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 summon^.
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?"
"1 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
thc-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 beg
an 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 toivin 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 place
s 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. Hewanted 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
Conor Page 6
