Читать книгу Conor - Ruth Langan, Ruth Ryan Langan - Страница 13

Chapter Four

“Thank you, Nola. You may leave me now.” Emma waited until the servant closed the door before sinking to the edge of the mattress. Her legs were still trembling, her nerves still jittery from the ordeal.

Dear heaven, what had she gotten herself into?

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. She didn’t belong here. These people were all mad. From the queen to her silly ladies-in-waiting. From the evil Lord Dunstan to the Irishman, Conor O‘Neil. Especially Conor O’Neil. Why would a loyal son of Ireland pay homage to the Queen of England, unless he was a traitor or a complete fool?

And yet, had it not been for that fool, she had no doubt where she would be now. And in what condition. Still, though she was grateful, she wasn’t about to be won over by his kindness. He’d only saved her because he’d stumbled upon her in his search for Dunstan.

Dunstan. Her eyes narrowed. How she hated the man. Too agitated to remain still, she stood and began to pace. The pompous, arrogant bully. She must see to it that she was never alone with him again. There was something in his eyes. Something dark and feral. The man had no conscience.

As for Conor O’Neil... She paused, staring into the flames of the fire. He frightened her in a very different way. When she’d been forced to dance with him, she’d felt strange stirrings. They were unlike anything she’d felt before. The mere touch of his hand at her back had left her with a prickly feeling along her spine, her blood heating, her mind suddenly going blank. Those deep midnight-blue eyes of his had pinned her, making her think he could see clear through her. And when her mouth had brushed him by mistake, she’d felt a strange yearning. Almost like a...a hunger for more.

Ridiculous.

She resumed her pacing. When she’d begun to weep, she had thought, for just a moment, that he intended to gather her into his arms and hold her. She’d foolishly wanted him to. Perhaps, she surmised, it was because she missed her father so. But even when the moment passed, and Conor had merely touched her hair, she’d felt a wave of trembling that left her weak.

Aye. She had a right to be frightened of Conor O’Neil. The man was a danger to her, unless she could ignore these strange new feelings he’d awakened. But she would have to put aside such things. For Conor was the key. It was plain that he was far dearer to the queen than her stepmother had suspected. A man like that could exert a great deal of influence. It would be no simple matter to keep one step ahead of such a man, but it would be necessary if she intended to get Celestine the information she desired.

No matter what her feelings or fears, Emma knew she was committed to this dangerous situation. For little Sarah’s sake, for her father’s sake, she would watch and listen and learn everything she could about the queen’s intentions toward Ireland. And she would use anyone and anything she deemed necessary. Especially the proud peacock, Conor O’Neil. Of all the men surrounding the queen, he was by far the worst. If only because he was openly courting the avowed enemy of his own land.

One floor above, Conor, barefoot and shirtless, leaned a hip against the balcony and stared into the darkness. His tunic had been tossed angrily on a chaise. His boots had been kicked off in haste, landing against the far wall. In his hand was a silver chalice filled with ale. He downed half of it in one long swallow.

His hatred of Lynley Dunstan had been festering since he’d first heard of the man. It was no secret that Dunstan used his friendship with Elizabeth for his own benefit. Whenever an enemy of the queen had a fortune in gold and precious jewels confiscated, or a lavish estate in England or Ireland taken over by the Crown, Dunstan was the first in line to claim the spoils. At last count he was one of the wealthiest men in the realm. And greedy for more. He had even released Conor’s sister-in-law from her betrothal, in exchange for her lovely Dublin estate, Clay Court.

But Dunstan’s appetite didn’t stop there. He had deflowered so many maidens, it had become something of a joke in the queen’s inner circle. Sadly, that same friendship that earned his wealth and titles was the reason that no man lifted a hand to stop him. All feared Elizabeth’s wrath. She was fiercely loyal to her friends. Like a wounded she-bear when one of them was threatened.

Conor’s hand tightened on the stem of the chalice. Damn the man. He’d had no right to try to force himself on an innocent like Emma Vaughn. Anyone could tell by looking at her that she was as defenseless as a fawn at the mercy of the queen’s bowmen.

Dunstan would try again. Especially when he found out that Conor had lied about the queen wanting to see him. One taste of her temper, and the man would retaliate in kind. With Emma bearing the brunt of his vengeance.

Conor swore and tipped back his head, draining the last of the ale, then flung the empty chalice against the wall before climbing into his bed.

Emma Vaughn wasn’t his business. Ireland was. And he’d better not ever forget it.

“Ah. Here you are, sir.” As the sunrise chased the mist from the land, the stable lad took the reins of Conor’s mount. “Her Majesty’s servants have been frantically seeking you. You are summoned to the queen’s chambers at once.”

“Thank you, Meade.” Connor swung down from the saddle, relieved that, despite a lack of sleep, his early morning ride had helped to clear his mind. The queen would demand to know why he had sent Dunstan to her chambers last night. He would have to find a way to deflect her anger. It wouldn’t be the first time. He was becoming a master of deception.

Deliberately taking his time, he strolled through the lovely formal gardens before entering through a rear door. Inside, the palace was swarming with activity. Cooks milled about, turning a pig roasting over a spit, stirring kettles of soup and gruel. The fragrance of freshly-baked bread wafted from the kitchens. In the hallways, servants bearing armloads of clean linens scurried from suite to suite. Ladies’ maids rushed by, carrying exotic plumed hats or elegant gowns.

Conor made his way to the queen’s quartets. A uniformed soldier stood at attention outside the closed doors. The moment he spotted Conor, he opened the doors and stood aside.

Inside, a liveried butler disappeared to announce his arrival, then reappeared, opening yet another set of doors.

Conor stepped into the queen’s private suite. Elizabeth was seated at a round table set in front of the fireplace. She wore a robe of cut velvet, and beneath it a morning gown of lace with a high ruffled collar. Her hair had been carefully arranged in a coronet atop her head. In her hand was a steaming goblet of hot mulled wine.

She set it down and regarded him in silence.

He waited, knowing he could not speak until invited to do so.

Elizabeth knew it as well, and used it to her advantage, pinning him with an angry look.

Just then the door was opened again and the butler’s voice broke the silence. “Majesty, your lady-in-training, Emma Vaughn.”

“Show her in.” The queen’s words were clipped.

Emma stepped in, then, seeing Conor, stopped in her tracks.

It was clear that she had come running at the queen’s summons. Though her face was pale, her cheeks wore two bright spots of color. Her hair, as yet uncombed, was a riot of chestnut curls that fell to her waist. Her gown was a hideous confection of dull rose, with a sagging neckline and drooping waist, at least two sizes too large.

Conor tried not to stare. But in truth, even the ill-fitting gown couldn’t hide her youth and beauty. She was such a contrast to the queen, she nearly took his breath away. Elizabeth, despite her lavish trimmings, looked plain by comparison.

“Well.” Elizabeth looked from Conor to Emma, then back again. “What do you two have to say for yourselves?”

“Majesty, I don’t—” Emma began.

But Conor interrupted by stepping forward and holding up a perfect red rose. “On my way here I plucked this for you, Majesty.”

Elizabeth was so startled she merely stared at it. Then she wrinkled her nose. “You smell of horses.”

“Forgive me, Majesty. I was out riding on this splendid morning. But if I offend, I will go now and change my clothes.”

“Nay.” She placed a hand on his sleeve to stop him. “Being surrounded by so many women, I rather like the smell of a man. You will stay.”

“As you wish.” He pressed the flower to her hand.

She couldn’t resist accepting it and lifting it to her nose, breathing deeply. On a sigh she asked, “How did you know I love roses?”

“I didn’t. But since you are England’s rose, I hoped it would appeal to Your Majesty.”

She was smiling now, her earlier temper forgotten. “Sit with me. Both of you. We will break our fast together while we talk.”

Conor held a chair for Emma, then settled himself beside her. A mistake, he quickly realized. He was far too aware of her. Of the way her knees were trembling beneath the table. Of the way her eyes kept darting to the queen’s face, then away, to stare at a spot on her plate.

At a nod from the queen, her servants began circling the table, offering quail, pork, venison, as well as crusty rolls and goblets of wine or mead.

As she ate, the queen’s spirits continued to rise. Her appetite was amazing. She ate slowly, deliberately, washing everything down with more wine.

When she was finished she turned to Conor. “So, you like to ride, do you, Conor?”

“Aye, Majesty. There is something about giving a steed its head and racing across a meadow. It allows the mind, the heart, the very soul to soar wild and free.”

She was watching him, clearly enthralled. “Why is it that everything sounds so much better when you describe it?”

He shot her a wicked smile. “Perhaps because I believe in what I say. Would you care to ride with me one morning, Majesty?”

She considered a moment, then nodded. “I believe I would.” She turned to the timid young woman. “Do you ride, Emma?”

“Aye, Majesty.” Emma was relieved to speak on a topic about which she was knowledgeable. “On my father’s estate outside Dublin, we have some of the finest horses in all of Ireland.”

“A woman after my own heart. Then you shall join us for an early morning ride. And we will see if our English horses measure up to yours.”

Emma gave a shy smile. “I’d like that, Majesty, for I’ve missed the horses.”

In the doorway the queen’s butler cleared his throat. She looked toward him with annoyance.

“Majesty, your Keeper of the Treasury and your financial advisors have assembled for the meeting you requested with your Lord Chamberlain and your Lord Steward.”

She gave a look of distaste. “Why can I never have enough time for my own pleasures?” She took a deep breath. “I must be about the business of England. A pity. There was much I wished to discuss. Such as why Dunstan came to me last night, disturbing my rest. After I’d finished my litany of insults, he told me a wild tale that you, Conor, were the one who had sent him to my chambers.”

Instead of offering an explanation, Conor merely gave her his most charming smile.

Dazzled by him she turned to Emma. “And I’d hoped you would explain what Lord Dunstan told me about you.”

“M...Majesty?” Emma paused with the goblet halfway to her lips.

“That you caught your heel and fell against the wall, tearing your gown. Then you fell into a fit of weeping for which you couldn’t be comforted.”

“Homesick, no doubt,” Conor muttered aloud.

Some of the wine sloshed from Emma’s glass, and she began to wipe at it.

Before she could speak the queen gave an exaggerated sigh. “Ah. No matter. I must attend to more important matters.” She lifted the rose and inhaled its perfume, then got wearily to her feet.

At once both Emma and Conor stood.

“Stay,” Elizabeth commanded sternly. “Finish your meal. And tomorrow, while the others are still abed, we shall ride. Do I have your word on it, Conor?”

“Aye, Majesty. I shall see to the arrangements myself.”

She nodded. “A dawn ride then. I am eager to see if my mind and heart and soul will actually soar as you described.”

With a swish of skirts she was gone.

While the servants began to clear the table, Conor picked up his goblet and drank. Emma did the same. Her hand, he noted, was trembling.

She turned to him. “What do you think...?”

He gave a firm shake of his head and the question she was about to ask died on her lips.

He waited until the servants were about to leave. Setting down his goblet he offered his arm to the young woman. “Perhaps you would care to take a walk in the gardens, my lady?”

“Aye.”

Conor glanced at the back of a retreating servant, then added, “I believe the sunshine will be quite refreshing.”

They moved stiffly out the door and down the long hallway to the stairs. Once outside Emma turned to him. “You don’t trust the queen’s servants?”

“I trust only myself. And you should do the same.”

“Aye.” Good advice, she knew. Especially in the game she’d been forced into playing. She took a breath. “How am I to explain my tears to the queen?”

“With all that goes on in the palace, the question may never again come up. If it should, I think your safest explanation is that you are feeling adrift, so far from home.”

“Aye. ’Twould not be a lie.” For a moment her thoughts strayed, but to her credit she managed to compose herself. She hugged her arms about herself and lifted her face to the sun, breathing deeply. “Each time I step out of the palace, I feel as if I’ve been freed from a prison.”

“If you feel so strongly, why are you here?”

She began to move beside him along the stone-paved walkway. “To please my stepmother.”

“What about your father? Has he nothing to say about it?”

“He...also wishes to please her. Like her cousin, the queen, Celestine is a strong-willed woman.”

Conor paused beside a curved bench and waited until Emma sat before seating himself beside her. “Will you ever return to Ireland?”

She looked away to hide the trembling of her lips. “It is my fondest wish. But I couldn’t leave without my father and sister. And I fear they will never leave England.”

“Because your father has made a new life for himself here in England with his bride?”

“Aye.”

He stretched out his long legs, enjoying the sunshine. And the company. It occurred to him that there were few in England with whom he could converse. “Perhaps, if your stepmother could be persuaded to visit our island, she would learn to love it as we do, and your family could settle down in Ireland.”

Emma shook her head. “Celestine is like so many in this land who have already hardened their hearts against Ireland. They see no reason to ever visit its shores or get to know its people.”

He nodded. “Aye. And the feelings against our land continue to grow. Dunstan is urging the queen to send more soldiers, to bring the Irish rebels to their knees.”

She held her breath, wondering if what he had just revealed might be important to her stepmother. Gathering her courage she asked, “And what do you urge the queen to do?”

He shrugged. “What I always urge. Patience. Compassion. But Elizabeth is not a patient woman. And her closest advisors agree with Dunstan. I stand alone in this battle of wills.”

“Oh, you’re hardly alone, Conor O’Neil.” Emma turned to him, and he was aware that all her shyness had somehow disappeared. In its place was a strange mix of emotions. Anger seemed the strongest, along with a strength he hadn’t noticed before.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

She had no idea why she was experiencing this sudden rush of temper. This man was nothing more to her than a means to an end. But just thinking about his relationship with Elizabeth of England had her blood boiling. It wasn’t jealousy, she told herself. It was righteousness. He was a son of Ireland, openly courting the Queen of England.

She stood, shaking down her skirts. “From what I’ve heard, you have the queen eating out of your hand like a favorite pet. And, if what I witnessed this morrow in the queen’s chambers was typical, I’d say you’ve found many ways to win her with your charm.”

Though he was annoyed, he hid his feelings behind a lazy smile as he got to his feet, towering over her. “Haven’t you heard? Women can’t resist me.”

She turned on her heel and started back along the path. “You’re very sure of yourself, Conor O’Neil.”

He merely chuckled as he kept pace beside her. “Does that annoy you?”

“I care not one way or the other about you. But I am grateful that you managed to deflect the queen’s questions.”

“Aye. I thought the rose was an especially nice touch.”

“It was all an act?” Stunned, she suddenly stopped and turned to him.

When he said nothing in his own behalf she studied him more closely. “What arrogance, that you would use even the queen in this fashion. What favors do you hope to obtain for yourself, I wonder?”

Without thinking he caught her roughly by the shoulders. “Beware my temper, Emma. Though I keep it on a tether, it breaks free from time to time. And when it does, it is a most unpleasant sight.”

She lifted her chin, refusing to back down, though the mere touch of him caused her heart to stutter. “And you avoid all unpleasantness, don’t you, Conor O’Neil?”

“Aye.” He hadn’t meant to touch her, but now that he had, he couldn’t think of any good reason to release her. Up close she smelled as fresh as the flowers in the garden. Her hair gave off a fragrance of rose water. “You might consider doing the same, Emma Vaughn, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Is that a threat?” Her eyes narrowed. Gone was all pretense of the shy, timid young woman she showed to the rest of the world. And though her blood was pounding in her temples, she refused to back away.

“Call it whatever you wish. If you’re wise you’ll take care not to make enemies among the queen’s friends at court. There may come a time when you’re in need of a friend.” He found himself staring at her pouting lips. Lips that were made for kissing. That thought had the blood rushing from his brain.

“Are you suggesting that I should allow an animal like Lord Dunstan to do with me as he pleases?”

“Of course not.” At the moment, there were any number of things he would be pleased to do with her himself. None of them polite. All of them far too tempting. “But you would be well-advised to find a way to hold him at arm’s length while not incurring his wrath. Dunstan is much favored by Elizabeth. Should you arouse his ire, you arouse the queen’s as well. And those who are not favored by this monarch sometimes find themselves and their families in grave danger.”

“Then you need not worry, Conor, since you are obviously much in Elizabeth’s favor. Everyone at court whispers about her strange alliance with her...” Emma’s tone lowered in scorn “...her charming rogue.”

She saw the sudden change in his eyes. She knew she had said too much, had gone too far. Alarmed, she tried to push free of his hands. But it was too late. The last thread of his frayed temper snapped.

“Do you know how weary I am of that name?” He dragged her close and saw her eyes widen.

Ignoring her little cry of distress, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

Heat flowed between them. Heat that softened her lips, and tightened his hands on her arms.

She tried to pull back, but her strength was no match for his. And then, as his mouth moved over hers, she was caught up in something so new, so powerful, she lost the will to fight.

She had been kissed before, but never like this. At first, the kiss was harsh, demanding. Filled with anger and impatience. But even as she absorbed the first jolt, the kiss suddenly softened, gentled, causing her even greater distress.

Conor lifted his head for a moment, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. And then he lowered his head and kissed her again, almost hesitantly. The lips moving over hers seemed to be tasting, sipping, absorbing. The hands at her back were holding her as carefully as if she were made of glass. And though she could have easily pulled away, she felt frozen to the spot, mesmerized by the feel of his clever mouth on hers.

He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. Like all in his family, he’d always known that his temper was a source of trouble, and so he always kept it under tight control. But once loose, it took over his will, taking him places better left untraveled.

At the first touch of her, everything had speeded up. His pulse. His mouth on hers, tasting, devouring. His hands on her body, wanting to touch her everywhere, needing to feel her in every part of himself.

One small section of his mind was shouting a warning. It was midmorning in the queen’s own garden. Any number of people might see them. All his plans could be spoiled by this one foolish act. But another part of his mind ignored the warning. He didn’t want to stop holding her, kissing her. He would pay any price, forfeit any success, to go on like this forever.

He took the kiss deeper and was rewarded by her sigh. Her hands, which had been pushing against his chest, were now clutching him to her. Her body was pressed to his, imprinting itself on his flesh. Her full pouty lips were as eager as his to taste, to feast, to devour.

He was, in the space of a heartbeat, fully aroused. He wanted more. Wanted all. A most dangerous situation, he knew. He needed to step back. To think. To breathe.

Sweet heaven, to breathe.

One last touch, he promised himself as his hands moved along her back, stroking, soothing, exciting. One last kiss, he vowed, as his mouth moved over hers.

At last, drawing on all his control, he managed to lift his head.

Filling his lungs with air he took a step back, breaking contact. “Let that be a lesson to you, Emma. Even the most charming of rogues has a limit to his patience.”

“Aye. A rogue. An arrogant, pigheaded....” Her words came out in a rush, threatening to choke her. She would never let him know how difficult it was to speak. “But there is nothing charming about you, Conor O’Neil. And I’ll remind you that I am not one of those brainless little butterflies who flit around the men at court, hoping to play at love. If I were, it would be with a heroic figure, like...like Heaven’s Avenger, who saves helpless maidens, and certainly not with the likes of you.”

She drew back her hand to slap his face. Reading her intention, he caught it and dragged her close.

His breath was hot against her cheek as he whispered, “Aye. That’s why you refused to cooperate in that kiss, isn’t it, Emma?”

She was stung by his jibe. It hit too close to the mark. She knew she’d wanted what he’d offered, and had made no move to stop him. But now that she had her wits about her once more, she was feeling shamed and embarrassed. It was one thing to pretend to be interested in him, in order to learn his secrets. It was quite another to allow herself to get caught up in any real emotion for this man.

In order to cover her rush of feelings she said, “You’re no better than Dunstan. Like him, you think all women will fall at your feet. Well, I’m not the queen, blushing and giggling at your every word, Conor O’Neil. I intend to save myself for a real man, not some pompous peacock.”

She turned and caught at her skirts, racing as fast as she could toward the palace. Leaving him standing alone in the sun-drenched garden. With the taste of her still on his lips. And the scent of her filling his lungs.