The Game (30 page)

Katherine inhaled. And she saw sadness in his eyes—but surely it was an illusion, caused by the play of shadows and light cast by the dawn. She turned to face the bloodred sun, was almost blinded by it. She squinted, determined to see the island.

And she was disappointed. It was a pile of soaring rocks, shrouded in the morning mist, bathed in the eerie tangerine light. It seemed naught but a pirate’s lair. It did not seem capable of sustaining any form of life. Katherine was about to say so when she spotted the old stone castle
carved onto one side of the island, high up on a rock mountain. “Does grass grow there? Are there trees?”

“On the southern end there is a forest filled with game.” He added, “But hunting is not allowed.”

She turned her head sharply, their gazes colliding.

“I will not allow the game to be depleted. All victuals are brought in by ship from Belfast.”

“Why do you live here?” Katherine asked. “In such a forsaken place?”

He did not look at her. “Where would you have me live?”

For the briefest of moments, Katherine had forgotten who and what he was. There was nothing more to say, and she turned toward the orange sun—and the rock island rising up out of the swirling mists and the cool gray sea.

Katherine paused on the threshold of the great hall. Liam spoke to his steward, and she saw other servants, both male and female, hovering at the hall’s other end, in the entrance that undoubtedly led outside to the kitchen. The hall was cold, dark, and clearly very old. She had been given a cloak before they disembarked, and she clutched it to her, glancing around.

She did not know what she had expected, but she had not expected this dank, dismal place. Although she had been raised at Askeaton, which was also a medieval manor, it had been luxuriously furnished; it had been bright and cheerful. Katherine could not understand why this was his home. The cabin on his ship had boasted every luxury, from the fine wood paneling on the walls to the silver-plated nightstool, but this, this huge room was nearly bare.

A manservant had stoked up the fire in the large hearth. Katherine moved to stand beside it. Other than the ancient trestle table, the benches, the two chairs, and the scarred sideboard, there were no other furnishings in the room, just a single, faded tapestry. The wind moaned incessantly, as the castle was perched atop the island. And Katherine could feel a draft. She could not imagine anyone spending
a full winter here. She wondered if this place ever saw the summer, ever saw the sun.

She was aware of Liam coming to stand behind her. “I will show you to our chamber, upstairs.”

Her mind protested his use of the word “our.” “You’ve gotten what you wanted. Why do you not set me free now and be done with it?”

He stared into her eyes, then at her trembling mouth. “I have hardly gotten what I want from you, Katherine.” Abruptly he turned and strode away.

Tingles raced up her spine. Katherine finally followed him, torn, at once reluctant and curious. She couldn’t decipher the meaning of his last words. He had her virtue. What more could there be?

Despite herself, she imagined endless, torrid nights of shared passion.

On the third story there were but two other chambers. Clearly no additions had been made to the castle in the centuries since it had been built. Liam pushed open a heavy and scarred oak door and then ducked to enter the lord’s chamber. Katherine was greeted by a large, but plain bed, covered with furs, neither postered nor canopied. Hides covered the windows, and the room was exceedingly dark. Liam lit a taper. Katherine’s dismay increased. He had at least twenty beautiful rugs on the floor of his cabin, and although she was used to rushes, in the past two days she had grown accustomed to the feel of wool beneath her feet. Why did he not have a single rug in here? Why was there no table, no chair? There was naught but a single chest at the foot of the bed, one nightstool, and the oversize fireplace. From his ship’s cabin she had surmised that he liked to read, but she saw not a single tome anywhere in the room.

“I prefer your ship,” Katherine said abruptly. Somehow this room—this castle—made her angry.

Liam glanced at her, setting down the taper. “So do I.” He went to the fire and struck flint to kindling, then shoved the burning twigs under thick, dry logs. A fire blazed to life beneath his capable hands.

She watched his broad back. His shirt was the finest
linen, and she could see his every muscle delineated beneath it as he moved. He still knelt, and her gaze traveled lower, to his hard, powerful buttocks. She turned away abruptly. “When will you tire of me?” Her voice sounded unnatural, even to her own ears.

“I will never tire of you, Kate.”

Katherine whirled to face him, gasping. Her eyes were wide; his stare was hard, brilliant, holding hers. Tension had tightened the muscles in his face—and it seethed in the room between them. What kind of declaration was this?

With another piercing, potent look, a look filled with a promise Katherine was afraid to understand, Liam strode from the chamber. Katherine stared after him until she realized that she was very much alone, the solid oak door closed behind him.

Exhausted, she sank down upon the bed. She was trembling. Surely he had not been sincere. But Katherine recalled his eyes, his expression, his stance, and thought that he had meant his every word.

And John Hawke’s angry image rushed into her mind.

If only she could escape. She must escape.

She had seen the small village nestled below the castle, by the harbor. He had explained that his men lived there, with their wives and families. From what Katherine had glimpsed, the small village had seemed little different from any other village. The houses had been stone, the roofs thatched, but bright, gay flowers had been planted in many a yard, and she had even seen red English roses climbing one wooden fence. She had also noticed a steeple with a pale golden cross at its apex, a strange and surprising sight, considering that these were not godly men.

Katherine licked her dry lips, wondering if she dared to enter the village alone. She thought about the sleepy village, so innocent in its appearance, and she thought about Liam’s men. She had lived amongst the pirates on the
Sea Dagger
these past two days, and those few other days during the winter when he had first abducted her. She could not recall having seen a single sign of debauchery or disrespect in all the time she had been aboard his ship.
In fact, the opposite seemed to be true. Liam O’Neill seemed to generate the utmost respect—his men scurried to obey him without thought or protest. And Katherine had never seen or heard the whip. How did he command such an unruly lot, then?

Katherine had no answer. She had but one burning question now. If she wandered into the village, could she find, or buy, an ally to aid and abet her in an escape? Excitement swept over her.

“What are you thinking, Katherine? Do you pine for Hawke?”

Katherine jumped to her feet. “You keep sneaking up on me!”

His smile was wry and brief. “No. I do not sneak about in my own home. It is you who is overly distracted.”

Katherine realized that he held a small coffer in his hands. It was the kind of pretty box in which a lady kept her jewels or gloves. She lifted her gaze to his, unable to hide her curiosity.

He seemed hesitant. Then, swiftly, as if making up his mind, he came to her and sat beside her, thrusting the box into her hands. “’Tis for you.”

She was at once loath to accept it—and eager to inspect it. Katherine tried to clear her confused head. “What is it?”

“A gift.”

She shoved the box back at him, pride besting her female curiosity. “I do not want it.”

His jaw flexed. “Why not?”

“I am not a willing whore, to be paid with your trinkets.”

His nostrils flared. “It is you who keeps using that most distasteful term, not I.”

She stood, her hands on her hips. “It does not matter what word I use, facts are facts. You have made me your whore, and I refuse to be paid for your use of me.”

He also stood. “I was not trying to pay you for lying with me, Katherine.”

“Then you thought to compensate me for my virtue.” She blinked back tears, as sad as she was angry. He could
say whatever he liked, but the truth was the truth. He sought to pay her for the hours she had warmed his bed. How small—and cheap—she felt.

“No.” He shook is head vehemently. “I want to give you beautiful things, Katherine. I have wealth to share with you. I want to share it with you. Why do you refuse me?”

“I cannot be bought. And you are trying to buy me!” she accused.

Suddenly he gripped her chin, forcing her to face him, immobilizing her. “Why do you not let me ease my conscience,” he cried.

She tried to pull away, and only succeeded because he let her go. “You have no conscience. Had you a conscience, you would not murder innocent men—and abduct innocent women.”

“How right you are.” Quick as the blink of an eye, he pulled her up against him.

“I will not whore for you again,” Katherine cried, at that moment meaning it. She was furious to be his prisoner, and even more furious with herself, for how eager, and feverish, her body was. She had to control herself before this went any farther.

“You have never whored for me,” he said, his mouth close to hers, his gray gaze blazing. “And you never will.” Settling his hand in the hank of hair at her nape, he pulled her head back. “I want far more from you than the use of your body, Katherine.”

And Katherine stiffened, prepared to fight him.

K
atherine dug her nails into his shoulders, trying to push him away. Because he held her hair in his fist like a rope, high up on her nape, close to her scalp, she could not turn her face away from him. His lips were demanding. Katherine refused to open, despite the feverish excitement exploding in her body. She was agonizingly aware of how hot and hard and huge he was against her own swollen sex.

Liam jerked on her head once, angry because she was not yielding, and pushed her up against the wall. Pinned there, Katherine felt the last of her resistance ebbing away. Somehow, she kept her mouth closed. He finally nipped the corner of her lips and ducked lower, tearing down her bodice as he did so. His mouth claimed her nipple and Katherine cried out. No longer trying to push him away.

He laughed then, against her breast, the sound husky and raw with triumph and excitement. Katherine held him close, gasping as he tugged and sucked, using his teeth so skillfully. When he pressed on her shoulders, urging her to the floor, Katherine did not resist. Instead, his name escaped her lips.

Her bodice was down around her waist, torn. Now Liam pushed up her skirts and ripped off her drawers with both hands. Katherine could not stand the anticipation, not for another instant. Her hands found his breeches, brushing the massive bulge there, fumbling with the tiny shell buttons. Liam laughed again, thrust her hand away, and freed his huge phallus. Katherine moaned at the sight of him
straining for her. Unable to resist, she touched him, a long, caressing stroke upon his velvety flesh.

“No more games,” Liam said harshly. “Do you understand me, Katherine?”

She whimpered, in acquiescence.

Liam thrust all the way into her. Katherine bucked, meeting him as savagely as he took her. Their cries sounded in unison, their breaths mingled, as he plunged into her repeatedly. Katherine’s explosion came very, very quickly.

Dazed, shuddering still, Katherine felt him withdraw his hardness from her. She protested. He hushed her, lying atop her fully, panting and shaking, kissing her ear, her neck. Katherine moaned and, despite the return of partial sanity, she was hardly replete. “Liam,” she whispered, stroking his back. Using her nails, letting him know what she wanted yet again.

“You are insatiable,” he muttered thickly, “but then, so am I.”

He eased his bulk into her again, this time slowly. Katherine shifted restlessly, wanting so much more. But he only smiled at her, his eyes silver, gleaming. His withdrawal was long and so slow it was painful. Katherine hissed at him.

He laughed, bent to nip her nipple, and began to rub the ripe to bursting head of his penis against the folds of her sex. Katherine jerked, crying out, but not in protest, only in need for far more.

“We have hardly had the chance to explore each other, Kate,” Liam murmured, rubbing back and forth so languidly that Katherine thought she might die. And then she did. She gripped him, convulsing. Her sudden release took them both by surprise.

Liam hugged her, panting, still stiff and throbbing between her legs. “Greedy bitch,” he whispered in her ear. “I can feel that you still want more.”

“Oh, God,” Katherine whimpered, “I do. I want you inside me. Every single inch of you.”

He laughed, the sound arrogant. “You cannot take every inch of me, treasure.”

Her gaze grew dark and defiant, wicked and challenging. “No?”

His smile was as sly. “I think not.” He raised up on his hands and knees. Katherine looked at what he displayed. She met his glittering, arrogant gaze. Bold as a snake, she reached for him and gripped him. Liam threw back his head, sliding into her hand, moaning now. The veins stood out on his neck, his biceps rippled and flexed. Katherine’s pulse quickened. She now controlled his power, it now belonged to her, and she had never felt more triumphant—or more female.

Liam thrust into her palm, his temples throbbing, his phallus pulsing, his eyes still closed. Katherine heard herself laugh softly. Two could truly enjoy this game. But her laughter had hardly died when Liam rose up over her, breaking her grip swiftly. Stunning her once again, controlling her once again, he rubbed himself against first one taut nipple, then another. Katherine lay still, watching, panting, refusing to beg and plead with him. He was so red and so swollen, larger now, that she thought he might very well explode there between her breasts.

“Do you like being so wicked, Kate?”

She nodded, unable to speak.

“Hold your breasts for me, push them together.” he commanded.

Katherine obeyed.

Liam thrust harder, faster. Katherine began to whimper, to wriggle her hips. Her loins were afire. And finally she did what she had refused to do until then—she begged. “Liam, please, oh, God, please!”

With a deep, guttural cry, he thrust between her legs, a place now slick with her body’s secretions, slick and pulsing. Katherine wrapped her long legs around his waist, begging him for more, begging him to go deeper, harder. Liam complied, plundering without mercy. Their bodies made slapping, sucking sounds. Katherine wept as her peak neared. When she began to keen, Liam jerked away from her, collapsing on the bed, shuddering with his own release.

Katherine came out of her sensual daze slowly. She
shifted, her bare leg brushing his breech-clad one. Liam lay upon his stomach, unmoving, but his face was turned to hers, his eyes closed, his dark golden lashes fanlike upon his striking face. She blinked, confusion rising. Why ever had he done such a thing? Why had he pulled out of her, in such a manner, at such a time?

His lashes lifted, their gazes met. He did not smile. “I am undone.”

Katherine stared, breathless all over again. Why did he have to say such things? He was an experienced lover, he had had many women. Did he tell each and every one of them such things? She imagined that flattery was second nature to such a man.

He rolled onto his side, his gaze sweeping over her bare breasts. Katherine began to reach for her torn bodice, but he stilled her hand. “You have nothing to hide. You are lovely, by far the loveliest woman I have ever seen.”

“Don’t.”

He sat up. “But it is the truth.”

Her glance slipped over him; his breeches were open. Her eyes met his, and she watched him strip off his shirt. The muscles in his shoulders, arms and chest rippled as he moved. Anticipation lanced her. His smile was intimate, for her alone.

“Why did you do that? Why did you…” She hesitated, beginning to blush.

“Why did I finish in such a manner?” His smile was gone. He was very sober. “I was incapable of control the first time we lay together. And although it was very difficult this time, I did not want to spill my seed inside of you, Katherine.” His jaw seemed tense.

She was amazed. “You protect me from bearing a bastard?”

He rose gracefully to his feet, paced across the room. When he spoke, it was to the stone wall. “I am not so cruel, to bring my bastards into the world.” He glanced at her. “I do not want children. I will not have children. I will not bequeath them this life.”

Katherine stared at him, suddenly aching for him.

Katherine could not move, nor did she want to. But the fire had long since died, the moon had risen and set, and from the light within the chamber, she knew it was a new day and close to dinnertime.

Her limbs were sore, as was every part of her body, but it was a fantastic soreness. She would never blush again. Had she and Liam not done every possible sexual act that could be done by a man and a woman? She had lost count of the times he had made love to her. Katherine was smiling. She stretched like a cat, sighed at how wonderful it felt, stretched again, and finally sat up.

She was alone. Liam had last made love to her in the full light of morning, and before she had fallen asleep afterward, she had been aware of him rising. She wondered what business compelled him to leave their bed after such a day and such a night. Feeling sated and replete, yet somehow still eager, and amazingly, anticipating the night that would soon come, Katherine pushed the bed covers aside. She was stark naked. She looked down at her breasts, surprised to see red marks on them, then she touched herself, a small pleased caress, and finally she slipped from the bed. Her heart was singing.

Katherine tried to rein in her joy. She was a fallen woman, a pirate’s whore, and her mood should be dark and despairing. She sobered slightly, looking around the bare, dismal chamber. She did not want to dwell on what could not be changed, she thought fiercely. She did not want to dwell on what made her sad—on her abduction and her current predicament. She wanted to think only of Liam’s incredible and powerful lovemaking.

Then she became still, her heart heavy, thinking of the fact that he refused to spill his seed inside of her. She was relieved, of course. She had no wish to bear his bastard. But…there was something terribly sad about a man so determined not to have children.

She shoved such thoughts aside. Her wandering eye spotted the small coffer he had tried to give her yesterday morning. With a jolt she realized that they had stayed abed for more than twenty-four hours. She glanced at the disheveled mattress. It did not seem possible—but it was.

Katherine saw her clothes, strewn about the floor. She reached for her drawers, but they were torn in two, and she tossed them aside. The gold dress she picked up and laid carefully on the bed. The bodice was torn—how well she remembered his tearing it—and she would have to mend it. It was far too beautiful to be left in such disrepair.

Her gaze turned back to the small, enameled box.

Don’t, she told herself. But she was unable to stop thinking about his “gift.”

“I don’t want your gifts, Liam O’Neill,” she cried.

Sadness had replaced all of her joy. Katherine sat down on the bed, pulling a fur about her naked body, angry now, staring fixedly at the box. A box she hated because it represented what she had become—what she now was. Angry tears filled her eyes. Somehow she had thought to fool herself and ignore the facts of her life.

Abruptly Katherine stood, dropping the fur, and stalked to the coffer. A small brass key was fitted in the lock and she turned it. The lid popped open. Katherine gasped.

A magnificent necklace met her eyes. Five strands of rubies, each stone set in gold, with diamonds winking about the rim of each gem. The “gift” was no trinket. It was jewelry fit for a princess, but not a whore. Katherine could not believe her eyes. And she could not understand it—or him.

Entranced, she picked up the necklace. It was very heavy, almost too heavy to wear. Wearing it would not, could not, be comfortable. But then, she would never know, would she? Because she would never wear his “gift.”

Katherine bit her lip, holding the necklace up to her throat while turning to stare into the looking glass above the chest. But at the sight that greeted her, she dropped the rubies as if they had burned her.

For she had seen a tall, naked woman, one whose wild red hair hung loose and unbound, one whose mouth was swollen and bruised, one whose eyes gleamed with irrepressible excitement, wearing a priceless necklace above her naked, quivering breasts. In the looking glass she had not seen Katherine FitzGerald, the daughter of an earl.
She had seen an expensively paid courtesan—she had seen a whore.

Katherine left the necklace lying on the floor where she had dropped it. Her heart beating very hard and very fast now, she pulled on her shift and petticoats. Unfortunately, she had no other clothes of her own; she had no choice but to wear the torn dress. As she had no comb, Katherine raked her hair with her fingertips, but it hardly helped. Finally she bent and retrieved the necklace, replacing it in the coffer, which she locked. Then, holding the dress together at the neckline, she hurried from the room and down the stairs.

Liam was standing at the fireplace, lost in thought. Guy sat on the floor not far from his feet, playing with a big wolfhound pup. Macgregor sat at the trestle table, engrossed in a book. A book? Katherine had not realized that he, too, could read.

Liam’s distant expression turned into a warm smile as he turned toward her. On the bottom of the stairs, Katherine froze. His smile grew fixed as he met her stare, then disappeared. His glance lowered to the coffer she held in her hand.

A sadness so intense it defied description swept Katherine’s being. She looked at Liam, at his proud, handsome face, at his big, powerful form, and into his unreadable gray eyes. She thought of the past day. How foolish she had been to wake up so pleased and dreamy-eyed. They had not indulged in lovemaking. Oh, no. It had been nothing more than fornication, no, worse, purely hedonistic sex.

And even if it had been lovemaking, that could not change Liam O’Neill into a man he would never become. He was Shane O’Neill’s son, no rapist like his father, perhaps not an overly violent man, but an amoral pirate nonetheless.

“Good day, Katherine,” he said levelly. His gaze searched her face. “We are about to sit down to dinner.” His glance lingered on her bodice where it was torn and where she held it up. “I have ordered the chest of clothes
brought up from my ship. It should be here at any moment. We will wait for you to change before we dine.”

Her heart was in shreds. And it had nothing to do with changing her ripped gown. Katherine moved toward him and handed him the box. “I cannot take this.”

His expression unfathomable, he nodded.

“I do not want any gifts from you.”

“Very well. That is your decision to make.” His tone was without inflection.

Katherine wanted to weep. She turned her back on him, somewhat blindly, to face the table where they would dine. She had awaked ravenous; now she had no appetite. She was in serious danger, but she refused to identify the exact nature of that danger. She knew but one thing. She must escape. No matter how it hurt her to do so.

Several days later, Katherine sat on the floor with Guy, dicing. She was pleased to see him smile and even cry with glee when he bested her, for he was, in general, such a solemn boy. They were wagering twigs and stones, although Guy, the rascal, had wanted to wager actual coin. Now he clapped his hands, flushed with pleasure, having won again. Katherine smiled at him. “I cannot best you, Guy. I think I must concede defeat.”