The Game (25 page)

Then she realized what he had seen—and what he was seeing now—and she felt her cheeks flame.

He smiled with no mirth, entered the room, and kicked the door closed, tossing the turban aside. The muscles in his chest and torso rippled and flexed as he turned to her. His gaze skimmed her pale curves, lingering on her heaving breasts and jutting nipples—and then on the area between her thighs. He pushed himself off of the door.

“How long were you standing there!” she cried.

He stalked toward her. His smile was not pleasant; he briefly touched his hugely swollen loins. “Long enough to have enjoyed a very good show, one far better than that staged below.”

Katherine stared at him. He had been spying upon her. She was as furious now as she was embarrassed.

Turning her back on him, she whipped the blanket from the bed. As she frantically wrapped it around herself she
heard him coming toward her. Katherine faced him just as he tore the blanket from her and hurled it across the room. He gripped her arms. “You have not answered me.”

Her chin lifted, despite her sudden fear. She was panting, acutely aware of being naked and in his arms. Her nipples brushed the soft hair of his chest. “I owe you nothing, knave.”

He growled. “I saw you tonight, cock-teasing first Hawke, then Dudley!”

She hissed and struggled, hoping to free herself and strike him, hard. He only laughed at her and gripped one of her buttocks in one palm. She froze. He pulled her against his own rock-hard, silk-sheathed loins. Katherine choked on thundering, demanding, feverish desire.

He laughed again. To make matters worse, his splayed fingertips inched lower, from the curve of her buttock to the joining of her thighs. Katherine gasped when he began to tease her virgin’s canal.

His jaw flexed so hard it looked as if it might snap. His gray eyes blazed. “You are ready to come! Who were you thinking about!”

“Leicester!” she shouted, lying, knowing it would enrage him.

He thrust her hard away from him and she fell across the bed. “Damn you! I knew it!”

Katherine lifted herself to her hands and knees, panting. “He offers me more than you,” she gasped throatily, knowing she was goading him, but unable to stop herself. She knew what was going to happen, and she wanted it—fiercely. For her sanity had fled the moment he had revealed himself to her.

Liam towered over her. “What does he offer you? What, Katherine?” he roared. “Other than his big cock?”

She knelt on her haunches, aware of his gaze darting to her swinging breasts. “Kenilworth.” It was an exaggeration, hardly the truth.

Liam stared, laughed once. “You are a fool. The queen will behead you if you become his wife. Behead you and
take from him all that she has given him. Do you understand me, Katherine?”

She eyed him defiantly. “You are just jealous because he can give me more than you. Because he is noble and worthy, while you are naught but a pirate, naught but Shane O’Neill’s son.”

His nostrils flared. “Can he give you more?” He jerked her hand forward, grinding her palm against his loins. Katherine gasped at the huge, throbbing feel of him. “’Tis said he is a big cocksman—but then, so am I. Do you wish to compare us, Katherine—before making your decision?”

Katherine moaned, incapable of speech, the muscles knotting so painfully in her thighs, high up inside, that finally she cried out. Liam pushed her onto her back and she fell willingly, knees open. Their gazes met. Katherine was well aware of being shameless. She was well aware that she was about to lose her dearly cherished virginity. Somehow, this night, she no longer cared.

Liam grabbed her knees quite hurtfully, forcing her legs farther apart. “You push me too far,” he ground out, staring at her. Abruptly he reached down and thrust his forefinger deep into her, until he was stopped by the membrane that branded her an innocent. Katherine gasped, his name on the tip of her tongue, arching up against him. He did not move now. Katherine began to moan unashamedly, thrashing from side to side.

“So Leicester did not get to you yet.” Suddenly he palmed her hard. “Nor will he, Katherine. Do you understand me?”

She blinked up at him, realizing what he had just done. “You bastard!” she shrieked, sitting up and trying to yank his hand from her. But he was unmovable. “You—you think to examine me? Like some physician? Damn you!”

“’Tis becoming harder and harder to believe that you are convent-reared,” he taunted. He suddenly slid two fingers inside her and Katherine inhaled, going motionless.

“Lie down,” he ordered, “and we shall finish this now. Not that Leicester will care if you are not a virgin. But I’ll be damned if he will take what I have marked as mine!”

Although Katherine wanted nothing
—nothing—
more
than to have Liam’s huge penis, stiff and hard, inside of her, his words infuriated her. She rose up on her knees, her fists banging hard upon his chest. He caught her wrists, laughing at her, which only enraged her more.

“I do not belong to you,” she hissed. “I belong to myself, and one day, to my husband.”

Liam laughed with real amusement then, jerking her forward so that she was in his embrace. “Darling,” he murmured, his tone seductive now, “I hate to tell you this, but no other man will marry you after we are through.” A moment later his mouth covered hers, forcing her lips open with sheer, male domination.

He had thrown ice water upon her, not dousing her desire, but forcing reality to intrude upon her. She wanted this abominable, despicable man. She wanted him to thrust inside her, to plow her as a stallion does a mare. God, she did. But she truly did not want to be a whore, not his, not Leicester’s, not anybody’s. She wanted to be a wife. She wanted a husband, a home, and her own babies—and she had yearned for these things for many years, far longer than she had yearned for Liam’s powerful body and his burning touch. She tore her mouth from his. “Stop,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

He held her face in his hands, panting roughly. “No more games,” he rasped.

“No,” she wept, turning her face away. “Oh, God, what is happening to me?” She choked on her sobs. She no longer knew herself. The woman who had emerged this night was a total stranger. How could she want him so much?

“God’s cock,” he cursed, gripping her chin and turning her to face him. “Now you decide to play the virgin?
Now?
!”

She gazed into his blazing silver eyes. Then, helplessly, she looked at his perfectly shaped mouth. “I cannot,” she whispered hoarsely, her gaze pleading when it met his again. “Oh, God, I am so wicked, Liam—I want you.
I want you
. But I cannot give you my virtue, I cannot.”

He stared at her, his mouth twisted and downturned, in
both disbelief and disappointment. “These games can kill a man,” he finally said, harsh and rough.

Katherine swallowed. “I am dying, too,” she whispered.

Their gazes collided. Something sizzled and flared upon the impact. Katherine’s eyes widened when he pushed her down, onto her back. She started to protest—even as her thighs opened. He murmured, “Hush,” touching her mouth with one of his fingers. Katherine closed her eyes and nipped it, trusting him.

Liam bent over her, kissing the sides of her face softly. Then he growled, the sound impatient, and an instant later his tongue was deep inside, rapacious and plundering. His hand stroked between her legs, his thumb between the heavy, throbbing folds of her sex. Katherine cried out. A moment later she felt his tongue there. Her desire exploded, and she wept and keened at once.

Liam lay beside her, pulling her into his arms. He gave her no respite. Katherine was still dazed when he took her hand and molded it around his naked penis. Her eyes flew open and she gasped. Liam gripped her tightly, making her stroke his huge, hard, slickly swollen length. Katherine’s eyes widened in fascination, her pulse beginning to pound. She looked from his face, strained and rigid, to his manhood. She had dreamed of touching him before. This was reality—and far better than any dream. Without thought, her grip tightening, Katherine bent and kissed the ripe, plumlike tip. Liam gasped and arched off of the bed. She pulled his hand from hers and stroked him somewhat awkwardly, until his own hand guided hers, showing her what to do. Within moments Liam cried out.

Katherine went into his arms, atop him, whimpering. He hugged her once, hard, and whispered, “’Tis all right. I will take care of you again, love.”

Neither one of them saw Helen standing in the corner of the room.

“M
istress? Please, you must awaken.”

Katherine sighed. She was in bed, her face buried in her pillow, and she was snug and warm beneath blankets and furs. She did not want to awaken, not yet—she was so tired she could hardly move. Indeed, she felt drugged. Helen called her again. Katherine rolled away from her maid and, in a single blinding instant, recalled the night before.

She stopped breathing. Liam. Oh, God, Liam had come to her room, and they had made love, in a manner of speaking—oh, yes. It had been wicked and wonderful and she was still a virgin, quite miraculously. She began to smile. She wriggled her toes, contracted her muscles, thinking of how he had loved her not once but twice—and the second time so endlessly, so thoroughly, so perfectly, she had finally had to beg him to cease. Her cheeks were hot.

Katherine stared at the stone wall while, on the other side of the room, Helen moved about. He was gone now. She had fallen asleep sometime before dawn and had been unaware of his leaving. Realizing that he was gone made her feel bereft. When would she see him again?

Her soft smile faded, and so, too, did her joy. She was mad, mad to be sad over his departure, mad to be remembering their heated encounter in such a dreamy, wistful way. She was mad. He was a notorious pirate. She was a
noblewoman. She’d had no right to do the unspeakable things that she had. No right—none.

Katherine did not move, frozen now with dismay. How wrong she was. She’d had every right to play the whore, she now recalled. Her father had so recently asked her to take on that very role.

Katherine closed her eyes. Although Gerald would have approved of what she had done, she could not be pleased with her own behavior. She was ashamed. Especially as she did not want to play Gerald’s game, did not want to become O’Neill’s wife. Yet she had played the whore well, far better than her father would have ever asked her to. Her true nature was far darker, far less genteel, than Katherine had ever dreamed.

Perhaps men looked at her and discerned her sensual nature. Perhaps they all saw through her, Katherine thought miserably. Was that why Hugh Barry and the earl of Leicester, two very noble men, wished to make her a mistress instead of a wife? Could a man look at her and see that forbidden passion stirred in her veins?

How ironic it was. Hugh Barry and the earl of Leicester wanted her to be their whore, but Liam O’Neill wanted her to be his wife.

Katherine hugged her pillow. Perhaps Gerald would succeed in marrying her off to O’Neill. It was certainly becoming more possible, as a result of her recent behavior, and the fact that she could not seem to resist the pirate’s embraces. But Katherine, although well aware of her duty to her father, had been hoping that Liam would not return to court, that he would leave her alone, disappear from her life, so she might resolve her own future in a satisfactory manner. But it seemed now that Gerald might actually get his way one day.

But would it be so terrible?

Instantly Katherine was horrified with her wayward thoughts.

“The queen wishes to speak with you, mistress,” Helen said, cutting into her disturbing thoughts. “Really, you are a slugabed this morn.”

Katherine sat bolt upright, the covers dropping to her
waist, oblivious of the fact that she had slept without her nightgown. The queen! “God’s wounds! What time is it? Why did you not wake me sooner?” Katherine had not slept more than a few hours, but she leapt from the bed, as naked as the day she was born.

“’Tis almost eight, and the queen wishes to speak with you before the mass. I did not wake you because you appeared near dead, so tired were you from last night’s excesses.”

Katherine froze, meeting Helen’s wide blue eyes. But Helen only smiled sweetly at her, her gaze innocent of any hidden meaning. Of course she could not know. Of course she only referred to the celebrations that had taken place in the hall below. Despite the scent of man and woman which wafted from the bed, despite the fact that Katherine had slept without her nightclothes.

“Hurry, mistress, you must not annoy the queen.” Helen was holding out Katherine’s undergarment. Katherine needed a bath, but would not have a chance until the evening and she nodded. Damnation, she thought, at once uneasy and irritable. She stepped into her linen drawers. “The queen wishes to speak with me? Whatever for?”

Helen shrugged, helping her with her chemise and farthingale. “I do not know, mistress. She sent Lady Anne to summon you. I told the lady that you would be forthcoming immediately.”

Katherine was ready to jump into her dress now. She was supposed to be at the queen’s side at a quarter to eight, as were all her ladies, even though it was the ladies of the bedchamber who helped the queen to awaken and dress. She rushed into her dress, then froze, espying a parcel wrapped in red silk and tied with a red ribbon on the coffer at the foot of the bed. “What is that?” she murmured.

Helen shrugged, handing her the parcel. “I know not. It was here this morning when I came to awaken you.”

It could only be from Liam. Katherine glanced at Helen, but the maid’s gaze was blank as she fetched Katherine’s coif from the table. Her heart pounding, Katherine took
the gift and tore it open. Her eyes widened. “Why—what is this? How beautiful it is!”

She and Helen stared at the fragile web of white fabric, which was sewn in intricate patterns, so intricate, in fact, that in places mere threads seemed to hold the material together. “I have never seen anything like this before,” Katherine cried in real delight.

“I have,” Helen said, her tone hushed. “’Tis Spanish lace.”

Katherine looked at the airy, white material. “Spanish lace,” she murmured, envisioning it as cuffs on the sleeves of her gown or frothing at the neckline of her dress. “’Tis wonderous and beautiful at once.”

“Aye,” Helen said as reverently. “Even the queen has yet to obtain this stuff. The Spanish ambassador has taken to wearing this
lace
recently,” Helen said. “Everyone remarked it. The ladies will be green with envy when they learn you have this.”

Katherine sat down on the bed, her gown yet unbuttoned, unfolding the fabric. A small sealed missive fell out. Katherine’s pulse rioted and she pulled the seal apart. There were but two single scrawled words upon the parchment
—Enjoy, Liam
.

Katherine held the paper to her breast, thinking about the mad passion they had shared last night. It was wrong. Despite her father’s instructions. But what was truly unbelievable, was her behavior, not his. And even now, her body warmed from thinking of him.

Katherine crumpled the parchment, standing abruptly. On the room’s single table was the flint used to light the tapers and oil lamps. She struck it and set the note aflame. When it began to burn, she dropped it into the pewter bowl containing her wash water.

Katherine stood, took a deep breath, and shoved her thoughts aside. The queen was waiting. “Helen, I must hurry, please button my gown and help me with my hair.”

As Helen obeyed, Katherine stared at the folded white lace. Helen finished with her gown and quickly combed and pinned up her hair. Finally she was coiffed, and Helen went and opened the door for her.

But Katherine did not follow. Instead, she picked up a small, old-fashioned ivory-handled dagger, one meant to be worn on her girdle as decoration rather than to be used for eating, and she cut off a long, narrow strip of the material. Facing a looking glass above the table, she tucked the lace into her bodice, so it peeked over the neckline of her gown. Then she turned and moved past Helen, her stride quickening as she went to meet the queen.

Katherine’s heart sank when the queen glowered at her and ordered everyone out of the antechamber. In a flash, Katherine recalled Leicester dancing with her, then forcing her from the dining hall and into a secluded alcove so he could proposition her. Her face grew hot. Her stomach churned with fear and dread. “Come here,” the queen snapped when they were alone.

Katherine approached, feeling faint.

“Have you become a wanton, Mistress FitzGerald?”

Her eyes widened. “I…I beg your pardon?”

“Is not the attention of a single male enough?”

Katherine swallowed. “Your Majesty, I am not quite sure…”

“I saw you with Lord Robert last night!” The queen was standing and in a rage.

“We…only danced,” Katherine cringed.

“So it was to dance that he took you from Our presence?”

Katherine could not respond, recalling Leicester’s mouth upon her throat, his hands within her bodice. “I do n-not want his attentions, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice shaking.

“No? Is it Sir John Hawke, then, that you prefer—or Liam O’Neill?”

Katherine felt faint. “I…what…”

“Did the pirate visit you last night or not?” the queen demanded.

Katherine inhaled. How could the queen know?
Helen
. Helen must have seen them. Her father had been right—
Helen was a spy. Somehow, she managed to lift her chin high. “Yes.”

The queen’s brows rose. “So you confess to a clandestine meeting in your chamber?”

Katherine nodded.

The queen’s hand smacked sharply across Katherine’s cheek. Katherine cried out in pain, for the queen wore numerous rings, and one of them had grazed her. She dared not retreat, however, or even touch her throbbing, scratched cheek. “How dare you carry on like a strumpet in Our court!”

Katherine said nothing, tears filling her eyes. But she would not cry. This was the price one paid for sinful, wanton behavior.

“Your mother would be ashamed of you,” Elizabeth said. “And at least
she
had the sense to cavort with the heir to an earldom!”

Katherine bowed her head. There was not a single word she could speak in her own defense.

“Do you really think to marry, girl—or to be a slut?” When Katherine did not answer, the queen barked, “Well?”

Katherine looked up. “I w-want to marry.”

“So Ormond says.” The queen stared at her, less furious now. “We took you in because We loved your mother, and We feel somewhat responsible for you. Ormond has apparently decided to champion your cause, as well. He has petitioned Us to allow you to marry despite your father’s disgrace. We have been thinking on it, but now…We do not know.”

Katherine was frozen with horror. Suddenly it seemed that she might gain all that she dreamed of—and she dared not lose the chance she wished for now. “Your Majesty…”

“Silence! How can We find you a decent husband if you have not a whit of value left—if you have not even your chastity—if you carry another man’s child?”

Katherine licked her lips. “I do not c-carry his ch-child.”

“Liam O’Neill is an expert cocksman. Do not tell me he is impotent! Do not dissemble now!”

“I do not lie!” Katherine cried, wringing her hands.
“He spared me my virtue, I vow it on all that is holy! Oh, God, I am sorry, I am so sorry!”

The queen stared at her assessingly. “Get down on your knees and beg Our forgiveness.”

Katherine obeyed. “Please, Your Majesty, forgive me—I beg your pardon most humbly.”

The queen’s tone softened. “Rise, Katherine, and wipe the tears from your eyes.”

Katherine got to her feet.

“You must proceed with caution. You are very beautiful, and many men will chase after you with little or no provocation. You must remain strong, you must not yield. Not even to a handsome rogue like Liam O’Neill.” Her gaze darkened. Katherine knew she thought of Leicester.

“You are right,” Katherine said, clenching folds of her dress. “I have made a grave mistake.”

“Perhaps court life does not suit you,” the queen said reflectively.

Dismay flooded Katherine. The queen was going to send her away—and she could not be blamed for doing so.

“We think that today you will not attend Us. Go to your chamber and ponder upon the past—and the future. Meantime, We will think on what should be done with you.”

Katherine had been dismissed. Consumed with dread, feeling more trapped with every passing moment, she left the antechamber. Outside the queen’s ladies, advisors, Gentlemen Pensioners, and assorted noblemen awaited Elizabeth. Katherine did not look at anyone as she pushed through the crowd. Until someone touched her arm, forcing her to glance up. Her gaze met Leicester’s. A question was in his eyes.

With a small cry, Katherine tore free of him and ran down the hall.

No way out, she thought incoherently. There did not seem to be any way out of her terrible dilemma, caught as she was in a web formed by so many men, one consisting of their secret intrigues and powerful ambitions.

Katherine was subdued when she came down to supper, finally allowed from the confinement of her room. As she took her seat at the dining table in the Banquet Hall, she
had the feeling that most of the court knew that she was in disgrace. She prayed it were not so. She prayed that, if anyone knew anything, it was that she was in disgrace for sharing a few minutes alone with Leicester. Should the world know that she had entertained Liam O’Neill in her chamber last night, she was ruined, no matter that she was still chaste.

But the stares which were turned her way were not snide or lewd or wolverine, merely pitying. Katherine hesitated, unsure of where to sit and whom to sit with. Anne Hastings smiled at her, waving her over. When Katherine approached, she stood and put her arm around her. “You poor dear! Do not fret overly, Katherine,” she whispered. “You are not the first that Leicester has eyed and that the queen has reprimanded so sharply. She is but protecting the man she thinks she owns.”

Katherine felt hot relief as she sat down beside Anne on the crowded bench. “But she does own him, does she not?”

Anne shrugged. “She has made him, enriched and ennobled him, but he is manly enough to one day do as he wishes. He must eventually marry again if he wants a legitimate heir.”

Katherine bit her lip. She would not tell Anne that Leicester had hardly suggested marriage. She twisted to face the dark-haired lady. “Anne? What else do they say about me?”

Anne cast a sidelong look upon her. “Not much, in truth.” She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Well, there is a strange rumor going about—that your pirate attended last night’s festivities.”