painful of all news.
He took her cold hands in his. "My dear, are you all right?"
Elizabeth waved an imperious hand. "Your daughter is fine, Lord
Thompson. Just fine. She will return home with you like a dutiful
daughter. Is that not so, AnnaClaire?"
"Aye, Majesty."
"Go then. You are excused."
Fighting tears, AnnaClaire fled.
As she took her leave she heard the queen say to a servant, "Fetch
Conor O'Neil. I will meet with him in my chambers when I have
finished here with my advisors."
"What is it, my lady?" Innis, waiting alone in the hallway, caught
AnnaClaire's hand when she turned away to hide her tears. She was
too distraught to realize that he had ceased calling her Englishwoman.
And that the note of contempt had been wiped from his tone, to be
replaced with genuine concern.
"Oh, Innis. I've made such a mess of things."
"Nay, my lady. Conor thinks he will still be able to persuade the
queen to free Rory. He said the queen likes him. And women who
like Conor have always given him whatever he wanted."
"But it will be too late. You heard Tilden."
"Aye. If I'd had my dagger, I could have given it to Rory for
protection."
She shook her head. "Already Rory has been returned to Fleet. He's in
the hands of guards who will show no mercy."
"Then it is up to us to free him."
For a full minute AnnaClaire merely stared at him. He was nothing
more than a child. She had no right to even consider the words he had
spoken so simply. But it was the only thing that made any sense.
Child or not, she had to agree.
Wiping her tears, she nodded. "Aye, Innis. It is up to us. And we must
not fail him now, when we've come so far." She caught his hand and
began to race toward the door.
"Do you have a plan, my lady?"
"Nay, Innis." She was already breathless. And afraid. But she dare not
stop now. "But I'm sure something will come to us by the time we
reach Fleet Prison."
"Why did you buy these pastries from the vendor, my lady?"
AnnaClaire carefully wrapped the pastries in a linen square. "I intend
to distract the jailer." She gave a wry smile. "I'm not certain my
feminine wiles are enough."
"What are feminine wiles?"
"I'll tell you another time." Her smile faded at the sight of the stone
fortress before them. What had she been thinking? How could she
face this daunting place again?
She swallowed, and forced herself to move.
Once inside she prayed she could remember all the twists and turns
that led to Rory's cell. As they descended the steps, slick with blood
and excrement, she felt Innis clutch at her arm.
"I'm... afraid."
"As am I," she muttered. "But remember, if we should fail, Rory will
forfeit his life. You remember our plan? Do you think you can do as I
asked?"
"Aye, my lady. I'll...try." The boy bit down hard on his fear and
moved by her side.
A deep voice stopped them. "'Ey there. Where d'ye think ye're goin?"
AnnaClaire and Innis froze, then slowly turned. The burly jailer
grinned, revealing blackened teeth. "Why, ye'r that lady who paid me
the gold."
"Aye. And there's more for you today. But first we must visit the
same prisoner as before."
He glanced at the boy, then at the woman. Two easy marks, he
figured. Especially without the man to protect them this time. "Right
you are. What's in the parcel?"
AnnaClaire swallowed. "Food. For the prisoner."
"Well now. I'll just have some of that." He held out his hand. When
AnnaClaire took a step back he said sharply, "If you want my help,
ye'd best hand it over."
"Aye. Of course." AnnaClaire unwrapped the pastries and watched as
the jailer popped one into his mouth, then a second, then a third.
Innis tapped at his back. "If you keep that up, there soon won't be any
left for our friend in the cell."
"Watch it, lad. Keep yer hands off me." He jerked away. "Yer friend
won't mind. 'E'll still get to look at the female 'ere. That should be
reward enough." He ate another pastry, then for good measure, ate the
last as well. He belched loudly, then called, "Follow me."
He led them deeper into the prison, steering them along darkened
corridors, far from the other guards.
"This isn't the way we came last time," AnnaClaire muttered as she
slipped and steadied herself against the wall.
"I'm takin' ye along a different route this time." He chuckled to
himself. "So's none of the other jailers happen upon us. Watch where
ye walk. There's all sorts of... unpleasant things underfoot. Including
rats."
He'd expected to hear a yelp from the female, and was disappointed
when she spoke not a word. With a soft chuckle he continued leading
them ever deeper into the depths of the prison. When he was certain
they were far enough away that he could do as he pleased with them,
he turned, only to find himself alone. Swearing fiercely, he began to
retrace his steps.
"Are you sure this is the way, my lady?"
"Aye. I recognize that cell." AnnaClaire shuddered at the sight of the
men in chains. The sounds of their moans and cries sent fresh shivers
along her spine.
She was nearly running now, in her haste to find Rory before the
jailer discovered their little trick.
"Here." She turned a darkened corner and Innis followed.
In the darkness she paused, listened, then pointed toward the keyhole
in a rusty door. "This is it."
Innis held up the key he'd picked from the jailer's ring. When he
turned the key in the lock, nothing happened.
"Rory," AnnaClaire called.
She heard a muffled reply.
"Rory." Without a torch, it was impossible to see inside the cell. She
prayed she wasn't making a terrible mistake. "Rory. We've unlocked
the door. But it's stuck. You'll have to put your shoulder to it. Hurry.
Please."
She-turned to Innis as a shuffling sound could be heard from within.
Just then, she saw the light from a torch heading toward them.
Though it wavered and flickered, she could tell it was coming closer.
"The jailer. Rory, the jailer is coming. Hurry. Oh hurry. Please."
She heard the curses as the jailer spotted them. Heard the sound of his
footsteps as he began to run toward them. Then she heard the scrape
of the door as it was forced open.
"So. Ye thought ye could trick old Colby, did ye?" The jailer swung
the torch like a club.
Rory ducked, then, with a single blow, sent the man tumbling
backward. The torch flew out of his hands and landed several feet
away, where it sputtered in a pool of murky blood.
"Hurry, Rory," AnnaClaire called as she caught Innis by the hand. '
'We must get out of here before Tilden finds us."
"Did someone mention my name?"
They turned to find Tilden, sword already unsheathed, stalking
toward them.
"I see you planned to spoil my fun." He glowered at AnnaClaire.
"N
ow you're going to pay for this."
"Let the woman and boy go." Rory's voice was deadly calm.
"Why should I?" Tilden asked with a sneer.
"Because, if you do, I won't fight you."
Tilden threw back his head and roared. "What are you going to fight
me with, O'Neil? Do you think your bare hands can win over my
sword?"
"I'll manage to inflict a few blows before you end my life. But I give
you my word. If you let the woman and boy go free, I won't defend
myself."
"How noble. But this time, I have no intention of allowing any
witnesses to survive. I'll start with you, O'Neil. Then the boy. And I
may allow the woman to live long enough to...pleasure me. After that,
you can have her for eternity."
He ran a hand over the blade of his sword and smiled at the thought of
what he was about to do. Then he thrust it menacingly.
Rory danced to one side, and the blade sang against the stone wall.
With a muttered oath Tilden turned and attacked. Rory ducked, then
brought his knee up as hard as he could. With a grunt of pain Tilden
doubled over. But when Rory brought his fist down, Tilden shifted,
deflecting the blow. He straightened, thrust the blade, and gave a
laugh of satisfaction when fresh blood flowed from Rory's already
wounded shoulder.
"How much pain can an Irish peasant endure?" he called.
"More than an English bastard." Rory stepped back, avoiding another
thrust, then managed to land a blow to Tilden's nose that sent blood
gushing down the front of his tunic.
"You'll pay for that, O'Neil." He cupped a hand to his nose, then
charged forward with all the fury of a wounded bull.
Rory managed to avoid the first thrust, but the next one caught him in
the thigh. He was startled when his leg refused to hold him. Sinking
to his knees, he watched helplessly as Tilden lifted his sword and
towered over him.
"I didn't know it was your woman I'd killed that day, O'Neil." The
soldier's eyes glittered with madness. ' 'My men and I were just out
for a little pleasure. But she was a pretty enough piece. Now the lad's
mother, there was even more enjoyment. She cried and begged and
pleaded for the sake of her babies. That just made it so much better."
From behind him came a strangled cry of pain and rage. '-iRory was
right. You're nothing but an animal, Tilden. You don't deserve to
live."
At the sound of Innis' tear-choked voice, Tilden's head came up. He
saw the boy lift something from the waist of the jailer. Saw something
shiny streak through the air and land with a quiet thud in his chest.
Felt the pain, hot and cold at the same time. And watched in disbelief
as fresh blood began to ooze through his tunic.
He turned, intent upon striking down the lad. Before he could, the
sword was knocked from his hand. With a cry of rage he turned
toward Rory. And realized, too late, that his own weapon was now in
Rory's hand.
"At last. Do you know how long I've waited for this moment?" Rory
plunged the sword deeply into Tilden's chest, and watched as the
soldier crashed to the stone floor and lay, writhing and twisting in
pain. "May you burn in hell for all time, Tilden."
They stood, shocked into silence, as the soldier's life slowly slipped
away.
Too weak to continue standing, Rory draped an arm around
AnnaClaire's shoulders, and nearly fell. It took all the strength that
AnnaClaire and Innis could manage to drag him, stumbling and
falling, out of the prison and into the sunlight.
"We must take him to your father's home, my lady." Innis knelt
beside Rory, who had collapsed in the lane.
To hide him from view, they rolled his unconscious body beneath a
hedge.
"Nay, Innis. That will be the first place they'll search for us."
"But he'll soon bleed to death."
AnnaClaire watched as carriages rolled past just a few feet from
where Rory lay. It was so unfair to have come so far, only to have
freedom snatched from their grasp. There had to be a way.
"Stay here," she called.
Lifting her skirts, she began to walk along the street, hoping no one
would notice the blood that stained her gown. Seeing a farmers'
market crowded with vendors and shoppers, she strolled closer. There
were several carts and carriages parked in a cluster. A quick glance
told her that their owners were too busy to notice her.
She chose a vendor's small pony cart littered with sacks of fruits and
vegetables. Grabbing the reins she led the pony until they were out of
sight. Then she climbed up to the seat and cracked the whip. Pony and
cart took off with a clatter. When she heard a commotion behind her,
she urged the animal into a run.
"My lady." Innis looked up when she rolled to a stop. "You stole
this?"
"Aye, Innis." She leapt down, and together they struggled to help
Rory into the back of the cart. As she covered him with the sacks she
muttered, "I know it's wrong, but right now I'm desperate to save
Rory."
As she climbed to the seat and took up the reins, Innis said, "If we
can't take him to your home, where will we hide him, my lady?"
She peered over her shoulder as the horse and cart started through the
streets of London. "I've thought of a place. I know it sounds like
madness, but it's the only place they'll never think of looking for
Rory."
"Where is that, my lady?"
"In the queen's own home. My father has a suite of rooms in
Greenwich Castle."
"Ah. Conor O'Neil." Elizabeth turned from the looking glass, then
waved her maid away.
When they were alone in her chambers, she pointed to a silver tray on
which rested a decanter of ale and two silver chalices. "I'll have some
ale. You may join me."
"Thank you, Majesty. You are too kind." Conor filled the chalices,
then handed one to the queen.
She crossed the room and sat. Pointing to the chair beside hers she
said, "Come. Sit. Tell me about yourself and your family. I want to
hear more of this hidden kingdom, Ballinarin. Such a lovely, musical
name."
He sat down and gave her a smile guaranteed to melt her heart. "You
would love it, Majesty. There is something wild and free about my
home. A sky so blue, it would rival the blue of your eyes. A land
greener than the emeralds at your throat."
"So." She touched a hand to her necklace. "You appreciate fine
jewels."
"Aye. And beautiful women."
She could actually feel herself blushing. This Irish rogue did have a
way about him. "Do you live like barbarians?'
He merely smiled. "Our keep at Ballinarin is not so fine as
Greenwich. But our cook can make salmon taste like heaven. Her
beef and kidney pie is a thing of beauty. And her pastries melt in your
mouth." He stretched out his long legs, enjoying the fire, the ale and
his regal hostess. "Besides that, our servants are loyal. Our tenant
farmers are industrious. And our people are good, God-fearing men
and wom
en who want nothing more than to live and love and serve
their God and their queen."
She shook her head and found herself laughing like a schoolgirl. "All
this just rolls off your tongue like honey, Conor O'Neil." She sat back
and studied him for several moments, noting the steadiness of his
gaze, the slight flicker of amusement around the lips. Oh, he was a
handsome devil.
She shook her head, as though not quite believing what she was about
to say.
' What is it, Majesty? What has you looking so perplexed?"
She drained her glass and set it aside. "I'm not sure why, Conor
O'Neil. Perhaps it is your charm. Perhaps it is my own foolish heart.
But I have decided to have your brother brought before me once
more. If he can persuade me of his truthfulness..." She shrugged. "We
shall see."
As Elizabeth rang for her maid, Conor drained his ale in one long
swallow. It was too soon to hope. But he couldn't help thinking about
the trust his family had placed in him. And how desperately he longed
to take his brother far from this vile place.
This would be their last, and perhaps their best, chance for freedom.
Chapter Twenty-One
'What do you mean, the prisoner is gone?"
The soldier who had been elected to deliver the news to the queen
blanched at her explosion of fury. "I know only that when his cell was
checked, it was empty." He stared at the toes of his boots, wishing he
could flee. Or at least fall through a crack in the floor and disappear.
"There is more, Majesty."
' More? What else? Has Fleet been emptied of prisoners? Did an army
of Irish peasants storm the prison demanding the freedom of their
hero?"
"Nay, Majesty. But...it was reported that the prisoner escaped with
the help of a beautiful young woman and a small lad."
"A woman and lad? That is all it took? The fool guards couldn't stop
one lovesick woman and a small boy? Fools. All of them. Heads will
roll for this."
Elizabeth unleashed her wrath on her servant, who had just poured an
elegant French wine into two crystal goblets. With a sweep of her
hand the queen sent the goblets flying, sending a geyser of wine and
shards of crystal spilling across the snowy linens. "Send for James
Lord Thompson at once."
When the servant departed, the queen glowered at her handsome,
sophisticated dinner partner. "What do you know of this, Conor
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