Lady of Conquest (21 page)

The pain was sharp in his eyes, and she realized what this execution was costing him. She gave him a reassuring smile then returned to Nimbus’s side. Conn turned his attention back to the crowd.

An ugly roar rose at one corner of the courtyard and crossed like a wave until the crowd seemed close to rioting. The reason soon appeared as Barron Ó Caflin was led into the courtyard. He stumbled but found himself pulled upright by the guards that flanked him. He never saw the sunlight. A blindfold covered his eyes. Gelina flinched as a rotten tomato spattered across his face, hurled by an anonymous hand. He held himself straight. Even Nimbus looked sickened.

Angry cries flew through the crowd like missiles. “Traitor!”

“Bastard!”

“Eoghan Mogh’s dog!”

As he was led up the scaffold steps, an old woman spat in his face before the guards could pull her down.

Conn raised his arms and roared, “Halt!”

The crowd fell silent and faced the tower. Conn’s words were short and clipped. “This man’s execution will stand as his punishment. The other abuse will cease.” Some looked abashed but others continued to watch Ó Caflin with open hostility. Conn took a deep breath. “It pains me greatly to see a man of the Fianna meet such a death. But Barron Ó Caflin chose this path for himself. He chose to betray our kingdom. He chose to let his brothers die.” His voice hardened with anger. “I know that many of you have lost young men of your clans because of Ó Caflin’s betrayal.”

Gelina felt tears start in her own eyes as she saw a burly farmer standing below them with tears streaming down his face.

“I cannot bring back your men. They were my men, too, and I grieve with you. Justice will be done today, and it will be done publicly, so that anyone else who seeks to betray Erin may observe the fate that awaits him. You may proceed.” Conn gestured to the men on the scaffold.

The guards did not force Barron Ó Caflin to his knees. He knelt before the crowd like a lamb prepared for sacrifice and placed his head on the wooden block. The hooded executioner picked up the bronze ax. Its blade glinted in the sunlight. Gelina fought the scream rising in her throat and looked at Conn. She was the only one who saw the tension that knotted every muscle of his body and knew he wanted to scream as badly as she did.

The crowd grew silent as the heavy steps of Goll MacMorna echoed through the courtyard. He approached the chopping block and hefted the enormous ax in the air.

Gelina forced her eyes away from the grisly scene and found them drawn to a tall, cloaked figure who stood at the back of the courtyard. A hood was drawn toward his face, obscuring his features, but she could not rid herself of the impression that the man was watching her.

He raised one hand and slipped the hood back just enough to reveal his features. She never saw the ax fall. She never heard the whistle it made as it severed Ó Caflin’s head. She never saw the decapitated head roll off the scaffold. The only thing she saw was laughing dark eyes and features she loved as well as her own, before she slid to the floor of the tower, her world going dark around her.

Opening her eyes, Gelina found Conn’s concerned face a scant foot away from hers. He sat beside her on the canopied bed, peering at her as if afraid she would evaporate. With no conscious thought, she stretched out her arms and pulled him close, hiding her face in his shoulder and savoring the rich manly smell of him. His arms circled her for a sweet moment, then he pushed her back on the pillows, reluctance in his fingertips.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I should have never made you watch the execution.” She looked away, her eyes unreadable. His voice was filled with unfamiliar remorse. “Sometimes I forget what hell you’ve been through.”

She still did not trust her voice to speak, knowing that if she admitted to him and to herself what she had seen, all was lost. The life she had found at Tara was over. She held her silence, preserving the only happiness she could remember.

“Gelina, can you speak? My physicians tell of those who have been so frightened they lost their voices.”

“You couldn’t be that fortunate, Conn.” She managed a weak smile, and he laughed aloud. “What happened?”

“You fainted on the tower. Mer-Nod caught you, and I carried you to your chamber. You’ve been unconscious for several minutes.”

“How humiliating. Did Sheela see me swoon?” She sighed in mock shame.

Shaking his head in exasperation, he said, “Is that your only concern?”

“Well, no. I didn’t crush Nimbus, did I? He is such a dear little fellow.”

“You scare me half out of my wits, and all you can do is jest. I’ve a good mind to box your ears.” Conn brandished his fist in the air, fighting to keep the scowl on his face.

She caught his fist and brought it to her lips, smile fading. “Did I really frighten you?”

He pulled his hand away from her soft lips as if it had been burned and planted a brisk kiss on her brow. “You frightened someone else more. I should go and assure them of your health. There is one hysterical dwarf running around out there. I want you to stay in your room tonight.”

“As punishment?” she could not help asking.

He shook his head. “For your health. I shall send Moira up later with some broth.”

She grimaced and he pointed at her, not needing to say another word. She settled among the pillows without complaint. The door closed behind him.

Bounding out of bed, she ran to the window. To her relief no caped figure lurked below. She hugged herself, fearing the solitude and the thoughts that came with it. She considered calling Conn back and begging him to send in Nimbus or Sean for company, but she knew there was no need to whet his suspicions.

The chest in the corner beckoned her. She fished out a fine piece of linen. Dangling threads and bulges marked it as her work. Finding the needle, she began to painstakingly rework the embroidery, focusing all of her concentration on a task she detested.

The afternoon passed, measured by the tangled stitches and the tiny, bloody pricks of the needle in her finger. A knock came on the door.

“Come in, Moira.” She didn’t look up. The embroidery was beginning to blur before her exhausted eyes.

The door opened slowly. When only silence greeted her, she raised her head, her eyes growing as round and frozen as saucers as she saw her brother standing in the doorway.

He was taller than she remembered. His black hair stood on end. Black eyes watched her with an intensity that shook the breath from her body.

“They keep you heavily guarded, do they not, Princess?”

“Guarded?” she croaked.

He took a step toward the bed, and she instinctively flinched against the headboard.

He stretched out his hand, speaking as if to a startled animal. “I am not a ghost, Lina. I've come for you. I’ve come to take you away from him.”

“He told me you were dead.”

“Do I look dead? Have we ever known him to speak the truth?” The hatred etched on his sharp features was ugly. When she didn’t answer, he said, “I’ve found people like us, Lina. People who hate him as badly as we do. We are fighting to rid Erin of his tyranny.”

She studied him with eyes narrowed. “Why did you wait so long to come for me?”

“At first I didn’t know you were alive. I was sick for a long time. The wound he gave me festered. Some men found me and nursed me back to health. I could not come for you until we had the power to do what had to be done.”

“You have that power now?”

He laughed, the sound an unpleasant one. “Yes. We will see Conn of the Hundred Battles rue the day he stole the throne of Erin.” He approached her where she crouched on the bed and caressed a tousled curl. “Lina, ‘tis Rodney. You belong with me.” His voice was a gentle whisper, and tears trickled down her face as she fought the urge to reach out her arms to him.

“I cannot go with you,” she said, turning her face away.

“Why not? I’ve come to rescue you. I don’t care what he has done to you. I shall make it better,” he said, a note of desperation stretched tautly in his voice.

She laughed bitterly. “He has done nothing to me except give me a home and a family.”

A lullaby floated into the room from the stairs, borne by the sweet wind of Moira’s soprano.

“I must go.” Rodney’s words were clipped, and he put a strong hand on either side of her face and stared into her eyes. “Meet me at sunrise. Ride south to the drumlins. I will be waiting for you.”

Then he was gone before Gelina could shake her head, the tormented denial caught in her throat. Moira bustled in seconds later, bearing a steaming bowl of broth.

She put a perfunctory hand on Gelina’s forehead. “Ye’re as pale as a ghoul, lass. Perhaps ‘twas an oncoming illness that made ye swoon. Conn’s physicians can look at ye tomorrow if ye feel no better.”

The broth sat untouched on the plate long after Moira had gone. The room darkened, the shadows of night descending without mercy. Gelina did not stir from the bed to light a candle. She remained staring into the darkness for hours, trapped in a web of grief, wonder, and confusion. Rodney was alive. Conn had lied.

Midnight approached. She unfolded her long body and put her feet on the floor. She was going to Conn. She would confront him and try to understand why he had deceived her. She knew him too well to convict him without a trial.

She straightened her rumpled skirt and padded barefoot to his chambers. The door stood ajar so she knocked softly before pushing it open. She sighed, finding the room empty and the bed untouched. If he was with Sheela, it could be hours before he returned. She would wait.

She yawned and climbed up on his feather mattress, the long day’s events tugging at her eyelids. Her eyes closed of their own volition, as she lay back on the bed. A cool breeze floated in from the gentle night. She reached to the foot of the bed and pulled the down coverlet over her, leaving the troublesome day behind.

Conn trudged up the stairs. He was haunted by the nagging sensation that something was amiss. Gelina lacked the learned artifice employed by most of the women he knew, and the fear in her eyes that afternoon had been real. Her teasing could not hide it. He longed to discover what troubled her with an urgency foreign to him.

He had started for her room twice and then returned to his chair, unsure of his motives. The fire in the study had held no answers. The dancing flames only reflected the apprehension in his eyes, mesmerizing him until sleep had come.

He stopped in front of her chamber now, his hand on the handle. The silence was deafening. The fortress slept around him. He drew back his hand and sighed, trying to shake off the fancy that something was frightening her, attributing it to his own perplexing feelings. Perhaps something was frightening him.

Opening his own door, he felt the chill of the room deep in his bones. He slammed the shutters and cursed aloud the manservant who had neglected to lay a fire. He jerked off his garments. A low mumble came from the bed, startling him.

A well-bundled figure nestled underneath his coverlet, burrowing deeper into the warmth of the bed. Smiling, Conn shook his head. He should have realized that Sheela was not a woman to be ignored, and in the time since he had returned, there had been scant opportunities for attention. He approached the bed, hoping she would provide the warmth he craved.

Sliding underneath the coverlet, he felt the heat radiating from the body next to his before he even touched it. Reaching for her shoulder, he gently turned her to her back. With an arm on each side of her, he lowered his lips and body to hers. The scent of sandalwood hit him like a fist, but he could not stop the descent of his lips any more than he could willfully stop the beating of his own heart.

The shock of Gelina’s young, lean body against his own sent a shudder through him as her lips parted beneath the onslaught of his kiss. His body covered the full length of hers, crushing her into the soft feather mattress in cherishing urgency. The small corner of his mind that was still rational tried to pull him away, but when her arms circled his neck, desire thundered through his soul, rendering him deaf to the pleas of his mind.

His hungry lips sought her temples and throat, gliding across the heated velvet of her skin. Gossamer strands of hair caught in his mouth like spun sugar. His hand traveled the length of her body, probing the softness beneath the thin blouse and skirt. His breath came raggedly as he once again captured her lips, drinking of the sweetness within. One hand cupped her neck even as the other pushed her skirt upward to reveal a silken thigh.

The heat of her tender thigh against his possessive fingers burned him to the core, and he flew out of the bed, jerking a cloth around his waist.

Resting on his knees, he struggled to gain control of his breathing. Gelina sat bolt upright in the bed, her eyes luminous in the moonlight.

“What in the name of Behl do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed between breaths.

“Perhaps I should ask you that.” Her body trembled and she could not seem to catch her own breath.

“Since I did find you in my bed, I think you should answer the question first.” His eyes were furious, but Gelina heard a new emotion in his voice—stark fear.