The Game (35 page)

Hawke stared at her.

Juliet licked her lips. “I h-hope you do not mind that I have come to call,” she managed.

His jaw was clenched. He did not appear pleased. His next words confirmed it. “In fact, I have great matters to attend to.”

She froze. He had just made it clear that he had no interest in speaking with her. Juliet was hurt to the quick. So he would not see the tears that welled in her eyes, she looked down, fumbling with her reins. If only she hadn’t come.

He muttered something to himself, and then his strong hands were on her waist and he was lifting her abruptly from her mount. Juliet could not breathe, paralyzed by his touch.

When he set her on the ground, she backed up against the mare, staring up at him mutely. Her pulse was rioting.

“Lady Stratheclyde?”

Realization was striking her with a full and brutal force. She had not come to Hawkehurst to ask after Katherine.
She had come to see John. She had come because she secretly, sinfully, coveted this man, her best friend’s husband—in spite of the fact that she was betrothed now to Lord Simon Hunt.

She took a deep breath. She knew she must remount and go home. Before her real feelings became apparent to him, before she betrayed her dear and best friend in some small but genuine way, before she betrayed her own fiancé. “I…do not feel well. I am unaccustomed to riding,” she lied. “I feel somewhat like swooning.”

He eyed her. “Really? I have never seen a woman sit a mare as well as you. And this one’s half-wild still.”

She felt absurdly pleased with his praise. Then she started, because Hawke had gripped her arm.

“Come inside. Perhaps a glass of ale will fortify you.”

Juliet could not think of how to refuse, and she followed him into the hall and allowed him to seat her at the table. He did not sit beside her. He ordered refreshments, then proceeded to stare at her. He made no attempt to converse.

Juliet took a deep breath. “Sir John, I have come to see you because Katherine is my best friend and I had hoped you had some word from her.”

Hawke’s expression grew more grim. “No.”

“No word at all?” Juliet was amazed. “But surely, by now, O’Neill would allow her some communication with you!”

“No. There has been none.”

Juliet was rooted to the spot. Dismay filled her. John stared past her, out the window at the moors, gray and purple now with the impending winter. She gazed at him, trying to discern what his emotions were. She felt his anger—he was still angry over Katherine’s abduction—but she could not detect any grief.

Juliet gripped her gloved hands tightly in her lap. “I am sure that she is fine. I am sure he would not harm her.”

Hawke turned back to her. “Yes, undoubtedly there has been no rape, and if he was displeased with her, he would have freed her long ago.”

Juliet gasped when she realized what he implied. That
Liam had won Katherine by wooing her, and that she was pleasing him even now. Her cheeks burned.

Juliet did not know what to say to comfort John. Yet she wanted to comfort him. The urge overwhelmed her. Juliet stood up, moved to his side, and lightly touched his hand, gripping his fingers for an instant. Hawke’s vivid blue gaze pierced hers. For another heartbeat, Juliet was at a loss, unable to look away, unable to speak.

“Katherine did not wish to be abducted, Sir John,” she finally said. “She wished only to marry you. She told me so.” That was the truth. Yet Juliet recalled seeing the doubt in her friend’s eyes at the time. She would never tell John of it.

John regarded her without expression.

“If you hear from her,” Juliet finally said, growing uneasy beneath his stare, “will you let me know?”

Hawke nodded.

Juliet realized that now she had no further excuse to linger. Yet she was loath to leave. She could not help wondering when she would ever see him again. “When are you returning to court?” she asked.

“Tonight.”

She hid her dismay. But…she had hoped he might remain in Cornwall for a few days. Even though she knew that his immediate departure was best. For everyone.

Hawke’s next words stunned her. “I have been commissioned to go after O’Neill by the queen herself. My men and ships are almost ready to depart. I plan to set sail within a week.”

Juliet gasped. She had not heard of this new turn of events. John was going after Liam—and fear filled her. “What do you do?” she half cried, half whispered.

His gaze was direct. “The queen wants his head.”

Juliet was more than frightened, she was terrified. “Sir John…he is a dangerous man! Please, take care…I wish you Godspeed.”

He stared at her, his eyes widening.

Abruptly Juliet turned away, afraid that he had detected her concern for him, a concern she had no right to feel. She hurried to the door.

His large hands suddenly gripped her arm from behind, halting her. Juliet tensed, half turning. His blue eyes were like twin fires.

“Thank you, Lady Stratheclyde, for your prayers,” he said.

She flushed with pleasure, her heart pounding so hard and so fast it felt as if it might burst.

“And if you wait but a moment, I will escort you back to Thurlstone.”

She would have his company a little bit longer. Her pleasure knew no bounds. And then she thought about his impending departure, about why and where he would go, and all pleasure disappeared. Dear God, she was so afraid, afraid that Hawke would be killed when he finally cornered Liam O’Neill.

And she realized then that her heart would be broken should he die. Somehow, she coveted more than his kisses. Somehow, she had fallen in love with her best friend’s husband—on the threshold of her own marriage to Lord Hunt.

Dingle Bay, Ireland

T
he
Sea Dagger
bobbed at anchor while supplies far more precious than powder were unloaded rapidly into small rowboats and rowed to shore, where FitzMaurice’s men awaited. Liam stood on the beach, having disembarked with the initial boatload of victuals, which would see the Irish rebels through the first months of the winter. And winter would soon descend upon Ireland. It was a cold, bluff day. Liam’s breath formed puffs of vapor in the air, and he wore a heavy woolen cloak.

Hugh Barry stood beside him, both men watching momentarily as the
Sea Dagger
was unloaded under the supervision of Liam’s first mate. “This will sustain us through the first half of the winter,” Barry said.

“I am aware of that,” Liam replied. “In January we will rendezvous again, but not here.” He had already used Dingle Bay twice, and would not risk using it yet again. “There is a small estuary just south of Galway. Do you know it?”

Barry nodded.

Liam studied him a moment. The young man had aged considerably in the last year. There were lines in his face where before there had been none. And he had lost weight. He had not been a big man in any case, but now he was reed-thin. Liam had long since stopped hating Hugh Barry.
The rebel cause was almost hopeless, and Liam felt sorry for him.

“How is Katie?” Barry asked, surprising him.

Liam was careful not to smile, and not to allow the light to shine in his eyes, a light her mere name evoked. “She is well.”

“Does she stay with you of her own will, O’Neill? Or is she still your prisoner?”

Liam contained a smile. “She stays of her own free will, Barry.” He said no more, purposefully withholding the news of their marriage. If he were ever caught, it would be better for Katherine if the whole world did not know that she was more than willing—that she was also his wife. He understood the scandal—and repercussions—such a disclosure would cause. “You said FitzMaurice wished to meet with me. Where in hell is he?”

“I do not know,” Barry answered, glancing up at the wooded hills behind them. “I was wondering that myself.”

Liam was already somewhat uneasy, as he had been since he’d arrived at Dingle Bay earlier that day. Although his mission was not without danger, he had been on adventures far more dangerous, without feeling such a prickling sense of anxiety. Liam did not like the fact that FitzMaurice was late for a meeting arranged several months before. Liam tensed, wondering what had befallen FitzMaurice. “FitzMaurice will not come,” he stated suddenly. Knowing as he spoke that it was true. And his hand closed upon the hilt of his rapier.

“What? How can you know that?”

Liam did not answer. Trouble was in the making, he was now certain of it. His gaze scanned the wooded and rocky hills. Seeing nothing, he turned nevertheless, barking orders to his men. He wanted the ship unloaded in record time, and even as they unloaded, he ordered her prepared to put to sea. “I will meet with FitzMaurice another time,” he told Barry, silently thinking,
if FitzMaurice is still alive and free to attend such a meeting
. He was acutely aware of danger now. Already he was striding toward the roiling surf, intent on reboarding the
Sea Dagger
.

Barry strode beside him. “In two months,” he said.

Liam nodded as someone screamed.

That scream was accompanied by a musket shot.

Liam whirled, rapier drawn, as British troops burst from the woods, running and tripping down the hillside, armed with both muskets and rapiers. “To the ship,” Liam shouted to his men.

More firing sounded, some of the rebels fell. Others drew their swords and spears and charged the British soldiers. Liam winced as he saw cavalry, poorly mounted but on horseback nonetheless, charging down the slope on the heels of the infantry. The Irish rebels were clad in furs, not armor, and armed with knives and daggers, heavy swords and nearly useless spears. They would be slaughtered by the mounted troops. As he ran toward one of the rowboats, Liam wondered who had betrayed them.

Barry had drawn his own sword and was running to join his men and meet the attacking soldiers. Liam heard him cry out. He whirled to see Barry falling, blood blossoming high up in his chest, hit with a musket ball.

A savage fight was ensuing. The Irish valiantly tried to defend themselves against the soldiers, but their weapons were no match for those of the British, who chopped them down with razor-sharp, lightweight rapiers, or shot them in the back with their muskets. It was a massacre and within minutes it would be over. Liam ran back toward the melee.

Hugh was trying to get up, but could not rise above his knees. Liam jerked him to his feet, then saw the rider galloping toward them. He dropped Barry, whirled, his rapier ready, legs braced. The soldier had holstered his musket and now raised his rapier. Liam parried his blow but once, yet so powerfully that the rider was toppled from his horse. Liam darted forward, kicked him back to the ground as he tried to rise. An instant later he had skewered him in the heart.

Liam turned and found Barry staggering, just barely standing, trying to draw his own sword. Liam knocked the weapon from his hand and threw the smaller man over his shoulder. He ran into the surf. His men had already leapt into the rowboats and were shouting to him in encouragement. Liam plunged through the waves, the water lapping
his knees, swirling about his thighs. He reached the closest boat and tossed Barry inside it, leaping in himself. Two men helped haul him over the side. Swiftly two others began to row the small boat away. A musket ball whistled past Liam’s head. Everyone ducked.

Liam sat up, looking back at the beach. The battle was already over, most of the rebels lay dead or dying, but a few were escaping up the hill, into the forest. The British soldiers milled about, killing the rebels who still lived. Liam’s eyes widened. A huge man had ridden slowly forward on a small horse, one which appeared pathetically abused by the man’s vast weight, and now stood fetlock-deep in the water. He wore no helmet and his red hair gleamed. He stared directly at Liam. It could be none other than Sir John Perrot.

Even from this distance, he saw the man’s rage. Perrot lifted one hand, shook his fist at the escaping rowboat. Liam’s jaw set. And he stared back, knowing he had just escaped with his life—by an act of God, or of Fate.

Katherine was in the kitchens when Guy came running in. Her hands were sticky with syrup, for she had been candying sweetmeats alongside two kitchen maids. This past week had been a frenzy of activity, distilling cordials, drying fruits, and making jams. Katherine did not have to hear what Guy was saying so exuberantly to know that the
Sea Dagger
had come home. To know that Liam had come home.

She washed and dried her hands quickly, her pulse pounding in excitement—until she realized that Guy was telling her that the
Sea Dagger
had already berthed, and that there were wounded men amongst the returning sailors. Katherine cried out. “How do you know?” She could imagine Liam upon a pallet, pale and lifeless.

“I was there when the ship arrived,” Guy said in a rush. “’Tis not the captain, he is fine, but he is bringing a wounded man up to the house. He says you must get your medicines out and prepare a bed.”

Katherine was briefly stricken with relief, but in the next instant she had turned to the two serving girls, order
ing them to bring her medicinal basket, soap and water, and plenty of clean linen for bandages. She flew from the room.

Katherine ran upstairs, entering the unused bedchamber. She threw open the hides to let in the sharp winter air. Contrary to what physicians recommended, she believed fresh air to be healthy and invigorating.

She uncovered the bed. A servant appeared behind her. “Let me do that, my lady,” he said.

“Make a fire, Ned,” she ordered, then raced from the room.

As she stumbled down the stairs she heard Liam’s richly timbred voice. Her gaze flew to him, clinging—inspecting every inch of him.

A servant had taken his cloak. His shirt was bloodstained, as were his breeches, but she saw no sign of any wound upon him. “Are you well, Liam?” she cried, rushing into his arms.

He smiled at her gently. “I like this greeting, this hot concern,” he murmured. “Yes, Kate, I am well. But your old friend is not.”

Katherine did not understand. She turned, finally seeing the man who lay upon a pallet stretched on two wood poles, an unconscious man sweating with fever. Her eyes widened when she recognized Hugh. “Good God!” She ran to him and knelt at his side, touched his forehead. How terribly hot he was. Then Katherine saw the wound. It was festering, and it needed to be taken care of immediately. Hugh opened his eyes, but only stared at her blankly.

Katherine nodded. “Take him upstairs.” The two sailors instantly obeyed. She turned to Liam’s steward, who hovered behind her. “Bring me vinegar, brandy, and moldy bread.”

“Moldy bread? We have no—”

“Get me moldy bread this instant,” Katherine cried. Lifting up her skirts, she hurried up the stairs, determined to save the life of the man she had once loved and intended to marry.

“I thought it was you,” Hugh whispered several days later.

Katherine had just entered the room. She smiled, pleased to see him awake and without fever, but she had known for some time now that he would live. “Barry men are hard to kill off, it seems.”

Hugh watched her. “At first, when I was out of my head with fever, I thought you an angel.”

Katherine laughed, thinking of how wicked she had been last night. “I am hardly an angel.”

Hugh looked only at her face. “You could be an angel, Katie. That is how beautiful you are.”

She stared at him, no longer smiling.

“You have changed even more than when I last saw you,” he said with a sigh, falling back on the pillows. “And I, I am still as weak as a newborn kitten.”

“That is correct,” Katherine said. “But you are mending well, and in a few more days you will be able to get up and out of your bed.”

“How can I thank you?” Hugh asked. “For saving my life?”

Katherine did not hesitate. “I treated you as I would have treated anyone. You do not need to thank me.”

Hugh stared at her searchingly. “Perhaps I will find a way.”

Katherine shrugged. Then she started, for Liam stood in the doorway. She smiled at him, going to him immediately. He put his arm around her. “You never cease to amaze me,” he said.

“While you stay with me upon my island, I ask but one thing of you,” Liam said quietly. He and Barry were alone in the hall.

“You can ask anything,” Barry said. “Because I owe you and Katie my freedom and my life.”

Liam sat in a chair in front of the fire, as did Barry. They both sipped Irish whiskey. “Katherine does not know about my involvement with FitzMaurice, and I prefer that she remain in ignorance.”

Barry started. “Has she not asked how I came to be upon your ship, and wounded at that?”

Liam stared unsmiling into his glass. “Aye, she has. I lied. I told her I brought
you
winter supplies, and that we were attacked by bandits.”

“And she believed you?”

“Yes, she believed me,” Liam said harshly. “’Tis better that I lie to her. She would not understand the truth.”

“Considering that FitzMaurice wishes to usurp what once belonged to her father, why, I would not blame her for feeling betrayed,” Barry agreed.

Katherine stood frozen upon the threshold of the hall. She had heard their every damning word. In her hands was a trencher containing fresh meat pies. The trencher dropped from her hands. The pies splattered upon the floor; the trencher clattered and rolled away.

Liam was involved with FitzMaurice? No—it could not be!

Both men jumped; Liam turned and paled when he saw her standing there.

Katherine stared at his beautiful face, in absolute shock, absolute disbelief. “Tell me it is not true,” she whispered hoarsely. “Liam?”

“I do not think you have heard me correctly, Kate,” he said softly, and then he reached and touched her face.

She shrugged him off. “I heard you tell Hugh that you are lying to me. That you are involved with my father’s worst enemy! How are you involved with FitzMaurice?”

Liam swallowed. “Dearheart, this is not as it seems.”

She batted his hands away again, in disbelief, with rising fury—and with real panic. “No! Tell me now, tell me the truth, tell me I have misunderstood what I have heard—before I go down to the village and ask every single sailor who has sailed with you about your long, secret voyages!”

“You have misunderstood,” he insisted.

Katherine saw the anguish in his eyes, and the fear, and her own heart was torn in two. She faced Barry. “Hugh?”

Barry’s eyes widened.

“What is he doing, Hugh?” When he did not answer,
paler now himself, she shouted, “You owe me your life, answer me, Hugh!”

Barry got to his feet slowly. “I also owe Liam my life, Katie.”

Katherine faced her husband, her fists clenched. Her heart hurt her now. Disbelief was giving way to pure, cloying fear. “How have I misunderstood you, Liam? How?”

“’Tis but a ploy,” he said, “my support of FitzMaurice.”

Katherine stared at him. Her breast heaved. In that instant her entire world collapsed. His words were a crucifying admission of guilt. “So you do not deny it. You do not deny you are aiding my father’s worst enemy?”

Liam flinched. “Katherine—I am aiding him, but ’tis hardly what you think. I have your father’s interests at heart.”

He was aiding FitzMaurice. “My father’s interests?” she whispered, tears forming now in her eyes.
Oh, God, how could this be? How could Liam betray her like this? He was her husband!

Liam began to speak now, in a low, soothing tone, but Katherine turned her back to him, covering her face with her hands, shaking. She did not hear a word he said. Liam, whom she loved, was aiding FitzMaurice. When only a few months ago she had asked him to aid her father. He had lied, telling her that he did help Gerald—he had told her to trust him. And she had.