The Game (47 page)

“Did you touch her?” Liam demanded, and suddenly he lunged and his rapier cut the air, back and forth, hissing loudly now, angrily, and then a long strip of Leicester’s doublet appeared on its tip.

Leicester paled. “No,” he said.

And Katherine screamed, rushing forward between the
two men. “Liam, please!” Her back to Leicester, she faced Liam so boldly that the tip of his rapier briefly brushed her breast. He deflected it immediately, before it could cut her dress, but she advanced upon him, begging. “Liam, stop this madness! Nothing has happened of any significance! Liam, please! You cannot hurt Dudley! Oh, God! Think of me, think of your son! The queen will hang you this time certainly!”

Liam stared at her. His eyes were wild, filled with a light she had never seen before.

Katherine stared back, into his eyes, and finally saw the bloodlust fade and die. “Liam,” she choked out.

He sheathed his rapier and held out his arms. Katherine rushed into them. She laughed now, burying her face against his chest while he held her, hard. Then he turned her against his side, so that they faced the earl of Leicester together. Dudley was staring at them.

His mouth twisted in a smile that was sardonic and biting. “I will leave on the morrow. But beware, O’Neill. I do not take lightly losing what is my due.”

Liam trembled, but Katherine gripped his arm tightly, in warning, and he remained silent as Leicester turned away. Gerald now rushed forward, appearing far more sober than before. He threw an arm around the earl, leading him back to the table, speaking rapidly, thinking to appease him, no doubt.

“We have just made an enemy,” Katherine said in a hushed tone of voice, shaking now that the confrontation was over.

Liam held her close. “Leicester is shrewd. He may think himself our enemy now, Katherine, but in the end he will remain our grudging ally here in Ireland—for he hates Ormond far worse than us, as they vie with one another for the queen’s favor.”

He stroked her back, her hair, and finally cupped her face. His gaze held hers. “Will you return to me, Kate? Rest at my side, keep my home, bear my children, live with me—love me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes!”

He laughed, the sound rich and rough and free, and then
their lips caught and held in a deep, melting kiss. When he raised his face he was smiling. “I have brought you something, darling.”

Katherine froze, gripping his shirt. “Our son!”

Liam’s smile was gentle and tender. He nodded, glancing past her shoulder.

Katherine whirled, and saw a woman standing by the door, holding a bundle in her arms. Crying out, Katherine lifted her skirts and ran to her.

She felt faint. Tears poured down her face. The woman smiled at her, handing her the babe. Katherine clutched the small, warm body to her breasts, gazing down at the sleeping child. “My son,” she whispered, choking.

Liam stood beside her. “Her Majesty did not name him,” he said. “’Tis your choice, darling.”

Katherine sobbed, kissed the baby’s downy cheek, rocking him. The baby stirred, and his lashes fluttered open. Their gazes suddenly met. Mother and son, for the very first time since the child had been born.

Katherine wept harder, in joy. “How beautiful you are—like your father.” She blinked at Liam. “I wish to name him Henry—in honor of the queen’s father—in honor of the queen.”

Liam laughed. “Why, Kate—you have become political!”

Katherine laughed, then, too, their voices blending together, as Henry O’Neill yawned.

Moonlight filled the dark stone chamber.

Katherine and Liam paused in its center. Her heart pounding, already weak-kneed, Katherine sent Liam a long, sideways glance.

Instantly she was crushed in his embrace. His mouth claimed hers. There was nothing gentle or soothing about his kiss. It was frantic and hungry, long and deep.

His hands molded and crushed her breasts. Katherine tore the laces of his shirt open, thrusting her hands inside. His chest muscles jumped beneath her fingertips. He tore his mouth from hers. “Greedy wench,” he rasped, stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside.

Katherine laughed, the sound throaty and wicked. “I am very greedy this night, my lord, with just cause,” she whispered. Her fingers slipped below the waistband of his breeches, brushing the heavy erection straining there. “I do not think you can possibly please me.”

His eyes widened while his flat stomach tensed. Liam murmured, “A challenge, mistress? Do you not know that pirates love to duel?”

“Indeed?” She smiled seductively, caressing the area of his navel with her thumb. Her palm brushed his swollen tip again.

Liam growled a low warning and then Katherine found herself flat on her back on the bed. She shifted restlessly as he loomed over her, his gray eyes glittering. “Come to me,” she whispered.

His mouth curved, but he ignored her soft entreaty. His glance was dark and bold, holding hers, and then he worked her bodice down, bringing her chemise with it, baring her breasts. Katherine tensed in expectation, breathless.

Liam smiled at her, and ducked his head.

The moment his tongue touched her nipple, Katherine arched up off the bed, crying his name, gripping his head. As he suckled, his hands were pulling her skirts up high around her waist. Katherine half laughed and half sobbed when he ripped the linen drawers off her body and cupped her slick, slippery sex.

His thumb rubbed up against her cleft immediately—expertly. Katherine thrashed, moaning, swelling.

“I cannot please you this night, darling?” he whispered, bending over her.

His tongue fluttered in the path his thumb had taken. Katherine locked her hands around his nape as he buried his face there. She cried out—again and again.

Suddenly limp and dazed, she began to float—until Liam nipped her thigh. Their gazes met. His was bright and feverish, but his tone, although raw, was teasing. “What, pray tell, was that?” he inquired.

She managed a smile, suddenly achingly aware of how he was poised between her open thighs. Her pulse picked
up its beat. “Perhaps you have pleased me,” she conceded, “but I am hardly satisfied.”

His jaw flexed, his eyes darkened. An instant later his mouth was fully occupied again. Katherine gasped, holding his shoulders, his tongue causing havoc upon her already sensitized skin. Her hips began to undulate urgently, brushing up against him. Suddenly his strong fingers were there, inside of her, thrusting deep repeatedly. Panting, she cried, “Liam, please! Come inside of me now!” But it was too late, for already she was spiraling out of control and keening wildly.

When she opened her eyes, he was stroking her face, staring down at her, his eyes a brilliant shade of silver. His hot, hungry look caused Katherine’s entire body to tighten. “I admit defeat,” she whispered, reaching out and cupping his cheek.

He smiled, but the muscles in his face were tense, and then he guided her hand down to his chest, and then lower still, to his abdomen. Their gazes locked now, he waited, and Katherine reached lower, tracing his heavy outline through his breeches with trembling fingertips.

Her body had become feverish with desire again. Holding his gaze, she said simply, “I want you, Liam.”

He laughed, the sound heavy with excitement, with triumph. A moment later he was moving on top of her, his strong arms around her, his mouth upon hers. His tongue thrust swiftly inside. Katherine did far more than meet it—she sucked it deep into her mouth.

And she curled her ankles around his calves, locking them in place. Her aggression shifted their bodies so that his throbbing loins were intimately wedged between her thighs.

He broke their kiss with a groan. “Kate, it’s been so long—too long—I cannot wait.” Already he was tearing at his breeches.

Pearl buttons hit the floor and scattered. Katherine’s hands delved into his breeches, finding him, gripping him. Her fingers brushed and teased the ripe tip she found there. Liam cried her name, shoving hard up against her palms,
his back arched, all of his weight up on his heavily corded arms.

Both laughing and sobbing, tears streaking her cheeks, she guided him inside of her.

He needed no encouragement. Liam growled and plunged deep, so forcefully that Katherine was pushed back on the bed against the headboard.

She did not care. She cared about one thing—the man on top of her, the man inside of her—this man that she loved.

Clasping her buttocks, he lifted her higher, so he could thrust more deeply into her. Katherine clamped her legs around his waist. His frenzied pumping continued. She cried out, he gasped; her muscles convulsed, again and yet again, light blazing through the darkness, and then she felt his manhood thicken and stretch a final time, becoming impossibly huge and hard, and his hot, wet seed was shooting deep into her womb.

He held her in his arms, panting harshly, then turned to his side, taking her with him. They lay in one another’s embrace. Liam kissed the top of her head.

It was a while before Katherine could move. She shifted, came up on one elbow, caressed his chest, his face. Her eyes were shining. Liam’s eyes opened, the light in them as brilliant, and he smiled at her. Her heart turned over. “I love you,” she whispered.

His smile died. “How I have yearned to hear those three simple words.”

“I do,” Katherine said. “I always have—and Liam—I am sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Sssh.” He touched her mouth with his fingertip. “Do not apologize. Perhaps I should have told you of my game from the very beginning. Perhaps I am to blame for what we have suffered these many months past.”

“Do not blame yourself,” Katherine said fervently. “Let us truly put the past aside. I can forget it all now, Liam.”

“And forgive all, as well?” he asked, up on one elbow now.

She turned coy. “But there is nothing to forgive.”

He leaned forward and claimed her mouth, very tenderly.

“Katherine,” he said afterwards, “although I intend that we spend most of the time here in Desmond, would you mind very much if we passed a few months in the summer on Earic Island? In the manor house, of course?”

Katherine’s heart swelled. “Of course not,” she whispered. “I would love it.” Then she grinned impishly, although her very soul was singing. “Actually, there is one thing that bothers me.”

Liam tensed, until he saw her grin. “And what might that be, Kate?”

Katherine sat up, very serious now. “Liam, did you know that I traveled upon the French ship when you seized it?”

He sat up as well. “Of course.”

Katherine gazed at him. “Did you seize that ship because of me?”

He looked guilty. “Yes.”

She was amazed. “I do not think I understand!”

“No, of course not, how could you?” He put one arm around her. “I first saw you, Katherine, when you were but sixteen. I spent a single night at the convent after returning from some business not far from there. I saw you and was smitten. My obsession began at that moment—my love began then and there.”

Katherine stared.

“The abbess resented my questions,” Liam told her, “and I asked many about you. ’Twas clear that she feared my interest in you. However, when I offered to pay your pension, she could not refuse, as your father had failed to provide the funds. And once I became your benefactor, she wrote me regularly to keep me informed of your well-being.”

“You paid my pension to the abbess?” Katherine whispered, dazed.

He managed to look even more guilty. “I am a man, Katherine—and a pirate. You were a beautiful woman without protection—desperately in need of a protector. I wanted you then almost as badly as I want you now. But
you were so young that I was prepared to wait. Of course, at the time my motives were not so noble as they now are.” His smile was brief, rueful. “I intended to make you my mistress once you were older, not my wife. Yet after I met you, soon after, I realized that a brief liaison could not be enough.” He bent and brushed her mouth with his. “That it could never be enough, Kate.”

Chills were sweeping up and down her spine. She managed to say, “You pretended you did not know me when we first met face-to-face.”

“How could I tell you my plans for you? I quickly realized you would resist my seduction even more strongly if you knew I had abducted you intentionally.”

“Yes,” Katherine breathed, thinking that he had been in love with her from the start—before she even knew him. “I would have been furious.”

Liam hugged her. “Can you forgive me, Katherine? For my taking your fate into my own two hands? For my guiding it? Shaping it? Mastering it?”

She laughed then, hugging him back. “Liam, it dawns upon me now that everything you have done since you abducted me was because of me—because of your love for me.”

He smiled into her eyes. “Yes, Katherine. You are right.”

“Once,” she whispered, “you told me that you were my destiny. Now, finally, I understand.” She cupped his face in her palms. “I truly love you, Liam, and I thank God for your pirate ways.”

His gaze, suspiciously moist now, locked with hers. A moment passed. “I love you, Katherine,” he finally said, rough and low. “I always have. I always will.”

T
his book is a work of fiction, but wherever possible, I have tried to adhere to the actual course of historical events. However, as I am a novelist, my overriding goal has been to provide my readers with a fast-paced and compelling drama. Therefore, I have exercised poetic license whenever necessary for the sake of my story and characters.

All of the main characters in this book, with the exception of Hugh Barry, Mary Stanley, Katherine, and Liam, did exist, and I have enjoyed portraying them as I thought they might have actually lived. Please note that I took great liberties by using the Barry family name in the manner that I did. But while Mary Stanley is a fictional character, the Stanley family, with its connection to Queen Catherine Parr, is not.

Leicester and Ormond were both the queen’s favorites, and possibly her lovers, too. Elizabeth frequently called Tom “my Black Husband.” Leicester finally married Lettice, the countess of Essex, in 1578, and weathered the Queen’s great wrath, although his wife was not allowed at court during the rest of her life.

Ormond’s mother, Joan, did indeed marry FitzGerald, a man twenty years her junior, after carrying on with him much as I have described. Joan and Queen Elizabeth were, at one time, good friends.

Gerald FitzGerald did attempt to rule southern Ireland in a despotic fashion, without interference from the queen. He was captured by Ormond after the battle at Affane. Historians are divided about whether he was returned to Ireland after being brought in chains to London in 1565 or remained a prisoner there for almost eight years. He was tried and convicted of treason, and exiled to St. Leger House in Southwark in 1568.

FitzGerald married his second wife, Eleanor, less than a month after Joan Butler FitzGerald died. Eleanor was a headstrong, capable beauty who spent most of her time lobbying at court to gain support for Gerald’s cause.

FitzMaurice was Gerald’s cousin. Eleanor claimed to all who would listen that he sought to usurp her husband’s authority in Desmond. Some historians have suggested that FitzMaurice and FitzGerald were secretly allied. In any case, FitzMaurice quickly proved himself a far more capable leader and antagonist than Gerald ever had been. By the time he was captured in the spring of 1573, it was obvious to Elizabeth and her advisors that Gerald was the lesser of two evils and that he should be restored.

FitzMaurice continued to wage his war against the queen and her heretic religion from the shores of France and Spain. Eventually he invaded Ireland with a small force and continued his campaign of guerilla warfare. In 1579 FitzMaurice was killed by a peasant in an argument over a horse.

Gerald FitzGerald resumed his defiant ways almost immediately upon his return to Ireland. He had not learned his lesson from his long imprisonment. By the time of his cousin’s death, he had taken over full command of the rebellion and was up in open arms. The British retaliated with a scorched earth policy that was so devastating that thirty thousand Irish died from starvation. In 1583 the great Desmond rebellion ended—for Gerald FitzGerald was finally run to ground and killed. His head was sent
to Kilkenny for Ormond to view, and then to London, for the queen to see, too.

Shane O’Neill was clan chieftain and a barbarian who spent most of his time hunting down O’Donnells and murdering them. He submitted to the queen in 1562 much as I have described. Historical records do not show that he had a wife or children. He probably had many bastards—sons like Liam forced by circumstances to live on the very edges of civilization or even outside of it. Shane was finally murdered himself in 1567—by an O’Donnell.

The records also seem to indicate that Gerald and Joan FitzGerald did not have any children. Which is not surprising, for when they married, Joan was about forty years old. However, even if they had had a daughter, it is unlikely that her birth would have been recorded, for the birth of daughters was often ignored by noble families—and thus forgotten by history.