The Game (38 page)

Liam’s expression became grave. “I ask you to listen to me closely, Bess, very closely.”

She did not like his use of her familiar name. She stiffened. “I am listening. I am waiting. I have been waiting for this explanation a very long time.”

“My intention was not to hurt you.”

Elizabeth was frozen. No longer a queen, merely a woman who had never dared to live her dreams.

“I am no papist and you know it. Indeed, you are aware I saw too many burnings during your sister’s reign ever to support a fanatic like FitzMaurice.”

“I know this. Which is why I fail to understand you now, Liam,” Elizabeth cried. “You betrayed
me
, Liam. Your friend and your queen!”

“No.” Liam approached her. “I have not betrayed you. You have been pursuing the rebels in Ireland for many years now, without success. Lord Perrot cannot capture FitzMaurice, and this everyone knows. But I,” he paused dramatically, his gaze glittering, “I can capture the papist, Bess, and if you but free me, I will.”

Elizabeth gasped. “What further treachery is this?” she cried. “What crockery is this? You ask me to free you? You are a
traitor
. Traitors
must
hang.”

No fear showed in Liam’s eyes. Patiently, he said, “You are not listening, Bess.”

Elizabeth was shaking. “What could you possibly say to make me think to free you?”

He smiled slightly. “I have never been a traitor to you. Instead, at great risk to me and mine, I have allied myself with FitzMaurice—so that I can deliver your worst Irish enemy to you.”

Elizabeth stared, frozen.

“Do you not have other spies, Bess?” he said very softly. “Is it so surprising that I have played the spy for you, now? Who is better prepared, or better positioned, than I—to ensnare and entrap FitzMaurice?”

Elizabeth said nothing, her mind racing frantically, suspended between logic, which dictated disbelief, and her love for him, which blossomed with excitement and hope.

“I have raised him up only so I can bring him down,” Liam O’Neill said calmly. And he smiled, the smile of a victor, the smile of a master of the game. “And when I do, I expect a great reward from you.” And his gaze held hers.

Elizabeth turned away, imagining what he might ask of her—a reward no other man would dare request, one far
too personal, one far too intimate. Already she could taste his kisses, feel his caress. She wet her lips, tried to clear her mind of such female nonsense. She was a queen. She had no business allowing him to seduce her now.

But the question raised itself. Did she dare? Did she dare trust her golden pirate now, after all that he had done?

Katherine wore the hood of her fur-lined velvet cloak in order to hide her face as she passed through Richmond’s northern gate. Macgregor walked beside her, as did Guy. Wedged as she was between the huge Scot and the small boy, Katherine hardly felt unremarkable.

Someone was going to recognize her soon. Katherine had been too distraught over Liam’s impending fate to think about her own reception at court until the past hour, on the barge that had taken them from London to Richmond. She could imagine the shock, excitement, and torrid speculation her appearance would cause, and she hoped to delay the inevitable.

Her first priority was learning all that she could about Liam—and gaining an audience with the queen.

She would deal with the rest afterward.

As they traversed the small gatehouse and climbed a broad flight of stairs that entered the hall directly, Katherine was well aware of the utter irony of her defending the man who had so thoroughly betrayed both her and her father. She would defend his support of FitzMaurice. How laughable it was. How sad.

Katherine and her companions entered the hall. Her heart began to race with fear. She must gain a royal audience, but that would surely be the most simple of her tasks. How would she convince the queen to spare Liam his life? Katherine had brooded upon little else in the past days since learning of Liam’s capture, and had not found any worthy argument to make in his defense.

She had debated very carefully, too, as to how to represent herself. Unless Liam had told someone of their marriage, the whole world thought her John Hawke’s wife. Katherine would tell no one of her second marriage. It would not help her cause. For she had no intention of ever
living with him again if he should survive this circumstance. For Katherine had faced her deepest, darkest feelings. A part of her still loved Liam, foolishly, stupidly, and it always would. But she would never be able to trust him again.

His treachery was a scar upon her heart, to be worn forever.

Katherine paused on the threshold of the hall. The large chamber was crowded. Cautiously Katherine looked about for a familiar face, holding the neck of her hood with one hand. Her eyes widened when she saw several ladies she knew, including Anne Hastings, with whom she had been the most friendly. “Wait here,” Katherine murmured to Macgregor and Guy. She pushed her way forward, coming up behind the baroness.

“Anne,” she whispered nervously.

Anne whirled, her blue eyes widening as they met Katherine’s. “By all the saints! Katherine! What are you doing here!” Then her eyes widened even more with some inner comprehension Katherine did not understand.

“I must speak with the queen,” Katherine said tersely. “But we will speak later, privily,” she added, knowing Anne wished to learn all about her stay with the notorious pirate these many past months.

“Her Majesty is in the Presence Chamber,” Anne said quickly.

Katherine squeezed her hand, turning away.

“Katherine!” Anne cried. “Wait! There is more that you must know!”

But Katherine ignored her. She caught Macgregor’s eye, then hurried through the hall, pushing past the gentlemen and gentlewomen, keeping her head lowered and her eyes downcast. Her heart thundered now. Only when she had left the great hall, and stood in the antechamber outside the Presence Chamber, did she raise her head and lift her gaze. Her heart skipped a beat. The two massive wooden doors were closed, and a dozen gentlemen and courtiers, as well as a dozen Royal Guard, milled about them. The Queen was giving private audience to someone.

She would have to wait her turn. Katherine’s anxiety raced unfettered now—as did her fear.

Suddenly the doors began to open. The courtiers and gentlemen stiffened with attention. Conversation ceased. The guard moved forward, as if to escort the petitioner who was closeted with the queen.

But it was no petitioner ensconced within, no petitioner at all. It was a prisoner. Liam appeared on the threshold, disheveled, his wrists manacled behind his back—incredibly proud.

Katherine gasped. In the utter silence of the antechamber, the sound was loud and shocked, and many gazes shot her way.

He heard her, too, and as if he recognized the sound of her voice, his gaze sliced directly to her. It turned fierce and bright.

Her gaze locked with his. And despite his treachery, her heart wept for what he must be suffering. Slowly, her gaze filling with tears, no longer caring to hide her identity, Katherine released her hold on her hood, allowing it to fall back from her face.

Gasps and exclamations sounded as one and all recognized her—followed by a series of hushed, shocked whispers.

And Katherine realized then that the queen stood behind Liam, staring at her with the same stunned surprise as everyone else. And then her heart lurched. For the crimson-clad man who had moved to Liam’s side was none other than John Hawke.

K
atherine’s gaze riveted upon Hawke. His expression was rigid with shock. She met Liam’s gaze again. If he was surprised by her appearance at court, he did not show it.

Katherine wished she could disappear. She was ashamed to face John Hawke now. She had behaved shamelessly with Liam when Hawke had been her true husband, before she and Liam had wed. She had never ever dreamed she would encounter him like this, publicly, surrounded by the tittering court—as he escorted Liam back to the Tower. While she prepared to go to the defense of the man who had abducted her out of her wedding bed—the man the entire world thought to be naught but her lover.

Katherine was very careful not to allow her gaze to flick to Liam again, not even once. She was resolved to ignore him, acutely aware of a hundred stares trained upon her—and of the heated whispers surrounding them. Had Liam revealed the fact of their marriage to anyone? She stole another glance at John, wondering if he still believed himself to be her husband—wondering what he would say and do if he knew the truth. In any case, Katherine was quite certain that one and all were accusing her of being a whore, and condemning her as such. It was undoubtedly the most horrible moment of her life.

To make matters worse, Katherine now noticed the earl of Leicester standing behind John, his expression as surprised as everyone else’s. But how quickly his surprise
became something more, his dark gaze piercing. Katherine quickly looked away, noticing that her half brother, the earl of Ormond, was also present, and looking far from pleased.

Katherine felt dizzy.

Then the queen pushed past Hawke and Liam. Immediately Katherine dropped to her knees.

“This
coincidence
is unseemly,” the queen said sharply.

“Your Majesty,” Katherine murmured, her pulse racing.

“Rise. We shall speak privately.
Now
.”

It was a command, one Katherine was glad to obey. Not only did she wish to exit the antechamber filled with gawking gentlemen and gentlewomen, and her two husbands, she had come to court for this very reason—to have a private audience with the queen. Very awkwardly—and very carefully, Katherine got to her feet. Someone—Macgregor—reached down and aided her. She kept her cloak tightly closed. Her state of pregnancy would be another shock to everyone.

“Take the prisoner to the guardroom,” Elizabeth said to Hawke.

Hawke nodded, but then his gaze found Katherine’s again. There was no mistaking his disbelief that she had come to court at all. His anger was also clear. Did he guess her purpose? Or did he blame her for her fall from virtue? Katherine did not blame him, whatever the cause of his anger, it was justified. When he realized that she was pregnant with Liam’s child, he would be even angrier.

Hawke wheeled, pushing Liam forward. Katherine’s heart lurched hard against her breastbone and for a moment, Katherine could not help herself and she gazed after him. If only he had not betrayed her—if only he loved her—it would be so much easier to beg for his freedom, for his life. But if that were so, he would not be a prisoner of the Crown. If that were so, her own heart would be whole, instead of aching and broken.

Katherine flung one last glance in his direction. His shoulders were squared, his head high, yet his clothing
was in tatters. The steel cuffs on his wrists gleamed, catching the light streaking through the windows, as he was led away. He was so proud, so cool and so unafraid—as if he were in control, and not at the mercy of the wrathful queen or unkind Fate. He acted as if he were master not of the seas, but of this dangerous game, yet that he could not be. He was a victim now, no master at all. Katherine shuddered at the thought.

The queen was staring at her. Katherine jerked, praying that any remaining feelings she still had for him did not show upon her face. “Come,” Elizabeth said.

Katherine followed her into the Presence Chamber. When they were alone, Elizabeth said, “I am not surprised, Katherine, not anymore, to see you here. I should have known that you would come.” Her gaze glittered.

Katherine said nothing. Trying to marshal her thoughts into some form of coherent argument. But her mind was scattered. Did the queen know of her marriage to Liam? Had he told anyone? She must proceed with caution.

“So you have followed your lover to court. Do you wish to make a plea for the traitor?” Elizabeth asked, her fists on her hips.

Katherine was relieved. Liam had not told anyone of their marriage. “Yes. I wish to plead his case, your Majesty.”

Elizabeth’s stare was cold. “You are just like your shameless mother.”

Katherine flinched. The queen was frozen with disapproval—indeed, she seemed furious. Katherine swallowed, frightened. She had not expected this. The last time she had seen Elizabeth, the queen had been kind and friendly.

Now the queen was flushed, and she shook her finger at Katherine. She did not give Katherine a chance to speak. “I also should have known the moment I laid eyes upon you that you would be a temptress exactly like your mother was!”

Katherine gasped. “I am no temptress,” she whispered, stunned by the queen’s vicious attack.

Elizabeth laughed. “Do not deny it now! You led O’Neill a merry chase, did you not, before your betrothal
to John Hawke? You incited his manly appetites! You drove him to abduction, and in all likelihood, you drove him to conspiracy as well.”

Katherine cried out, shocked.

But the queen was not about to stop. “Your mother was a slut!” she shouted. “She took your father to her bed when her own husband lay dying! You are exactly like her! Giving yourself to a pirate lover despite the fact that you are wed and bound to an
honorable
man.”

“No,” Katherine said. She almost defended herself by telling the queen that her marriage to Hawke had never been consummated, and that Liam was her husband now. She restrained herself. One did not argue with one’s sovereign—and Liam was only her husband in name now, not in any other way—never again in any other way.

“No?” Her expression livid, Elizabeth struck Katherine across the face, hard. “Get down on your knees!”

Katherine reeled but did not fall. She held her cheek, felt the seeping of blood from where the queen’s rings had gouged her. Tears filled her eyes, not of pain, but of fear—and of helpless fury.

“Get down,” the queen said again.

Katherine inhaled, trembling, no longer clutching her cheek. Having no choice in the matter, nor daring to disobey, she dropped to both knees.

The queen began to pace. “I blame you for it all,” she stated. “You seduced my pirate, just as you tried to seduce Leicester and Ormond.”

Katherine bit down hard to remain silent. How unfair, how cruel, Elizabeth was.

Elizabeth paused in front of her, staring down at the top of her bent head. “Ormond was set against you when you first came to court. But you worked your wiles upon him and now he has some small feeling for you! And Robin! When you walk into a room, Robin looks at you like he will jump on you as fast as any stallion upon a mare! Have you let him bed you?”

Katherine’s breathing was shallow and fast. She tried to speak and failed, shook her head no.

The queen towered over her, shaking uncontrollably. “If you dare to sleep with him, I will have your head.”

“No,” Katherine croaked.

“I will not allow sluts in my court.”

Although on her knees, Katherine squared her shoulders. “Your Majesty, I did not seduce my own brother, nor did I seduce Dudley.”

“For your sake, that had better be the truth.” Elizabeth stared coldly at her. “No, I cannot blame Liam or any man for trying to gain what you so freely give. You are the culprit here, the one who must be sent away.”

Her heart shrinking, Katherine whispered, unthinkingly, “I loved Liam.”

“Oh?”

Katherine met the queen’s furious gaze. Her pulse raced. How could she have said such a thing after Liam’s betrayal? Yet how could she not, when it was her only defense against the queen’s slanderous attack? When it was the truth?

The queen spit, “And what is it about him that you loved? His sweet flattery—or the size of his manhood?”

Katherine started, flaming.

“Answer me,” the Queen snapped.

Katherine was painfully dry. “What are you asking me to say?”

“Did he please you in bed, Katherine?”

She held the queen’s gaze. She knew better than to respond, fully aware that her cheeks were flaming—providing all the answer the queen needed.

“Slut,” Elizabeth hissed. She turned away.

Katherine closed her eyes, fighting tears of helpless rage. She did not understand why the queen hated her so. And it was nigh impossible for her to defend herself against such malicious slander, to protest her innocence to the queen. Yet what innocence? For in fact, the bulk of Elizabeth’s accusations were true.

Katherine despaired. She had no weapons to wield now, none, and she had no allies. All she had was herself. She must be very clever.

“Your Majesty,” Katherine said, licking her lips, “I ac
cept all blame for enticing Liam, for inflaming him. Like my mother, I could not control myself. You are right. And…I am so sorry.” She bowed her head, shaking, her pride warring with her common sense. “I beg your pardon.”

Elizabeth was unmoving now, and Katherine felt her staring at her. “I am not disposed to give it,” she finally said, but her tone was much calmer and far less rancid now.

Katherine dared to look up and meet her gaze. “As I am the one at fault, ’tis unjust and nonsensical to blame Liam, is it not?”

Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed with sudden respect. “I did not know you were capable of debate, Katherine.”

Katherine held her gaze. “I would not dare to debate you, Your Majesty.”

The queen’s gaze was piercing. “Your mother was very astute, very clever, and very determined, too. She knelt before me more than once, much as you do, begging for my leniency for her lord.”

Katherine regarded her steadily, not daring yet to hope or be assured by the queen’s new tone of voice and by the dialogue now taking place betwixt them.

“Liam is a traitor, even if his lust made him lose his mind, and traitors must hang.”

Katherine remained very still, her face impassive, even though the queen’s words were like the lash of a whip. She must make her argument now, and it must be flawless if Liam were to be saved. “You have known Liam since he was a squalling newborn babe. Surely you still have some small fondness for the boy you grew up with and raised in your very own household?”

“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, her eyes agleam.

“Does not the history you have shared entitle him to a second chance?” Katherine asked.

“No,” the queen said flatly. “It does not.” Elizabeth was grim. “That sad and lonely little boy is now a dangerous man. One who committed treason against me! The boy I was fond of. The man I abhor!”

And Katherine suddenly realized the cause of the
queen’s hatred for her. “Abhor?” she asked softly. “Or adore?”

Disbelief and then rage transformed the queen’s face.

Before Elizabeth could speak or strike, Katherine cried, “He is a man many women adore, Your Majesty, because of his manliness, because of his nobility, regardless of his pirate ways. I am but one woman in the long line of women he has had, and there will be many more women after me—I do not delude myself. No woman can be immune to such a man, not even a great monarch.”

Her anger gone as quickly as it had come, Elizabeth looked at her with open respect. “You are no green child anymore, are you, Katherine?”

Katherine did not bother to answer. “Your Majesty, once Liam served you well. He can serve you well again. He is, after all, the Master of the Seas. I beg of you, pardon him his crimes. Do not put such a man to death. Punish him, yes, but do not hang him. Think on his value.”

“I cannot trust him,” Elizabeth said.

Katherine was stabbed with fear and dismay and complete understanding. How well she understood Elizabeth now, who was also suffering from Liam’s betrayal. “You have many wise advisors. Surely one of them can devise a scheme where Liam would give some kind of surety to you in return for his worthy behavior.”

The queen did not respond.

Katherine rose to her feet somewhat awkwardly. “He is far more valuable to you alive than dead.”

“He will be a valuable example to other would-be conspirators if he swings from the noose,” Elizabeth replied, but her eyes were darkened by the thought.

Katherine sought desperately for a response. “If he is executed, you will never be able to bring him back—the ending is final. Can you live with that?” And she prayed the queen loved Liam far more than Katherine suspected.

But the queen did not answer—did not even hear her. She stared at Katherine, gasping.

And suddenly Katherine realized that she had forgotten to hold her cloak together when she rose to her feet, and
that now it hung loosely open about her—revealing her pregnancy. She blanched.

Elizabeth’s wide gaze fixed upon Katherine’s rounded abdomen. “You are with child. I should have guessed. It would have been far more astounding had O’Neill proved himself less than a man.”

Katherine had pulled her cloak together instinctively.

Then the queen said, “It is
his
child?”

Katherine gasped. “Yes!”

“When is the child due?” Elizabeth demanded. As unfriendly as before.

“In July.”

“Shameless—you are shameless, as I said. And I will not have a slut here—strutting about my court carrying a bastard babe!”

Katherine fought despair—and fought the impulse to shout that her child was no bastard. “You were Mary Stanley’s friend.”

“I was not a queen then,” Elizabeth snapped.

And Katherine knew she had lost. When, for just a moment, it had seemed as if she might win.

“The child complicates matters,” Elizabeth said darkly. “Liam never mentioned any child.”

“He does not know.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Then she smiled slightly, to herself.

Katherine did not care for her expression, and unease claimed her. “Your Majesty, will you not spare Liam so that he might know his own son?”