The gold disappeared instantly inside his tunic. "You realize.1 could
lose my position with the earl if he should learn that I permitted you
here, my lady?"
"Aye." She gave him her most radiant smile. "But the queen will be
so pleased to see her cousin, and to hear the joyous news of my
betrothal, she may even give you more gold herself."
"Then I am delighted to serve you, my lady." He paused, then nodded
toward the line of trees. "I hear the beaters. They draw near."
"You have done well. You may go," she said.
Within moments the huntsman had disappeared into the forest.
A smile played on Celestine's lips. She wondered where in England
the huntsman could manage to hide, once it was discovered that the
queen had been assassinated in his forest. And all because of his
greedy desire for gold.
From his place of concealment Conor stared around, wondering
which direction would lead him to Dunstan. From the conversation
between Celestine and the huntsman, he realized that she was here for
only one reason— to give a signal when the queen approached.
Conor couldn't wait a minute longer. If the queen should appear, it
would be over in a matter of seconds. Elizabeth would be dead. And
Emma. His beloved Emma's fate was tied to the queen's.
As he studied the surrounding forest, he caught a sparkle of sunlight
through the foliage. It could be the reflection off a smooth surface,
such as a rock or pond. Or a knife, he thought with sudden clarity.
Emma's knife. Sweet heaven, could it be?
He felt the familiar rush of excitement that always occurred in
moments of crisis. And then the sudden, icy calm that he had
experienced since he was no more than a lad. The certain knowledge
that he would win at all costs. Or die trying.
He began crawling in the direction of the glint of sunlight.
* * *
Emma could no longer feel her fingers or toes. At first she was
grateful, for it meant that she was no longer bothered by the pain of
her torn, bloody flesh. But as she continued to struggle, she felt a
slight loosening of her bonds. Not enough to be free, but enough to
allow her to slip her hand low enough to reach under the damp sash at
her waist.
As her fingers closed around the hilt of the knife, she felt a moment of
wild relief. If she could cut but one binding, she would be able to
work herself free. But as she began to saw through the rope, the knife
slipped from her nerveless fingers and fell to the ground. She nearly
wept in despair. Then, choking back a sob, she rolled onto her back
and began fumbling through the wet grass, in a vain search.
Just then she saw Dunstan hurriedly fit an arrow to his bow, then
painstakingly pull the bowstring back and take careful aim.
Tears of pain and rage and frustration welled up and spilled over. She
had failed Conor. She had lost. England had lost its monarch. And
Ireland had lost its best hope for freedom.
Chapter Twenty-two
Moving with the swiftness of a deer, Conor slipped deeper into the
forest, heading toward the spot where he had seen the flash of
sunlight.
As he stepped between twin mounds of boulders, he stopped short at
the sight that greeted him. Emma, bound hand and foot, was lying in
the grass. For the space of a heartbeat he froze, afraid that he was too
late. When her head came up, he felt his heart begin to beat once
more. Praise heaven, she was alive. That was all that mattered to him.
She turned her head in a silent signal. Following her lead he turned
and spotted Dunstan several yards away, his gaze fixed on a spot in
the distance. Everything about the man, the rigid stance, the bow in
his hand, the bowstring pulled tautly, told Conor that there was no
time to take even a moment to aim. In one smooth motion he
withdrew the -mall, sharp knife from his waist and tossed it. At that
moment Dunstan caught a blur of movement and turned. Instead of
piercing his heart, the blade caught Dunstan's uplifted hand, causing
him to drop the bow. Upon impact, he let out a shriek of pain. The
sound seemed to reverberate through the forest. When Dunstan
glanced back to the spot where the queen had been, he could see that
she was now surrounded by armed soldiers, who had formed a
protective ring around their monarch.
"O'Neil." On a torrent of oaths he plucked the knife from his flesh,
unleashing a river of blood. He spat the word from between clenched
teeth, then unsheathed his sword. "You've thwarted my plans for the
last time. How I will enjoy killing you."
Conor unsheathed his own sword and stood waiting. Though he
moved not a muscle, there was about him such strength, such power,
that Dunstan hesitated. But only for a moment. Then, in a blinding
rage, he charged across the distance separating them.
"Beware, O'Neil. This duel will be with swords, not words."
"Aye." Conor's eyes narrowed. "It will give me the greatest pleasure
to finish what we once started."
Dunstan drew closer. "Perhaps you should summon the queen's army
to assist you." With a swagger he attacked. Shocked, he found
himself facing the most skilled swordsman he'd ever encountered.
Conor's blade flashed with frightening speed, tearing a wide swath in
Dunstan's tunic, slashing his sleeve until it hung in tatters. It was plain
that Conor was toying with him, which only added to Dunstan's
anger.
With every thrust, every parry, Conor backed him across the clearing,
until, with his back against the trunk of a tree, Dunstan had nowhere
left to go.
"Who are you?" Dunstan demanded as he was forced to gasp for
breath.
"You know who I am." Conor smiled dangerously. He'd needed this.
Needed the release of a good, hard fight. He'd been itching for it all
these long, tedious months while he'd played the part of a peacock at
Court. Now, finally, he was free to be himself.
"Nay. I don't know you. You're not the queen's rogue. For that man
could never handle a sword as you do. And your knife. The way you
tossed it..." Dunstan's voice went shrill with the sudden realization.
"Who but Heaven's Avenger uses a knife in that manner?'
Instead of a reply, Conor merely moved in for the kill.
Across the clearing Emma's eyes widened. The moment Dunstan
spoke the words, she knew them to be true. This skilled swordsman
was so much more than the queen's rogue. In fact, he bore little
resemblance to the man he showed the others at Court. This sleek,
frightening creature was, without a doubt, the legend who had fueled
her dreams.
Dunstan's fear had suddenly become a palpable thing. He was
sweating profusely, looking for a means of escape.
Seeing Emma, he made a desperate move. He reached out, catching
her roughly by the arms and dragging her in front of him as a shield.
Then, holding the sword against her throat, he shouted, "Unless you
drop your weapon at once, O'Neil, I'll kill her."
Emma shook her head. "Don't do it, Conor. You kno
w he'll kill us
both."
At that, Dunstan tightened his grasp and pressed the blade against her
flesh until a thin line of blood stained the bodice of her gown.
Conor gauged the distance between himself and Dunstan, cursing
himself for his carelessness. He should have seen to Emma's safety
first. Now she was the one to pay for his miscalculation.
"Drop your weapon, O'Neil. Quickly, for I grow impatient." To prove
his point, Dunstan dug his fingers into Emma's hair and yanked her
head back viciously, exposing the wound in her throat. "If you really
are Heaven's Avenger, you know better than any man what she will
look like with her throat slit."
Conor tossed aside his sword and lifted his hand in a sign of defeat.
"Your fight is with me, Dunstan. Let the woman go."
"Gladly. Now that you're unarmed." Dunstan tossed her aside and
advanced upon Conor, who stood perfectly still until the last moment.
Conor managed to avoid the first thrust. But when he danced aside a
second time, Dunstan's blade caught him in the shoulder, opening a
wound that spurted a torrent of blood.
Setting his teeth against the pain, Conor dodged a second attempt and
brought his fist up, catching Dunstan under the jaw, snapping his
head back with a vicious jab.
"So. You think your puny fists can defend against my blade?"
Dunstan threw back his head and roared. "I would expect such a thing
from an Irish peasant. Cowards. The lot of you." He advanced, his
lips curled in a sneer. "It won't be as satisfying to kill you as it would
have been to kill our gutless queen. But, so the day isn't wasted, I'll
take your life slowly and painfully. A-cut here..." He slashed out,
laying open Conor's arm. Blood stained Conor's sleeve and dripped
from his fingers to soak the ground at his feet, "...another cut there."
Again he sliced, catching Conor's thigh with such brutal force it sent
him dropping to his knees.
Emma struggled frantically against her bonds as Dunstan advanced,
his sword raised. With a roar of cruel laughter he stood over his
opponent. Suddenly his smile faded. His eyes narrowed. "I tire of this
sport, O'Neil. I think perhaps it is time to end it." Lifting his sword
high in the air, he moved in for the kill. "Now, O'Neil, prepare to die."
He was smiling in satisfaction at the thought of what he was about to
do.
Suddenly, shattering the stillness of the forest was the queen's voice.
"The two of you will explain yourselves at once."
Elizabeth sat regally upon her mount, surrounded by Blystone and her
soldiers, surveying the bloody scene in the forest.
One by one, the titled ladies and gentlemen who had been invited to
join the hunt began to arrive and could do nothing more than gape in
silence.
With a look of hatred at his enemy, Dunstan lowered his sword and
bowed to his queen.
Elizabeth could barely contain her temper, hurling her words first at
Dunstan. "How dare you spoil my shot with that fearful scream! That
was the finest stag I've ever seen. And now I've lost him."
"I was caught by surprise, Majesty, when O'Neil viciously attacked
me."
"Attacked?" Her eyes narrowed with fury, and she turned on Conor.
"And you! Look at you. Fighting in the dirt like a,peasant. First you
leave the palace without my permission, ruining my morning. And
now you steal my chance at a trophy. This time you have gone too far,
Conor O'Neil. Do you think my affection for you is so great that I will
forgive anything?"
"Nay, Majesty." Blood oozed from Conor's wounds, staining his torn
clothing. But all he could see was Emma, lying on the ground,
bleeding from a wound to her throat, her hands and feet still bound.
As he started toward her, Dunstan strode forward and cut her bonds,
freeing her.
Emma lay in the grass, struggling to restore feeling to her raw,
wounded wrists and ankles. Though she struggled to remain alert, she
seemed to fade in and out as the voices were raised in anger around
her.
Elizabeth was in a regal temper. "You will explain at once what the
two of you were fighting about."
Before anyone could speak the queen's soldiers came riding up,
forcing Celestine to walk in front of them at swordpoint."Majesty,"
the captain of the guards called, "this woman was found hiding in the
forest. She claims to be your cousin."
The moment Celestine stepped into the clearing and caught sight of
Dunstan, she threw herself into his arms.
"Oh, my love," she cried. There had been plenty of time for her to
prepare her defense. As her beloved brother had taught her, the best
way to deflect criticism was to attack. "What has this traitor done to
you?"
"Traitor?" Elizabeth eyes were growing stormier by the moment. All
around them, the crowd fell silent. "What do you mean by that,
cousin?"
"That one." Celestine pointed a finger at Conor. "He calls himself
your loyal subject, Majesty. But while Conor O'Neil pretended to be
devoted to you, he was, in truth, plotting your death."
"My death?" Elizabeth went deathly pale while the crowd began
murmuring among themselves.
Then the queen nodded, remembering. "Indeed, an arrow sang over
my head and landed harmlessly in some foliage in the forest. It
happened just as Blystone and I heard that horrible cry."
Dunstan, taking his lead from Celestine, nodded. "I blame myself,
Majesty. I have long believed that O'Neil still owed his allegiance to
the land of his birth. It was only recently that I began to realize that
what he really intended was to spy on you."
"Spy?" Elizabeth turned to Conor with a look of shock and dismay. "I
had thought this to be nothing more than a feud between two rivals.
But now..." Now, as the enormity of the situation began to sink in, she
was feeling more than a little -dazed.
"You must believe me, Majesty." Celestine even managed a tear,
which rolled down her cheek. "When Lord Dunstan and I learned
what Conor O'Neil was planning, we hurried out here, risking our
own lives, to stop him before he could carry out his murderous
scheme."
The murmur of the crowd grew louder.
Dully, Elizabeth looked around, seeing the things her soldiers had
brought forward. The bow and quiver of arrows which the soldiers
had found beside the tree. A knife. Two bloody swords. It did indeed
look as though there had been a life-and-death battle waged here.
She turned to Conor and demanded imperiously, "Do you have
anything to say to my cousin's charges?"
Conor's voice was deadly soft. "It would seem that Celestine is a far
more accomplished liar than I've given her credit for. And today, she
piles lie upon lie, until, if she should succeed, all of England will
believe her."
Elizabeth fixed him with a look of hatred. "Why should I not believe
my own cousin?"
"Think, Majesty. None of what has happened in the past months was
an accident. Not the marriage of Cele
stine to Emma's grieving father.
Nor the poisoning of Daniel Vaughn and his little daughter, Sarah."
"Poisoning?" Elizabeth's head came up sharply. "What is this? How
can you possibly accuse my cousin of such a thing?"
"I saw Daniel and Sarah, Majesty. The vacant stares, the pasty flesh,
the gradual weakening of their limbs until they couldn't even stand
without support."
"How could you have seen them? When was this?"
Though he was aware of the muttering of the crowd, he met her angry
look without flinching. "When I helped Emma spirit them to safety."
Holding a square of linen to her bloody throat, Emma managed to get
to her feet to stand beside Conor. If she couldn't speak, at least she
could lend her support in some small way.
Elizabeth pointed one bejewelled finger. "You spirited them away?
They didn't just abandon Celestine as she'd claimed?"
"Nay, Majesty." Though he was growing weaker, Conor caught
Emma's arm, holding her when she staggered. "I sent them where
Celestine could never harm them again."
The queen's voice issued a challenge. "And where would that be,
Conor O'Neil?"
"To Ireland, Majesty. To my family estate of Ballinarin."
"Why did you do this, Conor O'Neil?"
Before he could reply, Dunstan said, "Because he and Emma Vaughn
have become lovers, Majesty."
Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The silence said more than any
words.
At last Elizabeth nodded. "So." The word came out in a long, slow
sigh. She looked at Conor as though seeing him for the first time.
"Everything that my cousin tells me is true. You are devious. Clever.
A traitor and a spy."
"I am..." Conor struggled to hold on, though the pain of his wounds
had his head spinning. It was absolutely imperative that he deliver the
proof of Dunstan's crimes into the queen's hands. He actually reached
a hand to the scroll hidden inside his tunic. But his mind refused to
obey. He could feel himself slipping away. He stumbled and caught at
the stump of a tree for support. "I am, as always, your devoted..."
Conor Page 27
