The Game (28 page)

Katherine’s heart was beating wildly. The exhaustion she had felt after the strain and stress of the wedding and the celebration at Richmond Palace was gone. Now she was nervous. Now she was John Hawke’s wife. Oh, God. Katherine closed her eyes as Helen helped her out of her dress and undergarments.

She thought of her father, who had refused to attend her wedding, sending her a private missive instead, one filled with an icy cold reprimand. She thought of the golden pirate, even though she did not want to think of him at all. Now, on her wedding night, she recalled his searing kisses, which she should have never enjoyed.

Her heart beat like a drum.
What had she done?
The thought crept unwanted into her mind. It angered Katherine. It was too late, she told herself sternly, for doubts or misgivings. After all, she was almost certain that she loved John Hawke.

And she was happy, she was. This was all that she had dreamed of, all that she wanted—life was finally giving her due: respectability and gentility, and soon, she prayed, her first baby.

Katherine inhaled, going to the fire to warm her cold hands before it. She was married; it was for the best. And tonight was her wedding night. She would welcome her husband with open arms. Thank God she had a lusty nature. In all probability, she would enjoy herself—or so she hoped.

Helen had unpinned Katherine’s wild red hair and it flowed to her waist. “There, mistress, you are lovely. Sir John will be most enamored this night.”

Katherine thought of John, who had not smiled at her even once all day. Had he been afflicted with nerves, as most grooms were? Or with doubt? Suddenly she thought of Juliet, who would soon be forced to wed a stranger. Juliet had attended the wedding with her uncle, and Katherine had seen the way she’d regarded John. An inane thought occurred to Katherine—that Juliet should be standing in her place right now, Juliet should be John Hawke’s bride, awaiting him on their wedding night.

Katherine began to shake, aghast with such thoughts.
Everything will be fine
, she told herself, inhaling hard, beginning to perspire
—once we spend this night together
.

And even if everything were not all right, it did not matter. She was John’s wife, both under law and with God’s sanction—until death parted them.

Helen left. Katherine was alone. She went to the fire again, hoping to warm her nearly naked body, clad as she was in a completely sheer wisp of ivory silk that revealed every single curve she possessed. A gown meant to entice. Katherine wished she had chosen a more modest gown now. Then she reminded herself that she wanted a baby—therefore, she must entice her new husband to her bed.

She heard them coming up the stairs. Katherine froze. John’s family and closest retainers had accompanied them to Barby for more festivities. Her heart began to pound. Katherine stared at the door, listening to John’s comrades shouting at him, offering him lewd advice and knowing
encouragement. Katherine shuddered. Some primitive instinct urged her to run to the bed and hide there, but she knew such an impulse was foolish, and she would not give in to it.

The door was opened and John appeared, and before he shut it, Katherine glimpsed some dozen inebriated men behind him—men who stared at her and shouted even more ribald comments upon seeing her. Katherine blanched, folding her arms over her breasts, unable to move now. John’s eyes widened the instant that he saw her. A moment later he turned, swore savagely, and slammed the bedroom door closed behind him in the faces of his drunken, lecherous friends.

He faced her, unmoving. He wore but hose and a tunic that was mostly unlaced. His eyes were glittering now, a look Katherine recognized well.

Katherine began to blush even though she was his wife. John continued to stare. She managed a small smile, and despite how chilled she now felt, dropped her arms to her sides. She met John’s gaze again, saw that he gazed at her breasts, saw his glance sweeping lower, to the joining of her thighs. A wild thought ran through her mind—he will not be thinking about Juliet this night.

And she was appalled with herself. “John,” she began, “would you like some wine?”

Before he could respond there was a great crashing noise from downstairs. John had begun to walk toward her and he froze. From below, a man screamed. An instant later swords began to clash and clang violently, the sounds unmistakable.

And the sounds grew louder, footsteps sounding as men rushed up the stairs.

John whirled, cursing—for he was without shoes, mostly undressed, and swordless. He ran for the door, throwing it open.

Katherine did not move, stunned.

And Liam O’Neill burst into the room.

Rapier in hand, its tip bloodied, his gaze skewered Katherine. A split second later he had the sharp point piercing the thin skin of John’s throat. John backed up to the wall.
Katherine clapped her hand to her mouth, shocked. Liam smiled savagely at her for an instant.

He said, “I take it my arrival is timely?”

Katherine gaped.

Hawke was furious. “I am going to kill you for this.”

“How?” Liam laughed at him. “Your few vassals are a pathetic excuse for protection, and are even now in bonds. Your rapier lies downstairs, broken by me myself. But if you wish to meet your death, why then, come. I will gladly send you on your way.”

John growled and jerked against the rapier, which cut into his skin. Blood welled from his throat.

“No!” Katherine screamed, rushing forward to stop them.

Liam glanced at her dispassionately, then said, “Take her, Mac.”

Macgregor stood in the doorway. Katherine had not even been aware of his presence until then. When he moved forward, toward her, she cried out—but had nowhere to run. The Scot caught her in a bearlike embrace.

Other men entered the room. Liam gave a sharp command and John’s arms were pulled roughly behind his back and he was locked into steel manacles. Liam sheathed his rapier and gripped John’s arm and jerked him forward to the bed. One of his men tossed another set of irons to him, which he caught. He manacled Hawke’s ankle to the foot of one of the bedposts.

Hawke was panting, flushed with rage. “You will never get away with this.”

Liam had been smiling, as if he enjoyed every single moment of his foul play, but now he faced Hawke, the smile gone, his eyes a silver blaze. “Tonight I will take her virtue as I should have done a month ago at Whitehall.”

Hawke jerked against his manacle. “You are as good as dead. I will hunt you down and kill you. You
are
dead.”

“She is mine. She has always been mine.” Liam turned and, understanding him, Macgregor released Katherine.

Katherine realized now what was happening. Instinct commanded her. She rushed forward to the door. It was
both useless and foolish, as O’Neill’s men blocked the way. Katherine screamed as they blocked her path, but no one touched her. Katherine tried to shove between two henchmen, but it was like trying to part a stone wall.

Then Liam caught her by her hair from behind, stopping her in her tracks abruptly. She gasped in pain. Then like a wild, untamed mare, she stood panting but fully alert and tensed to leap away, as he slowly wound her hair around his wrist, keeping the tension taught as he approached her. When his face was close to hers, he smiled.

Katherine comprehended his every intent—and she would have launched herself at him in a furious attack, except that if she did so she would rip her own hair from her head because of the way he held her. So she did not move, her gaze wide and locked with his.

Abruptly he released her hair and threw her over his shoulder, striding out of the room. Katherine began to writhe. He smacked her bottom once, hard. It hurt and she stilled, tears filling her eyes. Looking up as she dangled upon his back, she met John Hawke’s furious gaze one last time. Katherine wished she could reassure him. She saw that he was not just mad with fury over Liam’s abduction, but mad with worry for her, too.

And then Liam was rushing down the stairs and out of the house, Katherine bumping hurtfully upon his shoulder. He dumped her onto her feet. A cloak was thrown around her, he stuffed a gag in her mouth and tossed her onto a huge, dancing gray stallion. An instant later he was mounted behind her, his arm around her like a steel brace, and they were galloping away.

“I told you once before,” he rasped in her ear, “that I would come for you when the time was ripe.”

Katherine glared at him, her eyes filled with tears and wild, desperate fury.

K
atherine had no choice but to hang on to the pommel of the saddle as Liam rode his stallion away from Barby Hall at a breakneck pace. He sat behind her, gripping her firmly, his body one with the horse. They thundered down the dark road, his men following, galloping toward the sea. The night was black, cold and moonless. It was impossible to see. But the huge horse raced flat out, head low, ears back, blowing hard. Liam pushed him savagely. Katherine watched the black road filled with shadows rushing at them, wondering if they would all die this night.

She was coming out of her shock now. Anger was roiling in her veins. But the gag prevented her from speaking, from shrieking, and there was no escaping Liam’s grip.

Liam urged his mount off the road. Katherine made a choked sound when she saw the steep, narrow path he intended them to take. Her grip tightened on the saddle even as Liam’s grip tightened upon her. Katherine wanted to curse at him, certain they would both break their necks now. The horse began to slide down the precarious descent on its haunches. Far below, Katherine could hear the drumbeat of the sea.

The horse slipped, stumbled, slid. Liam growled, cursed, and spurred the beast on. Tears streamed from Katherine’s eyes. The animal finally plunged into the sandy ground of the beach, hopping like a crow. A moment later Liam was on his feet, pulling her off the horse. His men came to
milling halts beside them. Katherine found it hard to stand in her exhaustion. She stumbled but Liam caught her.

Katherine turned her furious gaze upon him and swung both fists at his face. She managed to graze his cheek, but the punch did not seem to affect him, for his response was merely to grab both her wrists and jerk her once, a command to be still. He whispered orders to his men. More tears filled Katherine’s eyes. In her mind she cursed him again and again. Her shock was gone and she comprehended exactly what had happened—she had been abducted from her wedding bed!

Katherine saw the men approaching them. Like ghosts, they materialized from the sea. Behind their dark, barely formed shapes, she saw the shadows they dragged, shadows that she soon understood to be some half dozen boats.

Katherine sagged against Liam in despair. She thought she could just glimpse the
Sea Dagger
’s huge sails, unfurled and flaccid, gleaming almost silver against the night. She was not going to be able to escape. In a few more minutes she would be on his vessel, and God only knew when he would decide to set her free.

And by then it would be too late.

Liam lifted her off her feet. Instinctively Katherine tried to push away from him, looking frantically back over her shoulder for any sign of pursuit, praying that, miraculously, she would see John emerging from the top of the cliffs. But nothing moved up there, nothing but the wind-driven trees. And moments later she was being heaved into the longboat.

But she could not give in; she could not. Knowing full well that her efforts were undoubtedly futile, as Liam climbed in, Katherine leapt up, intent on making one final attempt to escape.

And because she knew this would be the last time, the last chance, Katherine moved with incredible speed and an iron will. She was halfway over the side of the small boat when Liam realized what she intended. He lunged for her. Katherine felt the shock of the icy cold water as she plunged into the surf, but did not pause. Liam shouted at her, reaching for her, but only succeeded in grabbing
her cloak. The wool spun off of her, leaving her more naked than not. Katherine did not care. She was too determined, and too incensed, to feel the bitter cold.

She ran toward the shore, tearing at the gag, but the knot was too tight. She heard him splashing behind her. She heard him coming closer and closer, and finally felt his boot clip her heel. Katherine dared to look backward. She saw a determination on his face that was far greater than her own. His expression was so fierce it was frightening, and in that moment Katherine knew her fate was forever sealed. That stunning knowledge sped her as nothing else could. But Liam caught her hand anyway, whipped her backward. Katherine fell against him, fighting wildly. And then they were both tumbling into the freezing cold sea.

For an instant she was free. She lunged to her feet but Liam wrestled her into his arms from behind, and a moment later she was again being tossed over his shoulder. Katherine pummeled his back mindlessly. He ignored her blows. “You have nowhere to run to, Katherine,” he told her, plowing his way through the rolling surf back to the bobbing longboat. “From this moment on, you belong to me.”

And Katherine was blinded by an intense feeling of hatred.

The longboat pulled alongside the pirate ship. Katherine sat shaking on the small slab seat, clutching the wool cloak to her cold body, the gag having been removed by Liam. He stood in front of her, reaching for the rope ladder. He turned to her, held out his hand.

Katherine’s glare was murderous. She did not take his hand. Instead, determined to defy him, even if it meant leaping to her death, she looked down at the black midnight sea. Could she do it?

The waters would mean the end of all her dreams. But she would have succeeded in escaping Liam O’Neill.

He cursed and pulled her to her feet. “You fool,” he rasped as he swung her a third time over his shoulder. Katherine realized what he intended at the same moment
she realized that she had no wish to die. “Put me down,” she shouted, twisting, “before we both die!”

“Keep fighting and we will get wet, but we will not die, Katherine,” Liam answered calmly.

She stilled mutinously. Hanging as she did, upside down, she was faced with the ominous black sea, which was far too close to her for comfort. She gripped his back, her heart moving into her throat, hating being afraid now, when she wished to fight. But with infinite ease, Liam climbed the ladder rapidly. He handed Katherine up to one of the many seamen waiting on the deck for them. Katherine was dropped to her feet. She began to breathe again.

Liam climbed over the rail and took her arm. Her gaze shot to his as she tried to yank herself free of his grip—to no avail. He propelled her forward. Katherine stumbled because of the rapid pace he set. She wished she could think of some truly horrible curse words. A moment later he was pushing her down the narrow stairs and into his cabin.

Refusing to look at her captor, Katherine stood panting in its center as he lit one taper after another. Her gaze darted to the bed. Oh, God.

Liam approached. Katherine turned slowly to face him, wary and alert. His face grave now, he reached for her soaking-wet cloak. Katherine jerked out of his reach and backed away from him, her eyes blazing. “Damn you to hell!”

He crossed his arms and regarded her without any expression. Surely she had imagined the concern she had just witnessed.

“You have ruined me!” Katherine cried. “I will never recover from this act—not ever!”

A twisted smile formed upon his features. “You will recover, Katherine; in fact, I am certain that your recovery will be quite rapid.”

Katherine clutched her cloak, which was very wet, to her body, too furious to be cold anymore. “You think to seduce me with your body? Not this time!”

“No?” He walked toward her. Katherine stiffened but did not move, and he towered over her. “What makes this
time any different from the last time we lay together—or the first?”

Katherine refused to remember the night of the masque at court, when he had pleasured her with his mouth and she had pleasured him with her hands. She refused to think of the first time, when he had kissed and caressed her, or the second time, when she had been bound to his bed, when he had cut off her clothes with his dagger. She would not remember any of those times—that was the past. “Because this time you have destroyed my dreams!” she shouted.

His eyes glittered. Katherine felt a frisson of fear and she tensed. “Do you love Hawke?” he asked, his tone conversational and completely at odds with the light in his eyes.

Knowing it would infuriate him, wanting to enrage him, wanting to best him, Katherine spit, “Yes!”

“Perhaps you are a whore after all,” he said harshly. “For I thought it was Leicester you loved.”

How his words hurt. Katherine was stricken by them; she turned stark white. She was shuddering now, not just because she was so icy cold, but because he was right, she was a whore. For despite it all, she knew what was going to happen in that bed, and she knew she was going to like every single moment of his attentions—even though she was now another man’s wife.

“Katherine…” Liam stared at her, his chest heaving.

She looked away, then felt him touch her. Katherine fled to the other side of the room. “Don’t touch me!” she cried hysterically. Panic was replacing her anger, and she was finally aware of how bone-tired she was. How would she find the strength to resist him—to resist her own sinful nature? She told herself that she must not enjoy his lovemaking—at all costs. She whispered, “Please set me free. Please let me go back to John. Please don’t do this to me.”

Liam stared at her, his jaw rigid. For a long moment he did not speak. Then he said, reluctantly, “I cannot.”

“What do you mean, you cannot?” Katherine heard the hysteria in her tone. “Of course you can free me! Of
course you can send me back to John! You are king here, and can do as you will!”

His mouth curved without mirth. “Yes, I am king here—king of the pirates, the wind, and the sea. Everything you now see, I command.” His gaze was sharp. “And you, Katherine, you I also command.”

“You do not command me!” she almost sobbed.

“No?” One brow rose.

“Do you like your infamy?” she asked bitterly. “That is it, is it not? You like being lawless, answerable to no one other than yourself!” An idea seized her, a way of manipulating him. “You like being Shane O’Neill’s son.”

His nostrils flared with anger. “
I hate being his son
.”

And Katherine moved to him, gripping his wrist—then wished that she had not touched him. She removed her palm from his hard, tense forearm. “Then pretend you are not his son,” she cried softly. “Play the gentleman, Liam—and release me.”

He inhaled sharply. His gaze locked with hers. “You ask too much.”

Katherine stared into his glittering gray eyes. He acted rational, spoke in a conversational tone, but what she saw was his lust. In the brief silence which followed she realized that she had lost. Panic surged forth again, and she glanced at the door—her only means of escape.

His jaw flexing, Liam turned and locked the door, pocketing the key. When he faced her again, he said, “You are cold.”

Katherine realized that she was not just frozen in her soaking cloak, but shivering as well. She shook her head in a ridiculous denial, her eyes fixed upon him—awaiting his next move.

He moved toward her; she leapt away. He murmured, “I intend to be patient with you this night, Katherine. If you wish to be wooed, so be it. Tonight is not a night for cords or knives.”

Katherine gasped, his words drumming up those old memories she wished to avoid, as she stood beside the teakwood bookcase.

Liam smiled slightly at her, the way he might at a fright
ened child. Katherine pressed back against the bookcase. But her eyes darted toward the bed, just once. She must flee—but flee where?

“I cannot live without you, Katherine,” he said, his gaze holding hers, taking another step toward her. He did not smile; his tone dropped, becoming soft and cajoling. “I cannot function. You are in my mind at the most inappropriate times. My lust is making me lose all sanity.”

Her nipples hurt her now, hard and pointed and chafed by the wet wool of her cloak. She was holding her breath, and she expelled it all at once, helplessly glancing down at him.

He smiled slightly. “For you, Katherine. My loins are hard and close to bursting for you.” He paused beside her, so that they stood almost cheek to cheek. “You are wet, cold.” He touched a strand of her wet, tangled hair, one that curled against her cheek.

A frisson of fiery sensation sparked from his fingertip to her skin and raced through her entire body. Katherine jerked. “No!” She ran from him to the door. She wrenched at it uselessly.

Liam watched her and sighed, using great willpower to curb his impatience. His body wished to explode, sorely needed release, but he must not give in to his lust. Not now, not yet. He wondered if she understood that he spoke the truth. He faced her, waiting for her to calm herself.

She had her back plastered to the door and she stared at him wildly. “I want to return to John,” she whispered hoarsely.

His temper sizzled and threatened to make him lose all control. He reined it in, hard. “I am not returning you to John. I, at least, am honest. I want you. I will have you. I will have you willing and warm before the hour is through.”

“No.” He saw that she was still shivering.

“And you are freezing,” he said, matter-of-factly. He turned from her and went to the armoire, opening it. He pulled out a thick towel that was cotton on one side, silk on the other. Casually he said, not looking at her, “Come here, Katherine.”

Trembling, she shook her head.

Liam took another towel for her hair. “Do you wish to catch your death?”

Katherine stared at him as if she could not look away. Her lips were parted slightly, her cheeks flushed. No longer, he thought, just from anger, but also from anticipation of where he led.

“Come,” he murmured, his gaze boring hers.

She did not move.

Smiling slightly, seductively, he repeated, “
Come
.”

She moved toward him, slowly, as if bewitched.

He handed her a towel.

Katherine took it. As she did so, her cloak fell open. Liam glimpsed her large, taut nipples, ruby-colored, beneath the silk gown she wore, which was plastered to her and entirely sheer. Knowing he could not control the shaking of his hands, or the size of his loins, he slowly reached for her. Katherine had not moved. Liam unpinned her cloak. It dropped to the floor.

Still Katherine did not move. She did not even appear to breathe.