Conor

Once they were alone, the crowd visibly relaxed. Without the pressure of the royal presence, they could be themselves.

“Wine, O’Neil?”

Conor looked up to find Lord Dunstan standing behind him.

“Thank you.” Though he loathed the man, Conor was adept at playing the game. He kept a polite smile on his face as he lifted his goblet.

“I understand we’ll both be dining with the queen tonight.” Dunstan accepted a goblet from a passing servant.

“Aye.” Out of the corner of his eye Conor saw the young woman talking with Lord Humphrey. She had a way of looking down, and then peering upward through her lashes, that was most appealing.

Seeing the way Conor watched her, Dunstan caught her arm as she passed. “Have you two met?”

She seemed startled, like a creature from the wild about to break free and run. She took one look at Conor and stared down at her feet. Instead of replying, she merely shook her head.

“Conor O’Neil, may I present Emma Vaughn.”

“Vaughn?” Conor couldn’t hide his surprise. “Are you related to Daniel Vaughn, from Dublin?”

“Aye.” Her voice was low, breathy, with that lovely lyrical brogue that years of English tutoring couldn’t erase. At that moment she lifted her head. Up close, Conor realized, her eyes were green, with little flecks of gold. Most unusual eyes, for a most unusual female. “Daniel Vaughn is my father. He lives outside London now.”

“I’d heard. But he still keeps the estates in Ireland?”

She nodded while studying him with equal curiosity. So this was the man who had all of London talking. And no wonder. Thick black hair fell rakishly over a wide forehead. His lips, wide and full, were curved in an inviting smile. But it was his eyes that held her. Eyes as blue as the Irish Sea. They remained steady on hers, holding her gaze even when she tried to look away. “There are tenant fatmers to work the land and tend the flocks.”

Before she could say more she looked up to see one of the women beckoning to her. “Excuse me. I must take my leave.”

“So soon?” Dunstan kept his hand firmly on her arm.

“Aye.” She looked almost terrified at the prospect of being touched in this manner. “I am at the queen’s beck and call.”

Dunstan looked from Emma to Conor and gave a smile. “Perhaps I’ll arrange for you to attend the Queen’s supper tonight. Would you like that?”

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be proper. I’m merely training...”

“Nonsense. There is nothing I would like more than to have such a lovely creature beside me during the long, tedious evening. I still hold considerable sway with Elizabeth. Consider it done.”

When she walked away, Dunstan watched until she exited the room. Then he turned to Conor. “A bit shy for my taste. And then there’s the matter of her clothes.” He wrinkled his nose. “But she’s a fresh enough face. I grow weary of the sport when the players are too eager.” He drained his goblet and set it aside. “I’m sure you know what I mean, O’Neil. Since it’s the same game you play with our queen.”

Conor held his silence as Dunstan sauntered away. Let the others think what they would about his relationship with the queen. So far, though he had managed to stay out of her bed, he had her ear. He hoped it could remain that way.

He was weary of thinking about Elizabeth and struggling to read her many moods. Keeping his features carefully composed he turned to stare into the flames of the fire, and thought about the young woman in the ill-fitting clothes. Emma Vaughn. Daughter of Daniel Vaughn, one of the most respected landowners in Ireland before his wife’s ill health had forced him to seek out the healing waters of Spain. Vaughn’s brother was bishop of Claire; his uncle one of Gavin O’Neil’s best friends.

Conor thought again about the shy, demure young woman, unlike the other ladies-in-waiting who were so bold. There was something about her. Something almost familiar. As though he’d met her before.

He made up his mind instantly. Surely he owed it to his father’s old friend to take her by the hand and lead her through the perils that could befall her at court. Especially at the mercy of one like Dunstan.

Dunstan. That animal would leave her honor besmirched and her dignity in tatters. The thought of thwarting Dunstan was instantly appealing.

Aye. He would do it. Not just because of Dunstan. And not only because her pretty little face had caught his eye. Nor because he’d admired her backside as she’d taken her leave. But because she was a fellow countryman.

Aware that Elizabeth was a jealous monarch, Conor knew he would have to be very careful not to incur the queen’s wrath. He would keep his relationship with Emma Vaughn one of simple friendship. That would be best, especially in his line of work. Anyone who got too close stood a good chance of being burned, should the fires of war be fanned.

Still, it would be good to have someone with whom he could shed some pretense. A true Irish lass with whom he could simply relax and unburden himself.

In this den of vipers, both he and Emma Vaughn had need of at least one true friend.

Chapter Three

“Lord Dunstan has invited you to sup with the queen?” Amena, one of the queen’s favorite ladies-in-waiting, arched a brow in surprise. Then she studied Emma with a knowing smile. “I must admit I’m more than a little surprised. He usually prefers...” She shrugged. “No matter. It is considered quite an honor. What will you wear?”

Emma picked through her meager wardrobe and chose one of her mother’s old gowns, which she had brought along because her own seemed completely unsuitable. “I thought this would do.”

“Hmm.” Amena held it up to the girl and clucked her tongue. “It seems a bit...overlarge. But I suppose I could loan you a sash. And some decent slippers. I’ll send my servant with them.”

“Thank you.” Emma watched as the older woman took her leave. Then she began pacing in front of the fireplace.

Lord Dunstan made her uncomfortable. In fact, the very touch of him made her skin crawl. There was something about his manner. Or perhaps it was the look in his eyes. Whatever the reason, she mistrusted the man. But she would do whatever necessary to see this task to its conclusion, no matter what danger or discomfort it entailed.

With a sigh she slipped out of her gown and into one of her mother’s. Though it was no longer stylish, and far too big for her slender frame, it gave her a sense of peace to feel the fabric against her skin. She breathed deeply. She could still smell her mother. The very thought brought a sting of tears to her eyes.

At a knock on the door she blinked away her melancholy thoughts and opened the door to accept the sash from Amena’s servant. Minutes later, when Dunstan arrived to escort her, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. I do this for you, Father, she thought. And for little Sarah.

“Well, Emma.” Elizabeth glanced down the table at the young woman who was seated beside Lord Dunstan. “What do you think about partaking of such a splendid meal?”

Emma’s face turned several shades of pink. She was clearly uncomfortable at having been singled out by the queen. “It is...as impressive as the company, Majesty.”

“Well said.” Elizabeth was enjoying herself away from the pomp that usually surrounded her at court. Though she reveled in her position as supreme monarch, there were times when the burden grew heavy. At such times, she withdrew, with only a few close friends and confidantes to relieve the tedium of public life.

The queen turned to Conor, who sat at her right side. “Have you met Emma Vaughn?”

He nodded. “Lord Dunstan introduced us this afternoon.”

“Her stepmother, Celestine, is my cousin.” Elizabeth pinned the girl with a steady took. “How is my cousin?”

Emma chose her words carefully. “She appears healthy, Majesty.”

“Aye. Celestine is a very healthy woman.” Elizabeth gave a knowing smile. “With healthy appetites. As many of our young men will attest. And your father?”

“He is...not so well.”

“Then it is fortunate that he has a strong young wife to see to his care. You have a sister, I believe?”

The young woman’s eyes seemed to mist for a moment before she nodded. “Sarah. She is six years old.”

“I am surprised that a woman like Celestine would take on the care of a child. Your father must be a man of extreme charm and wealth. You will give Celestine my regards when next you see her.”

“Aye, Majesty.” Emma stared at her plate.

In an aside, Elizabeth muttered, “I took this young dullard in as a favor to my cousin, but I feel my generosity has been abused. This simpleton would better serve me if she were a pot of pretty flowers.”

There were snickers from several of those nearby who overheard. Conor coughed discreetly, hoping to muffle the sound of laughter from the poor girl’s ears. If she knew what had been said about her, she would be humiliated.

He picked up his wine, determined to distract the queen from any further thought of insulting the shy young maiden who continued to hang her head.

“I hear you are recently returned from Ireland, Lord Dunstan.”

“Aye.” Dunstan rolled his eyes. “And grateful to be back on English soil. The peasants there live in hovels we wouldn’t even use to shelter our livestock. They breed like field mice, surrounded by their dirty little offspring.”

He glanced around the table, enjoying the laughter from the others.

Conor carefully controlled his temper. “If you feel so strongly about them, I wonder why you go there.”

“As a loyal Englishman, I do it for my queen. Someone must deal with these savages.”

Conor’s tone was dry. “How lucky for England that you take such satisfaction in your work.”

Dunstan’s eyes flashed. “Aye. I do enjoy subduing those filthy animals. And why not? They plot and scheme against my queen.” He turned to Elizabeth, his voice dripping honey. “Let no man ever question my love and loyalty to the throne of England.”

Touched, Elizabeth squeezed his hand and glanced around the assembled at table. “Now you see why Lord Dunstan has known favor with me all these years.” She pushed away and the others got to their feet. “I believe I’m now ready for some entertainment.”

She placed her hand on Conor’s sleeve and allowed him to lead her to the ballroom, where the musicians were already assembled.

When the others entered, Conor noticed Emma walking timidly beside Lord Dunstan. He felt a flash of annoyance, then dismissed it. After all, the lass could have refused Dunstan’s invitation to sup with the queen. The fact that she was here must mean that she desired the man’s company. Still, she had the appearance of a lamb tossed to the wolves.

“Will you dance, Majesty?” Conor asked gallantly.

“Aye, my fine rogue. For I’m feeling especially lively tonight.”

They began to move through the intricate steps of the dance, while the others did the same. Across the room, Emma Vaughn was dancing with Dunstan. The gown she had chosen was pale pink, and was once again several sizes too large, making it extremely unattractive.

Elizabeth leaned close to whisper in Conor’s ear. “Did you see how lovingly Dunstan leaps to my defense?”

“Aye, Majesty.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off Emma, awkwardly attempting to follow Dunstan’s lead. Once or twice she actually stepped on the hem of her gown, nearly tripping both of them.

“I was truly moved by his words.”

Conor tore his gaze away and forced his attention back to the queen. “Words cost little, Majesty.”

“You would know that, wouldn’t you, my silver-tongued rogue. But Dunstan’s loyalty is unquestioned. It is for that reason that I reward him with gold and lavish estates.”

Conor saw Dunstan lean close to whisper something against Emma’s temple. Saw the girl pull back, as though stung. An icy chill raced along Conor’s spine. The man was known to be coarse and crude. “And Your Majesty’s largesse to Lord Dunstan will no doubt assure his loyalty through difficult times.”

“Do you foresee storms in my future, Conor O’Neil?”

“Nay, madam.” He forced himself to smile. “I foresee only blue skies and gentle weather during Your Majesty’s reign.”

She returned his smile. “I do believe, Conor O’Neil, that your presence here is a very good omen.”

“I hope you will always think that, Majesty.” He tried to keep his smile in place as he danced her around the room.

When they drew near Dunstan and Emma, Conor maneuvered the queen close enough that she brushed Dunstan’s arm.

Dunstan looked up sharply. Then, spying the queen, he took the bait, as Conor had known he would. For Dunstan, it seemed the perfect opportunity to press for a dance with the most powerful woman in the kingdom, and to rid himself of his awkward companion.

Dunstan bowed smartly. “Would you care to change partners, Majesty?”

Elizabeth, glowing, gave him the benediction of her smile. “With pleasure, Lord Dunstan.”

The two whirled away, leaving Conor and Emma facing each other. Conor paused for just a beat, so that the others in the room who might be watching would think he’d been caught by surprise. It was a seemingly insignificant victory, but a very sweet one.

He offered his hand. “Will you dance, my lady?”

“I... Yes.” Emma placed her hand in his.

Conor felt a jolt as their bodies came together. Though she appeared even more slender in that ill-fitting gown, the curves brushing against him were those of a woman. A woman who, for some unknown reason, had his blood running hot.

For the space of a heartbeat he forgot to move. How odd that this shy, simple young woman should be the source of such unexpected feelings.

Knowing they were being observed, he forced himself into action. He led her in a slow, rhythmic circle. When the step was completed she turned to face him, and he absorbed another jolt as his lips hovered just above hers.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Emma?”

“Aye.” She lifted her head a fraction, causing her lips to brush his throat. It was the merest touch of her mouth, and both of them pulled away instantly. But the damage had already been done. Her face flamed. His eyes narrowed slightly.

“In truth...” She swallowed, tried again. This flirting business was something so alien to her, it caused her great distress. “In truth, I feel quite out of my element. Everyone and everything seems so new and frightening.”

Again that voice, low, breathless, as though she had been running across a meadow. It touched some long forgotten chord in him. He had an unreasonable desire to press his mouth to a tangle of hair at her temple and soothe all her fears.

“Soon enough you will know everyone here, and it will all feel quite normal.” Without realizing it he drew her fractionally closer. His hand at her waist opened, his fingers splaying across her lower back, and he marveled at how tiny, how delicate she was.

“And you, Conor O’Neil?” She lifted her head again, this time taking care to avoid brushing him with her lips, though she found the thought tempting. “Do you like it here at court?”

“Aye.” He felt the whisper of her breath against his cheek and was suddenly too warm. “I would have to be a fool not to enjoy the luxury of such a life.” Aye. A fool, he thought, as he slowly moved with her around the dance floor. A fool who could find all his carefully laid plans crumbling around his feet if he weren’t careful.

She sighed. “Your words bring me comfort.”

“Truly? How so?”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “If you can feel at home here, then perhaps, in time, I may do the same. I had feared, because of my father’s name, that I would never feel truly at home anywhere but in Ireland.”

He felt a quickening of his pulse at the mention of that dear land. “So, though your home is here in England, you still consider yourself Irish?”

She seemed shocked by his question. “Indeed. Don’t you, Conor O’Neil?”

“Aye.” He chuckled. “But I thought it might be different for you. Your father has taken an English wife, and has settled here.”

At that, her nostrils flared. Her voice fairly trembled with passion. “Ireland is still my father’s home. And mine, as well. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing. Least of all my father’s new wife.”

Conor looked up and realized that the music had ended. The dancers were laughing and chatting as servants moved among them offering goblets of ale and wine. The queen, with Lord Dunstan beside her, was even now bearing down on them.

“Here you are, Conor. I’d feared you had retired to the parlor, to join the gentlemen in a game of cards.”

“And miss the chance to dance with you once more, Majesty?” He bowed grandly before Emma and lifted her hand to his lips. “I thank you for allowing me to be your partner, my lady.”

She blushed, dimpled. “You are most welcome.”

In a proprietary manner Dunstan took Emma’s hand and turned away. She had an almost overpowering impulse to shrink from his touch. But, knowing there were others watching, Emma merely walked along beside him.

Conor led the queen to the dance floor, where they were soon laughing and chatting as they moved through the steps of another dance. And all the while, Conor was aware only of the shy young woman who was once again moving awkwardly in Dunstan’s arms.

What was the matter with him? he wondered. Why was he allowing this newcomer to cause him to veer from his charted course? But as the night wore on, he found himself more and more distracted by the sight of Emma Vaughn in the arms of the lecher, Dunstan.

“Another dance, Majesty?” Conor plucked two goblets from the tray of a passing servant and offered one to the queen.

“No more, Conor.” She took a single sip, then set the goblet aside. “If I do not soon retire to my bed you will have to carry me.”

He shot her a dangerous smile. “A most pleasant chore, madam. I would be only too happy to oblige.”

Elizabeth blushed like a girl. “You always know just the right thing to say, don’t you?”

“It is why you keep me around.”

“Aye. You amuse me, Conor O’Neil. And you also please me. Unlike so many of my advisors, you are honest. At times, a bit too honest.”

He winced. If she but knew. “Can a man ever be too honest, Majesty?”

She studied him in silence. Then, turning to scan the others in the room she gave a shrewd smile. “Look at them, Conor. They all wish I would retire for the night.”

He gave a glance around, then turned back to her. “They seem to be having such a grand time. Why would they wish that?”

“Because their blood grows hot, confined to this room where they must satisfy themselves with occasional touches while they dance. You see Lord Humphrey? As soon as they return to their suite of rooms in the castle, his elderly wife will go to her bed. But he will spend the night in the bed of my lady-in-waiting, Amena.” Seeing Conor’s look of surprise, she said, “Over there, the Earl of Danville is dancing with his wife, while his mistress, Brenna Lampley, watches from the balcony. And across the room, my advisor, Charles Malcolm, is fetching a pastry for his wife. But watch as he pauses to speak with the lovely Margaret Childon. Even now they are plotting their little tryst. But that cannot be accomplished until their queen takes her leave. Then they will suddenly disappear, to meet at some prearranged room where they can satisfy more...carnal hungers.”

Conor turned to study the queen. “And how do you know all this?”

“There are no secrets at court. Remember that, my rogue.” She gave a girlish laugh. “My spies are everywhere.”

Conor coughed discreetly. “Madam, each time I think I know you, you reveal another fascinating side.”

She got to her feet and placed a hand on his sleeve. “There are many more sides to me, Conor O’Neil. And if you continue to please me, I may show you all of them. Now you will accompany your queen to her room.”

“Aye, Majesty.” He moved beside her, watching as the men bowed and the women curtsied.

When he saw Emma watching him, Conor felt a flash of annoyance. She would believe, as did all the others, that he was going to the queen’s bed. Not that it should matter to him. But for some strange reason, it did.

With the queen’s butler in attendance, they walked to her private suite. Inside, Conor took a seat, as he always did, while the queen was made ready for bed. Once her servants had completed that chore they were dismissed. Then the door to the queen’s inner chambers was opened, and Conor was invited to approach the queen.

As always, Elizabeth, modestly attired, offered her hand.

Conor brought it to his lips. “I bid you good-night, Majesty. May your sleep be deep and dreamless.”

“Thank you, Conor O’NeiL Perhaps, when next we dance, I shall share a few more of my ladies’ secrets.”

“I’m not at all certain I wish to hear them, madam.”

“All the more reason I will share them. Now I must sleep. If anyone dares to disturb me, I shall have their head.”

The queen was still laughing as Conor took his leave.

His own rooms were on the opposite side of the palace, and one floor above.

Candles flickered in sconces along the hallways. At this time of night, many of the servants had retired, except for those seeing to the needs of the guests who still remained awake.

Conor passed a small game room, where several of the queen’s advisors were engaged in cards and chess. He thought briefly about joining them, then decided against it.

As he passed a closed door he heard what sounded like a woman’s cry. Almost at once it ended, as though abruptly cut off. Two lovers, he thought wryly. Snatching moments of pleasure where and when they could.

He was about to move on when he heard it again. Just a sound, really. Not quite a cry. But there was something familiar about it. A hint of fear. A trace of breathlessness.

He felt a prickling along the back of his scalp.

Retracing his steps, he paused outside the closed door and listened. At first he heard nothing. Then as he moved closer, he could hear the hiss of anger. And the whispered command, “Hold your tongue, woman. There is no one who would dare interfere. It is simply the way things are done at court.”

Dunstan’s voice. He was sure of it. Conor felt his blood freeze. Without taking time to consider, he turned the knob and thrust the door inward. With only the illumination of coals on the grate, the two figures across the room were in shadow. Both of them looked up when he entered. As he strode closer, Conor could see that Dunstan had pinned Emma against the wall. The bodice of her gown was open. Had it been torn? Her cheeks were moist. From kisses? Or tears?

His first instinct was to grab Dunstan by the throat and rip out his heart. His hand actually went to the knife at his waist. It would give him the sweetest of pleasures to slit Dunstan’s throat and watch his lifeblood spill away. But years of training made him swallow back his black Irish temper. His voice, when he spoke, was almost casual.

“Ah. The very man I was looking for.”

Dunstan glowered. “You can see I’m busy, O’Neil.”

“Aye. And I do hate to interrupt such...pleasant business. But I was just told that the queen requests your presence.”

Dunstan brows shot up. “The queen? Are you certain?”

Conor could barely conceal his glee at the way this fool leapt at the bait. He wondered how Dunstan would feel when the queen flew into one of her famous rages. “That’s what I was told. She awaits you impatiently in her private suite.”

Everything was forgotten now except this rare opportunity. Dunstan turned away, straightening his coat, fumbling with the fasteners at his waist, completely ignoring the young woman who only moments earlier had been fighting for her virtue.

He brushed past Conor. “Apparently, when it comes to the queen’s pleasure, she would prefer a loyal Englishman over an Irish peasant.”