The Game (44 page)

The answer was simple. To Liam.

He was free now, having escaped the Tower. She did not want to live without him, and the time had come to face the fact. She
could
not live without him. She realized that she must go to him, tell him how much she loved him, and ask him to take her with him, wherever he now thought to go. And could he not help her regain their
child? How ironic it was, she thought suddenly. They were both outlaws now, wanted by the Crown.

Katherine glanced at the bed again. It was coming back to her. She had dreamed of Liam last night, a wonderful dream in which he had held her and kissed her and comforted her. It had been so very real. But she knew better—didn’t she?

“I’ve put together a few things for you that you might be needing,” Eleanor said to Katherine’s reflection in the mirror.

Katherine turned, confused.

“Oh, did I not say why I’ve wakened you so early when you’re still needing to heal from the birthing and the rest of your ordeal?” Eleanor asked bluntly. “Your father is sending you to Mary Stanley in Essex.”

Katherine froze.

“O’Neill came here last night. ’Twas his decision. He wants you out of London, and we all agree. ’Tis not safe for you here, Katherine,” Eleanor said in a kind manner.

Katherine could not move. She was trying to unscramble her wild, racing thoughts.
In the interim, I am sending you to Stanley House
. Oh, God. Liam
had
visited her last night. But she had been half-asleep. She had mistaken his visit for a dream.

Why hadn’t he taken her with him?

Katherine strained to remember his words—for nothing he had ever said to her before was as important as what he had said to her last night. Had he not said that he would come back for her? She clasped her warm cheeks with cool hands. Yes, he had promised to return for her—with their child—after he captured FitzMaurice and restored her father!

Oh, God
.

Katherine closed her eyes and prayed to God for His goodwill and intervention. And with all of her might and all of her heart she prayed that her dreams would come true—that Liam would be successful in all that he endeavored to do—that he would bring her their son—that he would return for her. And if any man could achieve such a mastery of fate, Katherine knew that that man was Liam O’Neill, the Master of the Seas.

J
uliet had insisted that she accompany her uncle when he announced he was going to London on business. He knew just how anxious she was about her upcoming marriage, and hoping to improve her spirits, he agreed. Juliet did not tell him the real reason she wished to go to London now. That reason was Katherine.

The rumor of her attempt to murder the queen had traveled like wildfire, reaching Cornwall within a few days of the event. Juliet feared her friend had gone mad and desperately needed her help.

Juliet had to go to London to learn what she could of her friend. Richard had obtained rooms for them at a popular inn, and left her with several servants. She claimed that she wished to go shopping. But the coachman did not bat an eye when Juliet ordered him to Whitehall instead of to the market of Cheapside.

Now, as Juliet stood uncertainly in the Banquet Hall, ignoring the astrological decorations and the strange pendants and fruits hanging everywhere, her gaze searched the crowd. It was the dinner hour. But she did not see John Hawke. Indeed, she saw no one that she knew or even recognized, but she was not familiar with the court or the ladies and gentlemen who attended it.

Juliet hailed a passing soldier, ignored his snicker when she asked for Hawke, and was told he could be found in the Guard Room. Given directions, her pulse pounding, Juliet left the Banquet Hall and crossed the Sermon Court.
It was a blustery November day, damp and chill and gray, and she held her fur-lined cloak tightly to her. How bold and brazen she had become.

Hawke was leaving the Guard Room as she approached. Juliet faltered and paused. His eyes were wide—he had remarked her immediately.

Juliet could feel her own blush. Oh, God, what was she doing? Ostensibly she had come to court because she wanted to learn if Katherine were well, and if the baby was being well cared for. But in truth, she had come to see John Hawke.

They stared at one another across the length of the corridor. Juliet recalled the last time she had seen him, when she had acted like a mad shrew, shrieking at him and attacking him for doing his duty to the queen. She regretted her wild, unladylike behavior. But there was no taking it back.

Hawke finally moved forward, his spurs jangling with each strong step, his high boots gleaming. Juliet glanced aside, for he was such a handsome, stirring sight in his taut breeches and crimson uniform. How could Katherine have preferred the pirate? It made not one whit of sense.

“Lady Stratheclyde,” he said stiffly, and he bowed as he took her hand. But his lips did not even come close to kissing it.

Juliet pulled her hand away, trembling. “Sir John. I…I have heard about Katherine,” she cried. “Please tell me it is not true.”

He took her elbow. “Let us walk in the gardens.”

Juliet was acutely aware of his touch. She did not want to be so affected by him. As it was so raw outside, they were completely alone. She glanced up at him when he finally paused by a bench in a deserted arbor. “Did Katherine attack the queen?”

John’s gaze pierced hers. “Yes.”

“Oh God!” Juliet cried.

John’s expression was anguished. “’Twas not her fault. She was maddened by her grief. Thank God Her Majesty was unharmed—and that Katherine escaped.”

“Thank God,” Juliet echoed. “Sir John, is Katherine now all right?”

His jaw flexed. “I do not know, Juliet. I do not know where she is.”

Juliet bit off a sound of despair.

“But I would not worry too much if I were you,” Hawke said, taking her hand in his. Juliet knew he only meant to comfort her, but she stiffened perceptibly, and he flushed and dropped her palm. “I beg your pardon.”

Juliet wished she had a small share of Katherine’s experience where men were concerned, so she might be more coy and adept. Then she reminded herself that Hawke was Katherine’s husband, that she herself would marry Simon Hunt in another month, and her despair grew. She forced her feelings aside. “How can I not worry about her? She is alone out there somewhere, alone and, perhaps, mad.”

“I do not think she is alone.”

Juliet looked up at him. Hawke knew something he was not telling her. Relief swept through her.

He turned his gaze away from her, toward the large, faded bowling green just visible on the other side of the gardens. “O’Neill escaped shortly before Katherine came to London.”

Juliet wondered if they were together. And suddenly she realized that they belonged together, and if they were not yet together, knowing the pirate, they soon would be. And instantly she was glad, so glad, that Katherine was not alone in this dire time, that she had someone to take care of her, to love her. Then, too late, she recalled the man she stood beside. Oh, God! Juliet’s gaze shot to Hawke’s. But she could see no terrible reaction in him to the possibility that Katherine, his wife, had returned to the other man. “John, I am sorry.”

His gaze moved across her face, lingering on every single one of her features. “Are you? I think not. Katherine loves him. I believe he loves her. It was wrong of me to try to keep her as my wife.”

Juliet began to feel choked up inside. “The last time we met,” she whispered, her cheeks warm, “I accused you of being selfish and dishonorable. I am so sorry. How wrong I was. You are selfless, and entirely noble. Forgive me, Sir John.”

His regard held hers. “I did a terrible thing,” he said, and his anguish was both stark and visible. It shimmered in his eyes, strained his features. “I took the newborn babe from her arms. I can never forget it. I will never forget it. Not her screams, not her sobs.” His voice was thick. “I dream of it at night. Every night.”

Juliet cried out. “You were obeying the queen!”

John faced her, and she saw tears in his eyes. “But it was wrong, and I knew it was wrong. And now Katherine is wanted for treason, her child in the care of another.” He was hoarse. “That Katherine attacked the queen, it was not her fault.”

“It was the queen’s,” Juliet cried, furious. “For being so cruel!”

“It was also mine,” John said. He sucked in his breath, his expression ravaged, and looked away from her.

Juliet felt his anguish as if it were her own. “John,” she whispered, stepping closer and touching his arms.

He turned back to her, startled.

Juliet realized that she was embracing him. But she did not care. He was hurting so. She loved him, and she had no choice but to comfort him. She smiled at him through her own tears, and then slowly she laid her head upon his chest. She slid her palms around his back, gently hugging him to her, as if he were no great, big man, but a fragile thing.

John Hawke did not move. Not at first.

And Juliet thought,
This is heaven. To hold such a man
. And she could not help but add a selfish wish—if only he loved her, as she loved him.

Hawke suddenly groaned and his powerful arms crushed her to his chest. Juliet cried out, stunned, looking up. She cried out again. His blue eyes were ablaze, the anguish gone. And for the first time in her life, Juliet both saw and understood male desire. And she froze.

“Juliet,” John said thickly. One of his hands, shaking, slipped up into her coiled tresses. Pearl-headed pins scattered. A fall of her thick dark hair cascaded over his hand.

Juliet could not move, could not breathe. She could only stare up at him, mesmerized…and hoping.

He cried out, caught her face in both of his large, warm hands, and suddenly his mouth was on hers.

In her dreams, his kisses had always been tender, soft, and barely there. This was nothing like her dreams. It was far, far more.

His mouth moved passionately over hers. Instinctively Juliet opened her lips beneath his, and suddenly his tongue was inside her, twisting with hers. Juliet clung to his strong shoulders. Her body had come gloriously alive in a way she had never even imagined possible. She shook, she was on fire. On tiptoe she strained feverishly for him as their mouths mated and fused.

It was Hawke who finally raised his head, tearing his mouth from hers. He was panting. Juliet made a small mewling sound of protest.

“Oh God,” John gasped when he could speak. He touched Juliet’s face reverently, then brushed back her hair, which was wild and loose now, hanging to her waist. He began stroking her face with the fingertips of his right hand, which was shaking. “Juliet,” he said.

Juliet still leaned against his magnificent, hard male form. She still clung to his crimson uniform. Breathless, dazed, she managed to smile at him. “I love you,” she said softly, meaning it with all of her heart and all of her being.

He froze.

Juliet suddenly realized what she had said—and what she had done. Reality intruded. John Hawke was not a free man. She was not a free woman. Stricken, she dropped her hands from his chest as if burned, and backed away, stumbling.

Oh, God—what had she done!

“Stop!” he cried, grabbing her by her shoulders, and pulling her close. “Do not turn from me now,” he commanded.

Juliet could not speak, and as he held her so forcefully, she could not move away even if she had really wished to.

“Katherine belongs with O’Neill,” John said. “I am going to petition Canterbury for a divorce.”

Juliet gasped. Her mind reeled. No, this could not be
happening. No, her dreams could not possibly be coming true.

But his next words proved that dreams did come true. “Juliet,” he said huskily, hesitating. “Juliet—I wish to marry you—if you will but have me.”

Juliet cried out. “Yes, John, yes.”

Hawke smiled. “I think I have loved you for a very long time,” he said.

“And I have loved you since I first saw you,” she said daringly.

He took her hand. “I will speak to your uncle today. I think I can convince him of the merits of this marriage, of the joining of our two neighboring estates.”

“And if he refuses?” Juliet asked with some fear.

Hawke smiled tenderly. “Then we will run away.”

It was daring, it was romantic. And Hawke was so strong that she was not afraid. Juliet laughed. And then she saw the look in his eye and she became utterly still.

His head lowered, hers lifted. And they moved together in a dance as old as time, there in the arbor beneath the gnarled oaks and the ancient elms—a dance which would last them a lifetime.

Katherine was eager to leave London. No one would ever think to look for her at Stanley House. But even more importantly, Gerald had revealed to her that Leicester knew she was hiding at St. Leger House—and that he planned to remove her to one of his own estates in northern England within days. Katherine could not depart London soon enough.

She was well aware that she owed Leicester for his part in obtaining Liam’s freedom. Nonetheless she sought to avoid him, and postpone what she must eventually do. Yet it did not take much thought for her to know that it would be better to pay back Leicester now, before Liam returned for her, than afterward. Yet Katherine could not linger. Panic propelled her, and she ran not just from the queen’s men, but from Her Majesty’s powerful lover.

Mary Stanley was expecting her. As soon as Katherine entered the small courtyard of the manor house, the front
door opened, framing a slender blond woman in an elegant dress.

At once, Katherine saw that Liam resembled his mother. She was blond and gray-eyed and very beautiful; her face was but a softer, female version of her son’s. From all accounts, Mary had suffered greatly in her lifetime, yet this woman appeared as elegant and self-contained as any noble lady.

Katherine slid from her mount, aided by one of the men sent to escort her. She had been uncertain of what Mary’s greeting to her would be, but when she realized that the other woman was smiling warmly at her, she was relieved. Mary embraced her and escorted her inside and upstairs to the small bedchamber she would use.

“My son has told me much about you, and I feel as if we are old and dear friends,” Mary said as she opened the door.

Katherine was amazed. What had Liam said about her? And had he really talked to his mother at length about her? “I wish to be your friend, Lady Stanley.”

Mary smiled at her. “Please, Mary is fine.” She moved briskly about the chamber, opening an armoire, hanging Katherine’s cloak on a wall peg, throwing back the heavy down coverlets on the four-poster bed. Katherine stared out of the window, which looked out over the rolling Essex countryside and a pretty bubbling stream. There sheep grazed and lambs played.

Her gaze returned to Liam’s mother, who now regarded her as well. “Liam said to care for you as I would care for him,” Mary remarked.

It felt so good to be accepted like this by this woman. “You are being more than generous. Thank you,” Katherine said, moved. But her thoughts remained on Liam. “Do you see Liam often?”

“No, I do not.” Mary’s smile faded. “He lives such a difficult life. It is not always safe for him to be in England. Now more so than ever. But we correspond. And he is a good son; he comes when he can.”

Katherine stared at Mary, whose voice was full of love when she spoke of Liam. Katherine was glad, fiercely so.
She had wondered if his mother cared for him. Some women would hate the child they had been forced to bear by a savage rapist. But not this woman. “You do not mind, that I am here?” Katherine had to ask.

“You are Liam’s wife. The mother of his son. The woman he loves. No, I do not mind.”

Katherine stared at Mary. Liam had never told her that he loved her, yet Katherine believed now that he did. But believing just wasn’t enough. “Did Liam tell you…that?”

Mary appeared amused. “Katherine, all that he has said to me over the years would fill up a book. Since my son first saw you, he has been in love with you.”

Katherine was frozen. “Perhaps he loves me now. I hope so. But he did not love me before—when we lived together upon his island. He betrayed me. He acted as if he loved me, but he was aiding my father’s enemy, FitzMaurice.” Although Katherine had forgiven Liam, there was a lingering sadness at the memory of his past treachery.

Mary no longer smiled. “There were many burnings here in Essex, Katherine. During Bloody Mary’s reign, we lived in terror of being accused and imprisoned and burned alive ourselves. We all witnessed the burnings. I did not want Liam to watch such torture, such bestiality, he was so young—but the priests insisted that he watch, too.”