to watch while his own sweet maiden is ravished. And who better to
have his way with Emma Vaughn than I? After all, you interrupted
me once." His tone hardened. "And I've never forgotten. Nor
forgiven."
"What's to keep me from killing you while you're... otherwise
occupied?' Conor could barely get the words out from between
clenched teeth.
"You won't try. Not while I have this knife at her lovely throat."
Dunstan made a sudden move with the knife, slicing the front of
Emma's tunic. As it fell open, he ran the blade of the knife along the
edge of the delicate chemise.
"Such lovely, unblemished skin, my dear." He flashed a grin at
Conor. "It would be a pity to carve up such pretty flesh, wouldn't it?"
In one quick movement he sliced through the chemise, baring
Emma's breasts.
"Ah." He circled one breast with the tip of his knife, his eyes boring
into Conor's as he did. "This is even better than I'd hoped. Just seeing
the look on your face, O'Neil, makes this infinitely more satisfying
than your hanging will be."
Conor gauged the distance between them, wondering just how much
damage Dunstan could inflict before he could disarm him. It would
surely cost Emma some pain. But perhaps, if he were quick enough,
he could save her life. He had to risk it. Not for himself. He was
already a dead man. But for Emma's. For he knew, with all certainty,
that Dunstan would never permit Emma to live when this was over.
He had to distract Dunstan. "It was Celestine who forced Emma to
spy, wasn't it?"
Dunstan laughed. "An easy matter, really. Though sweet Emma
protested, she was far too tenderhearted to put up much resistance."
He moved the knife across the flat planes of her stomach and laughed
when she flinched. "Celestine was quite surprised when I told her the
two of you had become lovers. She thought our sweet Emma too shy
for that."
Conor kept his eyes on Emma's, fervently wishing he could let her
know what he planned. "So, Celestine was lying when she said she'd
ordered Emma to seduce me."
Dunstan threw back his head and laughed. "You mean you believed
her?"
"Of course he believed me, you fool. What right do you have to say
otherwise? Now you've spoiled everything."
At Celestine's voice, Dunstan turned. That was all the distraction
Conor needed. He lunged forward, snatching Emma from Dunstan's
grasp.
"No. Damn you!" With a savage oath Dunstan advanced, aiming his
knife for Conor's heart.
Conor dodged, then brought his head up under Dunstan's chin,
hearing bone grind against bone as Dunstan's jaw was broken. The
knife slipped from his fingers and fell in the grass.
With a cry of rage Dunstan managed to wrestle Conor to the ground
with a knee to his midsection. As the two men rolled around, they
fumbled for the knife. When Dunstan managed to snag it, he lifted it
in triumph, prepared to plunge it deep into Conor's chest. But just as
he raised his hand, he suddenly stiffened, then fell forward. In his
back was Emma's knife.
"Oh, my love. No," Celestine screamed as she darted toward him.
Conor, disentangled himself from Dunstan's body, then looked up in
surprise as Emma swung a heavy tree limb, catching Celestine at the
back of the head. She slumped forward, her body resting atop
Dunstan's.
In th® silence that followed, Emma dropped to the ground, her face
pale, her breathing shallow.
Without a word Conor knelt and gathered her into his arms, where he
rocked her gently, while his hands moved over her, rubbing heat back
into her cold body. Against her temple he whispered, "It would seem
that I owe you a tremendous debt, my lady. For once again you've
saved my life."
Despite the tremors that thundered through her, she managed a husky
laugh. "Would you mind if I wait to collect that debt? I'm a bit too
weak right now."
"Aye. Take as long as you wish."
He reached inside his tunic and removed a scrolled parchment, setting
it alongside Dunstan and Celestine.
"What is that, Conor?"
' 'The proof of my claim that it was Dunstan who plotted the death of
the queen. The prisoner in Fleet told me all, in the presence of his
jailer."
They both looked up at the sound of voices growing near.
Seeing her exhaustion, Conor lifted Emma into his arms and pulled
himself up to the saddle. Minutes later, the horse and riders blended
into the line of trees and disappeared deep into the forest.
The boat sliced silently through the black waters, leaving the lights of
London far behind. Though it was a dark, moonless night, the
fisherman needed no stars to guide him. He'd made this journey
hundreds of times.
Boats passed him. Fishing boats. English merchant ships. Each time,
he saluted smartly, then continued casting his nets before moving on.
All night the little boat bobbed in the choppy waters, braving the chill
wind off the Irish Sea. Then, just before dawn, the motion of the boat
gentled. The fisherman leapt over the side and began to haul his craft
to the shore of a rough cove.
Once the boat was on dry land he tossed aside the pile of hides,
revealing two bloody figures huddled beneath.
"'Tis safe now, my lord."
"Thank you, Brian."
Conor stood stiffly, then helped Emma over the side of the boat. As
soon as they disembarked, the fisherman shoved off, heading back to
deep water.
Conor and Emma stood in the shallows, letting the cold water splash
against their aching flesh as they watched the little craft ride the
waves.
Then they turned and made their way to where an old farmer stood
beside his horse and cart.
He doffed his hat, then helped them into the back, where they nestled
into a mound of soft hides. As he flicked the reins, the horse started
forward. The gentle motion of the horse and cart lulled the two
instantly to sleep.
It was the change in the air that had Conor instantly awake. He sat up,
brushing the hair from his eyes. Beside him, Emma awoke and lay a
minute, struggling to get her bearings.
The little cart was passing through a gap in the mountains. The sides
of the hills were clothed with stunted, twisted shrubs and trees,
although the more sheltered places in the valley were ablaze with vast
clumps of rhododendron. Pink. Purple. White. Red. The colors were
so rich they almost hurt the eye.
Waterfalls tossed themselves from the heights, falling into a river far
below.
"Croagh Patrick," Conor breathed as he caught the first glint of high
peaks shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight.
The horse and cart broke free of the pass and rolled along a curving
ribbon of road into a green, green valley, dotted with fa«ns and tidy
houses. Flocks of sheep undulated over the hills, and cows moved
slowly through the fields toward home, with dogs running alongside.
A housewi
fe gathering vegetables from her garden placed them in her
big apron, then straightened just as the little cart clattered by. She
looked up, and seeing Conor, let out a shout.
"Conor O'Neil. Is it you?"
"Aye, Mistress Malloney. It is."
"But we'd heard you were dead."
"A fabrication, as you can see."
At her shriek of joy, more heads poked out of windows and doors,
and before long, men, women and children were lining up along the
road, calling out greetings, laughing, shouting as the horse and cart
rolled past.
Most of them continued running alongside, while others ran ahead to
tell the lord of the manor the good news.
By the time the cart rolled up the road leading to the keep, dozens of
villagers trailed behind.
Conor pointed, and Emma followed his direction.
"There's Ballinarin." He spoke the word like a prayer, and Emma felt
her throat tighten.
Even before the farmer drew his horse and cart to a halt, people began
spilling out of the keep. Maids, cooks, stable hands. All stood back as
the O'Neil family hurried forward.
"Oh, Conor." Moira O'Neil, tears streaming down her cheeks,
gathered her son close and sobbed against his chest. "We'd been told
you were hanged."
"You know better than to listen to such nonsense, Mother." He
pressed his lips to her temple, marvelling that she hadn't seemed to
age a day since he'd left.
He managed to keep his arm around her when his sister, Briana,
barrelled into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, blubbering
like a baby.
"You've come back," she was sobbing. "And this time, you'll stay.
Promise me, Conor."
"Aye, lass. I promise," he muttered.
"Conor." Gavin O'Neil embraced his son in a fierce hug before
holding him at arm's length. "From the looks of you, you've engaged
in a bit of brawling."
"Aye." Conor grinned. "A bit."
"Well, boyo." Rory bounded forward to slap his brother on the
shoulder. "You escaped the hangman's noose, did you?"
"Aye. Barely." Conor nodded toward Emma, who was standing
beside the cart, looking a bit dazed. "Thanks to my fellow scoundrel."
"Emma!"
Hearing her name, Emma turned to see her father and little sister,
Sarah, standing in the doorway. With a cry she flew to their arms.
Moments later she held them a little away, her heart suddenly filled to
overflowing. "Oh, look at you. You look even better than I
remembered."
"Aye. We've been well cared for here at Ballinarin," her father
assured her. "But we've missed our home. Now that you're back with
us, Emma, we'll return at once and be a family once more. And this
time, I promise you, we'll never be separated again."
From his position with his family, Conor went suddenly very still.
Though all around him everyone was laughing and talking, his eyes
took on a sad, haunted look.
He owed Emma his life. And though he wanted, more than anything
in this world, to spend the rest of his life with her, how could he now
intrude upon her homecoming and ask her to be separated once more
from the people she most loved?
He turned away, and vowed to hold his silence. She'd given enough.
Sacrificed more than any woman should ever have to. He would ask
no more of her.
Epilogue
Emma stepped into the rose garden and breathed deeply, filling her
lungs with the fragrance of hundreds of roses. She was desperate for
some time to herself. From the moment she and Conor had arrived at
Ballinarin, they hadn't had a single minute alone. Last night there had
been a celebration feast in the great hall, with half the village present.
There had been speeches, and minstrels, and even a chorus of village
youth serenading them.
This morning she had been thrust into the chaos of servants and
trunks and packing. Today, she and her family would be leaving. That
thought cut like a knife. She and Conor would be separated again.
This time for good.
Why had he not spoken for her? She had hoped, when her father had
retreated to the library with Gavin O'Neil and his sons late last night,
that they might discuss marriage plans. But when the men had
emerged hours later, they had merely smiled and nodded and bid each
other good-night.
She had waited, like a lovestruck fool, for Conor to come to her bed.
But she had waited in vain.
She circled the garden until she found a stone bench tucked away
behind a fragrant arbor. From somewhere nearby a fountain splashed.
She settled herself in a patch of sunlight and hoped the pleasant
surrounding would soothe away some of her agitation. But she knew
nothing would heal the ache in her heart.
"What's happened to my sweet-tempered brother?" Rory clapped a
hand on Conor's shoulder as the two stepped into the garden. "Is it
because you are forever banned from England as an enemy of the
Crown?"
Conor shook his head. "You know I have no desire to see England
again."
"Aye, but I would have thought the news that Dunstan and Celestine
have been proclaimed guilty of treason would bring a smile to your
face. Surely the fact that Dunstan's properties have been confiscated
by the Crown, that Daniel Vaughn's estate has been returned to him,
and that Celestine awaits her punishment in the very cell you once
occupied, should bring you a measure of satisfaction."
"It does."
"But still you do not smile, Conor. If anything, your return to
Ballinarin ought to have your heart leaping for joy."
"It is."
Rory grinned. "Well, if that's how you look when you're joyful, I'd
hate to see you when you're in a temper."
"Leave me be, Rory. I'm in no mood for your clever remarks right
now."
"I can see that." Rory's smile faded. "What is it, Conor?-What's got
you looking as though you've just lost your best friend?"
"I have. Or at least, I'm about to."
"Ah."
As
understanding
dawned,
Rory
nodded.
"Sweet
Emma-Vaughn."
"Aye. Emma." Conor wasn't aware of how his tone softened as he
spoke her name. Or of the light that came into his eyes.
But Rory saw. And was moved by it. "If she means that much to you,
why don't you ask her to stay and share your life?"
"I want to. More than anything in this world. But it wouldn't be fair to
her father and little sister. They've just been reunited after such a
long, painful separation. I can see how much they depend upon her.
What would they do without her?"
Rory studied his brother, and saw the pain in his eyes. "The question
is, what will you do without her?"
Conor shrugged. "I'll live. I've lived through worse."
"Aye." Rory put a hand on his brother's shoulder. Squeezed. "I know
how much you've sacrificed for us. And you've never complained.
But now you deserve some happiness. Listen to me, Conor. Stop
&nb
sp; being so damnably heroic and go to Emma's father. After all we've
done for him, he'll have to give his blessing."
"That's just it. He'd feel obligated to agree, whether or not he
approved." Conor shook his head. "That's why I can't go to him. I
won't."
Rory turned away. "Suit yourself, brother. Personally, I don't know
whether you're being heroic, or playing the part of a fool. I do know
you'd better prepare yourself for a life of emptiness, if you let the
woman you love walk away."
"We'll speak no more of this." Conor abruptly turned away.
"Where are you going?" Rory called to his retreating back.
"To my chambers. Where I can brood alone."
Emma sat perfectly still, mulling all she'd overheard. Conor's
admission had left her stunned and reeling. Even though he loved her,
he was going to let her go. And all because he thought her father and
little sister needed her more than he did.
She got to her feet and began to pace.
How could she make him see that her place was here with him? Oh,
that blind, pigheaded fool. What was she to do? Oh, what to do?
Suddenly she stopped pacing and began to run from the garden. It
wasn't much of a plan. But it was all she could think of. There was so
little time left before her father's carriage would be starting off for
Dublin.
Conor had tried everything he could to stay busy, so that he wouldn't
have time to think. He'd loaded trunks into wagons until his muscles
ached. He'd ridden into the fields with Innis to choose a special filly
that would accompany Sarah back to her home. The orphaned lad,
adopted son of Rory and AnnaClaire, had formed a bond with
Emma's little sister, and she with him. They had already made a pact
that they would meet often, so their newly blossomed friendship
would grow.
Conor stood on the balcony of his chambers watching the activity
below. Very soon now, Emma would take her leave of Ballinarin. If it
killed him, he'd try to let her go gracefully.
But his heart was so heavy, he could hardly bear the pain.
Conor Page 29
