The Game (7 page)

His laughter was harsh. “You want me inside you sweetheart.”

His graphic words stunned her for a moment. “You are a savage, a pirate, a man who preys upon those weaker than himself.” She crouched on the floor, staring up at him. “You are preying on me just as you have preyed on those other women. I do not want you!”

“Other women have welcomed me into their embrace.”

Katherine laughed. “Then they were whores and sluts.”

He bent over her, angry. “I do not lie with pox-ridden whores. My last mistress was a dowager countess.”

She regarded him, unwilling to believe him, but he was so angry that she thought he spoke the truth. How had he seduced a countess? Katherine just could not fathom it. No matter that he was so strikingly attractive.

“Some women are not afraid of passion,” he said, watching her closely. His chest heaved. “But then, they are not convent-bred, teary-eyed virgins.”

Katherine cried out. She lurched to her feet, livid, ignoring a small inner voice that told her to retreat. “I am not afraid of passion,” she shouted. “I want nothing more than to be with a man—a noble man, a good man—a man who is my husband.”

He stared at her, unspeaking, his shoulders rigid. Finally he said, “And who is this paragon?”

Katherine lifted her chin. “I have not found him yet.”

His laughter was cold and cruel, derisive.

Furious that he was laughing at her she cried, “I have been in a convent for six years, so how could I have found him? Know this. I do not yearn for an ungodly, murderous, thieving pirate.”

Fire leapt in his eyes. He was holding a bottle of brandy. He lifted it to his lips and swigged from it, not once, but several times, yet all the while his smoldering gaze remained upon her. Katherine regretted her words, knowing she had pushed him too far. She feared he might snap and become the savage beast again, and force her to his will.

He stared at her coldly. “I must be mad,” he said. “To have embroiled myself with one such as you.”

“Then release me.”

There was no hesitation. “No.”

“Please.”

He did not respond.

Katherine’s breasts heaved. “Then rape me and be done with it.”

His glance skewered her. His face contorted. The bottle went flying. Katherine flinched and cried out as the brandy
smashed against one of the walls. Then, to her horror, he was upon her.

How she regretted her rash, stupid words, her incitement! She screamed as he bent down to her. He lifted her and tossed her onto the bed. Katherine bounced and came up scrambling away from him. He caught her foot and yanked her down, hard, on her face. And then he was on top of her, pinning her in place.

Katherine froze. He was as still as she, except for the pulsing of his body against hers and the short, heavy labored breaths coming from his chest. “Shall I rape you and be done with it?” he asked in her ear.

His breath licked her flesh. Katherine shook her head, terrified, and acutely aware of how easy it would be for him to lift her skirts and do the deed. Fear did not override the heavy, throbbing sensation of his flesh wedged against hers.

“Shall I rape you and be done with it?” he demanded.

“No!”

He rolled off of her and left the bed.

Katherine jerked into a sitting position, then hurled herself across the bed and into the farthest corner away from him, pressing her back into the wood-paneled wall.

He stared at her, unblinking. Steel glinted, flashing.

Katherine sucked in her breath, her eyes frozen upon the long, lethal dagger that appeared in his hand.

Neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. Suddenly the dagger flew from his hand. It landed in the wall beside her head, inches from her cheek. Katherine stared at the quivering blade, fear running down her body in rivulets of sweat. Then she blinked and their gazes clashed hard. His eyes glittered savagely.

He whirled. With long booted strides he crossed the room and yanked open the door. A moment later it was kicked closed from outside. She heard the bolt being thrown, locking her inside.

Katherine turned her head and stared at the dagger, imbedded in the wall. She covered her face with her hands, beginning to shake. His promise was crystal clear.

K
atherine knew that she must not antagonize him.

It was late. She had no idea of the exact time, but she guessed that it was close to midnight. She was not asleep. There had been no way, despite her exhaustion, that she could sleep while waiting for the pirate to return, while preparing to engage in yet another battle. Instead, she had sat on the bed, in the far corner, her spine pressed to the wall, exactly as he had left her.

A few moments ago he had returned to the cabin. Katherine watched him silently now, wide-eyed and wary, but he did not look at her as he crossed the chamber, his graceful stride a bit looser than usual. Katherine thought that she detected a whiff of brandy. Was he drunk? Katherine did not care for that thought. She recalled from her childhood at Askeaton what liquor did to men, and she tensed even more.

Still he did not look at her. The pirate opened the armoire, abruptly shrugged off his shirt. Katherine managed to smother a gasp, faced with the nakedness of his broad, bronzed, rippling back. She could not help but notice how his breeches clung to his high, hard buttocks. “What are you doing?” she cried in alarm.

He turned to her, his gaze direct, but strangely soft. “I am changing my shirt.”

Katherine refused to look at the hard slab of his chest, lightly furred with golden brown hair, or at his flat, hard stomach. To her great relief, he shrugged on a snowy
white tunic. She realized that the odor of brandy came from the shirt he tossed carelessly aside.

Her eyes were riveted to him now. He paused in the center of the cabin, his legs braced in a seaman’s stance. “We must reach an understanding, you and I,” he said.

He did not slur his words. She was further relieved. He was sober, or close to it. Carefully she regarded him, not yet responding. She knew now that she must not incite either his temper or his lust.

His gaze flickered over her face. “You are very, very beautiful, Katherine. Do you know that I dream of you at night?”

She sat up straighter, realizing that he was drunk after all, for he had but met her that morning. “There are many beautiful women in the world.”

“True,” he said, and somehow that agreement disappointed her. He rested his hands on his narrow hips, betraying some lingering tension in him. “There are many beauties in the world, but are they willful and intelligent?”

Her gaze darted to his eyes. “Do you mock me?”

He chuckled then, the sound rich and warm. “No, darling, I do not.”

She froze. Katherine did not like the sound of his laughter or his endearment, and she stiffened against the wall.

“You are still afraid of me.” His jaw flexed. His gaze was no longer as soft. “I must apologize for my behavior.”

Her eyes widened. The pirate was apologizing for his bestial actions?

“You are far too enticing, but still I should have controlled myself. The only defense I can make is that I did not expect such spirit from you.” His stare penetrated hers.

“That is no defense. A gentleman would never have assaulted me as you did.”

The corners of his mouth lifted, but the expression somehow seemed ripe with self-derision. “But as you have said, I am a savage.”

“Can you deny it?”

“I would not bother even to try.” His gaze had grown darker now. “You are very adept at provoking my temper. Never have I met a woman who angered me so.” His
temples were throbbing, his expression strained with distaste. “I have never touched a woman in anger before.”

Katherine could not help but laugh scornfully. He was not just a pirate, but an O’Neill. They were a savage clan, almost a race apart, coming from the farthest reaches of northern Ireland. She thought of the infamous Shane O’Neill, who had been chieftain of his clan until his murder some years earlier. Katherine had seen him once, when she was but nine years old. She still remembered how big and dark and ugly he had been, how frightening and ferocious. “This from the mouth of an O’Neill?” she cried. “O’Neills are known for their violence against women!”

His gaze, razor-sharp, found hers. She pressed her spine harder against the wall. She must control herself! She must not arouse him!

He did not speak. He inhaled deeply, turned his back on her, his fists still on his hips. When he finally faced her again, he said, low and strained, “I do not want to fight with you. I did not capture you to fight with you.”

She swallowed hard, knowing full well why he
had
captured her.

“Katherine, let us stop this war. There is no sense to it. You desperately need a protector, and I am more than eager to be one. Surely, by now, you must realize that you have no other choices. And once you have lived with me a while, you will see that it is far from an unpleasant experience.”

Katherine forced aside images that were coming to her in a steady stream now, of him and her, heated and entwined. And feelings she did not wish to recall, sensations she had never experienced before, all of it, she wished to forget forever. “I want to go home.”

His gray gaze softened and he hesitated. “You have no home.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking of Askeaton Castle, thinking of Castlemaine and Shanid. “I want to go to my father.” Her voice quavered, and she thought she sounded like a foolish, frightened child.

The pirate stared at her, emotion she could not identify seething in his eyes. “So you wish to return to FitzGerald
to live with him and his pretty wife in exile, in poverty, in disgrace?”

Her breasts rose and fell. “I wish to marry. I wish to marry an Irishman and return to Ireland. I want children and a home of my own. My father will find me a proper husband. I am certain of it.”

“Will he, indeed?” Liam asked gently.

“Yes!”

“And what marriage can you now make,
Mistress
FitzGerald? You wish to wed a farmer or a clerk?”

She could not imagine marrying a farmer or a clerk; the very idea was so shocking that for a full minute she could not speak. And how she wished he would stop looking at her like that, as if he felt some sympathy for her plight. “My father will arrange a marriage befitting my station.”

“Your station in life is gone.”

She hugged herself. “Stop! I insist you release me so I may go to him!”

“But you are my prize,” he countered, serious and unsmiling. “I have won you at sea. You belong to
me
now. And I cannot give you up.”

She was desperate. “Why not?”

His only answer was an impenetrable stare.

Katherine clenched her fists and beat the coverlet. “Damn you!”

A smile crossed his features. “Convent-raised and cursing yet again? Come, Katherine, ’tis most unladylike.”

She glared at him. “Go back to your dowager countess.”

The smile remained. “Do you think to dissuade me by showing me your ill nature? Such a ploy is doomed.”

Katherine stared, dread consuming her. “So you will keep me against my will.”

His gaze held hers. “I intend to change your will, Katherine.”

“You are a savage! A pirate! A bloody savage O’Neill!” she cried. “You will never change my opinion of you! Perhaps, in time, you might enslave my body…” She could not continue. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

His expression was grim, his jaw rigid, his eyes twin
black flames. “I may be a savage, a pirate, and an O’Neill, but you are mine now, and you have no choice in the matter.”

“No! I refuse to believe that.”

Finally he moved toward her and stood over the bed. “I am your fate, Katherine. How shall I convince you of that?”

“I would have to see with my own two eyes that Desmond is no more. I would have to hear with my own ears that a ransom is impossible.”

Liam regarded her for a long, thoughtful moment. “Then so be it, Katherine,” he said.

Katherine huddled into her fur-lined cloak as the longboat pushed through choppy seas. The last hours of the night were bitterly cold and thick with fog. Three seamen accompanied her and the pirate, two of whom wielded the huge oars. Macgregor sat beside her, perhaps to prevent her from trying something futile or foolish. But Katherine had no intention of jumping to a watery death, not now, not when luck had finally come her way. Nor did she intend to try to escape. She would wait now, for her father to gain her freedom.

Liam O’Neill stood at the prow, as if oblivious to the cold, the dark, and the bucking boat. He seemed one with his vessel, one with the sea. Katherine stared at his broad, cloak-draped back, unable to prevent herself from wondering what kind of man he was. Then she told herself it did not matter. Soon she would be free of him and would be left with naught but unpleasant memories.

The entrance to the Thames, where different currents collided, was terrifyingly rough. Katherine had to bite her lip to keep from screaming when the small boat rode the crest of a wave up and up and leapt high into the air, then plummeted steeply down into the pits of the sea. She gripped the seat she sat upon as the small boat reared up again. To her shock and amazement, O’Neill had not moved from the prow, and stood there supremely indifferent to the dangerous ride. Once he turned and glanced back at her. In the dark, misty night, Katherine saw that
he was smiling, as if enjoying himself, his teeth a white glimmer in so much dark and shadow.

Katherine bowed her head and prayed. He was insane, they were all insane, and she would soon die, it seemed. But after a while, she realized that the boat no longer crested and plunged so wildly. Indeed, the small boat bucked almost rhythmically. Katherine lifted her head, opened her eyes. They were in the river now, and the waves had subsided into much calmer swells.

The longboat soon scraped a sandy shore. The sailors jumped out, thrashing through the water, pulling the vessel up onto safe ground. O’Neill had leapt out as well. He turned and waited for the longboat to come abreast of him. Katherine slowly stood up. He reached for her and lifted her out of the ship and onto the loamy beach.

She jumped out of his embrace and looked around, wondering where they were. Far from London, of course, which was many miles from the mouth of the river. She realized the audacity of the pirate. If he were caught in England, he would be tried for his many crimes and sentenced to death. If he were lucky, his fate would be a simple beheading. If not, he would be hanged, drawn, and quartered. How daring it was for him to venture onto English soil—how daring and how foolish.

Yet she knew that he was not a foolish man. Katherine stole a glance at him. Liam spoke to his men in low, crisp tones. His face appeared carved in stone. His profile was glorious and uncompromising. His men scurried to obey him instantly. He was a pirate, a man she abhorred, but unquestionably, he was a commander of men. Katherine decided that arrogance would explain his daring in coming to shore, that and supreme self-confidence.

Liam nodded to Macgregor and Katherine was led up the beach by the Scottish sailor, following the pirate. The other two seamen remained behind. The crenellated roof of a castle suddenly winked out at them from the swirling fog, not far distant. As they approached, the mist parted and closed repeatedly, revealing the castle’s stone outer walls. The sky was lightening. Dawn was stealing upon them.

Keeping her voice very low, unsure if detection were to her advantage or not, Katherine whispered, “Where are we, O’Neill?”

“’Tis Tilbury Castle you see,” Liam said in equally low tones. “You wait with Mac.”

“But where do you go?”

He ignored her, disappearing into the shadows.

Many minutes passed. Katherine knew he could not enter the castle, for the gates would be closed until the sunrise. But there must be a village nearby. Undoubtedly he sought transportation for them. Again she thought of how bold he was—to steal horses and vehicles out from under the nose of castle and castellan. Katherine was amazed. Bold and arrogant he might be, but grudgingly, she had to admit the extent of his courage.

But he returned without any conveyance. Astride a large dark horse, his cloak swirling, he appeared a midnight highwayman. Two other horses on lead lines foamed at their bits. Katherine was heaved upon the smaller gelding before she could blink. In another moment they were cantering down the road toward London.

“Can you ride?” he asked, his knee brushing hers.

“’Tis late to ask, is it not?” Katherine retorted, finding her seat and grateful to be riding astride and not sidesaddle.

He smiled at her. “An Irish lass like you must know how to ride, Katherine. I would be sorely disappointed otherwise.”

She met his gaze for a brief moment, thinking him mad to be enjoying the affair. Then she decided to concentrate on the task at hand. As a child, she had been a good rider, but that had been many years ago. And it was still so dark, making it very difficult to see. Katherine decided to let her mount have its head.

But how suspicious this predawn journey would appear to any passersby. Katherine threw a glance over her shoulder at the disappearing castle. A chill crept up her spine. What would happen if they should be captured by the queen’s men? Would she not be released? The thought was intriguing.

Yet her father was the queen’s prisoner. What would Elizabeth do with her, the daughter of a man deemed a traitorous earl? Would she be confined in Gerald’s prison in Southwark? Would her capture also mean the loss of her own freedom, the ruin of her future?

Katherine decided to make no efforts to draw attention to herself and her party. For now.

They rode hard and fast for several hours. The fog lessened. The sun crept into the graying sky, a burning ball of orange. London soon loomed ahead of them. Towers, spires, and a multitude of rooftops and chimneys pierced the cloudless sky, the huge, soaring Cathedral of St. Paul in the midst of it all. Katherine glimpsed Liam’s face. He still rode beside her, Macgregor behind. She looked for a trace of fear on his features, and saw nothing but resolve.

They rode through one gate and clattered down one deserted street after another. The city would soon awaken, but they saw no one. Sometimes groups of drunken men could be heard on another thoroughfare, singing bawdy tunes and laughing uproariously. Liam seemed to know these streets like the back of his hand. It made no sense.