or has she already told him the sad tidings?”

“Katherine has yet to speak with FitzGerald,” Liam said quietly.

The queen’s brows were arched and she said nothing.

Katherine realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out. “Your Majesty, might I speak?”

“Please do,” Elizabeth smiled.

Katherine gripped her own hands nervously. “Hugh deemed me unworthy to be his wife, as I am no longer an earl’s daughter. My father, untitled now and dispossessed, is also destitute. I know all that. But…my dreams have not changed. I have not changed.”

Elizabeth cocked her head. “Pray continue.”

Katherine stepped forward. “I only want a woman’s due, Your Majesty. A home, a husband, and children of my own. How I yearn for those three simple things. How I have always yearned for them! Katherine FitzGerald has not changed, she has not, and my dreams remain as strong as ever. I dared much in leaving the convent, because to remain there unwed, homeless, and childless was no better than dying a slow and terrible death. Your Majesty, I throw myself upon your mercy and your generous spirit. I know I offer nothing now but myself, and without land or dowry, a woman’s worth is so little. Too, I am somewhat long in the tooth, but as you can see, I am passing
fair, and more importantly, I am strong and well made and I am certain I can yet bear some two or three or even four children. Please. You did as you thought right when you took Desmond from my father. I am his daughter—must I share his fate? And did you not say that you were Joan’s good friend? In her memory, perhaps, you would act. Please. Would you not find me some simple, yet gentle, man? I understand that he would not be terribly noble, nor would he be rich, that in all likelihood he would be a widower, with children, perhaps. I love children. I would raise another woman’s children as I would raise my own. Please, Your Majesty.” Katherine clasped her hands to her breast as she would in prayer, and silently she did beg God to move the queen to her cause. But as she had said all that there was to say, she did not move, her gaze glued upon the queen, anxiously awaiting her reply.

Elizabeth stared at her, intent and unsmiling.

Liam stared at her as well, his regard piercing, his expression strained.

Finally Elizabeth moved and took Katherine’s two hands in her own, clasping them tightly. “Your plea was most eloquent, Katherine.”

Katherine swallowed, but her heart soared with hope.

“I will think on the matter,” the queen said.

Katherine stiffened, having expected an immediate answer.

The queen dropped her hands. “Now, I have matters of state to attend to.” She began to move past them and paused. “Katherine, you will remain here at court until I have decided this matter. One of my ladies will show you to a chamber. Liam, I will wish a word with you later, do not leave.” And with that, she swept out, her golden, pearl-studded skirts rustling about her.

Katherine turned away from the queen and met Liam’s searing gaze. She did not care if he was angry, or dismayed. Her chin lifted and she stared at him with a hauteur she did not feel.

“God’s blood,” he finally cursed. “You are far too bright for your own good.” And his hands curled about her wrists.

“What?” Katherine cried, too late.

For he was pulling her into his arms. With one powerful arm behind her back he held her pressed against his chest, with his other hand he tilted her face up to his. “Too bright, and too damned beautiful. I still want to make you my wife, Katherine.”

Katherine’s eyes widened and she began to protest. Liam cut it off effectively with his mouth, which was hard and hungry. Katherine stilled. Although she had come to court to find a husband, this might very well be their farewell. She really did not want to fight him. Not now. His lips sucked on hers and opened hers. A moment later her hands curled about his shoulders as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He thrust deeper still, bending her backward over his arm. Katherine gave in. As she had wanted to do for so long now. She kissed him back.

Wildly. Her mouth pulled at his, sucked his, and her teeth caught his. In a frenzy their tongues sparred. Her fingernails dug into his arms.

Katherine realized that she was being lowered to the floor. Liam dropped to his knees. Although she reclined against him, supported by his arm, he continued to kiss her wet and open-mouthed and she kissed him back as feverishly. Katherine’s fingers slid inside the loosely laced front of his shirt. Touching him was like touching silk-sheathed stone that lived and breathed. She panted into his hot mouth. Her hand slid down his belly. Frantic and feeling, exploring. Liam gasped.