The Game (45 page)

Katherine was sickened by the thought of any child seeing people burned alive, but especially Liam. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“FitzMaurice is not just a Catholic, as you are. He is a
madman
. He burns those who dispute his faith, just as Bloody Mary’s people did. Liam would never support him. He took vows in order to marry you—but he would
never
support FitzMaurice.”

Katherine whispered, “But he did.”

Mary snorted. “My son is terribly clever. His plan was then what it is now. To raise FitzMaurice up only to bring him down. Even now, he has told me that there are factions at court eager to restore your father to Desmond, when the time comes to replace FitzMaurice.”

Katherine gripped the table. Trying to understand and dizzy with the impending realization.

“Life is naught but politics, my dear,” Mary said firmly. “I lived at court for many years; I know it firsthand. Men come and go. Positions of power are filled and emptied and filled yet again. Liam has vowed to capture FitzMaurice. Someone will have to take that man’s place.”

Katherine stared speechlessly.

“FitzMaurice became too strong and too successful in his rebellion, Katherine. Everyone now realizes that it would be far better that your father be in power in Desmond.”

Katherine cried out. How clear Liam’s actions were now. She should have trusted him.
Oh God
. But she had not. How clever, how bold, how remarkable Liam was!

Katherine clung to the table. “’Tis bold and daring beyond belief,” she whispered hoarsely. “But why? Why would he do this? Why would he commit treason in order to restore my father to Desmond? I would understand if this game began but recently, after we were wed. But he admitted to me on Earic Island that he began his liaison with FitzMaurice much earlier, immediately after he captured me on the French ship that took me and Juliet from Cherbourg when we left the nunnery. Liam had only just laid eyes upon me when he became allied with FitzMaurice.”

Mary’s gaze was sharp. “Tell me, my dear. Why would a powerful and rich man like Liam seize a small, politically insignificant French trader, one with an apparently worthless cargo?”

“I do not know.”

Mary smiled again. “Because the cargo was only worthless to the world, Katherine, it was hardly worthless to him. To Liam, it was priceless.”

Still Katherine did not understand.

“My dear, you were on that ship—and my son wanted you.”

Katherine knew that Mary was mistaken. For Liam had not even known of her existence then. And suddenly she wondered,
or had he?

January, 1573

L
iam stood upon the forecastle, holding the spyglass to one eye, training it across the frothing Atlantic Ocean. He knew they sailed just hours ahead of another deadly winter storm. But he would not turn around just yet and seek the safety of a protected harbor. Not until he had determined the identity of the vessel his watch had espied many hours since, a vessel clearly bound for the south of Ireland.

Liam had spent the past three months blockading the island, preventing any supplies from reaching FitzMaurice. Two weeks earlier reports had reached him that the rebels were a ragged, starving lot, hiding in the ravaged mountains of Kerry. Periodically they swooped down upon the locals, raiding for what little food they could find, uncaring that those they took from would starve as well—uncaring that those they took from were also Irishmen, women and children, the long-suffering, innocent victims of this heartbreaking war.

It was a nasty business. Liam steeled his heart against feeling any sympathy for FitzMaurice or his men, and he could hardly prevent the widespread famine which affected all of southern Ireland, as a result of years of the vicious maurauding of both the Irish rebels and the English armies. No, he focused on but one thing. He must bring FitzMaurice to heel; he must have his son. And Katherine.

Liam finally determined the identity of the small ship
racing ahead of him. It was Scottish. He smiled, lowering the spyglass. And ordered the
Sea Dagger
brought about so that they might race for the safety of the harbor on Valencia Island.

For he wanted the Scottish cargo to reach FitzMaurice. Unbeknownst to the Scots, the powder they carried was defective. It would fail to explode, rendering useless whatever muskets it was loaded into. Liam was well aware that FitzMaurice desperately needed this gunpowder, just as he desperately needed the victuals so far denied him.

The
Sea Dagger
came about, plowing now through rising, heavy swells, intent on outracing the impending storm.

Richmond—March 1, 1573

Sir John Perrot’s messenger was an exhausted boy of perhaps sixteen. His red uniform was black with mud, torn in numerous places, and threadbare everywhere else. He stood before the queen shaking with exhaustion and fatigue. “Your Majesty, the lord president of Munster commands me to give you this,” he said, handing Elizabeth a sealed missive.

She already knew what it contained. Rumor flew faster than any messenger or document could ever travel. Her heart beat wildly. She tore the letter open, read its three lines and looked up. “’Tis true?” she cried. “FitzMaurice surrendered to Sir John at Kilmallock last month?”

“Aye,” the boy said. “And a sorry sight he was, too. Bony and white, more naked than not.”

Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed loudly.

Leicester came forward to wrap his arm around her. “What good news this is!” he said.

She embraced him briefly but hard. “Oh, yes! One papist traitor dispatched—at long last!” She studied the last line of the letter again. Perrot had written that O’Neill had indeed played a most important role in forcing the rebel leader to his knees. Elizabeth smiled again. Her golden pirate had not betrayed her this time. Her heart quickened
as she imagined seeing him again, and rewarding him perhaps with a lingering kiss.

Elizabeth dismissed the messenger, and quickly realized that Cecil wished to speak with her. By the look in his eyes, she knew he had something serious upon his mind, and that he wished to speak with her privately. She sighed. Could she not just enjoy this victory? It had been so long in the coming. “William?”

Cecil murmured, “We have matters to discuss.”

Leicester stepped forward to stand at the queen’s side. He smiled, but his gaze was challenging.

“Speak. I do not wish to send Robin away. To the contrary.” She sent him a warm glance. “I wish him to sup with me this night.”

Leicester’s expression brightened. His tone seductive, he murmured, “As you wish, Bess, always as you wish.”

Cecil was annoyed and made no attempt to hide it. “Southern Ireland is without a leader. Another papist traitor might move into the breach left by FitzMaurice. We
must
forestall that.”

Elizabeth scowled. “I know what you will say next.”

“Indeed? FitzGerald should have never been removed, Your Majesty. He might be wayward, but he is a petty lord, interested only in his own power. Send him back, now, before another, more dangerous man comes forth.”

Elizabeth began to pace. She felt like ranting and raving about the injustice of it all. In truth, she could not stand the impudent, arrogant Irish lord, she could not—and she had always detested him. Too, Ormond, who was in Leinster on his own business now, would not be pleased should his ancient rival be returned to Desmond.

Leicester moved to her side. “For once I am in complete agreement with Burghley, Your Majesty. FitzGerald is basically harmless, especially now, with Desmond destroyed. Return him to his home immediately, before another FitzMaurice rises up with Spain’s encouragement against your authority.”

Elizabeth sighed.

“We will structure an agreement where he is beholden to you,” Cecil said. “In restoring him, we will make him
your great ally.” Cecil smiled then. “Let
him
fight any more wars in southern Ireland. Let us concentrate ourselves elsewhere as we have longed to do.”

Cecil was so right. Ireland was a constant problem, but so damned insignificant. Elizabeth nodded then, sharply. “So be it. That cocky little traitor shall be pardoned and returned. God’s wounds! How this annoys me!”

It was Cecil’s business to know the movement of significant personages about the world, much less about the court. The moment he learned of Liam O’Neill’s arrival at court, while Elizabeth flew upstairs to her royal apartments to ready herself for the audience she would grant him, Cecil secluded himself in the Privy Chamber and ordered the pirate brought to him.

O’Neill’s expression was impossible to read as he entered the room. His gaze was perfectly blank. Cecil ordered his clerks and secretaries to leave them alone. They faced one another, Cecil smiling faintly.

Finally Liam smiled slightly in return. “My lord, you wish to speak with me?”

“Indeed,” Cecil said. “I wish to congratulate you, O’Neill, on a game well played.” Admiration had crept into his tone.

Liam blinked at him innocently. “And of what game do you speak?”

“Oh, I speak of games politic, of deadly, dangerous games politic.”

Liam’s eyes widened, his brows lifted, but otherwise, his expression was quite bland. “Indeed?”

“Tell me but one thing. For there is one thing I fail to understand.”

Liam waited.

“How did you know that Katherine FitzGerald was upon the French trader when you seized it?”

Liam cocked one tawny brow. “What makes you think that I was aware that she traveled upon that ship, my lord?”

Cecil laughed. “Oh, come. No more pretense. You would not have seized that ship otherwise. You seized the ship knowing she was on it, beginning the game.”

Liam inclined his head. For a moment he did not speak. Then he said, softly, “Yes.”

Cecil was pleased. “I thought so. You were already determined to wed with her and restore FitzGerald.”

Liam met his gaze. It would not hurt for Cecil to know the truth. “I had already decided that Katherine was mine, but I did not decide to wed her and restore her father until shortly after capturing her.”

Cecil’s brows rose. “You captured her in order to amuse yourself?”

“Have you never wanted a woman so badly, my lord?”

“No,” Cecil answered flatly. “I would have never guessed. But how did you know of her movements? Her father was in contact with her?”

“No. Her father did not know that she was leaving the convent.”

Cecil waited.

Liam smiled. “The abbess alerted me to Katherine’s departure with Lady Juliet Stratheclyde. You see, for many years, I was Katherine’s anonymous benefactor.”

Liam awaited the queen in the antechamber of her private apartments, ignoring the flurrying of her ladies about him, ignoring their interested and seductive looks. Finally Elizabeth appeared, having made him wait almost an entire hour. He saw that she had dressed with great care, entirely in white. Even the jewelry she had chosen was virginal—she wore naught but pearls.

“Everyone, begone,” she ordered. And then she looked at Liam and beamed.

He wondered at her fashion choice. Did she think to remind him that she was untouched and innocent? Or did she wish to appear as one untouched and innocent? One thing was clear. She was too old to wear white, and this particular shade was unkind to her. Still, Liam moved to her, smiled, and bowed.

They were alone now and she said, “Please, Liam, rise.”

He straightened. “Hello, Bess.”

Her gaze flitted over his face, then down his body, very quickly—before returning to his eyes.

“Have I proved myself?” he asked quietly.

She smiled at him. “Yes. Yes, you have. Liam, you naughty rogue, to give me such a fright!” She took his arm and pressed close. “You are still my favorite pirate.” She gazed into his eyes.

“And I am still your loyal servant,” he murmured. “Always.”

“Then you do care for me,” she whispered, holding his gaze. Her small breast was pressed against his arm. Her invitation was clear.

Liam thought of Katherine. How carefully he must play this final match. He tucked her hand under his arm and then slid three fingers over one of her cheeks. Her skin was stiff from the cosmetics she used. “What passes, Bess?” he asked softly.

She started. Then, as honestly, trembling, “You have never kissed me, Liam.”

“Is it a kiss you wish from me, or something more?”

She flushed. “What do you mean?”

There was no avoiding her now and he knew it. He must hope that a single kiss would satisfy her lust for him. He bent his head, touched her rouged lips with his. Elizabeth softened instantly. He put his arms around her and plied her mouth gently. She gripped him desperately. Her mouth opened immediately. Responding as he must, Liam deepened the joining of their mouths. Elizabeth trembled, her entire body pressed up hard against his, her tongue seeking his. Sometime later he finally released her.

She gazed at him with starry, dazed eyes, suddenly appearing every bit as innocent as she claimed to be. She touched her swollen mouth. Her glance slid to his loins.

Liam was not aroused and would only pretend so much.

Elizabeth sighed, wistfully, then said, “You should have kissed me years ago, rogue.”

Her bantering tone relieved him. She had no intention of losing her virginity now. He laughed. “Your Majesty, I was afraid to risk my neck.”

“I doubt it.” She eyed him. Her tone no longer arch, her eyes gleaming now with something other than desire, she said, “How is Katherine?”

He jerked. Katherine, who was still a fugitive for having assaulted the queen. Katherine, his wife. “I do not know.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Come, rogue, surely she is with you on your island. My soldiers cannot find her anywhere, there has been no sign of her here in London or in the south of Ireland.”

“She is not on my island.”

Elizabeth stared, wide-eyed. “Why not? Do you not still lust after her?”

Liam did not answer.

Elizabeth’s tone became sharp. “I am returning your son to you, as you have expected me to do. You have not married her in anticipation of that event?”

“She is married to John Hawke, remember?” Liam was wary. He said no more. Not about to tell Elizabeth that Katherine had married him long ago on Earic Island. At least, not yet.

But Elizabeth appeared amused. “She is hardly married to Hawke. John Hawke divorced her months ago. In fact, he is about to marry Lady Juliet Stratheclyde.”

Liam stared, stunned. And exhilaration swept through him.

Elizabeth said, “Will you marry her?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth inhaled hard. “She tried to kill me. She is an outlaw. She deserves to hang. She is a strumpet!”

Softly Liam asked, “Can you not forgive her, Bess? Knowing as you must that she was mad with grief over the loss of her child? Can you not forgive her, pardon her—for me?”

“Regardless of whether I forgive her you will marry her, won’t you?” Elizabeth challenged.

How jealous and petty she was, Liam thought, and knew the time had come to make his second to last move. “You have sent FitzGerald back to Ireland. How is that man to hold the south together without allies? Have I not proved myself, Bess? Can you not think now of the advantages to a union betwixt FitzGerald and myself? Think clearly. I have no love for wars. I would do my best to keep him out of all forms of intrigue.”

She stared, her expression unhappy. “How clever you are. Of course I would rather have FitzGerald allied with you, than with some wild Catholic lord like Barry or MacDonnel.”

And Liam played his final, most powerful card. “With Katherine as my wife, you will never have anything to fear from her again, Bess. I assure you of that.”

Elizabeth jerked.

Liam said softly, “I do not speak of Katherine’s way with a knife.”

Elizabeth was silent, her breasts heaving.

“I keep what is mine,” Liam declared softly. “And no other man will dare even to think of trespassing onto territory that is clearly Liam O’Neill’s. Not even the earl of Leicester.”

Elizabeth paled. “He wants her still,” she cried after a moment. “He has been in a rage over her disappearance—my spies have told me so!”

And Liam felt inexplicably sad for Elizabeth, who spied upon her own lover. But he shoved his sentimentality aside. “I would kill Leicester,” Liam added, “should he even think to try to coax her to his side.”

Elizabeth was flushed now. “Take her then! Marry her! And I shall pray you keep her pregnant with a dozen children, by God!”

But Liam was not through. “The pardon, Bess. Will you pardon her?”

Elizabeth’s angry expression became distinctly mulish. “Do I not do enough already? Returning your son to you, sanctioning your marriage?”