Celestine squeezed Dunstan's hand and shot him a sideways smile.
Even though their plot had failed, all was not lost. Not as long as she
and Dunstan could manage to salvage their reputations and distance
themselves from this disaster. She had no care about sacrificing the
life of this Irishman", as long as she could live to try another time. All
that mattered now was that her brother get his chance to be king. It
was all she'd ever wanted. And it could still be within her grasp.
Elizabeth gave a long, deep sigh. "Conor O'Neil, your traitorous
behavior has proven what I have always known. A queen has no true
friends."
Celestine grew bold. "Then you believe me, Majesty?"
Elizabeth waved a hand. "I know not whom to believe."
"Then believe this, Majesty." Dunstan bent and retrieved Conor's
knife, sticky with blood and grass, and held it up like a trophy for all
to see. "This Irish spy is also the scourge of English soldiers, both on
this shore, and in Ireland. A barbarian who has been slitting the
throats of our brave young men."
"What are you saying, Dunstan?" Elizabeth's eyes widened. She
brought a hand to her throat in a gesture of horror.
"I am saying that I have personally captured Heaven's Avenger. And I
proudly deliver him into your hands for justice." ,
The crowd reacted with shock and revulsion.
Conor's head came up, and in the instant that he met the queen's eyes,
he knew. He had been unmasked. His identity had been laid bare for
all to see.
Elizabeth stared at the accused. The look on her face mirrored
stunned surprise, then anger, then, worst of all, pain and humiliation
that she had allowed one of England's worst enemies into her
personal circle of friendship.
Eager to escape to the privacy of her chambers she motioned to her
soldiers. "Take this monster to the dungeons. We will return to
Greenwich Palace on the morrow, where, I assure you, justice will be
swiftly and surely meted out."
Emma was weeping uncontrollably. It was the only sound as Conor's
hands were bound.
Seeing it, Celestine smiled and leaned close to whisper, "Now, Emma
Vaughn, will you feel the sting of my vengeance."
Celestine put a hand on Conor's arm as he was beingled away. In a
voice just loud enough for Emma to hear she said, "One more thing,
O'Neil. Know this. Emma never loved you. She seduced you only
because I ordered it. Because she is a spy, in my employ."
She had the satisfaction of seeing Conor's eyes narrow in fury before
he turned to meet Emma's eyes.
She mouthed the words, "Forgive me, Conor," as he was led away.
Then, while Emma stood to one side, weeping as though her heart
would break, Celestine giggled with delight.
She had planted the seed of distrust. It would grow. Until it choked
them both. She caught Dunstan's hand and said smugly, "You see? I
told you. We make the perfect couple. We both know but one thing.
How to win."
Chapter Twenty-three
"Please, my lady." Nola hovered over Emma like a mother hen. "You
must eat something. At least a biscuit and some honey."
Emma lifted a hand. "Take it away, Nola." The thought of food
sickened her. How could she eat when the man she loved was locked
in a cold, damp cell beneath the palace?
She opened the door, peered around, then gave the little servant a
gentle shove out the door. "You must leave before anyone finds you
here, or your punishment will be severe."
"I'm sorry, my lady." Nola left, weeping silently. Over her shoulder
she called, "I will not permit you to endure this alone. I'll see that a
priest is sent to give you comfort."
"Thank you, Nola."
Emma closed the door and leaned against it, listening to the sound of
the servant's footsteps echoing along the hallway. She had been
stripped of her duties as lady-in-waiting, and had been confined to
this small attic room until the queen decided her fate. Dunstan had
argued that Emma should be delivered into the hands of her
stepmother. Emma knew that if that happened, she would suffer the
same fate as her father and sister. But this time there would be no one
to spirit her to safety.
It mattered not to her now. She cared not whether she lived or died.
She had paid the jailer to take Conor a missive. But it had been
returned unopened. Not that she blamed Conor. Celestine's words still
echoed in her mind, causing a pain as deep as if they'd been carved
with a razor. She didn't know what hurt more—the fact that Conor
believed the lies Celestine had spoken, or the fact that he'd kept his
true identity secret from her, even after they'd become lovers.
Heaven's Avenger. How could she not have recognized him? She'd
seen those piercing blue eyes when she was but a lass. The fire in
them, and the compassion, had stayed with her for all these years. It
was, in fact, the first thing she'd loved about him. But in truth, she'd
looked into Conor's eyes with her heart, not with her eyes. And she'd
been swayed by the glib words, the golden tongue of an orator.
Heaven's Avenger had never been known to speak a single word.
Now she understood why. Conor O'Neil knew that it was one thing to
hide his face behind a monk's cowl and hood. But his orator's voice
was too well-known to hide. And so, as Heaven's Avenger, he had
chosen the part of a mute.
"Oh, Conor." On a little moan she stood and walked to the balcony,
where she stared into the distance, hoping for a glimpse of her
beloved Ireland. But all she could see was the mist settling over the
land as the evening shadows gathered.
She forced herself to turn her head and look at the scaffold that" had
been erected for the public hanging. The proof of Conor's guilt had
been found in his chambers. Hidden in his wardrobe had been the
coarse, bloodstained garb of a monk. The citizens, alerted to the fact
that Heaven's Avenger had been captured, were demanding his public
execution.
There was an air of gaiety, not only within the walls of the palace, but
in all of London as well. Banners hung from windows, proclaiming a
hero's welcome for Lord Dunstan and Lady Celestine Vaughn, who
had unmasked England's most hated outlaw.
Elizabeth had withdrawn to her private quarters, permitting nobody
except her most trusted advisors into her inner chambers. Those who
had seen her declared that she looked pale and sick at heart. But
despite her humiliation, she had already declared that the hanging
would go on as scheduled.
Seeing a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye, Emma turned just
as the executioner tested the rope dangling from the highest beam of
the scaffold.
Her heart contracted painfully, and she burst into a fit of tears and
dropped to her knees, burying her face in her hands. She'd never
known such a feeling of hopelessness.
Then she thought about her father and sister, and how desperate their
situation had been. Had it not been for Conor and
his family, they
would now be dead.
What was it Gavin O'Neil had said that night? Regardless of the
danger, each person must do what he can to right the wrongs of this
world.
She got to her feet and brushed aside her tears. This was not the time
for weakness. She had to find a way to save Conor's life. Even if it
meant sacrificing her own.
Conor leaned a hand against the cold, damp stones of the cell and
lifted his head. It was impossible to see the morning sky, but he could
catch a small glint of sunlight if he angled his head just so.
He thought of the morning he and Emma had awakened together after
their first night of passion. He'd never knownsuch joy. Such love.
And now, ever since Celestine's words, he'd been plunged into the
depths of despair.
He was still wearing the torn, bloody garb of battle, his wounds
untended and festering. It mattered not to him now. Nothing hurt as
much as the knowledge that he'd been duped into believing that
Emma truly loved him. How could he have been such a fool? Perhaps
because he'd wanted so desperately to believe. Even now, when he
thought about Emma, he found it impossible to believe that she could
have been acting. Her love, her passion, had seemed so genuine. Still,
he couldn't deny that it was she who had seduced him. Not that he
hadn't been a willing, eager participant. But the truth was, while he'd
been trying manfully to calm the raging passion, Emma had done all
in her power to fan the flames.
What hurt the most was that, even now, knowing the truth, he loved
her. And would take that love to the grave.
He heard the sounds of the hammers and knew that the scaffold was
in readiness for what was to come.
He closed his eyes, refusing to think about what would be done to him
this day. He would get through it with as much courage and dignity as
he could muster. He knew one thing. The crowds that gathered
wouldn't be treated to words from the famed orator, Conor O'Neil.
Instead, they would witness the silent death of the mute, Heaven's
Avenger.
The door to the cell was scraped open, and Conor looked up as the
jailer entered, followed by several armed soldiers. In their midst was
a robed monk.
"O'Neil," the jailer called. "Your priest will hear your confession and
offer you absolution before you go to your death." His mouth curved
into a humorless smile. "Then we'll show you as much mercy as you
showed our comrades."
The soldiers trooped out, slamming the heavy door to the cell. The
key turned in the lock.
In the silence that followed Conor turned his back on the monk. "Save
your prayers, Father. I can't ask forgiveness, for I have no remorse for
the things I did."
"Not even for the heart you broke?"
At the sound of Emma's voice, Conor whirled.
Emma tossed back the hood of her robe. "An excellent choice of
disguise, Conor. I thought, since it had worked so often for you, I'd
try it myself."
"You little fool." He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Trying to save your miserable life." For a moment she closed her
eyes and savored the touch of him. When she'd first entered his cell
he'd looked so bruised and broken and bloody that she had nearly
cried out at the sight of him. But at least he was alive. For now. And it
was up to her to see that he remained so.
She shook off his hands, flung aside the cloak and handed him a
sword she'd concealed beneath. "Take this. You're going to need it."
"You don't really think I can fight my way through all the queen's
soldiers?"
"Nay. Not by yourself. That's why I'm going to be standing beside
you." She touched a hand to the knife at her waist.
"Emma. You can't mean this."
"Aye. I do." She opened her palm to reveal a key to the door. "Now.
Unless you have a better plan, I suggest you stop arguing and come
with me."
She fumbled with the key until the door opened. Hearing it, a soldier
who had been standing guard nearby came running.
"Here now. What's this?" As he raised his sword, Conor dispatched
him in one quick blow.
The sound brought several more soldiers. When they saw their fallen
comrade, they lifted their swords and charged ahead.
Conor was able to take down the first two with his sword. A moment
later he felt the tip of a sword against his back. But before the soldier
could finish the deed, there was a gasp and he dropped to the floor.
Emma nervously bent and pulled her knife from the man's back.
"This is the first time I've ever...killed a man at close range," she
muttered between chattering teeth.
Conor understood. It was one thing to toss a knife; quite another to
plunge it into muscle and bone and flesh. "I know, love. But hold on.
We'll soon be free of this place."
They looked up at the sound of running feet.
"Or perhaps not," Conor muttered.
The jailer was headed directly toward them, his sword at the ready.
Conor, whose sword was still imbedded in a fallen soldier's back,
shoved Emma aside, prepared to take the blow. Just as the jailer lifted
his sword, Emma stepped from a place of concealment and drove her
knife through his heart.
As the jailer fell forward, blood gushed from his wound, bathing
Emma's tunic and breeches. At the sight of it, Emma stood perfectly
still, her eyes beginning to glaze. She was thrust backward in time,
reliving another time when she'd been bathed in blood and rescued by
Heaven's Avenger.
Recognizing the signs of shock, Conor bent and retrieved their
weapons, then caught her hand and pulled her along with him.
She struggled to keep up. her breathing labored. But when they came
to a turn in the darkened hallway, she dug in her heels, refusing to go
on.
"What is it, Emma? What's wrong? We can't stop now."
"Wait," she whispered, struggling for control.
Their nostrils were assaulted by thick black smoke.
"Fire," someone cried.
"This way," another shouted.
At the sound of running feet, Emma and Conor flattened themselves
against a wall and watched as soldiers began racing past.
"Is the palace on fire?" Conor asked.
"Nay." Emma managed a weak smile. "But a good many of the
queen's favorite gowns and fur-lined cloaks are. A pity. Her
seamstresses will have to work day and night to replace them. But it
was the only diversion I could think of."
Conor glanced at her with new respect. "I believe you've become
quite a clever scoundrel, Emma Vaughn."
"Aye. I had a good tutor."
As soon 'as the soldiers disappeared, Emma and Conor raced off in
the opposite direction, along a maze of darkened tunnels beneath the
palace. Finally Emma paused outside a small door. After Conor gave
it several fierce tugs, the door opened to reveal a cellar of sorts, which
led to a garden at the rear of the palace.
She pointed to a sma
ll stand of trees just beyond the garden. "I've
tethered two horses there. Hurry."
They crouched low in the garden, darting among the flowers and
herbs as they made their way unerringly toward the trees. By the time
they reached their goal, they were struggling for breath.
"At last," Emma cried as she started to pull herself into the saddle.
"Hurry, Conor."
"Aye. Hurry, Conor." At the sound of Dunstan's mocking voice, they
both looked around in horror. He hauled Emma from her horse and
wrapped one arm around her while holding a knife to her throat with
the other. "Youwouldn't want to be late for your own hanging, would
you?"
Dunstan was dressed in his finest attire, as befitted a hero of the
realm. Brilliant blue satin breeches and a crimson- and-blue brocade
jacket over a shirt of lawn with a high, ruffled neck. The knife in his
hand bore a regal crest and jeweled hilt. Sunlight glinted off the finely
honed blade as he pressed it to Emma's throat.
"Let her go, Dunstan." Conor's voice was deadly calm. But beneath it
was pure steel.
"Oh, I will. In time. First, toss down your weapon, O'Neil."
Without a word Conor did as he was told.
"Now take Emma's knife from her waist and toss it aside as well."
Conor watched Emma's eyes as he pulled the knife from her sash and
let it drop. The fear in them had his heart aching.
"Let her go, Dunstan. You've won. I'm about to hang. Isn't that
enough?"
"Nay." Dunstan's eyes glinted with madness. "I've decided that I want
more than your blood, O'Neil. I want to see you beg and crawl."
"That I will never do."
"Oh, I think you will." Dunstan laughed, a high, shrill sound that
scraped over their nerves and sent ice along their spines.».-"I know
just how to make you do my bidding." He tightened his hold on the
knife, pressing it against Emma's delicate flesh until a thin, red line of
blood began to seep down her neck. Her little cry of pain made
Conor's hands knot into helpless fists of rage.
"You sec?" Dunstan laughed again. "I think it's only right that the
man who slit all those throats to save innocent maidens should have
Conor Page 28
