Conor

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  by inviting the queen and her company to one of his many estates.

  Conor cursed himself for his carelessness. He should have paid more

  attention, despite the distractions. Now he would have to go back in

  his mind to recall every word, every phrase.

  He was too deep in thought to realize that Dunstan was studying him

  carefully.

  Dunstan's words brought Conor out of his reverie. "You .ook a bit

  weary this morrow, O'Neil. Was it ale, cards or women?"

  Emma gasped while the others laughed.

  Conor merely gave him a lazy smile. "I could boast that it was all

  three. But in truth, I slept like a babe."

  "As did I." The queen's voice was a purr of contentment as she

  touched a hand to Conor's in a most suggestive manner.

  While the others winked and nodded at the queen's words, Dunstan

  steepled his fingers and narrowed his gaze on the man beside her. It

  was going to give him such satisfaction to watch this Irishman squirm

  when he found himself no longer under the protection of England's

  monarch. Oh, it would be sweet vengeance indeed.

  "Come. We have tarried long enough." Elizabeth stood and her ladies

  formed a circle around her as she walked away. "We have much to

  see to before we take our leave of Greenwich on the morrow."

  Seeing the smug smile on Dunstan's lips, Conor became even more

  determined than ever to watch, to listen, to go over every word he had

  overheard last night. If there was the slightest hint of what Dunstan

  and Celestine were planning, he had to move quickly. Not only did

  Emma's safety depend on it, but possibly the safety of the queen as

  well. That could mean an end to all he had worked for. The safety, the

  very survival of Ireland, might depend upon what happened in these

  next days.

  "I have never seen such an uproar," Nola muttered as she gathered up

  yet another batch of gowns and cloaks.

  "Aye," grumbled another servant. "Now that the queen has moved up

  the date of our departure, there's not a moment Jeft to catch my

  breath."

  Servants scurried from room to room, collecting armloads of clothing

  and bed linen. The cooks had been working night and day, baking

  breads, roasting meats, to feed the army of men and women who

  would accompany the nobles on their journey. The stable lads were

  busy preparing dozens of horses for the trek into the countryside.

  Many wagons and carts, laden with household goods, had already

  been hauled away. Every so often the rumble of wheels would

  announce the departure of another.

  Through it all Emma worked alongside the other women, preparing

  the queen for her public appearances. Though her thoughts often

  strayed to Conor, Emma managed to feign interest in the mundane

  problems of the queen's wardrobe. When the others admired

  Elizabeth's satin cloak lined with ermine, Emma agreed it was the

  loveliest she had ever seen. And when the queen asked her opinion on

  which riding outfit to choose, Emma boldly suggested the russet

  gown and cloak, to compliment Elizabeth's hair.

  There were slippers and jewels to be matched to each gown. Coats

  and bonnets and ribbons and combs.

  At long last, day inched toward darkness, and the queen announced

  that she would sup in the privacy of her chambers to preserve her

  energy for the morning's journey.

  Emma "Was delighted to retreat to her chambers, where Nola was

  already preparing a simple supper on a small table set before the fire.

  The servant looked up when Emma entered. "Shall I stay and serve

  you, my lady?"

  Emma shook her head firmly. "You need your rest, Nola. Her

  Majesty has declared that we must be prepared to move out at first

  light."

  "Aye, my lady." Nola fairly flew across the floor.

  As she drew open the door, Emma called to her retreating back, "Bid

  Meade a fond farewell from me, as well, Nola."

  The little maid paused, her cheeks flushed with color. "How did you

  guess where I was headed, my lady?"

  "It is obvious to anyone who sees you, Nola. Go now. And try to get

  at least a little sleep tonight."

  "Aye, my lady." With a giggle, she was gone, the door closing firmly

  behind her.

  Emma was still smiling when she felt arms close around her and a

  deep voice whisper in her ear, "I thought she'd never leave."

  Conor's voice sent shivers along her spine.

  She leaned back against him and gave a sigh of pure pleasure. "How

  long have you been here?"

  "Not long. I climbed to your balcony just before your servant arrived

  with your meal. I thought it best to remain concealed until she was

  gone."

  "A very wise decision, my lord. Else her shouts would have brought

  down the entire palace." She turned and touched a hand to his cheek.

  "How long can you stay?"

  His smile held a hint of danger. "That depends, my lady. How long

  can you stand to have me here?"

  "Oh, Conor." She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him

  with a fervor that made both their heads spin.

  He hadn't expected such a rush of passion. It heated his blood,

  clouded his vision. With his mouth on hers he backed her up until she

  was pressed firmly against the wall.

  His words, which only moments earlier had been spoken lightly, were

  now rough with urgency. "I've thought of no one but you all day." His

  mouth savaged hers. His lips, his hands took her on a wild, dizzying

  ride. "All I could think of was you. Of this. Only this."

  She had thought, after the night they had spent together, that there

  was nothing new he could show her. But this was no slow, sweet

  journey of love. This was passion. Raw. Wild. Unleashed.

  With.every touch of those strong fingers, with every taste of those

  clever lips, he drove her higher, giving her no chance to recover her

  senses. With each sigh and moan of pleasure, she soared higher, then

  higher still, until, desperate for selease, with his name torn from her

  lips, she felt herself slipping over the edge of a cliff. And falling.

  Falling.

  She was wonderful to watch. All her feelings were mirrored in her

  expressive eyes. Her excitement fueled his own, driving him beyond

  all limits. When she reached the crest, he covered her mouth with his

  and took her with a fierceness that bordered on madness. And left

  them both shattered.

  Drained beyond belief, they dropped to their knees. Conor gathered

  her into his arms and felt her breathing slowly return to normal.

  "I can't quite believe this," she managed over a throat still clogged

  with passion.

  "Nor I." He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks. And then, with laughter

  rumbling in his chest he muttered, ' 'Do you realize that we have

  never yet enjoyed the comfort of a bed?"

  She joined his laughter. "Perhaps, after we sup, we could try it?"

  He surprised her by lifting her in his arms and carrying her across the

  room. He settled her gently in the bed, then lay beside her.

  Against her mouth he muttered, "It seems a shame to waste time with

  food. Don't
you agree?"

  "Aye. I do indeed."

  It was the last word she managed before his mouth claimed hers

  again.

  With soft sighs and heated touches, they came together once more,

  shutting out the world around them. But this time it was a slow,

  patient journey of two lovers who had all the time in the world.

  "Tell me what to expect on the first day of the queen's progress."

  Emma lifted the goblet of wine to her lips and drank, then offered it to

  Conor. Though the hour was so late that all in the palace were asleep,

  they found themselves wide awake after hours of loving. The remains

  of their supper rested on a tray between them."It will not be difficult."

  He held a biscuit dipped in honey to her mouth and watched as she

  took a bite. Then he bent to taste the sweetness that lingered on her

  lips. "Warwick is but a day's journey from here."

  "Then why must we leave at dawn?"

  He polished off the rest of the biscuit, then sipped more wine before

  handing the goblet back to her. "The village elders will wish to greet

  their queen with long, boring speeches and many gifts of gold and

  precious jewels. And then there will be the formal supper with all the

  nobles from nearby villages and shires. Elizabeth enjoys these

  spectacles. But she also knows that it will be very late before she can

  retire to her bed. The sooner we start, the sooner the celebration will

  end. And then she can enjoy several days at Blystone's estate, doing

  as she pleases."

  "Such as?" Emma removed the tray and filled their goblet from a

  crystal decanter.

  "There will be a hunt, of course, for Elizabeth dearly loves to hunt."

  As she climbed back into bed Conor paused and lifted his arm,

  drawing her close against his chest. When she held the goblet to his

  lips he sipped. "And a grand ball. As you've noticed, our queen loves

  to dance."

  "Aye. She especially loves to dance with her charming rogue."

  He winced as she offered him a sip of her wine. "Do you know how

  much I detest that name?'

  "I don't know why." Emma fought to keep the laughter from her tone.

  "After all, you are charming. And, as everyone knows, you are quite a

  rogue."

  "And you are a most annoying wench." He took the goblet from her

  hand and set it on the table beside the bed. Then he turned and

  dragged her into his arms, kissing her until she had to struggle for

  breath.

  "I hope that will remind you to find a new name for me. I'll no longer

  answer to the queen's title."

  "Aye. Enough, Conor." Laughing, she pushed free of his arms. As

  soon as he released her she added teasingly, "My charming..."

  Before she could scamper from the bed he caught her by the ankle

  and began to tickle her foot.

  "Come here, wench," he growled in mock anger. "It's time you were

  taught some manners."

  Amid squeals of laughter she managed to ask, "By the queen's

  charming...?"

  "That does it." He knelt up and, holding her foot firmly in both hands,

  began raining kisses along the sole of her foot until she was writhing

  and giggling.

  "Stop. Oh, Conor, stop. I can't bear it." She giggled again. But, as his

  lips began a slow, torturous journey up her calf to the back of her

  knee, her laughter suddenly faded.

  By the time his lips were moving along her inner thigh, she was

  sighing. And then, as he brought his mouth higher still, she gave a

  gasp of surprise that soon turned into a little moan of unbearable

  delight.

  She hadn't thought it possible to experience anything this intense.

  Pleasure bordering on pain. A feeling so exquisite, she felt lost in

  rapture.

  "Conor. Conor." As if in a haze she whispered his name as he brought

  his mouth up her body, further exciting her, until he claimed her lips.

  With a savageness that stunned them both, he took her.

  She moved with him, driven by incredible strength. Conor watched

  her, loving the way she lost herself in him. In the pleasure. In the

  passion. And then he found himself drowning in her. In her voice

  calling his name. In this tide that was so compelling, he felt himself

  tossed and buffeted and finally, shattered.

  Spent, they lay in each other's arms and drifted slowly back.

  Still locked in an embrace, they slept.

  * * *

  Dunstan stood very still, listening outside Emma's door. So, it was as

  he'd suspected. Emma Vaughn and Conor O'Neil were lovers. But,

  had the girl merely followed orders and seduced the Irishman for the

  sake of her loved ones? If so, that would have to mean she didn't yet

  know that her father and sister had escaped Celestine's clutches.

  Or had she lost her heart to O'Neil?

  No matter. The fact was, she wasn't as sweet and innocent as she'd

  pretended. Whether it was duty or love that sent her to O'Neil's bed,

  one fact remained. The queen's lady-in-waiting had betrayed her

  monarch with the hated Irishman.

  Dunstan walked away, a sly smile touching the corners of his lips.

  What sweet revenge he would enjoy. For Emma Vaughn and Conor

  O'Neil had just given him a powerful weapon to use against them.

  Chapter Twenty

  Where are you going?" Emma awoke to find Conor already dressed.

  "It's almost dawn, love. Your maid will be here soon. You wouldn't

  want Nola to find me in your chambers." He crossed to the bed and

  gave her a soft, lingering kiss. "This may have to hold us for days,

  until we find a moment alone."

  "Oh, Conor." She knelt up in the bed and wrapped her arms around

  his neck, returning his kiss with a passion that was nearly his

  undoing. "I wish you didn't have to go. I miss you already."

  He moaned and took the kiss deeper, resenting the time and

  circumstances that conspired to keep them apart. "It will only be a

  day or two. I'll come to you, love, even if I have to slay a few dragons

  to do it."

  She shivered at the deep timbre of his voice. "Don't say that. Even in

  jest."

  He couldn't help teasing her. "I'll wager you wouldn't be so concerned

  for Heaven's Avenger."

  "Nay. But he's a fighter, and you're a lover. My lover."

  He gave her a heart-stopping grin and kissed her one lasttime, then

  forced himself to step back. Unless he left right this minute, he'd

  never make it out of here.

  He crossed to the balcony, grasped the rope, then disappeared over

  the railing. By the time Emma raced across the room and looked for

  him, her man of mystery had been swallowed up by the swirling mist.

  "There, Majesty." Conor, astride his horse, pointed to the turrets in

  the distance. "There is the earl's estate at Warwick."

  "At last." The queen, weary after hours in her carriage, brightened.

  The procession had been slowed considerably by the throngs of

  people who lined the roads. Young boys waved from the high

  branches of trees. Women stood on tiptoe, for a glimpse of their

  monarch. Fathers held shrieking children on their shoulders to salute

  their queen.

  Elizabeth fanned herself.
"I have been greatly cheered by the warmth

  and adulation of the crowd. But now I want nothing more than a

  refreshing basin of water to bathe away the dust of the journey, and a

  glass of ale for my parched throat."

  "Then you shall have them, Majesty." Conor gave the order to a

  servant, who took off toward the manor house in a flurry of

  hoofbeats.

  Within minutes their procession had entered the grounds and began

  winding its way along a curving ribbon of road toward-the turreted

  house beyond.

  When they arrived the servants were lined up in the courtyard behind

  their master, as he waited to receive his regal guest. The Earl of

  Blystone's voice was warm with affection as he presented his

  household staff to their queen. He watched with pride as the men

  doffed their hats and bowed and the women curtsied.

  Then, while the other guests were being helped from their carriages,

  the queen gratefully entered the privacy of the earl's home. She was

  taken at once to her sumptuous quarters, where she could refresh

  herself after the long journey.

  Emma, who had been forced to ride with the queen, stood to one side

  in the sunshine, watching as trunks were unlashed and dropped to

  waiting servants, who carried them inside. Amid all the bustle, she

  saw Conor walking toward her. At once her weariness vanished as he

  greeted her with a smile.

  "How did you fare, my lady?"

  "It was not a difficult journey. And the queen's servants saw to our

  every comfort."

  "I'm happy to hear that." He leaned close. "I wish I could touch you.

  Just for a moment."

  "Then you shall." She placed her hand on his arm and began to walk

  beside him.

  As they stepped through the arched doorway, Conor managed to pull

  her close. His lips brushed hers. A mere whisper of mouth to mouth,

  but they both felt the heat and were warmed by it.

  "If only we could slip away to a distant meadow, my lady, so I could

  show you just how much you were missed."

  Emma heard the frustration in his tone. It mirrored her own. "Perhaps

  later we can find a moment. But I fear the welcoming festivities will